#but its all one after the other and on days where i already lost the entire day on classes
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Follow Me
Request: Can you do something like Vault 4 in the show but with Coop and the reader and how they'd react to friendly faces (or what seem like friendly faces?)
A/N: This prompt GOT ME GOOD. I started out with Vault 4, scrapped that, and somehow ended with hippie Ghouls singing Uncle Kracker songs that we're pretending are original because they definitely didn't exist in the pre-war Fallout universe a totally realistic Fallout story that involves hippies and the ocean
Tags: Fallout, Cooper Howard, Cooper Howard x F!Reader, Cooper Howard x You, Ghoul x Reader
WARNINGS: Canon-Typical language
Summary: You can't help but be suspicious of everyone you meet in the Wasteland, but a group of friendly, musically-inclined Ghouls just might be the exception.
Word Count: 1.9k+
(Gif Credit to @オレは強い)
“You get the caps?”
Cooper tosses a bag tied with twine your way in response. It’s heavy, the sound of bottle caps clinking in a soft reassurance that you can afford to rest your aching body for more than just a couple nights.
“There isn’t anything in these damn dunes but sand and rocks.” You kick at the ground, “Might as well start pedaling back east.”
There’s a moment of hesitation before Cooper answers.
“Not this late. We’ll go west. Follow the coastline.”
You sigh in defeat, resigning yourself to the fate of slogging through thousands of tons of sand.
“Problem, sweetcheeks?”
A scowl curls your lip at Cooper’s sarcastic jab. He’s already walking west into the orange halo of a setting sun.
“Just don’t want to hike back through more miles of dunes if we don’t have to.” You mutter and follow behind him.
If he was going to be a prick, you were at least going to use his already-irradiated body as a sun shield.
After a substantial payout on your most recent bounty, Cooper and yourself were both ready for a break. It had been a long few months of job after job and patience was wearing thin. You’re both getting more snappy with each other as the days slip by; Cooper is more dependent on his Vials after exerting himself, and you’re plain exhausted. Sunburned, sweaty and dry all the same. It is a volatile mix of attitude and flaring tempers, both of which you and Cooper possess a staggering amount of.
The drop location for the bounty had been far west in the sand dunes, nearing the coastline. Cooper had made the drop while you sought out shelter for the night. Sought being the key word, as you’ve been hiking through sand for hours with nothing to show for it. You met back up with Cooper at the crest of a dune, where he’s huffing down a Vial and pacing like a caged animal.
And now, you’re back on the move.
You trail in his shadow even when the sun sinks below the sand and a full moon rises. You’re comforted by the absence of heat and creeping relief of dusk as it soothes away the day’s burns, but desperate for a reprieve from the elements. It takes you a few moments shuffling through your pack while walking to find the salve you’d mixed up months ago and slather what remains of it on your roasted cheeks. Trying to put the lid back on and not fall flat on your face is a chore, made more difficult by Cooper’s sudden stopping in front of you.
“Damn, a little warning would be…” You trail off, looking ahead. “Nice.”
It had been years since you’d seen the ocean, and its grandeur isn’t lost on you. Waves lap at the thirsty shoreline, breaking up the moon’s silvery reflection. For miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, water dances and shifts until it mixes into a twilight sky on the horizon.
A childish bout of excitement washes over you as you observe. Only one more hill of sand separates you from the water. Cooper sighs as you weave around him and hustle towards it.
“Don’t you get in that water, woman.” He barks, “I ain’t fishin’ you out.”
You ignore him and hike up the next dune. Forever seems to pass as you climb upwards and you curse the sand once more. You’re almost to the top, ready to make a mad dash to the water when a voice stops you.
“Hello!” A surprisingly happy voice catches you off guard, coming from your left, “Welcome, friends!”
Cooper is immediately on guard, pulling his pistol. The Ghoul persona steps up to bat, his face all hard edges and glaring eyes. Despite the arguing and bickering you’ve been putting each other through, his protective streak drops over you like a shield. Now at your side, he nudges a shoulder in front of you.
Ghouls can take bullets a lot easier than a human, after all.
In the direction the voice came from, you take stock of not one but several figures in a circular camp. They’re grouped around an old cable spool that’s topped with bottles of various liquor and drinks, and they move to the twang of what you think is an old guitar. A small fire crackles next to the table. The guitar chords reach your ears in slow waves, an inviting tune that makes you want you go down and dance with them
The figure who’d called out is closer, hands held up in a placating manner. You’re surprised to note the familiar lack of a nose and wrinkled skin that labels him a Ghoul. He’s apparently younger than Cooper - as most Ghouls are- with skin a little less warped and blonde hair that still seems to grow rather wall from his scarred scalp.
“Woah there, brother. Take it easy.”
Cooper doesn’t relent. “We ain’t here to make friends. Just passin’ through.”
There’s something about this stranger that’s genuine. That’s not to say you haven’t met real, genuine people in the Wasteland, but kindness is something found few and far between these days. You've met a few Ghouls outside of Cooper, most of which are inherently more friendly due their outcasting from a lot of the major settlements. They’re usually chatty, comforted by the sight of a smooth-skin traveling and being in close quarters with another of their own kind.
Your Ghoul, though, is less willing to accept friendship on the fly.
“It’s not about the destination, folks. It’s about the journey.” He pauses, “And the people you meet.”
You blink at him and turn to Cooper, who snorts. “Well ain’t that sweet.”
“Listen brother, I know life is rough out there but I swear- we’re just here to enjoy what we can.” He motions over to the camp, where another male Ghoul is picking the guitar and laughing with the others.There’s no weapons lying about, and a clear line of sight in every direction.
A smile pulls at your lips, and you place one hand on Cooper’s forearm. The music is washing away any sort of hesitation you had, reinforcing the desire for rest.
“Sorry, my partner here is a little paranoid. We wouldn’t mind stopping.”
It takes a few moments of convincing (half of them being threats of physical violence) for Cooper to stand down. You’re fairly certain he knows these Ghouls are harmless, but can’t escape the suffocating paranoia that comes along with two hundred years of Wastelanding.
Shortly thereafter, you're introduced to the ragtag group, sharing only your first names and settling your things against the side of an overturned car that only has half of the roof sticking up from the sand. Kevin, Phil, Desiree, Cody and Mallorie regale you with their stories, about leaving the major settlements for a life on the road and somehow being happy and relatively unscathed by Wasteland violence.
Through it all, Cooper is predictably standoffish, amber eyes shooting daggers into anyone that gets too close.
Which, with this group, is everyone.
They aren’t just friendly, but physical, rubbing your shoulders and patting you on the back. One of the female Ghouls braids your hair while Cooper sits stock still across the firepit. They attempt to make conversation with him, most of which ends with no response. You scowl at his rudeness each time, and nudge his shoulder to prompt one word responses once you’re returned to his side of the fire.
“So, where are you folks headed?” The female Ghoul who’d braided your hair inquires.
Cooper is quiet beside you, cigarette dangling from between his lips.
“Not sure.” You answer, glancing to your side to look at the ocean. “We kind of just... Move. Wherever we can find work, we go.”
“A shame that we’re still slaves to money after being nuked.” Phil, who’s been strumming on the guitar since you joined, speaks up. “You’d think everyone could just be peaceful now.”
And that statement actually gets a reaction from Cooper. It’s a snort, but a reaction nonetheless.
“Ain’t nobody peaceful out here.” Cooper stubs his cigarette out on the rotted metal of the car, “Everybody wants somethin’. Money, drugs, power.”
“Guns.” You add, lighting your own cigarette.
“Not us.” Desiree, the very same that braided your hair, looks around the group, “We left all of that. All we want is peace.”
While it was a nice thought, you’d seen too much to ever believe it was true. The Wasteland truly metamorphosizes people, and not always in a good way. There’s always someone clamoring to be the newest leader, the brightest glow of hope for the world.
“True that, sister.” Phil lifts his drink and the group follows, toasting to her words. “And to our new friends, I hope you can find peace someday.”
You smile in spite of your own thoughts, raising the cigarette in your hand in a lazy nod to their previous toast. The group cheers once again and lifts their drinks towards the sky. You bump playfully into Cooper’s shoulder, and your Ghoul stares at you from under the brim of his dirty hat. His eyes are narrowed and you know deep down he’ll never be able to escape the grip the Wasteland has on his heart, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try your damndest to get a smile out of him.
“I got something the cowboy will like.” Phil pats his guitar as if it’s a shiny new car, “I dabble in the country genre.”
Cooper tilts his head back and steals the cigarette from between your fingers. “This oughta be good. You gonna regale us with some Johnny Cash this evenin’?”
Kevin pipes up then, smoothing out his blonde locks. “No Johnny Cash here, man. Phil’s got some original stuff. We call it ‘new age’ country.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Cooper finishes your cigarette, and starts working on lighting a second to make up for it. “Let’s hear it.”
The sarcasm drips heavy from his voice, and you resist the ever-so-common urge to slap him for his rudeness. You’re plucking the newly-lit cigarette from scarred fingers when Phil starts strumming the guitar again, now in a slow beat that immediately makes you think of the ocean swirling behind you. It’s a melody far different than that of the Wasteland radio stations, something new and creative that sends an excited tingle up your spine. You nod your head with each note, nudging the Ghoul beside you. He takes a long swig of whiskey, watching your swaying out of the corner of his eye.
“You don't know how you met me, you don't know why
You can't turn around and say goodbye.”
Happy to have something cheery in the sprawling hellscape you’re forced to live in, your smile cracks wider. Cooper is watching Phil now too, one hand resting on his thigh and the other loosely gripping his whiskey.
“Follow me, everything is alright.
I’ll be the one to tuck you in at night.
And if you want to leave, I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me.”
Warmth washes over you at the lyrics and you lean into Cooper’s side. He shifts around to make it comfortable for you, and the fingers of that arm find your hip. Phil keeps crooning into the night, lulling your eyes shut as your cigarette turns to ash. Your eyes flutter when Cooper takes another swig of liquor, sweeping over the group. Everyone’s swaying to the tune, singing along and dancing. It’s not until you move to settle back down that movement catches your eye and a shit-eating grin spreads across your face.
Cooper’s boot just so happens to be tapping along with the beat.
thanks for reading, much love ❤
Read More: Fallout Masterlist
#Cooper Howard#Cooper Howard x You#Ghoul x Reader#fallout imagine#cooper howard#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x f!reader#The Ghoul x Reader#the Ghoul x you#cooper howard x oc#fallout tv series#lucy maclean#walton goggins#fallout fiends#possessive!cooper howard#fallout#fallout 4#fallout new vegas#ghouls deserve love too#the ghoul
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love your db analysis posts! i'd love to hear your thoughts on ultimate gohan, if you have any. between him having little to no reaction to finding out everyone on earth is dead, and randomly letting gotenks fight buu instead of himself, he did not seem to be the same character at all to me, and iirc even piccolo says so, i just... find it hard to believe a non-rage-triggered power-up would do that to him.
Much like Android 16, I do wonder if there were more plans for Ultimate Gohan that wound up being scrapped by the shift in narrative direction.
We're first introduced to the concept of Ultimate Gohan as the Elder Kaioshin is explaining his abilities.
Gohan's dormant power has long been a recurring attribute of his character. In fact, this isn't the first time he's had an elderly sage draw out his dormant power.
Teaching him to draw out and control his dormant abilities was (stealthily) part of Goku's training with him. That Gohan was finally starting to make it his own and tap into his true ki is the reason for why he was repeatedly unimpressed by Goku's abilities.
Gohan didn't even realize it, but through his mastery of the Super Saiyan, he'd also begun to take control of and internalize the tremendous ki he'd always had stored away in him. And as he came into his own ki, what he could sense of Goku's ki proportional to his own didn't make sense to him.
Super Saiyan 2 was, then, the culmination of Gohan's development. His full power, channeled through the Super Saiyan and its amplifying effects - both for better and, uh, for worse.
But it's been seven years and Gohan's been indulging in his true love of academia, in accordance with the agreement Goku and Chi-Chi made about his future.
Goku may have successfully escaped having to get a job by conveniently dying at the last possible second, but Gohan's future is set on a course. He's going to be an academic. It's what Chi-Chi wants for him, and it's what Gohan wants for himself; Even Goku acknowledges that.
Seven years of rigorous study and zero martial arts practice later, Gohan isn't the guy anymore. In fact, examining just how much Gohan isn't the guy anymore is the whole point of his fight with Dabra.
Goku eyeballs Dabra as being roughly around Cell's power. This allows Dabra to serve as a yardstick for Gohan, so we understand what it means for him when he fails to measure up.
Gohan that was a Zanzoken/Afterimage. Nobody even does those anymore. They became obsolete after ki-sensing was normalized, because everyone can now easily sense which "image" is the real one. The one other time we saw a Zanzoken return post-23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, it was against Frieza, who can't sense ki.
Dabra is mocking you right now. He legit thinks you're so shitty at martial arts that you'll fall for this amateur-hour guff. And he's right.
I kinda feel Geets here. If I had to watch my last chance to ever fight my rival get wasted on this, I'd be losing my mind too. He fucking fell for a Zanzoken; Can I just take over already?
So. Yeah. Full Power Gohan isn't a thing anymore. He can still tap into the form - and for some inexplicable reason so can Goku and Vegeta - but this is no longer Peak Potential. Which is where the Elder Kaioshin comes in.
This is a classic formula of Dragon Ball. We've seen it in the RRA, Piccolo, Saiyan, Namek (twice!), and Android arcs. First, Goku gets the shit kicked out of him - sometimes even to the point of being presumed dead.
While the surviving cast members scurry about trying to find a way to face the bad guy, Goku - sometimes unbeknownst to them, sometimes not - is recovering and preparing to come back stronger than ever. This typically takes the form of some sort of godly trial or ordeal guaranteed to make him stronger than ever.
Then, at the 11th hour when all else has failed and all hope is lost, Goku makes his return to have one last epic battle for the fate of the world/universe/cosmos.
This is the Dragon Ball formula. Has been since the day the Four-Star Dragon Ball saved Goku's life from a lethal Dodonpa. Of course, getting Gohan back up to speed isn't going to be enough, since Majin Buu in his weakest form was able to do this to our Cell-adjacent yardstick.
I wonder what Dabra Cookie tastes like? I imagine it's like the wafer part of a Keebler cookie. Sugary and nice on its own but better with fudge.
So. Yeah. If Gohan's going to throw hands with Buu, he's going to need more than the power he fought Cell with. Fortunately, that's the Elder's specialty, and what makes this different than that other time Gohan had his dormant power drawn out.
That's right, we're limit-breaking again. Not the limits of human ability, the limits of Saiyan ability, or even the limits of Super Saiyan ability; We're limit-breaking Gohan specifically. Elder Kaioshin's abilities can not only draw out Gohan's full dormant ability but push it beyond Gohan's natural limits.
Full Power Gohan? Nah. This is Limit-Breaker Gohan. Not his full potential; Beyond his potential. Something entirely different from the Super Saiyan, but similar enough that he doesn't require much alternative instruction.
Kinda feels like a thing that shouldn't be able to exist, to be honest. After all the time that's been put into things like the strain of the Kaio-ken on a body, the effects of Frieza having power beyond his limits, or even what trying to use Super Saiyan 3 in a mortal body does to Goku in this very arc.
The idea of Gohan channeling ki beyond his limits seems like it should have some drawbacks, doesn't it? We do get some hints that something's weird about Gohan's new power. Piccolo can't even recognize his ki signature in this state.
This form is doing some weird shit to his ki. And, as Piccolo notes, Gohan's harder now. Gohan is here to take care of business, and nothing is going to get in his way.
But. Then. The switch happens. Suddenly, Gohan is no longer the protagonist and we need a way for Majin Buu to suddenly be too much for Gohan to handle. So we go from this:
To this:
In the span of two chapters. All so that Buu can ass-pull a brand new ability that's never once been mentioned before even though Kaioshin will later cop to having seen him do it twice, that will instantly make Ultimate Gohan stop being a solution to this problem two chapters after his debut.
A plan that, in fact, he began putting into place one chapter after Ultimate Gohan's debut. Never in the history of Dragon Ball has a brand new form or ability been obsoleted this quickly.
And then Gohan was basically thrown in the dumpster and this was never spoken of again, with Ultimate Gohan just becoming his new Strongest Transformation in follow-up products. You can feel the climactic final act being aggressively aborted around him, in favor of Goku and Vegeta's third act.
Hell, at one point, Goku even suggests bringing in Gohan to fight Pure Buu. Y'know. Since Ultimate Gohan is the strongest in the universe and all that. But Vegeta nopes it.
No explanation offered. He's just like, "That's not the plot anymore; Try to keep up, Kakarot." To be fair, Goku had a chance to bring Gohan into this too. They're both aggressively elbowing Gohan out of the spotlight here.
Mad disrespect.
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hello! i have a question, but i dont quite know how to word it….
i like listening to people’s thoughts on hxh, because sometimes its difficult to collect my own thoughts and hearing others articulate it helps me form my own analysis. usually it clears up confusions on narrative choices, however this thing still confuses me because ive seen lots of meta which sometimes conflict with each other or infos from the show. maybe i missed something?
i dont want to link anybody because i dont want to “call them out” but its a frequent opinion ive come across, so not one person. but what i hear sometimes goes along the lines of: gon vowed to sacrifice everything to defeat pitou -> killua arrives -> despite going through with his jajanken, killua’s presence causes gon to realize he doesnt actually want at all to sacrifice everything and the vow is broken (causing him to lose his nen when he recovers from the physical toll)
i really love this reading. the scene where gon turns to killua right before the screen goes white has always been impactful and seemed important to me for reasons i cant explain. but i’m reluctant to adopt it because the way i understood the nen vow was that it was actually a condition—that gon would only use this power to kill pitou, and then per the “rules” he would lose everything as equivalent exchange when pitou was defeated. and that the reason why his nen was lost was because nanika healed him as he was—which was nen-lost. but the show mentions vows and conditions in conjunction so much sometimes the difference gets muddled in my brain, so i suppose im confused about that as well.
i guess im just asking your thoughts on killua and gon’s love for him potentially being the thing to cause gon’s vow/condition to break. i think its a really sweet idea but im not sure if the mechanics of what exactly gon did to kill pitou support it
sorry for the long ask. please have a nice day!!!!!
Hello! Great question!
So, my way of understanding it is that Gon traded all of his nen potential (meaning all of his nen he had at that time and all of the nen he would have ever had in the future) in order to achieve his adult form and have enough power to kill Pitou. By the time he had achieved that form, he was already doomed to have no nen once he used up the massive but finite amount he had, which was his whole lifetime worth. Like taking out a loan on the full amount of money you'll ever make in your lifetime and then burning it all, but more abstract because it's not money.
It very well may have killed him as well, if not for Killua arriving. Think of the cost to his body to unnaturally achieve that form and use that much nen, which is what Killua recoils at realizing when he sees Gon in that form. I'm sure this is why he ended up as such a withered husk afterwards.
Killua showing up definitely saved him, however, both because he helped him dodge Pitou's Terpsichora and in a more far-reaching emotional sense as well. I think when Killua arrived and called his name that final time, it made Gon realize that he wasn't just giving up his own future--he was giving up his future with Killua as well, and by giving up his life it was going to destroy Killua and leave him alone. Gon had steeled himself to die prior to this, but looking back at Killua's face, his expression entirely changes, softens. As a result, I think Gon holds back a bit with his final Rock and preserves himself just enough to keep his body going. Then Nanika heals Gon's body, but this doesn't undo the nen contract he made--even though his body fully recovers, he did still give up all his nen potential, after all.
(I'm very sorry for posting these pages, know that it breaks my heart to look at them.)
So, the way I see the scene, it's less about the mechanics of it, as that's relatively straightforward. Gon losing his nen was already set when he decided he wanted to give it all up in order to be strong enough to defeat Pitou. It's more about how Killua reaching Gon impacted him emotionally and made him hold back to the degree he could at the very end. Because at that final moment Killua was able to reach him at last--by saying his name, an echo of other scenes in the arc with Meruem and Komugi.
I absolutely think the intent of that scene is that Killua has become Gon's light and saved him--by showing Gon that he wasn't alone, that there was someone else worth living for, that Killua cares about him and doesn't want to lose him. Gon lost sight of that previously amid his trauma and guilt, but in that final moment, he truly sees Killua's horror and pain at what he's doing, and Gon realizes he doesn't want to leave Killua behind forever. Gon manages to barely survive as a result.
#hunter x hunter#hxh#gon#killua#killugon#gonkillu#meta#asks#anonymous#my posts#chimera ant arc#ugh it's painful examining this scene in depth#just heartbreaking#but it's definitely about how killua's love saves gon#tw: suicide
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When all is said and done, you're the one I always come too [Weiss & Nora]
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Even if it was nothing new trying to endure the awful hot weather from Vacuo after so many days living there, Weiss still had a hard time surviving it, especially when going farther and farther away from the city they now had to call home.
The team usually stayed near the camps and the school, their time consumed between meetings and humanitarian help for the Atlas refugees. Sometimes Grimm would come but she never had to go beyond the outskirts of the city, the Winter Maiden already on her way whenever problems arised. Her relationship with Winter was its own bag of worms she has to eventually solve, but right now there is another person invading her mind.
Weiss can already see the slab, her legs slowly carrying her to the place that held so much pain and sorrow for her friends and family. And leaning in a seated position on the stone is a certain red-haired girl she's been looking for so long.
If someone told her on her first year at Beacon that she'd see Nora without Ren she would have probably laughed at them. And for a while it was their status quo. But Weiss has seen the struggle she was going through when they were fighting in Atlas, her choice of keeping distance with Ren inevitable. She understood -probably more than anyone else- what it was finding one self after being attached to a name for so long.
It surprised her though when Ren went to her some time ago, asking for her to go look for Nora at this place. Is not that they weren't talking, her friendship with the girl being stronger than ever after returning from the Ever After, but Weiss was still at a loss as to why she was asked. She didn't hesitate to accept, of course. Nora has lately been looking worse and worse, her smiles short and eyes sad. The stress was becoming too much for all of them, but Nora seemed to be the one being the most affected, and Weiss wanted to be there for her.
As she approaches, a wimper is lost between Nora's lips, and Weiss can't help but stop at the sight. She looks devastated, her emotions clear on her face. Weiss can count with the fingers of only one of her hands the times she's seen Nora so vulnerable, honesty mostly lost by the girl's personality.
The moment ends when Nora finally notices the girl at her side, panic rising on her features for a second when she finds out she wasn't alone, but relaxes when her eyes land on Weiss. She only sighs, rubbing her eyes trying to make her tears stop but gives up after a few seconds. She still manages to give her friend a smile, her trembling lips doing their best to keep her composture. Weiss only wishes for a way to make that smile genuine.
"Figures it'd be you."
Weiss just looks at her, puzzled at her words. Nora sighs again and returns to watching the horizon, her body a bit more relaxed than before.
They stay like that for a few minutes, the wind the only sound in their space. Weiss tries to come up with something, but no words expel from her mouth, scared of turning Nora away. So she waits for an explanation, a sign, anything that Nora is willing to give her. She does not hestitate to sit at her side when her hand pats the other side of the slab, the girls now seated side by side under the light of the sun.
Nora starts to play with her hands, that nervous energy she usually expels when her words can't come out yet, until her voice fills the silence.
"Did Ren tell you to come find me?"
"How did you know?" Weiss words come in a rush, content to know Nora is ready to talk but a little surprised by her guess.
Nora laughs for a bit, her emotions being once again true. Weiss can't keep her eyes away from her. Her laughter dies after a while but the tension from before seems to disappear.
"When you guys where… not here" she starts, her voice more confident but still soft. "Whenever everything turned out to be too much I came here to sit and just… I don't know. It was the closer I could be to you."
Nora looks down, suddenly bashful of seeing Weiss at the eyes. Weiss slowly rises her arm, her hand lightly stroking the other girl's shoulder. She wasn't sure what were their boundaries now but Nora did not stop her, so she continued.
"I guess… you are the one I always come to…" Nora ends her words with her eyes finally meeting Weiss', and the girl knows how much this means to her. Unable to hold herself any longer she launches at Nora, the strongest hug she can muster keeping them both in place.
And they stay like that for a while, the hot weather making them leave some time later. Their lives were still not okay, the weight of the world still on their teams' shoulders. But they have each other, and no matter how much pain destiny throws at them, they were sure they could stand it together.
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This is my gift for @kinaesthetiqueer for the @remnants-of-rwby-exchange !!
I'm really sorry for the late post!!! I kind of underestimated how much time I had left ;w;
I hope you like it Kina!! I ended up mashing the two prompts you send me with some hurt/comfort and tender moments > <
So at first I really wanted to make some fanart of your fic 'her pulse on my throat' because I really enjoy reading it!! But I could not finish it by the time I had to start working on the gift so I went with the other idea I had :O I really love the way you write Weiss and especially Nora!! I hope I did them justice with this little idea I had > < I didn't know if to make them in a romantic or platonic setting, so I guess it is up for whatever interpretation you like most!
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JWCT COUNTDOWN
DAY 5: Roadtrips
For this prompt, I've decided to write the first encounter and trip of Ben with his red Jeep (thanks @gingericywolf for putting this headcanon in my head) I hope you will enjoy it!
(Countdown gently created by @campbenji)
"Hey wait wait!" Ben said, late, as he ran towards the bus, "One more second please!" His pleadings were not heard, and the bus resumed its run to the school, with the boy staring at him as he vanished at the intersection, without him on board. Ben cursed, running for the next stop was useless and he couldn’t miss another day of school, he had already lost enough, the only option he had left was to continue on foot so, reluctantly, he started.
He decided to vent his frustration by hitting a rock along the way. "For once I do a late night, This is the result. On foot. Because some stupid driver doesn’t want to wait for someone who’s practically yelling at him. Of course. Pfft. If I only had a car I wouldn’t have these problems, am I late? No problem! I’d go with the car and I wouldn’t have to run after a stupid bus!" he said, hitting the rock harder while talking to himself on the way. He’d got his driving licence for a few months now, but his mom wouldn’t get him a car because she said he had to earn it, work it out with the money he was earning from his summer job at mantah corp island and the delivery job he did on the weekends during the school year; He didn’t make a lot of money, but he was saving it to get the car he wanted. He wasn’t too pretentious, it didn’t need to be new or luxury like Kenji’s, he just needed it to work.
He looked through the cars he saw parked along the street to see what he might like, even though he already knew it; a jeep had always been one of his dreams since he had driven one for work on mantah island, he had literally fallen in love with that kind of car and he would have really wanted to have one of his own so he could go around camping, be in nature on his own and facing roads not easily passable would have been a thousand times easier with a Jeep than with any other type vehicle. He’d been looking at car ads for months, hoping to find one in vain. Those who owned one apparently held tight on them and envied those he saw in the driveways and sighed.
He had almost arrived at school, when he noticed one in particular in a parking lot; it was not very well put, the red color had some rust and some scratches, the right mirror was broken and the front bumper almost seemed to come off, the wheels were a little flat. Ben scrunched his nose, "Who is owning such a beautiful car in this condition?! I understand that you may have lived it to the fullest, but at least some care!! If I had it it wouldn’t be in this condition-" the boy interrupted his complaining on the owner of the car when he noticed the most important detail, onw he had not noticed at the first glance; the jeep was for sale and at a price he could afford. It was a golden opportunity. He couldn’t miss it. He looked at the school on the horizon and the jeep again.
The choice was not difficult.
Not even an hour later Ben was in his "new" jeep and was taking her for a ride to see how she behaved on the road, "Please don’t explode, you’re doing well! Just a little bit more and we’re home and I’ll starting to give you a nice setup." Ben said as he squeezed the steering wheel all happy; finally he had a car! And it wasn’t an ordinary car, it was the car of his dreams, a jeep! And it was also red! He couldn’t wish for anything better! He had to find a name for it.
Luck was with him and he managed to bring the car to their garage, where it made a bad noise and died suddenly. Ben sighed; he would have a long morning ahead of him, but it would be worth it.
The boy did not even notice the hours spent in that garage replacing, cleaning and fixing the various pieces of the jeep, following old video tutorials made by Brooklynn on her channel, until his mother found him, "Benjamin!!!"
Ben was cleaning the interiors and slammed his head against the roof. "Owww! What?! Oh... mum! Hi! Eheh.. hellooo," Ben said while trying to look cool behind the wheel.
"What is this?! And You should be at school!"
"Uuumh, that’s..uh.. well.. my new car??"
"And you couldn’t pick it up after school?!" She retorted, with Ben getting out of the vehicle.
"I couldn’t miss this opportunity mom! Look how beautiful she is! It was a unique opportunity I couldn’t let go! Look!" And Ben started to go around the car dragging his mother with him to show her all the changes and improvements he had already made, while his mother was not so convinced of the result, but smiled anyway, proud of her son, "You’ve done a really good job, Benjamin, I guess you are skipping school today. Only for today, though!"
Ben smiled all excited and made jumped of joy, "Accompany me to try it out!! Come on!" He said jumping to the driver’s seat without leaving his mother time to respond. She sighed and then climbed into the passenger seat, "Are you sure... sure it's safe?"
"Of course! I checked everything Brooklynn said to check in the video! I’m 90, maybe 85%, sure!" Ben exclaimed all excited as he turned it on, with some difficulties, as the engine made some not so reassuring sounds and Mrs Pincus grabbed the handle for the passenger, which detached and remained in her hand; she turned to look at Ben who giggled nervously as he got out of the garage. He was ready for his first official ride in his jeep!
He decided to make her go around the neighboring blocks, honestly even he didn’t trust her to go long distances yet but heck it was so nice to feel independent, the feeling of the rough skin of the steering wheel under the fingers and the distorted radio sounds, he should have changed it but he didn’t care, he was happy. He already dreamed of future roadtrips.
"Everyone has to see my new ride! Mom, isn’t it great!? I love her!"
"Don’t get distracted!!" And he took a corner a little too wide because of the worn tires that had no grip on the asphalt "Need to change them yeah. Eheh." "Benjamin, you are a crazy child!" She said with a nervous laugh and smiled, "You want to go get some take away, you won’t even have had lunch focused how you were." Ben still had a smile on his face, "You’re right, I’m hungry... Take away! Let’s go Jolene!" And he turned steering wheel, which again made some uninviting noises, "Ooops. Sorry,"
Mrs Pincus held to her seat and then looked at him, "Jolene? You gave her a name?"
Ben blinked, he hadn’t even noticed, he unconsciously had already chosen the name, and it was great. "Of course! Every car must have a name!"
"It’s a nice name, but be more careful and don’t strain it too much!"
"I’ll treat her like a princess mom don’t worry!" And the two continued on their journey to fast food and continued to talk and laugh among themselves.
He felt happy, this was the first of many trips with Jolene, and he could only reward himself with some food.
Later he sent some photos to the campfam groupchat while eating his reward sitting on the hood of the jeep,
"We will make many trips together, Jolene. And you will be the best jeep of all. I assure you."
#jwctcountdown#day 5: roadtrips#jwct#jwcc#jurassic world chaos theory#chaos theory#jurassic world camp cretaceous#ben pincus#ben fitzgerald pincus#Jolene the red jeep#with beta reader#I really like how this turned out!#Ben is hilarious all the time in this story#The story of a boy and his jeep#lampo writes
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#the day was going so well until my mom decided to be mean to me for no reason in a piblic space where i was already feeling scared and over#stimulated. i wanted to try out the skateboards in decathlon but there were too many people and i got scared. and my mom suddenly said that#the skateboard that she was going to buy for me after/on my birthday. she had decided to buy now. since we were alr in theshop and i said no#way bec i hadnt decided which one i wanted yet and i was soo panicked. and then after some time when id calmed down a bit and was gonna try#to skate anyways she started questioning me abt when i planned on peacticing and where i was gonna do it and i obviously just started saying#things that i thought she would approve of. and then she told me i didnt have the time management skills or resolve to make it work. and she#just kept on passive aggressively bullying me until i just couldnt do it anymore and i told her i wanted go leave the store bc she was#spoiling the mood. and then she started bullying me louder and she told me to stop blaming her bc she was only asking me a question and she#didn't want to waste any more money on things that i wasnt gonna do even though ive wanted a skateboard for years now and have been actively#asking her for months. and i just lost my emergy and my appetite and i wanted to leave the mall and go home but insteaf she gook us to a#bagel place that ive been trying to get her to take us even though i felt like throwing up before we even left the mall and i told her i#didnt want to go there. and my brother even told her that she was ruining things for everyone. and he still ended up blaming me in the end.#but whatever. i kept getting flashbacks to insanely traumatic moments where shed yelled at or bullied me or cornered me or tried to#embarass me in public. and this is most likely my last year at home. and my last year of childhood. and its all going to be remembered in my#brain as underwhelming and depressing and mostly horrible. and im going to leave home and never cone back and my last year at home is going#to be just as shitty as every other year and ill just have to deal with that and try to build something good and new and kind when i leave#she shouldnt speak to her own children like this. she shouldnt be looking for reasons to make things miserable for me all the time like this#i should study. my head hurts. my entire body hurts so bad#delete later
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Creates an artwork that took ages but I'm really proud of it. Its a subject that a lot of my friends and followers like. Only a few people like it. Most of my friends have seen it and, nothing... I know I did a good job and it's pretty but this makes me feel like my art isn't good enough. It hurts more that my friends and mutals aren't liking it, more than the numbers.
#tumbr has become a place where i can vent/say my thoughts i guess#im already insecure aboyt my art and even more so after a so called friend in a mad rage suggested that my art is shit#my friends would almost always like my art to support me and if they really liked it they would comment and share it.#now im lucky if they even like it#ironically my art has improved and im drawing people they like#im never with the algorithms and i have so little follower's but it feels like a lot of them are inactive or bots because most dont like my#art so why do they even follow me?#all i post is my art and i dont do follow for follow. i dont understand. i hoped one day to sell prints and other creations but no one wants#to follow me and those that do will never buy my art#i put so much effort into my creations and sometimes it feels like its for nothing#i see artists on a lower skill (for lack of a better term) and they have thousands of follwers. i barely made it to 200 and i know a huge#following isnt everything but it really puts any dreams of having a little art shop or just selling prints#everything ive wanted to do with my life creatively seems to need a loyal fanbase and i dont have that#i feel lost confused and alone#i dont know if people just dont like my art or if the algorithm is working against me#so thats fun..
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How I got scammed
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security
I wuz robbed.
More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!
Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).
A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.
That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).
I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.
"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"
He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.
We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.
I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.
One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.
"That was the fraudster," she said.
Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.
Wait a sec.
He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.
I'd given him my entire card number.
Goddammit.
The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle
And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.
But I'd been conned.
Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:
https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/
That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.
Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.
I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.
Oh, shit, I'd been phished.
If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).
There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!
The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.
The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.
The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.
The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.
There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.
I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.
Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.
One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":
https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week
I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.
As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.
This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:
https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591
This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.
I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.
This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.
On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.
So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.
Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security
Image:
Cryteria (modified)
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg
CC BY 3.0
https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en
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#i love my friend and i do admit i may be a little reclusive lately#but if im telling you about how im so fucking anxious that someday i feel like i dont even#have the time to eat or sleep and juststraight out skip it from the stress of feeling like i dont have enough time#why do u keep inviting me to stuff that lasts several hours all in consecutive days#days thati alsohave a lot of deadlines i mentioned 😭#like i do wanna see them i miss them a lot but#IM EXPLODING OVER HERE#im not ignoring u on purpose!!! i literally feel like i run against the clock everyday#im most likely gonna be extremely nervous the entire time and no ones gonna have a good time#and i wouldnt mind if this was on different days#but its all one after the other and on days where i already lost the entire day on classes#i need time to work please 😭#also i still feel so sickly...#haunted.txt#i know i can say no. i have been using it a little i just feel extremely bad after recognizing im not there a lot#but like theres a limit...i have been invited and changed plans like 5 times today 😭#and i have invited them to stuff they just forgot it and then ignored it when i brought it up...#im just ranting nonsense :/
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Aim for the Sky Part 1 | Rooster x Reader
Summary: Deployments feel longer when you're alone and pregnant. You know Bradley wants to be home for all of the milestones, but you also know he trusts you to take care of yourself. That trust goes both ways when it feels like ages since you've heard from him.
Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing, pregnancy
Length: 4000 words
Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader
Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32
You hadn't spoken to your husband in more than three weeks. Not once since he left on a deployment of undetermined length. When you were on base, tucked away in your office or working on a project in the lab, it wasn't so bad. You could almost get lost in the idea of heading home to start dinner and find him working on a project. You could nearly pretend he'd be ready to wrap you up in his arms and ask about your day. But you knew better than to drift all the way into that daydream, because he wasn't there, and you didn't know when he would be back.
At least Tramp greeted you with excitement when you walked in each day, but you suspected that was partially because he knew you were about to feed him. Your friends kept you busy on the weekends, and Jake stopped by the Craftsman on occasion with Jeremiah when Cat needed a break. Today, he even made a comment about the multitude of pallets lined up on your driveway that prevented you from pulling all the way up to where you usually parked.
"When Rooster gets back, I'll give him a hand building that jungle gym," Jake drawled as you handed a cracker to Jeremiah. "We'll have it finished in a weekend, and then Jer can test it out."
You watched Jake kiss Cat's son on the cheek as you said, "He can teach the Nugget all about the slide and the swings when the time comes." Your belly felt a little tender as you ran your hand over your shirt, loving the feel of the bump beneath your fingers. You were nineteen weeks along, and when Bradley left, you'd still looked just bloated. Now you were starting to get round in all the places that made you excited for what was to come. And after so many weeks of non stop nausea and vomiting, you were happy you could finally eat.
Jake snorted. "You've taken to calling the baby a Nugget, too? Thought that was just your husband."
You rolled your eyes and flicked his arm. "Maybe I miss him, okay? Like a lot." Your voice shook even though you were trying for a teasing tone, and Jake's features softened. You quickly asked, "Are you two staying for dinner?"
Jeremiah was such a sweet toddler, and you were so lonely today, you were hoping Jake would say yes. But he kissed you on the cheek before he said, "Not tonight. I told Cat we'd be home by six."
You just nodded, once again afraid your voice might shake. You'd be fine; it wasn't like you needed someone with you all the time. It wasn't like you couldn't get through the night.
Once they were gone, you made yourself some dinner and ate it while you stood at the kitchen counter. Occasionally you dropped some bites for Tramp who snapped them up out of the air before anything ever hit the ground.
"Don't tell your dad that this is the reason you beg at the table," you muttered as he sat next to your foot and wagged his tail wildly. Even the veterinarian didn't know exactly how old he was, but he still seemed like a puppy sometimes. You could already picture him and the baby playing together.
Your gaze caught on the newest set of ultrasound photos which you had stacked up at the end of the kitchen counter. The appointment with Dr. Morris made you cry afterwards, because Bradley wasn't there to gush over the baby. You drove his Bronco that day, and you sat quietly trying to compose yourself while enveloped in his smell. He had some older ultrasound images tucked in the sun visor, and you wanted him to see the new ones so badly, you ached.
"I'm going to get ready for bed," you groaned at Tramp even though it was still early. You took a bath with the floating thermometer Bradley bought for you to use while pregnant. You drank a can of ginger ale instead of your preferred pink champagne, and you listened to one of the playlists he made for you.
When you were climbing in bed, you took the note he left you from your nightstand. It was folded into a paper airplane that looked exactly like his tattoo. He'd even written Baby Girl on it like always. Very carefully, you unfolded it and read the short message that you already had memorized, because it just meant something more in his handwriting.
I love both of you so much, sometimes I feel like I'm dreaming. Nothing could be this good. There's no way I get to return home to everything I ever wanted. I don't know when I'll be back, so I need you to take care of yourself and the Nugget until I can take over my duties again. I won't be gone a minute longer than I need to be.
You shut your light off before your tears could fall, and Tramp snuggled in next to you. When you thought about Bradley, you pictured him in his bunk. Maybe he was alone. Maybe he was with Reuben. Maybe he was rooming with a different officer. But it didn't matter, because you could easily imagine him practically spilling out of the narrow bed, one knee bent with the pink and blue notebook propped up while he wrote to the baby.
When your phone started ringing in the pitch darkness, you jumped, practically falling out of bed as you reached for your lamp and phone at the same time. It was a FaceTime call. It said restricted caller. You screeched his name, far too loud for your voice which has been resting just seconds ago. You shoved your glasses into place so you could see him, and shouted, "Bradley! Roo! Are you okay?"
"Hey, Baby Girl," he crooned, and his smiling face came into focus. You practically dropped your phone as he said, "I'm fine. Sorry it's so late."
You felt giddy laughter bubbling up inside you; the idea of your husband apologizing for calling and making your whole week was absurd. "No, no, no, this is perfect," you insisted. "This is great.
Bradley laughed and said, "I miss you so fucking much. Wish I was in bed right there with you."
"Me too," you replied. "It got chilly here tonight, and Tramp isn't as snuggly as you are." You missed his warmth and voice so much. It was almost Halloween, and the nights felt way too long.
His voice was just a whisper as he said, "Tell me about the Nugget."
Your smile felt overpowering. "Dr. Morris said the Nugget looked great when I was there two weeks ago."
"Two weeks ago," he groaned, rubbing his hands along his face. "Sweetheart... I already missed so much." When he looked at the screen again, you were out of bed and on the move. "Where are you going?"
You flipped on the hallway light and said, "To get the ultrasounds to show you. I left them on the kitchen counter."
You propped up your phone and held up one of the photos so he could see the baby. "There's my Nugget," he said, voice thick with emotion as you held up a second image. "Fucking cutest baby I've ever seen."
You couldn't help but laugh, feeling better than you had in weeks. "I liked this one the best. I think it looks like the baby is waving hello."
"Shit," he gasped. "You're right. I can't wait to wallpaper our bedroom with copies of these."
You pulled the ultrasound away and gasped, "You're probably not even joking."
"I'm definitely not even joking."
You leaned on the counter and got a little closer to your phone as you whispered, "Another week or so, and I can go in for an anatomy scan."
Now you felt guilty as he nodded with his lips pressed together. "You get to find out if the Nugget is a boy or a girl."
Tears stung your eyes. You could already imagine him holding the baby in his arms, loving him or her no matter what. "Yeah," you said with a nod. "But I don't really want to do that without you there too."
It took him a moment to respond. "I wish I could get home in time to hold your hand and find out in person. But you know I don't care one way or the other. The only nice thing is that we can start narrowing down baby names soon. I actually wrote down a few that I kind of like in the Nugget notebook earlier."
Your heart swelled. "I can't wait to read all of your notebook entries. And if you're not home for my next appointment, I'll be practically vibrating with anticipation until I get to tell you if it's a boy Nugget or a girl Nugget."
You wanted to show him how your belly looked more curvy now, but when you and he both parted your lips to speak, you heard someone shouting in the same room as him on the aircraft carrier. Now your husband wasn't looking at you at all.
"Bradshaw! It's time. Get into your flight suit."
"Yes, Sir," Bradley said before glancing back down.
"You have to go," you sobbed, unaware that you were actually crying until you heard yourself.
"I do," he said quickly. "Right now. Listen, I love you. More than anything. You and the baby both, okay? I love you."
"I love you, too," you sobbed as your lips trembled. "So much."
"I'll be home soon," he told you earnestly. "I love you."
Then you were standing alone in your kitchen at 4:48 in the morning with tears streaming down your face. The abrupt end to the call set your nerves on edge just seconds after you had been feeling so good. You gripped the edge of your kitchen counter; that wasn't a regular call to order, that was the start of his mission you just witnessed.
There was no chance of you falling asleep again, so you let yourself cry while Tramp put his head down on your bare foot and licked your ankle.
-------------------------------------
Halloween came, and you could barely manage to give out candy to the neighborhood kids. You'd had Bradley with you for the previous two Halloween nights in a row, and this year you didn't even want to buy a costume without him. You were exactly twenty weeks along, approximately halfway through your pregnancy, but it was hard to be excited even as groups of kids ran up and down the sidewalk.
You sat on your porch and dropped goodie bags into pillowcases and plastic pumpkins while Tramp barked inside the house. You commented on all of the cute costumes. You cried a little bit. Your emotions were all over the place as you tried to imagine what it might be like going out to collect candy a year from now with your baby in a tiny costume.
When the trick-or-treating ended, you went inside and opened a miniature sized Hershey bar for yourself, and then you almost screamed. The chocolate fell to the floor as you reached for your belly. Tramp looked between you and the fallen treat as you sank down onto your knees.
"Oh my God," you gasped, eyes squeezed shut tight. You could feel the baby moving. It was kind of a wild fluttering sensation. You rubbed your palm against your shirt a little more, and the slight movement felt like a response. Your baby was right there. "Hi, little Nugget." Then you felt something like a soft thump.
You wished more than anything that Bradley was here to witness it. He was going to absolutely freak out when he got home. Then the intrusive thoughts arrived. If he got home. It had been another week and a half since that FaceTime call where he got cut off by a commanding officer. If his mission was completed, he should have called you back by now. But at least you didn't have a fleet admiral dialing your number.
You didn't move for a long time, not until the baby seemed to get into a cozy position where the movement slowed down and then stopped. When Tramp started sniffing around the candy bar, you crawled over to it and picked it up before he could get any ideas.
Time was simultaneously at a standstill and also moving too fast. In four weeks, it would be Thanksgiving and your first wedding anniversary. You'd been holding off making plans with your parents, because you didn't know what to do. You were already overdue for your anatomy scan, dodging phone calls from Dr. Morris's office when they told you that you absolutely needed to come in for your checkup. They were starting to leave you lengthy messages about how they needed to complete the full scan to be sure there were no underlying issues.
As you walked to your bedroom, you promised yourself you'd call tomorrow and schedule an appointment. Bradley would miss finding out if the Nugget was a boy or girl, but at least you'd get to see all ten fingers and all ten toes for the first time. You could reveal the news to Bradley when you got to talk to him. You would go to your appointment, because he trusted you to take care of yourself and the baby the best that you could.
------------------------------
The cafeteria was packed when you walked in with your uniform shirt untucked and your pants unbuttoned. You finally caved and ordered a maternity uniform last week, and Bickel let you cry in his office about how ugly it was before he sent you back to the lab. It should be arriving any day, but for now, you were making do.
When Nat saw you, she was on her feet heading your way immediately. "Your belly looks bigger!" she gasped, pulling you toward the table where she was sitting with Bob and Maria. "When's Rooster coming home?"
You shrugged miserably. "You think I know? I just work here."
Her laughter made you smile for the first time all day. Your nausea was back a little bit, and you were too afraid to even try to eat anything until you got home later tonight. When Nat scooted her tray closer to the edge of the table to make room for you, she asked, "Where's your lunch?"
You didn't want to lie, but you really didn't want them to pressure you to eat right now. "I think I'll just take something back upstairs with me." As you slid onto the empty spot on the bench, you asked, "Do you know if anyone has heard from Payback?"
You were met with shaking heads which didn't help your mood at all. What the hell was going on with this mission? Your tongue felt too thick, and your saliva practically made you gag as Bob said, "I thought they would have been home by now. Five weeks is a long time for a special mission."
Maria elbowed him in the side, but it's not like he was saying anything you weren't already thinking. This sickening feeling had been inside you for days where you were convinced something went wrong. You just couldn't fathom why you hadn't received a call yet.
"I know," you muttered. "It's okay." But you weren't actually sure if it was or not. It has been months since you had a panic attack where you had to spend a few hours with Dr. Genevieve, but you could feel it building up now. Worrying about Bradley and yourself and the baby all at the same time was mentally and emotionally exhausting.
You pretended to pick up a sandwich before heading toward the elevators in the lobby, and you stopped to throw up in the bathroom before you made it back to your office. Your anatomy scan was scheduled for Friday, almost three weeks after they originally wanted you to come in. If you were still feeling this anxious, you'd block off part of your schedule next week to visit Dr. Genevieve again.
Somehow, even though the only thing on your mind was talking to Bradley, you were shocked when your phone woke you up just before midnight on Wednesday evening. This time you rocketed to your feet as you yanked your phone free from the charger. It wasn't a FaceTime call. It said RESTRICTED CALLER. You braced your hand on your nightstand in the dark, and when you answered, you knew immediately that it wasn't your husband on the other end of the call.
"Hello? I'm calling on behalf of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw," came a male voice in response, and then he was asking you to confirm your personal information.
"What happened?" you gasped once he established that you really were the one and only person on Bradley's contact list. "What happened to him?"
There was a soft hum from the man, and you wanted to jump through the phone and strangle him for his lack of response. Then, as you finally managed to turn on your lamp, he said, "It looks like his flight just took off out of Hong Kong."
"Flight?" you gasped. "He's in the air?"
"Yes. A commercial flight into San Diego. He should arrive Friday morning, and I can give you the details now so someone can arrange for a ride for him."
You were baffled as to why Bradley didn't call you himself, but if he was on his way home, you didn't care. And you weren't going to arrange for a ride for him. You were going to pick him up yourself. When you grabbed a pen from your nightstand, the only paper you could find was the love note he left for you, so you started writing the flight number on your arm instead. Then you gasped and almost dropped the phone when you ended the call. There was the slightest chance he would be back in time!
---------------------------
Bradley was exhausted. He knew he could sleep for two days, no problem. He would land in San Diego and hope you were there to get him, then he'd ask you if the baby was a boy or a girl, then he'd take you home and make love to you before falling the fuck asleep. He really wanted to start building the jungle gym playset, but that was just going to have to wait for another day.
It was Friday, or at least that's what he thought, and he wasn't sure how busy you had been at work, because he hadn't spoken to you in weeks. Maybe Bickel let you take the morning off. If Bradley didn't get to see you in baggage claim like he always had before, he was going to be so annoyed that he was delayed weeks longer than he should have been. This mission turned into a three part nightmare on the high seas, and all he wanted was his wife and his Nugget.
When his flight landed, he was up and out of his seat, ready to go. Of course he ended up lifting down carryon bags for a few older passengers and one woman who had two kids with her. Of course he knelt down to help someone find their reading glasses. But all he wanted was for this line of people to move it off the aircraft so he could get into the terminal and call you.
When you answered on the second ring, shouting his name into the phone, he couldn't help but smile. "I just landed, Sweetheart. Does that mean you're here to get me?"
"Yes! I'm in baggage claim! Hurry up!"
His whole body thrummed with need as he picked up his pace at the confirmation that you were here for him. "I'm coming as fast as I can," he promised, squeezing between two groups of people walking way too slowly. He wanted to know if you took the day off. There were a hundred questions circling his brain, but the first one that he needed an answer to was, "How's my Nugget?"
He could hear the smile in your voice as you said, "Your little Nugget is thriving, Roo. But get over here and see for yourself!"
"Baby Girl," he laughed, jogging a little faster. "I'm coming."
"Hurry," you whined, and he needed to give you what you wanted.
He bypassed the crowded escalator and took the stairs as quickly as he could, skidding around a corner as he turned toward baggage claim. "Almost there," he panted into the phone. And then he saw you and groaned, "Fuck," loud enough that a few people shot him nasty looks. "Holy shit, Sweetheart."
Bradley ended the call as you glanced around, and he stumbled when you finally spotted him. You were wearing a new dress. It was a pretty shade of green, and it was snug, hugging all of your curves. Hugging your bump. You had a bump. You looked so obviously pregnant to him, he was ready to crawl on his hands and knees and beg at your feet.... for what, he wasn't sure. But that's what his brain was barking at him to do right now.
"Roo!" you called out, prancing toward him in that tight dress and your boat shoes, and literally nothing felt better than being with you. As soon as you were in his arms, he was home. "Bradley," you moaned against his lips as his hands found your sides. You felt different in the best possible way. The swell of your belly wasn't huge yet, but it was definitely there. He could feel it. His growing baby.
God, you were kissing him just right, fingers threading through his hair as you rubbed yourself against him. "Jesus," he groaned into your mouth, but you kissed it away as he ran his hands along as much of your middle as he could reach. He couldn't help it; when you eventually broke the kiss to take a breath, he dropped to his knees in front of you.
Your fingers were still in his hair as you looked down at him in surprise. "Roo?"
He was kissing along that green fabric and rubbing his nose against that perfect, little bump. He knew you were twenty-two weeks along, and he knew what that meant. "Please, tell me," he rasped, stroking you gently with his thumb. "Please, Sweetheart. Is it a girl or a boy?"
Your softly parted lips and smile had all of his focus as he waited to hear you tell him what he'd been dying to know. "Oh," you whispered, pushing your fingers through his hair, leaving him in anticipation as your fingertips glided down his cheek. "I don't know yet."
"You don't?" he asked, brow creased in concern. But you just kept smiling as his heart pounded. "You don't know?"
"Nope," you replied easily. "My appointment is in an hour."
Bradley rocketed to his feet. "Are you serious?" he whispered, his voice a little harsh. "I didn't miss it?"
You kissed him softly as he collected you back in his arms. "You didn't miss it, Roo. I postponed it as long as I could. You're just in time."
"Hell yes!" he whooped, pumping one fist in the air as you giggled. "You waited for Daddy," he said, smiling down at your belly as he slowly walked you backwards. "That's my Nugget." You were looking up at him with trusting eyes as he pushed you back against a pillar next to the baggage carousel. "You said we have an hour?"
"Yes."
"Good," he murmured before his lips found yours, and his hands continued their excited exploration of your new curves.
--------------------------
Next up is the big reveal!!! I am so excited!!!! Get your final guesses in now! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls and everyone who has been reading and interacting. Welcome to the new series!
PART 2
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UNKNOWN TO ME AND YOU | Alastor x reader | PART 2
Summary: After your altercation with Alastor in the hotel lobby, will you be able to mend your relationship?
This is PART 2. Part 1 can be found here.
This is the continuation of @lustylita's wonderful idea, which can be found here. I just had the pleasure of writing it. I hope you enjoy the end of our little story!
Tags: Alastor x gn.reader, some angst
The relationship between you and Alastor had taken a sharp turn for the worse. What used to be a strained but neutral relationship was now strained, uncomfortable, and awkward at best. You found yourself doing everything in your power to avoid him whenever possible.
Each time you and Alastor coincided in a room, a surge of panic would engulf you. The urgency to escape the impending unbearable awkwardness was so tangible it left a metallic taste in your mouth. You would hastily concoct an excuse, no matter how feeble, to flee the scene. The same sense of panic would grip you if he happened to enter a room you were already in.
As you made your hasty retreat, you made a point to never meet his gaze. You were acutely aware that if you did, you would be confronted with the pained expression on his face behind the mask he liked to present to the world, a sight that would be unbearable. Despite Alastor's adeptness at concealing his emotions, you could now sense his anguish from the shadow he cast.
It was something you never anticipated. You never thought you'd harbour any kind of affection towards the man. Yet, after the end of your relationship with Alastor's Shadow, it felt like going through a tumultuous breakup with him. The pain of it all left you feeling raw, vulnerable, and insecure as if a part of you had been stripped bare of dignity and reason. You were left feeling smaller than you really were, with a heavy weight on your shoulders that dragged you down. As if everything was your fault.
But you had never known about Alastor's feelings for you. You didn't even know when his affection for you had begun and why he had buried them so deep within his heart that his shadow had to break free to soothe its ache. Only when his shadow broke free did you realise the extent of his emotions and how deep they ran.
The days felt like they had grown longer and lost all their colour without the presence of Alastor's shadow. Hollow and lifeless. Whilst you could argue all you wanted with yourself that it was the shadow that you wanted and not the man, the reality was that the shadow was the man.
They were not separate. They were one.
To love one was to love the other.
What ... love?!
Pain can be subjective, just like any emotion, but that does not diminish its impact on one's life. The heart will make itself known to the mind whether the mind wants to know or not, but sooner or later, the heart will make the mind yield to the pain, the longing, and the wanting just to get a moment of peace.
And that's where you were right now, at the door where your heart had broken down, letting the reality of your emotions spill at your feet. A door it begged you to walk through, but you were scared. You were a coward. For Alastor saw you through his darkness, his shadow, and you saw him through his.
To knock or not to knock. That is the question.
It had been 23 days since your altercation with Alastor in the hotel lobby. When he had branded you with a kiss that still burned. Marking you with a curse that tore your heart out and poisoned your mind. Longing for the time when it had been just you and Alastor's shadow, but now all your memories of the shadows had been replaced with the man himself. Giving you a genuine smile that only your eyes were allowed to see. To be given the privilege, the trust, to see him. To see the man and not the sinner. To see the soul and not the demon.
Everyone longs for love, no matter what form love comes in, longing for companionship. Trust. Strong arms to fall into with hands that could hold us up when our legs can't bear the burden anymore. And you knew that Alastor could be the arms you wished to fall into, but did he still want to fall into yours?
To knock or not to knock. That is the question.
The door to Alastors room felt like the doors to an impenetrable fortress. A domain that used to reek of him but now lured you with promises you longed for but feared as well.
With your crossword puzzle in hand, you counted down from five to zero before lifting your shaking fist and knocking on the door softly. A part of you hoped that he wasn't there so you could run back down to the lobby and forget that you had ever had this stupid idea. The idea of mending your relationship.
However, you were not so lucky, for Alastor soon opened the door. His smile twitched as his eyes fixed on you, and if you weren't imagining things, you thought you heard a soft chirping sound behind him.
"Yes?" Those were the first words he had uttered to you in 23 days. The only words you had allowed him to say to you in 23 days.
Swalloing the stone in your throat, you let out in a rushed ramble:
"Canyouhelpmewithmycrossword?"
"I'm sorry?"
"My crossword," you said, trying not to have a shaky voice, "can you help me with a clue? I can't figure it out."
You held out your newspaper with the crossword to him, pointing at the specific clue you had in mind. In reality, you had already figured it out 30 minutes ago, but Alastor didn't need to know that. He looked from you down to the newspaper, then back up at you again. His eyebrow raised.
"Very well," was all he said as he looked down at the newspaper and the clue again, but by bending down, you now had his head right beside yours. You wondered if his big ears meant he could hear better and if he could hear your heart trying to beat out of your chest. Could he hear how it called out to him? How it had howled at your mind to let him back into your life again.
"The answer is Erato, the muse," answered Alastor and straightened up again.
"Oh, right. That makes sense," and that was when you remembered that Erato wasn't just any muse, but a muse whose name meant desire, and never had you desired for the smallest of touch from another before. Looking down at his lips, so red and soft, knowing what they had felt like on your cheek but maybe never getting the chance to touch them again was torture.
"Was there anything else?"
Like a record scratch, you were hurled back into reality, looking back up at Alastor, who was studying you intensely. This is where your mind won over your heart, and you became a coward again.
"No! Thank you for the help!" you practically screamed as you stiffly stormed down the hallway, away from the sinner who closed the door to his domain, and you wondered if it was painful to die.
Work was slowly killing you, and it was not a pleasurable experience. Buried in paperwork, you had been staring at a document for the past half hour without really taking in the information. No matter how many times you would re-read the document, the words made less sense as you kept reading. Blurring together in one big mess that drained you of all your energy, the clock had not even struck 09:00 yet.
Overwhelmed, you buried your face in your hands, your body leaning on the desk for support. You wondered how you were going to make it through the day if it continued at this excruciatingly slow pace.
After a slight knocking, the door swung open, and someone entered your office.
"Not now, Charlie," you said softly so as not to offend without looking up, "I told you I'm fine. I don't need you to check on me."
However, no answer came, and when you looked up, you realised that it wasn't Charlie who had come knocking at your door again but Alastor, who was holding your favourite cup in his hand and a bag in the other.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was you," you said and began to stand up, but you slowly dropped down when Alastor walked over to your desk and sat down your cup. The smell of coffee filled your office and the mere thought of having that sweet beverage filled you with delight. Beside the cup, Alastor put down the brown bag he had held, and you instantly recognised the logo of the bakery from across town that you loved so much.
As you looked at the bag, you felt a sudden jolt of surprise that made your body shake. You raised your gaze to Alastor, who was standing in front of you, and then back to the bag. You couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth spreading through you as you thought about the blueberry muffin that was waiting inside. It was such a simple thing, but it made you feel wanted. What a wonder that such a small thing could make you feel so special and warm on the inside.
That warmth was something you hadn't felt in a long time. Ever since Alastor's shadow stopped visiting your office, you had felt incredibly lonely. You missed the little conversations you used to have with him and the way he always seemed to know just what to do to make you feel better. You even found it hard to go to the bakery and get your muffin in the morning because it made you feel too alone for your liking.
But now, as you had the bag in front of you, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things were finally starting to look up again. Maybe Alastor was back in your life for good, and you could once again look forward to those little moments of happiness that made your day a little brighter.
"I... thank you, Alastor. I greatly appreciate it." Your heart skipped a beat when Alastor looked down at you and gave you a small, genuine smile.
"You're welcome, my dear," he said softly as he turned to leave your office. His demeanour was calm and collected, yet you could sense a certain warmth and friendliness in his voice.
"Have you seen the roses yet?" the words rushed out of you before you could hold yourself back, too desperate for his company now that you had gotten it back.
"Pardon?" asked Alastor without turning around to look at you fully. His hands were resting on his microphone cane.
"The roses, in the garden. They've bloomed, almost all of them. They're... they're breathtaking. You should see them." Your knee started to nervously bounce under your desk as sweat began to gather in your palms. The man had managed to render you a nervous wreck so fast, his presence alone stirring up a whirlwind of emotions within you.
"No, I haven't seen them yet. I'll make sure to walk around the garden on my break today. I can imagine that they are lovely."
Thinking this was the end of the conversation, you turned back to your dreadfully dull documents.
"Would you care to join me?" asked Alastor, his soft yet hesitant voice making your heart skip a beat. It was as if the air around you had suddenly become charged with an unspoken tension, making you wonder if he was nervous as well.
"In the garden?"
"Yes."
"I... I would love to."
"Wonderful. I'll come to get you around twelve if that works for you."
"Great! I look forward to it."
As he walked out, you couldn't help but sit back in your chair and take a deep breath. You felt a sense of relief and contentment, knowing that Alastor still seemed to want to try a new connection—something new and unexplored. You picked up your coffee and took a sip, letting the warmth of the liquid spread through your body. Alastor had managed to wake the butterflies within you again with a single act of kindness.
Your and Alastor's relationship had improved immensely over the week. However, there was just this little problem that kept bugging you. Alastor had not touched you in any way, not even laid his hand on your shoulder or offered his arm when the both of you had walked through the rose garden. While this wasn't uncommon, you rarely saw him really touch anyone in the hotel except for the odd pat on the head, but his shadow had been so physically affectionate that you yearned for the intimacy of it all.
While not overly affectionate, the shadow had not hesitated to hold your hand or rest on your shoulders. It wasn't that you wanted to carry Alastor on your back, but the simple act of holding hands seemed like a distant dream.
You sank deeper into the sofa in the hotel lobby as you glanced at the deer demon sitting by the fireplace above your newspaper—your crossword puzzle long forgotten. Alastor was sitting cross-legged with a book in one hand and a glass of rye whisky in the other, silently humming to the song he played from the antique radio he had summoned, and for some reason, you thought that he had never looked more attractive.
Satan's sweaty balls, you used to party every weekend and only come home after you had tried every type of alcohol the club had to offer, and now you were in love with a sinner whose favourite pastime was listening to jazz while drinking whisky. Your younger self would have hated what you had become, but in the present, you felt a deep sense of contentment, wanting nothing more than to have a quiet evening with Alastor, where he would read out loud to you from his book in front of the fire with your head in his lap, listening to jazz.
Angel Dust shouted a loud good night and started to walk up the stairs to his room after another hour had passed. Charlie and Vaggie, who had been sitting by the dining table and doing a jigsaw puzzle, were the next ones who left the lobby. Charlie's good night was barely audible because of how much she was yawning. The last one to leave the lobby was Husk, who you knew stayed longer than he usually did just so he could keep an eye on you. You quickly shot him a meaningful glaze, trying to tell him that everything was fine, which he seemed to understand.
"Night," grunted Husk as he started to walk up the stairs.
"Good night, Husk!" you shouted back, grateful that you and Alastor had some more time alone. That is if you actually dared to do anything.
The chance to change the mood was almost too good, too romantic for you to think clearly. There were so many possibilities as to what you could do. You could ask him about his day, but that felt too predictable. You could ask him about his book, but what if the book is boring and you can't make the conversation sexy? Would he even like that? He was flirty in a very subtle and charming way, but would he like it if you took a more direct approach?
Without knowing it, you had spent all your time thinking of all the things you could do with Alastor now that you were alone with him that you completely lost track of time. It wasn't until he closed his book and stood up that you were pulled away from your thoughts back into the present.
"Well, it is getting quite late. Sweet dreams, my dear."
Panicking again like he so often made you do, you blurted out the first thing you could think of to make him stay.
"Do you know the dance foxtrot?" You fucking idiot, of all the things you could have asked, why did you ask that?!
Alastor turned to you while raising a brow, and even if he looked at you with a curious gaze, you could not help but feel like the biggest fool in all of Hell. You used to be smooth when flirting and look at yourself now.
"I do. Why do you ask, my dear?"
There was no backing down anymore, so you took a deep breath, cheeks and ears burning, and confessed;
"I've always wanted to try it! I've seen others dancing it, I even know the moves, but I've never had anyone to dance with."
In the blink of an eye, the music on the radio changed from a soft and slow jazz song to one with a more precise and faster beat. Alastor bent down and left his book on his chair before he walked over to you.
"May I have this dance?" he asked with a mischievous smile.
Not caring anymore about dialling down your excitement, you gave him the biggest smile as you took his hand. Letting him pull you off the sofa. His hand was warm and soft, sending tingles up your arm as he gently stroked his thumb over your knuckles.
As Alastor pulled you towards him, he quickly established that he would lead the dance. With your hand on his shoulder and his between your shoulder blades, he pushed you into the first step of the foxtrot. The rhythm of the music began to take over, and he started to spin you around the empty hotel lobby. You couldn't help but laugh, feeling the wind rushing against your skin as you twirled around and around.
As he spun you, his red eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. You felt like the only person in the world as you looked deep into each other's eyes, lost in the moment. It was a look you didn't see often, but sometimes, when it was only you and him, you could catch a glimpse of a softer look from Alastor. A look that made the butterflies in your stomach make loops in excitement. It was a look that made you feel cherished and admired, and it was a feeling unlike any other.
The dance seemed to last forever, and you didn't want it to end. You felt free and alive, and you knew that this was a moment that you would never forget.
When the song came to an end, a new song began directly after it. This one is slower than its predecessor, one that you couldn't necessarily dance the foxtrot to, for it was a song that called for a type of slow dancing.
Without hesitation, Alastor pulled you closer towards him as his hand moved from between your shoulder blades down your back. Leaving a trail of fire under your skin as his hand pulled you closer to him after it stopped in the middle of your back.
None of you said anything but continued slowly dancing to the music on the radio. His red eyes, heavy-lidded, looked deep into yours as he slowly dipped down and kissed your lips.
Happy 'burn a big ass bonfire so the witches who are flying to the devil's party fly into the bonfire instead' day, everyone! (If you can guess which country I'm from, from that, I'll be really impressed)
Taglist for the part 2: @littledolly2345 @slytherin4ever @wendds @beelz3bub @adamwarlockislife-blog
@ilikemyteawithmilk @cherry-cola-100 @xia21 @rae-pottah @xsoftdead18
@arrozyfrijoles23 @maulsgf
#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel fanfiction#alastor x you#x reader#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin alastor x you#alastor x reader angst#hazbin hotel alastor x reador angst#hazbin hotel angst
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The night cook.
masterlist | requests here
Summary: Insomnia has struck one of the crew and Sanji is willing to find out. Meanwhile, you try to deal with your fear as best you can.
Warnings: I don't know, mention of clowns maybe (yes, exactly what you're thinking).
Word count: 1.4k
Pairing: OPLA!Sanji x F!Reader.
A/N: I have a new obsession and I need to write more and more. I watched the series in one day and now I'm racing against time to catch up with the anime (and soon move on to the manga). It has not been proofread so I apologize for possible errors.
Part 2 here
Sanji was starting to get stressed.
Despite the short time he had been part of the crew, he already knew where he belonged: the kitchen. He could spend hours there and felt comfortable. But something bothered him. Every morning, some fruit always appeared cut, food scraps in the trash, his knives disorganized. He wouldn't look for trouble right away, but he was aware of every move.
Your steps dragged to the kitchen, after another bad night's sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were visible from afar, as was his bad mood.
"Good morning madame! Glad you joined us today for coffee." Sanji caught your attention, placing your plate in front of you.
"Good morning sunshine, your mood seems to brighten the day." Zoro teased you, only earning an eye roll.
You stared at the food in front of you. They looked appetizing, but hunger seemed to be nowhere in your body. You rolled them from one side to the other, without removing any pieces, while heard the others talking in the distance.
"Everything is fine?" The cook's voice caught your attention, a quick glance was enough to realize that the others had already eaten their meals. "Sorry to say ma'am, but you look tired."
"It's okay Ji. I'm just discouraged." You stand up, handing the plate back to him. "They look delicious, but I'm out of food, I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for, my sweet. I heard that if you eat with a full stomach, or in your case without hunger, you can't enjoy the food and the last thing I want is for you to not like one of my dishes ." He leaned on the table, watching you.
"That's impossible. I could eat anything you make, as long as it's you making it."
It had been a while since the two of you exchanged small gestures, small flirtations. Unlike most other women, you weren't bothered by what he said. You felt seen, admired like never before, even though you knew he would say that to a thousand others. Plus, it was fun to see him shy with your answers.
"So... What can I do special for you today. Choose and I'll do it."
"Surprise me!"
You left it in the kitchen and if you looked back, you could see it lost in your image. None of the other beauties would be like that beauty, her beauty. Even though he was still lost, Sanji tried to regain his thoughts, thinking about the perfect lunch.
You got caught up in the tasks on the boat, all to keep the tiredness out of your body. Despite having heard the call for lunch you decided to postpone it, as well as dinner.
When you returned to bathe, you could see that everyone had retired to their rooms. Even with the most comfortable clothes, the coziest sheet and the cool sea breeze coming through the window, it only took a few minutes of sleep for you to wake up sweating, scared.
You were tired of it would be another wasted night. You got up and went towards the kitchen, since sleep didn't decide to appear that night, hunger had already taken its place and a salad would go well at that moment.
You gathered some radishes to cut and a few slices later, you felt the knife against your skin and was scared.
"So you're the cook for the night!" Sanji spoke suddenly.
Before you could curse him for his fright you had to hold back a scream due to the inconvenience of the pain.
"Shit, let me see." in a matter of seconds, he was already in front of you , holding your injured hand.
"It was nothing, you can rest."
"That, young lady, I will decide later." he gently placed a cloth in your hand, pressing it. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep, I decided to prepare something."
"Honey, what's been going on?" He took your hand again, removing the cloth. "Okay, I have the solution to mine and your problem."
He took you by the hand to the bench, placing you in a sitting position, returned to the kitchen, placing a small container to heat and disappeared from sight for a few seconds, returning with a small box in his hands. It brought everything in front of you, allowing you to see what it was really about. A small box with bandage and a small plate with lasagna.
"I saved it from lunch for you, I think you'll like it."
"You know you're my favorite. Shit!" you immediately regretted trying to use your injured hand to eat.
"Now, we'll fix this." The cut was small but uncomfortable and felt a little deep.
You watched him bend down to your height and tend to the small wound like something precious while you ate. The silence between you didn't last long, against your will.
"When are you going to tell me what's been going on? You know, we're friends." Sanji charged, finishing applying the last strip. "Something is wrong with you and I can't figure it out. Besides, you've been destroying my onions in your nightly escapes."
"I'm having some trouble sleeping..." you tried to leave the explanation superficial, but the look in his eyes made it very clear that he wouldn't just buy that.
"You could have told me, you could have made me some tea or something that would help."
"It's not that." You pushed the plate away and straightened up, trying to look away from Sanji. Shame already dominated your body at that time. "It's a stupid thing."
"No mon amour, it's not. I'm here, talk to me."
"There's only one thing in the world that I'm afraid of: clowns. Be they the cute ones or the psychopaths alike..."
"Buggy. Has he been a problem?" Sanji tried to understand, although it didn't make sense since the crew hadn't seen him in days.
"First we were trapped in his circus and it was horrible. Then we had his head on board and I was sure that at any moment he was going to appear. Now, I can't stop having vivid nightmares about it." you confessed, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. "I can't sleep, so I come here at night and I always cook something. I usually watch you cook and it seems like something so relaxing, so good. It hasn't helped me much with my sleep, but at least I've been eating some of the inedible things I make ."
"I bet they're as good as the ones I make and if you don't mind, I'd love to cook with you one of these nights." he winked, eliciting a smile from you. "But for tonight, we need to sleep, finish your plate and I'll be right back with something."
A few minutes and mouthfuls later, Sanji appeared with two mugs, with some hot liquid inside them.
"Herbal tea. It'll help you fall asleep."
"I have my doubts, but…" you took a sip of the sweet drink. "It doesn't hurt to try. Are you sleep deprived too?"
"Not really, I just couldn't leave a lady drinking alone."
"If this works, I promise to buy you the next drink at a bar."
"Wait. This a date?" he asked and if it were possible, you would see hearts instead of his eyes.
"We have the drink." you pointed to the two mugs. "We had dinner." You pointed to the lasagna. "Sounds like a date."
"That miserable clown at least did one good thing"
"Don't ruin the moment, Ji."
The two of you finished your drinks in silence, a few glances exchanged were enough to get comfortable together. Sanji picked up the dishes on the table and you followed him with slower steps.
"Thank you for helping me."
"Who said our date is over?" he turned around, grasping his arm for you to intertwine. "I would never let a lady go alone to her chambers."
"You are a gentleman."
"Only for you amour." He stopped in front of your door. "It's delivered and safe."
You stood on your toes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, really." You opened the door and before you could enter, you turned around. "Can I ask you one more thing?"
"Whatever madam wants."
"You can stay here for a while, just until I sleep."
"Of course sweetheart" He walked you into the room.
You straightened the bed and lay down on one end, watching him just stare at you, waiting for some sign that he could sit down.
"Please be my guest."
He lay down and almost automatically gave way for you to snuggle against his chest. Your laughter was suppressed when you saw him smiling widely at the contact.
"A few drinks, a dinner..."
"And you ended up in my bed." your voice was already sleepy. Maybe because of the tea, but something said it was more because of the company.
"And I ended up in the perfect place." reciprocating your gesture just now, in the little conscience you had left, you felt his lips touch your forehead. "Sleep missus. I promise not to let any harm come."
#one piece#fiction#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#reader insert#opla!sanji x reader#opla#op live action#one piece sanji#op imagines#sanji x you#sanji imagine
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Hii can you maybe write one about max falling in love with you but hes with kelly (maybe smut👀) not trying to be weird i swear😔
FOOLISH
parings: max verstappen + ricciardo!reader | charles leclerc + ricciardo!reader
summary: where max has feelings for you but he's with kelly, and when he finally acts on it, it's already too late.
an: I switched up your request a bit, but I can do another if you'd like. not writing smut at the moment because I've got a creative block for it, hope y'all understand.
type: angst ✶
masterlist
Max couldn't remember when he had fallen in love with you. He just knew it was wrong. After all, he had been with Kelly for years, and it was all kinds of wrong to constantly have someone else on his mind. But God, he couldn't tear his eyes away from you.
He had always been fond of Daniel's younger sister, but he couldn't decide whether to thank or curse the day when Daniel had come to him, grinning from ear to ear, to reveal that you would be the nutritionist for his team during the season. This meant that Max would see you every day, but in a different garage, with a different team, and, most painfully, with other drivers – the very thought made him sick to his stomach.
As the season went on, Max found himself craving every fleeting moment he could spend around you. He had a feeling it was inevitable, that his heart was already too far gone. But he couldn't bring himself to act on his feelings; he had his commitment to Kelly, and he was not the kind of man to betray his girlfriend, no matter how deep his feelings ran.
One evening, Max found himself wandering the paddock aimlessly, lost in thought about the impossible situation he had found himself in. He didn't realize he had ended up in the same lounge area as you until you looked up and gave him a warm smile.
"Max, right?" you said, and the sound of your voice sent shivers down his spine.
Max nodded, trying to hide his internal turmoil behind a smile. "Yeah, that's me. Y/N, isn't it?"
You nodded, and a friendly conversation began. Over time, Max couldn't help but be drawn to you, to the way you listened intently and laughed genuinely. It was so different from the way he felt around Kelly, with whom he had been together for a long time, but things had grown stagnant over the years.
Days turned into weeks, and Max's feelings for you only grew stronger. He couldn't control the way his heart skipped a beat when he saw your name pop up on his phone, or the rush of excitement when he knew he'd be able to chat with you between practices. The guilt gnawed at him, but he couldn't help but cherish those stolen moments.
As the season reached its midpoint, Max found himself confiding in Daniel, sharing his inner turmoil and revealing the truth about his feelings for you. The elder Ricciardo listened, offering support and advice, but ultimately respecting Max's decisions.
"I get it, mate," Daniel said, clapping Max on the back. "It's a messy situation, but you've got to figure out what's best for you."
Max nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of his feelings and the knowledge that he couldn't act on them.
One day, as the season drew closer to the end, Max sat in the quiet of his hotel room, looking at a photo of you on his phone. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered a particularly amusing conversation the two of you had shared earlier in the day. But the smile quickly faded as he thought about the reality of his situation.
He had a loving, committed girlfriend in Kelly, and he couldn't simply throw that away for something that might never be. It wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't fair to himself either. Max knew he had to make a decision, even if it tore him apart.
Max decided to take a walk to clear his head, wandering the quiet streets of the city where the race was taking place. He replayed his conversations with you in his mind and thought about the love he had for Kelly. It was a painful and agonizing decision, but he knew what he had to do.
Later that night, Max sat down with Kelly in their hotel room. The conversation was filled with tears and broken hearts, but he knew he had to be honest with her. He explained his feelings for you and the unbearable guilt he felt for allowing those feelings to grow.
Kelly was devastated, but she understood. She had felt the distance between them and knew that something was amiss. They both agreed that it was best to end their relationship, even though it was painful for both of them.
Max knew that he couldn't immediately pursue a relationship with you, and he wasn't even sure if you felt the same way about him. But he needed to be honest with himself and find his own path, even if it meant enduring a period of heartache.
In the aftermath of his breakup with Kelly, Max decided to give himself some time to heal and find his own path. He knew he couldn't immediately pursue a relationship with you, and he wasn't sure if you felt the same way about him. But he also knew that he couldn't keep his feelings buried forever.
As the days turned into weeks, Max focused on his career, throwing himself into his racing with even more determination. The tracks became his sanctuary, the roar of the engines helping to drown out the ache in his heart.
However, the memory of you still lingered in his thoughts, refusing to fade. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your passion for motorsports, your laughter, and the warmth in your voice—all of it was etched into his memory.
One day, during a race weekend in a picturesque European city, Max decided that he couldn't keep his feelings bottled up any longer. He needed to tell you how he felt. The only question was how and when.
That night, he gathered the courage to call you. Your voice was as welcoming as ever, and as the conversation flowed, Max felt his heart pounding in his chest. He had intended to tell you his feelings, to admit the truth about his emotions, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words.
"Y/N," he began, hesitating as he sought the right words. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About us."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Max could hear the curiosity in your voice. "What about us, Max?"
He took a deep breath and finally said, "I think there's something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."
Just as he was about to confess his feelings, you interrupted. "Max, there's something I need to tell you too."
Max's heart sank, but he couldn't stop now. He had to be honest. "Okay, you first."
There was a heavy sigh on your end, and you spoke slowly. "I'm with Charles now, Max. We've been dating for a while, and things have gotten quite serious between us."
Max's world seemed to crumble around him as he processed your words. It was a bitter twist of fate. He had waited too long to confess his feelings, and now you had moved on with someone else. He tried to hide the pain in his voice as he responded, "I see. I'm happy for you, Y/N. Charles is a great guy."
You thanked him for his understanding, but Max couldn't bring himself to say anything more. The conversation felt like a blur, and he hung up the phone, feeling a sense of loss he hadn't anticipated.
#f1 fic#f1 x reader#f1 fics#formula 1 x reader#f1 x y/n#max verstappen smau#max verstappen x oc#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#max verstappen au#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen fic#max verstappen#max verstappen x y/n#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x oc#f1 x you#f1 headcanons#f1 fluff#f1 one shot#fic request#🏎️. — f1 works ⋆∴
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begging for more monster 141🙏🙏🙏
hear me out- reader is a host to venom but has it hidden and they find out maybe…?
(i got hyper fixated on blue’s au and SCOURING the internet💀)
What if… Hunter was Venom?
Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x venom reader
Cw: blood and gore, canon typical violence, head eating, gaslighting by Hunter, injury, fighting, tell me if I missed any.
Wc: 3.4k
Only Human masterlist
Sometimes, they’d find you mumbling to yourself, voice so low that, unless they were a hybrid or had impeccable hearing, they wouldn’t be able to hear it. It was a ne’er silent whisper of harsh words or soft coos towards a being they couldn’t see. Were you talking to someone on your headset? Were you wearing EarPods to talk to someone? Or had you lost some screws in your mind after working with them for so long? None of them truly knew, but they wouldn’t bother you with it when you never bothered them with pesky questions that sounded insulting to them. After all, why would they bother their adorably useful and resourceful medic? You were the beating heart of the Task Force, you made it whole and functioning. Yet, they couldn’t stop the curiosity that festered in their mind, the need to know what made you talk to yourself, mumbling and cursing when you were alone.
Nothing seemed out of order, you were still strong-headed and scolding them like you did the day before, mumbling about Soap’s recklessness and Gaz’s impending fate of falling out of airborne vehicles. About Price’s habit of working too hard, pushing his already pained body to work. Pulling Ghost by the - bloody and soiled - sleeve to your infirmary with a deep frown and eyes glinting with the promise of retribution for the hybrid that hid whatever ailed him from you; you were the medic for Pete’s sake! It was your duty to watch over them. Hounding Alejandro for his medical check after a deployment because, as handsome and dependable as he was, he liked hiding his wounds. Running after Rudy for his checkups while he was limping or trying to avoid you. Calling after Horanji for his share of the affection, needle, scalpel, bandage and all, he needed and deserved all the others received. Or sitting beside König, reminiscing about your early days, where taking care of your patients was as easy as taking care of König was, grateful and pliant, showering you with love and adoration before, during and after the procedures.
You had your plate full with them, so it’d be unheard of if you had time to care for others. You might’ve been a medic on base, but your priorities and loyalties lay with them, with Task Force 141 and its allies. However being a - their - medic, didn’t mean you were free from any pain, fear or quirkiness as they were. You were as weird and as awful as every single one of them was, wearing it pridefully on your chest when you stood with them; even if you were wholly human - or you were supposed to.
Ghost caught fleeting moments where a dark mass would move around you, a glistening blob of marble-like texture with silver rivers running across it. It was near impossible to see it when it would disappear once it felt - even the slightest indication - the presence of another living being, like an illusion of trick of the light. That’s what you told them, it was simply a trick of the light or something because you didn’t know anything about an ugly blob. It was told slowly and persuasively with a wince once the words “ugly blob” left your mouth, a pained grimace as if something was grating your ears or claws were digging into your mind. When he brought it up with Gaz - who had impeccable eye-sight, the harpy would agree, spewing words about it having a menacing face with wide, pointed eyes and a mouth full of teeth. Big and sharp teeth that seemed alien-like. It couldn’t have been the trick of the light, especially since both of them saw the same thing. They asked you once more, together this time, but you’d reassured them that they were both tired when they’d seen this blob. You were tired and sometimes saw moving forms from the corner of your eyes too, so it might’ve been hysteria - collective hysteria.
Soap, if he tried hard enough, would sometimes hear a deep voice echo around you. It wasn’t something disturbingly deep, or annoyingly alien, it was pleasingly deep with a smooth undertone to its growls. It would send chills up his spine when he heard it, but he would always catch your voice talking back to it. He’d hear hisses and curses, some more unusual and others more normal: “I can’t eat my teammates!”, “I told you no!”, “Stop eating heads! People will catch on!” or “Can you shut up?” and “I can’t concentrate with you screaming my head off!” Soap, knowing how good Alejandro’s hearing was, asked if the Mexican had heard you speak with an unknown voice, specifically a male voice. A few muffled conversations between you and an unknown man and sometimes one-sided, but, simply put, Alejandro had witnessed the same occasions as the Scot had. It wasn’t unusual to talk to yourself, would it? Soap liked to boost his own morale with confident words and flattering compliments to himself. Alejandro wasn’t a stranger to mumbling to himself either, cursing his choice in life and how he ended up with his - lovable - problem-causing band of vagabonds.
If you weren’t careful or unintentionally careless, there would be a distinct odour clinging to your skin. It would be strong and pungent, the smell fresh and metallic-like. König knew it well, he craved as much as he wanted to bathe in it, the sweet smell of blood. How could he not recognize the faintest whiff of blood when it often drove him mad with bloodlust and the uncontrollable need to fall into a daze of primal hunger? It stuck to you like a second layer of skin, thin and always present. It sewed into the fundamentals of your scent, the tinge of iron mixed into the sweet, syrupy musk. It drove him mad with need, thirsting for the thing that made you smell so delicious. It clung to you as if you bathed in blood, drinking and devouring it, yet your skin was clean, with no speck of red under your nails, on your skin or between your teeth. In a worry, he went to Price, The Captain had the most knowledge about you and König could trust him to take good care of him, being a dragon. He expected the Brit to know something, even the slightest change, but Price hadn’t caught anything odd about you. Perhaps it clung to you because of your closeness to him, Percht hybrids - although rare - were ferociously unpredictable and ravenously bloodthirsty.
Rudy was the more human of them, so he caught on to the changes in behaviours and habits of others easily. You’d act odd at times, shoulders slightly tense and back slumped inward, body tired but unable to relax. He wanted to help, he proposed, but you’d turned him down, telling him you were fine, that you were just restless from being off duty for so long or for being worked to the bone. He would also catch you subtly avoiding them without ringing any bells, seeming occupied with other things while whispering under your breath; your slower reactions to their banter and the darker bags under your eyes, wearing that dazed and blank look in them while you sat with them; or the strong growl of your stomach and the slight rubbing of your stomach, soothing an ache that rooted so deeply in your abdomen. He worried, often, if he was honest. Even Horangi, a man oblivious to most cues and behaviours in humans, saw the subtle change in your behaviour when you acted odd. He pointed out the rings under your eyes, your fatigued and distracted mind, and your lip-gnawing hunger. For a hybrid that had so much difficulty grasping and understanding humans, he caught on to your change abnormally quickly, even with the excessive chocolate consumption.
They were all suspicious and you, their sweet and convincing medic, had them doubting what they saw, your gaslighting working on them as easily as a child bribed with candy. It didn’t make you feel less guilty or disappointed in yourself, but you weren’t sure how they’d react to him, not being human or a monster. He was a creature out of the pages of a sci-fi novel, a creation of the human mind and imagination. Venom was an alien, something from outer space. You were convincing until you couldn’t anymore.
Let me take over, the soothing voice uttered to you, calling out your name in a concerned tone. Let me protect you.
You were compromised, the enemy had tapped into your line, listening in on your conversations and movements. That’s how they were able to separate most of you, to turn the squad of nine operators down to four smaller teams, all on the run and trying to stick to the shadows without calling to the others through the comms. You were crouched over Gaz, whispering sweet nothings to the hissing man. You soothed his ache, hand and mind strained on the bleeding wound on his forearm, his beautiful, bronze skin stained with crimson in the hot and humid air of Columbia.
Blood rolled down his tense arm, over his round muscle and sweaty skin, it was a clean graze, the blunt head of the bullet grazing his arm deep enough for it to bleed but shallow enough for it not to leave him incapacitated with blood loss. It was a ray of light in your dreadful situation. You had his wound cleaned and wrapped up, congratulating him for pushing through and helping him up. You cursed the enemy, wondering how the low-stake in-and-out ops suddenly turned out to be an extremely high-stake one with minimal possibility of reaching the evacuation point.
“C’mon Gaz, we need to move,” you whispered to him, holding your rifle closely to your chest while you walked around the shadows of Guaitarilla’s back alley and dark corners. “We need to regroup at the evacuation point.”
“Yeah, good plan,” he nodded, following your lead even though he was higher-ranked than you, but in such situations, survival was the priority.
You stuck to alleys, using the shadows to hide from the patrolling cartel that had the town surrounded, it nearly baffled you with the speed of their defences and counter-attack if you hadn’t heard of Las Almas’ attack from El Sin Nombre and The Shadows from you teammates. Although you couldn’t admire them, you could respect their skills and ability, you only wished it was for you rather than against you.
While you watched ahead, Gaz had your back, peering around the corner before giving him the green to move. It was a rotation between who went first and who looked back, but you made it work with only you both. You were so careful, yet it somehow wasn’t enough, someone had noticed you and it sent you and Gaz rushing for cover, to escape the group of dispatched cartel members. It was stupid, running without looking where you were heading towards. It was stupid to let the enemy tap into your comms. It was stupid, the situation you got yourself into.
You were backed into a corner, Gaz standing before you like a protective shield between you and the enemy, his rifle pointed toward the quickly advancing group. You wanted to protest about him using his wings to cover you, his wide, brown feathers expanded to hide you from those men. He was already hurt from pulling you away from harm, but he was now standing protectively before you. You couldn’t let him get hurt because of you, not anymore.
Little One, his voice rang once more in your head, the reassuring pressure of his presence in your body calming you down by an inch. Let me take over.
If you let him take control of your body, it would ensure your and Gaz’s safety, then you could reach the others that you’d lost in the chaos of the battle. While you wore the combat medic’s patch proudly, your prior training before taking up your 16 weeks of medical training wasn't lost to you. You remembered how to aim and shoot, how to snipe an enemy from afar and protect your teammates from whatever danger you faced. None were lost to you, and you’d use every bit of training you had to protect them, whether it was as yourself or with Venom’s help. Venom’s help was undoubtedly useful, and right now, you needed him.
“Please, Venom,” you spoke aloud, your soft voice carrying through the blocked alley.
“Who-” Gaz asked, confusion laced his tone, the question left unspoken as Venom’s deep, rattling voice boomed across the tight space.
“We are Venom, flesh bag,” he growled, body crouching down, not dissimilar to a feline laying prone while it waited for the right moment to attack, and pounced at the men.
Don’t call Gaz flesh bag, Venom, you whined, your voice echoing in your shared subspace of your mind.
“If that is what you wish.”
His heavy mass landed on a man, pushing him to the ground with a loud crack. You imagined that Venom either broke his back or a few of the Colombian’s ribs, it was sickeningly delightful, the sadistic pleasure from Venom sent you reading with mirth. His hands stretched to abnormal lengths to swing at the enemies with practised ease and familiarity. Whether they’d die from blunt force trauma from Venom’s strength or live with a concussion, none mattered to him, hunger raked his being, the throb aching in the back of his mind. It was a moment where he was let loose, where you wouldn’t need to gorge on an extreme amount of chocolate to keep him fed. This would keep him satisfied for a few weeks.
Venom pulled the first two in, his jaw widening to clamp down on their neck. Gaz saw the dangerous gleam of Venom’s teeth, rows of pristine and immaculate teeth the size of a finger bled the man’s head red in a single bite. He shivered at the decapitated body that fell from your monster’s hand as he went for the second and third Colombian. He made a show of viciousness and raw, unadulterated bloodthirst with his eating. Fortunately, apart from the bloody mess and dead bodies, Venom was a relatively neat eater, licking his teeth clean from the red stains with a long, slimy tongue. Gaz couldn’t shake how your monster made him apprehensive, his body flinching and trembling at the greater being.
“Let’s go, The Little One wants to rescue the others,” Venom’s grating voice shook Gaz out of his stupor.
“Hu-Hunter’s there?”
Venom nodded, his mass retreating into your body, the mass melting into you like a second skin. It was as if Venom was never there, as if it was all his delusional imagination. Gaz rushed to you, his hands grabbing hold of you as he shook you in his grasp, he cursed in worry, concern lacing every word he spewed in a tornado of fear, curiosity and confusion. His soft feathered wings cradled you, casting a protective shadow over you as you hid in the darkness of the alley.
“Gaz, we have to go,” you murmured to him, your voice soft and reassuring, trying to help him walk off the edge you were pushed to. You both were safe for now, the cartel that had followed you all laid dead without their heads in a thick puddle of their viscera. “We have to find the others.”
He let out a shaky sign, his head nodding in affirmation at your comforting words. He loved that about you, that ability to heal and mend their ache and anguish with a smile and sweet words. Then, pairing your softness with your stubborn viciousness made you a gem within the military, a one-in-a-million for them. Yet, all that clouded his mind were questions, about your safety, about that monster that melted into you, about what kind or what it was. Gaz had so many questions that he’d push back for the greater good of rescuing the rest of the Task Force, he’d hound you for answers later when everyone was back together.
When Venom resurfaced, retaking control of your shared body, he’d reassured you that he knew where they were, his body being hyper-aware of the things that made you smile and laugh. You were his host and his joy. It was an easier job than the two of you - you and Gaz - had expected, Venom’s claws digging into the buildings as he scaled the walls to reach the roof. From then, he pulled nothing back, rushing forward with the same enthusiasm as König had when he led first, and leaped, the muscles of his legs pushing him high across the buildings with Gaz flying beside him.
Venom had made quick work of the situation, his body invulnerable to anything but loud sounds and fire, which none had since it was a rainy night. You found Horangi and Alejandro first, Venom doing what he knew best: protecting you, in relation, what you loved too, and feeding on human heads, the chemicals in the human brains nurturing him. Alejandro and Horangi were naturally confused and distrustful of Venom, but you had Gaz to smooth things over, and knowing that Venom’s way of speaking was curt and up-to-point - annoyingly blunt - it made your body soar with relief. They, albeit confused and curious, followed you from the ground as Venom cleared a path to the next ones.
Price, Rudy and Soap were the biggest team from your unexpected separation. They jumped at Venom’s appearance, Soap throwing threats at him when he took a step towards them. That was expected, Venom - even being the symbiote you were hosting - was a stranger to them and Soap reacted according to his instincts. That blaring, red light that signalled his brain to send his body on complete guard about the danger, Venom couldn’t escape a werewolf’s keen situational awareness. You’d taken the initiative to calm them down, seeing as everyone was already down, the enemy loaded with bullets and dying in a pool of their blood. You kept the explanation short and simple, giving them the important points before promising to tell Price everything he wanted to know after you found Ghost and König.
Those two were harder to find, forcing Venom to extend himself to sense the slightest presence of either man. It couldn't be easier that Ghost was a wraith, being able to disappear and appear at will and that König knew very well how to hide, perhaps as well as Ghost could. When Venom found them, Ghost shot first, “shoot first, questions later” seemed to lead his decisions with König not far behind him. He brought his arms forward to protect himself and you, hidden within his mass. Venom growled but didn’t attack them, hissing the words you spoke to him to them. It was a simple quote that you’d shared with them in situations where they needed to find you between the hostages or under disguise.
Like calls to like.
It was simple, but telling. They stopped the moment Venom uttered them, knowing well you were inside Venom, Gaz landing before him and the others steadily arriving behind the two. Task Force 141 was finally complete, from the most humane to the most chaotic hybrid, some were hurt, grazed, protrusions, and stabbed, but all were alive. You were glad, you were really, really happy that everyone was safe and alive.
Seated in the Razor, the silence and tension were thick within the cargo hold, Horangi and Gaz framing your sides with Price taking the seat across from you. You could see the stress and tension rolling off his shoulder after treating everyone, his brows furrowed and a frown curled his lips under his beard. Beside him was Alejandro and Ghost, both - like everyone else - wearing a confused and disgruntled expression on their face, their eyes gleaming with questions left unsaid. You’d left them wondering if their minds were playing tricks on them, if they were seeing things, if they were imagining things and if they were losing their minds. You understood the anger, but you had your reasons to hide Venom’s existence.
Price crossed his arms, legs spread wide as he leaned back, his head tipped back with an inquisitively serious look. He raised a brow at you, waiting to see if you could prove your case or if you had anything to add before he started. With nothing to say, you bit your bottom lip, your shoulders screwed with anxiety and fear. You didn’t know what to expect now that your well-kept secret was out.
“We have a lot to talk about, Hunter.”
“I know, Captain.”
Better sooner than later, leaving it to fester and grow would be bad for the TF’s morale and relations.
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness
#x reader#cod mw2#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#cod mw2 x reader#simon riley x reader#monster 141 au#monster fucker#mw2 ghost x reader#mw2 gaz#gaz x reader#gaz mw2#soap call of duty#soap mactavish#soap mw2#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#soap x reader#price mw2#captain john price#john price#captain price#john price x reader#captain price x reader#price x reader#konig x reader#cod konig#konig mw2#könig mw2
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Coziness, love, and other things | Matt Sturniolo
Matt Sturniolo x reader
Summary: Where Y/N's cozy cottage becomes a refuge for Matt, but it's not just the house that encloses him, but who's inside; OR, where Matt and Y/N are in love, but afraid to confess. Until one day.
Warning: None.
Requested?: Yes, by @mattscurlygirly
Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.
༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
Los Angeles was buzzing with life when the triplets moved there, looking for new opportunities for their YouTube career.
It was a sunny day, the day after they settled permanently in their own home, when Matt found himself wandering around the local market, on a somewhat clumsy mission to buy fruit and vegetables for a Wednesday video that Nick had come up with. He wasn't exactly an expert in grocery shopping, and the confusion of colors and smells left him a little lost.
It was then that he saw her - Y/N, standing in the middle of the fruit stands, examining a pile of apples with a serene smile on her lips. She radiated a calmness and natural beauty that instantly caught Matt's attention.
With an inexplicable impulse, Matt approached her, determined to overcome his usual shyness.
"Hi, excuse me." He began, nervous but determined. "You seem to know what you're doing here. Can you help me pick some fruit?"
Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his in an instant. Her smile widened when she noticed his hesitation.
"Of course!" The girl responded, kindly. "What do you want to get?"
What started as a simple exchange of words quickly turned into a lively conversation. Matt discovered that Y/N was a plant lover and an avid supporter of local agriculture. Her passion was contagious, and he found himself sharing more stories about his own life than he expected.
When it was time to leave, Matt found himself reluctant to leave her.
"Hey, do you want to go out sometime?" He asked suddenly, his courage increasing with each word.
"I'd love to. Why don't you come over to my house on Saturday? We can do something together." Y/N smiled, her eyes shining.
Matt agreed immediately, feeling a bubbling excitement in his chest. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he knew there was something special about Y/N from the moment he saw her.
A week later, Matt was standing in the doorway of Y/N's house, his heart beating a little faster than normal while waiting for her. When she opened the door, her warm smile enveloped him almost instantly, dispelling all his worries.
As soon as the boy entered her home, he was immediately captivated by the warm and cozy atmosphere. It was as if he had found a refuge amidst the chaos of the city and even the crazy acceleration of his home.
Over the next few weeks, Matt found himself returning to Y/N's house more and more frequently. He couldn't resist the feeling of peace he found there, nor her company.
Gradually, his feelings for her intensified, but he was hesitant to confess. He was afraid of ruining the friendship they had built - and one of the only true ones he had created in the crazy city of LA and among so many celebrities -, and even more afraid of being rejected.
Little did he know, she felt the same way.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
The gentle afternoon breeze danced across the fields around Y/N's small home, whispering secrets among the leaves of the trees and caressing the petals of the flowers in her garden. The golden sun cast its rays through the windows, painting the interior with tones of warmth and coziness.
Inside the house, Y/N was busy watering her plants in her kitchen, an activity she considered as essential as breathing. Her refuge was a veritable green paradise, with foliage that hung gracefully from shelves and vines that snaked up the walls.
The sound of soft knocks on the door in a rhythm already very familiar to her took her out of her reverie, and a smile immediately formed on her lips.
"Come in, Matt!" She called, letting out a nasal laugh at his sudden appearance in her home as she continued to water her plants.
Matt opened the door with a wide smile, his blue eyes shining beautifully in the sunlight.
“Hey, Y/N.” He greeted, entering and closing the door behind him. "How are you? I couldn't send you a text yesterday. We finished recording during the night."
"Better now that you're here." Y/N responded with a playful smile, turning her watering can over and throwing some water towards him.
"Hey, I came in peace!" Matt feigned horror, quickly dodging away, watching the droplets fall on the floor.
"You always say that." Y/N teased, laughing as she put the watering can back in place. "Come on, I made pie. Your favorite."
Sitting down at the kitchen table, they began to talk while eating, as they always did when they were together. It was that easy with Matt. The words flowed effortlessly, and the silence was never uncomfortable.
"Oh, I brought you something." Matt said, taking out a small package from his backpack and placing it on the free space above the table.
"What is it?" Y/N raised an eyebrow while finishing chewing the sweet in her mouth, curious.
"Surprise." Matt replied in a whisper, his smile widening.
The girl opened the package carefully, revealing a pair of small, colorful flower seedlings. Her eyes instantly lit up, rising to his face as a smile gradually grew on her cheeks.
"Matt, they're beautiful!" She exclaimed, holding one of the seedlings gently. "Thank you."
"I knew you would like it." He pressed his lips into a thin line in an attempt not to smile like crazy, watching her tenderly, his eyes traveling from her eyes bright with joy to her wide and excited smile.
With Y/N's help, they prepared pots for the new plants, sharing laughter and lively conversations as they worked together. It was crazy how Matt found an immense interest within himself in plants. It wasn't news that he loved nature with all his being, but Y/N awakened something different in him.
As they worked, their fingers occasionally touched, sending subtle shivers down their spines. It was nothing new for them - there was always electricity in the air when they were together, a gentle tension that they both recognized but chose to ignore.
As the sun began to set, they finally finished planting the flowers, admiring their work with satisfied smiles.
"They're perfect." Y/N murmured, looking at the flowers fondly and clasping her hands together in front of her body in admiration.
"Just like you." Matt said softly, his eyes meeting hers.
A familiar warmth spread through Y/N's chest, and she looked away, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. Matt always had a way of making her feel special, even with the simplest compliments.
"You're so silly, you know that?" She said, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.
"But it's true." Matt insisted, his smile never wavering.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
It was Friday night, the perfect time to escape the routine and get lost in the city's bright streets. Matt parked his car in front of Y/N's house, feeling excitement pulsing through his veins. With a hint of anticipation, he pressed the horn twice in succession, a sharp sound cutting through the stillness of the air.
A few heartbeats later, the door opened and Y/N appeared, observing the car for a few seconds before bending down slightly, looking at Matt in the driver's seat with a mixed expression of surprise and confusion.
"Matt? What are you doing here?" She asked with a frown, her voice thick with perplexity. "Oh my, we had no plans for tonight, right?"
"No, we didn't. But today's video was too stressful to record, and while I left Nick and Chris at home, I thought it would be a good option to drive around for a bit, I needed to clear my head. But it's no fun alone." Matt shrugged, smiling small and raising his right eyebrow, his expression brimming with expectation.
Y/N arched her own, but the mischievous glint in her eyes indicated that she was interested. She shook her head, a smile playing on her lips.
"Why not? I'll get my jacket."
Matt watched as Y/N ran back inside. He knew there was nothing special about just driving around, but the simple idea of spending more time with her was enough to make him happy.
When Y/N returned, he stretched his upper body across the car's console and the passenger seat, pulling the inside handle and pushing the door open, adjusting his posture again and watching her get in and sit down next to himself.
Matt quickly turned on the car after making sure she was comfortable, leaving the familiar streets of Los Angeles behind.
As they drove through the city, they talked and laughed like they always did, the radio playing Y/N's favorite playlist in the background at a low volume, letting the night guide them wherever they wanted to go.
Matt felt at peace next to her, her closeness filling him with a comforting feeling, his mind finally emptying itself of problems and all stress, and focusing completely on the girl he loved.
Suddenly, Y/N's favorite song started playing, filling the car with an infectious beat. Her eyes lit up, a scream of excitement escaping her lips followed by an excited laugh. Her right hand worked on opening the window on her side, allowing the wind to play with her hair.
Matt couldn't take his eyes off her.
As the girl sang at the top of her lungs, her eyes closed tightly, and a beaming smile opened on her cheeks, Matt felt like he was witnessing pure euphoria personified.
He was in a trance, his mouth slightly open, and his pupils almost completely dilated, his heart pounding in his chest.
She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
Matt tried to keep his attention between her and the road, making sure they were safe while Y/N gave herself over to the music and the night, the strong wind circulating through the inside of the car and moving the boy's fluffy hair.
His heart filled with warmth at seeing her so happy, and he knew without a shadow a doubt that he was right where he belonged.
༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺
A cool autumn breeze danced through the tree leaves, bringing with it the comforting scent of dry leaves and spices. In Y/N's room, autumn-scented candles cast a soft, welcoming light, serving as the only source of living light, while the warmth of coziness filled the walls.
Y/N and Matt were cuddled up in the double bed under thick blankets, their bodies pressing gently against each other as they watched a horror movie on the television.
A bowl full of freshly baked and fragrant chocolate cookies rested on the girl's lap above the duvet, consequently warming her legs, both of their hands fishing for the treats from time to time.
The atmosphere was filled with the tranquility of an autumn night, Matt's favorite, but the boy struggled mightily to concentrate on the movie as his heart beat wildly in his chest.
The feeling of Y/N's warm skin rubbing against his made his own goosebumps, the natural smell of her hair filled his nostrils, leaving him in a state of almost drunkenness.
As the movie progressed, a scary scene appeared on the screen, causing Y/N to jump in fright and snuggle even more against Matt's chest.
The boy felt a shiver run down his spine almost automatically, and his heart beat even harder in his chest, so that he could hear it in his ears, the sound of the voices coming from the television becoming muffled to him.
When Y/N looked up with an amused smile on her face, ready to make a joke about the scare, she found Matt's eyes already fixed on her in a different way, a good one. There was something there - a quiet intensity that made her own heart race.
Her smile slowly faded, her throat swallowing hard at Matt's intensity.
Their gazes remained fixed for long minutes, or seconds, and before Y/N could find the courage to say anything, Matt raised a trembling hand, taking it to the apple of her cheek, caressing the flushed and warm skin lightly, his expression full of tenderness and emotion.
"Y/N." He whispered, his voice soft to the ears. "I need to tell you something."
Y/N's heart lurched in her chest, her cheeks burning slightly under Matt's touch, feeling anxiety and anticipation rise through her body like a shiver.
"What is it?" She asked just as quietly, barely able to contain the emotion in her voice, the movie already long forgotten.
Matt swallowed hard, summoning all the courage he had within him.
“I love you, Y/N.” The boy confessed, knowing that if he thought twice, he wouldn't say it. His eyes never leaving hers. "I love you more than I ever thought possible to love anyone. I would do anything for you, anything to have you."
Matt's words echoed in the room, filled with sincerity and vulnerability. Y/N felt tears threatening to overflow her eyes, a wave of heat flooding her chest.
She wanted to say something, express the whirlwind of emotions she was feeling, but words escaped her, and she knew that in that moment she had gained what her heart longed for most, having him for herself.
Then, in a moment of pure connection, Y/N leaned up, resting her hand on Matt's chest, and finally captured Matt's lips with hers, initiating a sweet, passionate kiss.
Their lips moved in perfect harmony, conveying all the love and affection they felt for each other. Y/N's free hand traveled to the side of Matt's head, playing with his curly hair lightly, as Matt brought his hands to her hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin between his fingers.
When they pulled away seconds later, Y/N blinked long and hard, her eyes shining with tears of happiness, a radiant smile lighting up her face.
"Matt, you are every flower I have ever admired." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking. "That means I love you too. With all my heart."
And there, on that autumn night, under the glow of the candles and the warmth of the blankets, Matt and Y/N could finally allow themselves to feel and love, without fear of rejection, because they already belonged to each other.
༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ ༻✦༺
My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋
And remember to treat people with kindness always!
~ taglist:
@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chriss @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @jamiesturniolo @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @sturnolio-luvs @bitchydragonparadise @lvrsturn @freshsturns @h3arts4harry @iammattswife
(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)
#matt sturniolo#chris sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo triplets#x reader#sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#fic#imagine#oneshot#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo fluff#matthew bernard sturniolo#matthew sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt x reader#matt au#matt fanfic#matty#matt#matt sturniolo x reader flufff#fluff#cute#cottagecore#cottage
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Hello! This is the Frankenstein anon back with more praise and another prompt that you might like. Again you are amazing and everyone you come out with stuff, I weep for joy! Please continue what you are doing because it is absolute art✨
Okay onto the prompt. So lately tiktok has been putting onto this telenova drama called Hilda Furcão which is pretty much this priest and prostitute fall in love but due to societal pressures, cannot be together. The YEARNING in this show is amazing and I can’t help but think of Priest Konig in this situation. Imagine he falls in love with reader who works at a brothel but because he’s a churchly man, he’s fighting demons in his head (and down yonder) cuz he YEARNS for her but the lord says no🥴
Please keep doing what you’re doing and I’m constantly cheering you on with your work! ❤️
In the Arms of Flowers
content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. pining, lots of talk of religion/silly metaphors, fluff, ridiculous attempts at courtship from both, dark (if you squint), implied cyber stalking, violence/murder, minor character death, some angst, sexual violence (not done by König), König becomes horribly obsessed and reader is fine with it, virgin!König-> oral (both receiving) piv smut.
wc: 11k.
There’s a garden in the churchyard, one that’s always been, even before his vows were taken and the cassock was pulled around his shoulders.
It’s the very place that the arching den window in the clergy house faces out towards, and the very place that an angel descends from Heaven to stalk through night after night.
Even when the thunder clamors and rolls to light up the sky above, the pretty thing is there, kneeling amongst the blooming lilies. A listless sort of purity swallows over her, bathes her in the white of petals and the bright illumination of each bolt of lightning above, arcs a halo over her head like a proper mirage.
The whole town knows these doors remain open, but never does she even look toward the church or the home of holy men at all: only the flowers. The lilies and carnations seemed to be her favorite to haunt, weaving through the petals as they sway for her in breezes like whispers from the pouting lips of cherubim.
He’s prayed for this lost soul many times already; clutched the rosary between his fingers and whispered to the Lord to protect her, to heal whatever aches, to bring her wandering feet into the chapel one of these days. But as most lilies, this one’s beauty is gone away by mid-morning.
Tonight, he wills himself to bring her in for prayer and refuge from the coming rain. Its been a long time coming, and regrettably he’s hesitated at every other opportunity. Nothing’s changed, the scene was so commonplace even the others have commented on it prior.
Maybe he hallucinates her holiness; the halo has become made up of fallen petals now as they arch over the crown of her head where she’s found sprawled out amongst them. She raises herself to sit upright, dusts the dirt from her knees and offers a wary glance with each step he takes until his soles halt in soil that would soon be mire.
“I’m sorry. I’ll leave,” the angel breathes out with her eyes darting from his collar down to rest at the expanse of short blades of grass between them. “I don’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
She doesn’t meet the concern in his eyes, and König is no stranger to sin. To the shame and grief that he’s absolved from far worse than her in the stuffy wooden confessional.
“You’re welcome to stay.” A silent prayer rests there in his breath — please stay, though even he wasn’t certain as to why there’s a demand stirring in the pit of his stomach for this woman clad in a dirtied white dress.
She smiles then, gazes right up at him in such a way that immediately sparks something misplaced, something tucked away beneath studying scripture and kneeling before the wooden altar. A sin of the flesh, a heated poker jabbing at both his heart and his loins.
“No, I’m okay,” she assures with a slight dip of her head, already taking steps back to dart away, back to whichever gilded little nest of baubles and starlight she took flight from. “I was just heading home.”
And that’s it. He doesn’t plead for her to come inside, the offer has been laid out already. It’s not his job to force a belief that one doesn’t want, only lend a kindness and a cushioned pew, advice for the lost and a choir for bleating lambs.
He bids her goodbye and walks back to the clergy house, ignoring the strange looks of his peers as they all prepare to bed down after a nightly prayer. It’s rare to smile here, when sacred words are passed from the wrinkled, cracked lips of his seniors. But König does smile, the grin is as bright as the seconds of white lighting up the sky in intervals as he silently thanks God for such a sweet vision amidst such darkness.
The fixation does not falter for the following three nights. She doesn’t return to the churchyard to whisper secrets to the blooms, but the angel weighs on his mind so heavily that König finds himself convinced that she must have been his calling, a soul that he would assuredly save.
His sermons now lack their passion. The parishioners come to him with weighty hearts and misery in their eyes, but bless him all the same, even when he’s distant. Away with the fairies, some would say. He can’t help but wonder when one such service rolls to a closing prayer if whoever conjured such words had also been in the presence of a seraph.
“Do you need prayer?,” one of his fellow priests asks as the flock trickles out, worry clear in the wrinkles laden beneath this eyes and the way his lips draw down before pressing thin. “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”
And König regrets the words he speaks next, when he describes the woman from the flowers in detail greater than necessary: how her eyes seemed so soft, her smile fragile, and her body language more docile than that of even a lamb. He mentions the dirty dress, the way she seemed to be trying to escape something yet refused the shelter he offered.
The other priest nods and sighs, his eyes squeezing shut in thought, and though König has not feared a scolding since he abandoned home nearly two decades prior, the way the ordinarily calm priest seems so frustrated by this sends a swell of fluttering anxiety beneath his ribcage.
“The woman you describe is a temptress,” his elder explains coldly. His sharp, dark eyes rest on König’s face as though the disparity in their height does not exist at all. “Best to let her be, she does not want our help. Leave it alone.”
“Ja. Verstanden.”
The warning is enough to dull the buzzing in his chest, the mush that’s been made up of his head until he sees her again.
The bakery in town regularly makes donations of pastries and thick loaves of bread for church goingson. It isn’t regular that he’s been asked to pick them up; the eldest of the priests usually does so, some blood relation to the owners that König has never cared enough to ask about. The old man never did well in the summer months, though, far too frail now to bear the heat snaking over his pale skin and leaving burns.
With the mistake of rambling onward about this perturbing fascination still grating at his mind, he doesn’t hesitate to volunteer, to take the old truck and step away from the stained glass and crucifixes for a brief outing. A moment of respite.
There’s a complimentary mug of coffee presented across the expanse of the counter when the cashier greets him with a smile so broad it seems faked.
König’s fingers twitch when he grasps at the handle; the uncertainty was something he had sworn he would outgrow one day with God’s healing, but it never seemed to stray far from him. It rests over the back of his neck like a feeding vampire when he takes his first sip, one that burns his tongue and stings at his eyes when he notices the woman seated at a table in the corner.
It’s her: temptation and fate packaged up in a loose fitting sweater that covers the pulse in her neck and a short skirt.
She holds her phone, not the mug stationed before her, staring down at the thing with the most somber expression he’s ever seen on a lady before. She taps her thumbs at the screen, talking to someone, but there’s a loneliness in her expression apparent like the rust on the old truck parked outside.
Poor little thing.
She glances up when his staring is detected, confusion stripped bare upon her with a pinched brow and a slack jaw. Then, follows realization and she offers the same smile she did that night, some seventy or so hours prior.
“Morning, Father.”
There’s not a fractal within König that wants to make the sweet spirit uncomfortable, but each step he takes towards her table seems to make her shoulders tense. She knows that he knows, sees that sympathetic look in his eye and hates it.
Maybe even hates him for the divinity he wears in the sable cloth pulled over his shoulders.
That doesn’t stop his approach.
König sits across from her with shaking hands and a forced smile like the one the cashier wears, drops his mug onto the table and offers her his hand. Fingers bending to graze the palm as though beckoning a frightened animal when it’s he who feels most afraid.
The angel merely eyes him cautiously for a moment before she takes the cup into both of her hands and gives him a fragile huff, dismissing his attempt to pray for her soul. Again. Yet, the sting he feels is not from a lack of a starved savior complex being satisfied, only… that he has yet to touch her somehow. That sudden thought stifles him in full.
But angels are nothing if not merciful and loving; she picks up on his dejection and speaks again in his place.
“How are the carnations?”
“Hm?”
“The flowers in the garden… the red ones,” she elaborates with a soft laugh, hides it behind the rim of her cup when it’s raised for her to take a sip. Her mouth looks soft, compelling, and he’s staring again. “I like them the most.”
He knows he should stop this, that what’s become of an innocent meeting has left him feeling anything but. There’s a howling chasm in place of the heart of a worthy devotee. She’s nothing like the women who frequent the church — the only other women he sees. Brighter at best and alluring at the worst.
“I thought the lilies were your favorite…” It’s unsuited for a priest and a man so tall and broad to sound so breakable, but his voice only comes in an hurried breath, embarrassed and small.
She shakes her head, tousles her hair in the process. “I like all of them. The ones at your church grow prettiest.”
“I see…”
The woman gives him an expectant look, as if prompting him to speak more, before her phone chimes and the air seems to shift from tentative yet sweet to something vast and cold. She doesn’t seem eager to be interrupted in such a way, either; her expression falls from that subtle playfulness to something akin to a regretful acceptance.
She stands from her seat abruptly and takes a step towards the door. “I have something I need to take care of.”
God gives and takes away.
“I can bring you some,” he offers, winding in the too-small wooden chair to face her. Too late to reel in the flirtatious nature of such an offering, too late to bite his tongue and remember the vows he had taken. The burden upon his heart seems far more pressing than any words from an old book. “Carnations and lilies… some of the others, too.”
The woman almost seems shy when she glances over her shoulder and offers him the most imperceptible nod. “Yeah, sure… I’ll see you around.”
His angel leaves him to rot in thought at that lonely table, in this tiny bakery. He does not think to repent for the way his temperature and pulse spiked in her presence, for the way he takes her empty cup and stuffs it into one of the boxes of baked goods to collect later.
Riding back to the church is dreadful, because she’s already fastened to his heart like a ribbon on a pretty bouquet. He’ll ask the sisters from the cloister to clip flowers for him, tie them up in a lace that will leave her face warmed and lips pouting.
When the people in the church have their fill of sweets and bread, König tells a lie, maybe several.
He claims he doesn’t know why that innocuous porcelain thing is resting where food once had, doesn’t know why the baker would have stuffed that in there too. He takes it to his room and claims that he would return it come morning.
The bed has always felt far too small for him alone, but he pictures her there with him, sat upon his lap when he brings the cup up to his lips with his eyes closed.
It’s cold and hard, difficult to imagine it to be a kiss at all, but he pretends her lips are upon him, eager and willing. It takes only rolling his tongue back to flick over itself, envisioning it being her own, for him to feel his trousers grow too tight. He doesn’t touch himself. He can’t bear the thought of it, not with the cross staring down at him from the far wall.
And finally, regret comes.
Shame, too, because König is aware he’s become a bit of a creep; enchanting himself with second hand kisses whilst his angel takes another man to bed. A man undeserving, but… he could be. He was deserving enough to become a holy man, surely she could see he was worthy of her as well.
The bed is too small even when he curls into himself and pulls the blanket up passed his eyes. Sleep is too skittish to come for him, even when he prays in a whisper to be absolved of his lust.
The dreams are only filled with images of an angel trapped in a rose bush, the thorns sinking into her wings until blood is drawn, but still she smiles. She reaches toward him with shaky limbs, whispers something so dreadfully mournful he knows to his very soul that she is his purpose alone.
It’s what wakes him in a fit, compels him to venture out through the yard with a heart set on seeking guidance. There are moonbeams above and animal calls from the surrounding trees. All of God’s creations are in perfect, dreamy harmony.
Why couldn’t he be the same? Always the outsider in one way or another; always the sore thumb rather than the loving green. Desolation is an art, a skill he’s learned to hide back: clenched teeth to still a wrathful tongue and a layer of muscle to guard that wounded thing in his chest.
There is no better peace than the quiet of the church in the late hour. Moonlight through stained glass and empty, antique seats that would make the worldly whip out their phones to snap pictures in a heartbeat. The doors are always open, for the sinners and the devoted alike, though the confessional is rarely touched when there would be no saint awake set on absolving.
Perhaps that’s why he takes to the booth he needs to make himself smaller to fit into: one shoulder and one foot first, then the next set. He’s never cared for it, left it to the better and smaller. The sound just past the thin partition rattles him. It isn’t the creaking of wood below his feet, but something softer. A weak sniffle. A cry from the other side.
“I’ll leave in a moment,” comes a voice, broken from tears and so horribly sad that the usual script entirely fails him. He recognizes the voice, though a bit warbled now. The voice that would make the choir pause, an angel’s sweet tone.
“Wait… no. You can stay. I’m hiding, too.” A breathy laugh comes forced and misplaced. Priest or not, König has never been the best at consoling anyone, let alone one so far above him.
“I’m not hiding,” she tries to sound braver now. He can imagine her chin tilted forward and that sweet smile trying it’s damndest to paint its way across her face. “But… why are you?”
“Don’t know.”
“Who are you?” The crying seems to have ceased entirely for now. Clearly whatever seemed to ail her could be remedied by her own curiosity. A cute, unorthodox little thing.
“König.” It served well enough as a confirmation name when he could not settle on one of the saints. King of them all, one of the other saved men had said in jest. Ironic, now.
“I like your voice, König,” she murmurs, deliberately testing the pronunciation on her tongue in such an alluring way that a small shiver runs its way down his spine.
“Danke… and you?”
God forgive him, he doesn’t even try. Doesn’t try to bring shame or guilt, read her scripture or pray for her soul. He only listens in silence when she tells him her name, beautiful and charming as he had expected it to be. The woman then tells him of her work, of the motel she ventures to at night… the troubles with money and even vaguely, some of the men she suffers through. This had been a bad night. Strange how a singular hour could have broken someone down to such a desperation to open up, to grasp for what small comfort they could receive.
But she came for him.
She must have hoped to see him.
He thanks his god for that.
— — —
“I bought a phone.”
“I see that.” Her fingers graze over the stems of the flowers, cleanly cut by hands more patient and stable than König’s own.
The angel isn’t looking up at him, not this time. There isn’t even a smile on her face when she cradles the bouquet close to her chest, petting over it where she sits upon the motel bed wearing nothing but some strappy, barely-there lingerie. Pure white with pink lace over the cups of her bra where her breasts swell with each shaky intake of breath.
In this week apart, he’s kept the device hidden in a loose pocket and spent many a night scouring the seediest websites looking for a hint of a body that may belong to her in this very area. Only one seemed to match. The messages exchanged were about hours and pricing, establishing a location, and terms he didn’t quite understand. He didn’t harp on the small details, but finding her messages to be so rigid and dry did surprise him. There were no cute hearts or winking emojis, it all felt horribly transactional.
Priests don’t make a lot of money, it all goes back to the church, but he’s thieved enough from the offering bowls to have a night with her alone. As disheartening as the lack of flirtations seemed, he hoped not to squander whatever opportunity this outing proved to be.
The balaclava covering his face wasn’t purchased with the intention of making her nervous, only… shielding himself from curious stares. The whole town knows his face, his name, the words he speaks so resolutely to his flock. Just as well as they know of who she is, what she does.
Even this knitted shield couldn’t hide himself from her, though. The very moment he entered this drab, modestly decorated room with flowers in hand she had only looked further lost.
“You look very pretty,” he tries as he removes the mask and drops it to the floor, kneels just a hair from where her feet dangle from the bed. “I’m glad that I found you.”
“Thank you.”
The flowers are placed on the side table, petals falling down to the thin carpet below. A cascade of red like blood and white like doves feathers. Purity and a wound in one.
The poor thing looks scorned when she does give him a glance then, but she forces herself into a position that stokes a hellish, unnatural flame within him. Her thighs part as her hands rest on the cups of her bra, pushing the thin fabric down to reveal areola, her soft nipples, sights that he had never seen before.
“You shouldn’t even be here, König,” the lady warns when his gaze sweeps over the innocent flesh laid bare before him. The angel isn’t even wet. Her panties are pristine over her womanhood, and it dawns on him that… she wouldn’t risk what he was even for the generous donation he had given.
“I don’t want to ruin you.”
But she should. Crumble him into salt, cast him away with the wind. Should.
She sees something holy in him too… albeit, not in the way that he would like for her to.
He swallows hard as he rises to his feet and sits next to her. The hands that were so accustomed to being joined in prayer find her breasts now with tentative touches, a curious squeeze, until he wills himself to readjust the fabric and conceal her properly.
“Ja, but… I just wanted to visit you.”
“You don’t need to pay me just to see me.”
The tension in the room finally begins to dissolve. Not by much, but when she sighs something that sounds like amusement, the restless throbbing of his heart does begin to settle.
As much as he would like to take her like some beast in rut, lay some claim to her in bursts of white seed, he doesn’t even know where to begin. Each curve of her body looks as though it would feel like a miracle beneath his palm, under his tongue.
It’s just that nothing is going to happen, not here, not now that he’s brought a prostitute flowers and revealed who he was to her. She sees something pitiful, where he only sees someone to love.
He can’t tell her that he dreams of her, that he views her in the same way he views his god. That would only scare her away, lead her to believe he’s a lunatic rather than a man only just now having his first taste of love.
“Then could I see you every night? So that you don’t have to…” His head dips, because no matter how he tries he knows any word he says is foolish.
This isn’t something she’s doing because it is fun for her; it’s a job just like his own. Flesh or words spoken… did it even matter? And yet, König could feel a malicious, gnawing envy at the thought of a bolder man taking his place tomorrow evening. That man wouldn’t hesitate to peel away her pretty lingerie and fuck her, shove his tongue into her mouth while his cock sat between her legs as if it belonged there.
“König,” she sighs next to him, pityingly.
His jaw tenses as his fingers curl into his palms. The hopelessness of it all crashes down around him as though sung out from the loudest of the choir. He hardly notices when she presses her head against his shoulder, only realizes how close she’s come to him when her hand curls over one of his own.
“You’re the strangest man I’ve ever met.” It’s not a compliment but it feels like one when she laughs like that, airy and soft. “The sweetest one, too.”
He smells her perfume from this close, something scented like fruit or maybe maple, sap-sticky and saccharine. All of her flesh feels warm against the plain t-shirt he wears, a warmth he would give anything to dive into, but not without her explicit command. A powerful seraph in the form of one painfully cute, gentle lady. If anyone could see what he saw now, they too would forsake those holy books and eat from her open palm instead.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, a peculiar bitterness hanging on his tongue.
“How about a walk?”
He pulls the balaclava over his face again when they make their way out into the quiet, darkened street. Hand in hand. It’s not from shame, but a necessity, perhaps, because his pale face has only flowered into a lasting pink since laying eyes upon her on that mattress, sprawled out and waiting. The blush only deepens with every squeeze she blesses him with, every hushed word spoken as she tells him about her favorite places.
She’s dressed in the same white dress they had initially met in, now clean of the dirt from flower beds. Somehow even more radiant at this close, too.
The churchyard and the clergy house are nothing in comparison to the way the rest of the town feels when the moon rises. It’s a world all their own, a place where no one looks at her as if she were a simple harlot, but a queen amongst chipping wood and tarmac. There’s even a skip in her step as she walks ahead of him, her hips swaying beneath her skirt. All because there’s no one here but she and her most loyal and only acolyte.
He wills himself out of her grasp when they cross the threshold into the cemetery. The darkness there is enough to pull him back to earth; thoughts of how easily swayed he’s been linger in the back of his mind. The want doesn’t even begin to reel back its claws, but the guilt does sink its pearly fangs in alongside it.
“I get it. You don’t want to be seen with me,” she says a small step away, drawing her hand up to her chest. It’s the saddest she’s ever looked, and he doesn’t have the words to further explain that he has no god damn idea what he’s doing: here, with her, in the midst of something that feels so normal even though it should not.
“Nein! That’s not—“
“You don’t want to touch me. You barely talk…”
Because the words don’t come easy. Because he’s never felt such an overbearing devotion to anyone, anything apart from what he prays to. How could she… this woman that shared in such loneliness with him not see him for what he was, not see him in the way that he sees her?
“You’re misunderstanding.”
“You just want to… to convert me, is that right?,” she hisses, sounding more shaken up than he had ever hoped to hear.
All hesitation had to be swallowed back.
There was no other option. He could feel her slipping away, a pain he wasn’t prepared to face.
God gives and takes away, but König refuses to let go.
His eyes narrow, his breath halts entirely, and he cups her face in his hands as gently as he can. The distance between them feels like miles as he lowers his head to kiss her through the knit barrier. It’s flighty and petrifying on his side… he feels cold sweat wet his brow when the warmth of her pulls through.
She could hit him, spit her curses like a proper witch, and he would only fall to her feet and kiss her heels. But… she does none of those things. Whatever pain was brewing here is ripped away with the night breeze.
Her hands peel away the balaclava, discard it somewhere into the tall grass where it wouldn’t be found, and she grants him his first, proper kiss.
With only the cracked headstones and cemetery angels watching, what once was tentative becomes a full indulgence. König samples from her mouth as though it weeps honey when the gentle peck graduates to a parting of lips. His hands run down the length of her sides as she grasps at his shirt, they pull her in close until her chest meets his own and two pairs of eyelids flutter.
She feels more heavenly than his imagination could have prepared him for, her tongue hotter and her sounds… the soft sighs and shaky murmurs of approval that fill him with both a maddening love and an urge to burn everything away if only it would keep her safe and near.
The world ceases to be entirely, cast down with Lucifer to the sulfur and smoke. Her lips remain parted when they break apart, a haze over her eyes reflecting the veil clouding his own irises.
Was a kiss really forsaking his vows? Was that really such a painful treachery? No… no it shouldn’t be. The issue remains that he can not see her as just some woman. Something as small as this could consume him entirely.
The night is spent with an abundance of those shared kisses when they return to the motel. Tentative touches, too. He’s never held a woman, not in the way he gets to hold her then. She presses tightly to him, her back to his chest with her hand keeping his own in place over her middle. She’s so soft, swans down plush and smooth as silk ribbon.
There is mint lingering on her breath each time she speaks. No talk of her work, only… she confesses how she had feared him so initially, how she worried that a holy man stepping into her life would only be further condemnation: an angel terrified by a devil that does not exist at all.
He knows he’s lost a part of himself here when he tells her he wishes to meet with her again, that if the church is no longer the place she fancies to walk, he’ll meet her amongst the dead again and again when the old clergymen sleep. Those promises he had reserved solely for God turn on themselves now, when he reveres the idol he shares this bed with.
Though her hips press back against his groin when his fingers crawl up to her sternum, and the desire strikes up within him, his cock remains untouched here. He doesn’t whisper a prayer for forgiveness into her hair when he grows hard, just tucks her in closer and smiles where his head rests atop her own.
It’s the closest to bliss he’s ever felt.
— — —
“You weren’t here for morning prayer.” The voice isn’t accusatory, just observant. The nightly prayers were missed too, though a reprieve is granted by way of those remaining unmentioned.
But the guilt does eat at König when he sees the concern in this man’s eyes, splinters at his very soul until he asks in a fragile voice if he can speak to the old priest in the confessional.
Everything here feels much too small and the booth is more or less the same. The wood closes in around him, bathes him in a blackness that even the glow of candlelight within these walls can not reach. The partition separating them does not help bolster courage, it only leaves him feeling more alone.
The clergyman listens in silence as König confesses that he has become weak. He does not mention the lady of the night, but there’s no need to at all: finding himself so captivated with a woman that he considered breaking every promise to the higher power was bad enough. He does not mention how he’s considered pleasuring himself, touching her too… only that they shared a night together embraced, counts the kisses that were exchanged with each digit of his hands.
There’s a pitying sigh from the other side before the man begins a lengthy prayer that König does join him in. With the “Amen” that follows, he’s told only to rid himself of those thoughts, to bury them with fasting and prayer. No more visits with this temptress, remain on the right path. The very, very simple things he must do to receive God’s forgiveness and favor once more.
“You are not a disappointment,” his elder reminds him with a small pat to his cheek and a smile. It’s more fatherly than the sparse affection he received from his own flesh and blood before coming here.
“Danke… thank you,” he breathes when his eyes bear the burden of tears.
God loves him and so do the sainted men.
But to never see her again would be worse than flagellation.
He chokes down the pain with more water when his stomach roars with hunger, hides the broken heart with smiles and prayer. Holy clothes feel heavier now. The money he stole to spend that night with her is returned to the collection pool in a week's time. The smartphone he had purchased is tossed out with the rest of the garbage in the bins. Even the cup is returned to the bakery after being rinsed in the sink.
Still not a part of him feels absolved from this torturous puppet show.
He thinks of her more than he ponders over his fear of Hell itself. God feels like an old memory as the days pass. He counts them in his daybook, an ‘X’ next to the dates he had gone without seeing her. Ten becomes twenty, and it becomes no less agonizing.
The prayers come easier, at least. He joins with his fellow men, kneels with his hands clasped before him, speaks such heartfelt words now that on more than one occasion he’s shared a healing tear or two with the other clergymen.
God is an old friend, yes, but that title is just a placeholder for the one his prayers are truly for. The little angel of the garden, the woman who has given him nothing at all but stole his heart all the same. Was she not the same as God from that aspect?
After a month, he’s finally given the privilege to stand before the altar and preach to the parishioners again. His sermon is directed by the other clergymen, a subtle admission of his own misdeeds as he guides the flock away from the sins of lust, of worldly pleasures that would steer them away from the right path.
Amidst the men and women crowding the pews sits a new face. She wears a hat, looking uncertain and skittish as a bunny amidst a pack of starved hounds beneath its curved brim. Her coat is tugged tightly around her where her hands grip to keep it closed and snug. No one is out to get her, not here, but there’s a purplish bruise on her neck. A sad stare trails up to meet his gaze when he stammers through the words of scripture.
Then, she smiles and his heart only feels full.
The sermon ends clumsily enough, but she waits for him in the center pew. He ensures the others have cleared out before he takes rigid steps toward her, where he sits a foot or so away on the bench; the feigned friendliness is only a front for the rapid beating of his heart and the way the blush upon his face paints up to his ears.
“I waited to walk with you… like you promised we would,” she says in place of a greeting. There’s no chiding in her tone, just curiosity. Gentle, like she’s speaking to a wounded bird, and perhaps that’s what he’s become: some big, ugly vulture. Holy in its love of everything from the sky to the rot down below.
“I’m sorry. I..,” he laments, grasping for an explanation that does not come.
“No, I understand. It’s alright, König.”
He knows he doesn’t deserve the gift of her redemption with how easily he turned away from her, from the blooming of… something. It was best not to use that word anymore.
“I just didn’t want to wait any longer. I missed you,” she huffs when the silence extends between them, breaks up the tension in the air but not what creeps over her own shoulders.
“Your bruise..” He wants to tell her of his sleepless nights, of how he pictures her in place of any old deity upon a throne in heaven, but settles for where his eyes linger on her neck.
No explanation is provided, but she lets him bring his fingers to it, ghost over where the purple melds to yellow in the shape of thick fingerprints. Add wrath to the ever growing list of his sins, because it’s all he feels amidst the envy and love.
His fingers dig into the plain back trousers when they rest upon his lap again, something foreign buzzes beneath his skin. The thought that any man would be brazen enough to lay hands upon his very own angel.. It’s unbelievable, unforgivable. His thoughts spiral so quickly it’s frightening. Timid things can become vicious, too, when backed into corners.
She manages to keep this growing storm in check when she stands and smooths her skirt, and offers to tidy up the church in an act of ‘repentance’.
The chores are simple and the sisters that linger far past service seem grateful to have her here as she takes up the broom and sweeps away at the dusty floor. They chatter away with her, take her hat and rest their hands over her shoulders when the cleaning winds to an end. His angel closes her eyes in prayer, doesn’t so much as open them to send him a knowing glance when they pray for her to find a good husband, someone who deserves such a lovely, godly woman.
She shares a meal with them while König keeps to himself with scripture in hand, mindlessly roving over the words even when his thoughts drift to the night of their first kiss.
He reasons that it’s only natural when she gives him such a display of acceptance too. It only solidifies what he knows already: this woman is no succubus— she has not crawled from the depths of Hell to drag him back with her, she’s only heavensent. An angel with a broken wing or a gaping wound somewhere… something to care for.
She’s encouraged to return by several fond voices. A few of the women even offer to walk her home, the daylight is dying and it’s dangerous for a lone lady out at night. The angel smiles at him then, sharing in the knowledge that she prefers the dark. Not the wicked things, but the peace and the beauty of the moon.
And she returns when he abstains from her.
She confides in him after each sermon that she does long to see him more often, but she likes the way he speaks of Mary Magdalene and the other women in scripture, pokes fun at the lilt to his voice when he notices her amidst the crowd of others. She says she likes him a lot before they part ways in the evenings, but she doesn’t tempt him with pouts or trailing fingers.
He thanks her for respecting his faith each time - despite being the one who crossed several boundaries initially. Though he keeps his hands to himself now, the looks he gives to her are pleading and soft. If she would pull him into a kiss now, he would let her have all of him. They could run away together, from the church, from her clients…
It’s on one of those cloudy Sundays that he does ask her if she’s stopped. He braves the look she gives him when his question comes as a hushed stutter. The comfort between them no longer feels tentative. It’s just there. Ever-present as the sky above.
“Well, you haven’t,” she whispers in response, propping her elbow up on the back of the pew. It’s as if she believes it could be so simple, but it’s not. Not for either of them.
The spiels of Heaven and Hell won’t reach her, so he doesn’t bother with those. She offers him an invitation with her words and the way she remains so open that it’s difficult not to take.
It’s been months since he touched her last and the love has only seemed to have grown. Strange. Perhaps he is as odd as she’s imagined him to be. There have been weddings in this very church, talks of long years of courtship, and even then what those men must have felt for their brides had to have paled in comparison to this. It had to.
“Tell me how to,” he breathes without any underlying thought. Saints don’t question their gods, they only serve them.
“You’re actually considering it…?”
“I might.”
The silence crowds around the bench while her fingers brush over the pages of a hymnal in repetition and his only inch closer to her clothed knee.
“You could meet me at the cemetery tonight… We could talk more there.”
“At night is probably not the best time.”
“Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”
Friends don’t kiss. Friends don’t feel the way he feels now, or how he’s felt for the past few months. Platonic arrangements don’t require repentance. But, he bites his tongue and tilts his head back, lets it roll off the shoulder when his hand draws back to his lap. Another time.
Not where the Heavenly Father could see, if he were even watching any longer.
“… Tomorrow morning would be better.”
“Then I’ll come get you. Don’t you dare try and get out of it,” she chirps with the wildest glint of mirth alight in her eyes.
Stay.
If the church caught fire now and the rafters came to sink into the earth not a part of him would or could even care as long as she were just here. But he watches her go without a word of opposition, watches her nod toward the sisters standing out in the yard and clasp her hands in front of her, smiling to herself as though the world were made for just the two of them.
It stings during nightly prayer, and it burns when he lies in bed to wait for the morning. There are cicadas singing and footsteps on old wooden boards to remind him that he isn’t entirely alone, the scent of tobacco drifting from his window when another plaster saint hides beyond the veil of night to smoke. He doesn’t sleep, his eyes remain fixed upon the ceiling until the darkness of the room drifts to a dull gray with the sun’s slow rise.
And König does not wait for her to fetch him. Morning prayer dissolves into a mournful cry because there is no part of him that can fathom or interpret any of this. A trial should not feel like a blessing when he’s faced with it. God must be playing the stupidest game imaginable to test him with someone so lovable, so charming. Where the church leaves him feeling filthy with remorse, she purifies him with only a curl of her lips and starlight dancing in her eyes.
None of it is fair.
The guilt must be something obligatory, summoned up like puffs of dust from the floorboards. Worshiping idols is a sin, but it’s not the angel that feels like one, it’s the attention he pays to the cloud in his head that does. That’s the one that should go.
He grits through prayer with the other men, doesn’t chime in with unnecessary words of devotion this time. The coffee burns his tongue when he downs the mug and forgoes breakfast. There are dark rings beneath his eyes when he ventured to the washroom to brush his teeth, and there are whispers in the halls that the young priest must be either coming under a possession or God is preparing him for something. Something big and exciting. He ignores those and the stern glances from the little nuns in their robes, huffs something of a joke about a momentary sabbatical when he lumbers out of the walls of the church.
There are no new bruises this time, but König has the memory of the last ones stuck in his skull. A clear image of four small marks on the side of her neck, another on its opposite. Larger, more pronounced. Five marks from a hand that never belonged there. Kerosene and a match are what the thoughts running rampant in his head would look like to an outsider.
She tells him on the thin picnic blanket that she’s got a new client, that he gives her enough to where she doesn’t have to consider any others now. The man has a much stranger set of interests, ones she hadn’t delved into before him, but she’s merciful enough to withhold the details that would lead König to make the crucifixion seem a gentle affair.
She tells him because she wants him to be proud that it’s only one now. That she’s making some sort of progress for him. None of it is fair, and he knows without asking that she feels more akin to the way that he does than any of the holy men.
And still he can’t help but ask, “Do you love him?”
“Of course not,” comes her immediate response, and there’s a near imperceptible glare there, judging by the fire in her eyes. It’s cute… and he feels the world's ugliest fool for daring to ask for reassurance as though this relationship was any sort of normal. If it were even a relationship at all.
Their hands touch, reaching for the same flaky pastry in the basket she brought along and Heaven’s bells ring out in his ears when her gaze sweeps over him. Everything is sugared dough and right again. She offers him her lap in place of a pillow for his head when the clouds grow thick and gray above, feeds him from her own hand and runs her fingers across his face with the other.
“How did you get the sky in your eyes?,” she asks him, makes him blush so easily his heart stutters within his chest. He feels like a boy in her presence, and in a way, to her, maybe he even is just some inexperienced whelp nipping at her heels.
The angel does not judge, she softly rakes her nails behind his ear and neck until he shivers in her hold. His hair is next, a victim to her comfort as she tousles it between her fingers, strokes him like the smallest of kittens when he feels anything but.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he mutters, raising a hand to brush at her cheek. Warm as he expected, yet softer. There’s nothing wicked here, only a woman. A woman who loves him as he loves her.
“Your eyes are pretty… sad. I love them,” comes the sweet reply that reduces him to nothing but scattered feathers and a howling ache.
Did he even exist before now? Before her? This woman has filled him with such purpose, breathed new life into a stagnant soul. The church was a safe place for a man scorned by the rest of the world, but that blanket felt unnecessary now. He wanted to feel her hands move over him like this, smell the petals in her perfume, hear her voice speak to him, all of it. Forever.
“I think that I lose myself when I’m with you.”
“Does that hurt you?”
“Nein… I’m happier like this.” It’s the closest to a confession he can whisper.
And he returns to her, morning after morning König rushes through paying his dues to God and his men to return to her like this.
When the graveyard is silent and the dew still sticks to the blades of grass, her voice sounds sweeter somehow beneath the glow of the rising sun. The birds sing around them and often she pushes wildflowers into his hair, clasps her hands around his neck and teaches him to kiss.
Her tongue moves with grace, his is only a thing of greed. Each chaste peck is met with a hunger from somewhere so foggy and forgotten it never had a home at all, not before now. The angel needn’t show him where to rest his hands, they pry at every part of her: gentle brushes against her cheek and neck, kneading at her shoulders, further, further until he does finally starve off any lingering thought of what is good or evil to explore the curve of her lower back.
Most of the time words come in afterthought, once lips are wet and plush from this gentle devouring, after she steels herself from running her hands any further down than his stomach. He tells her in truth that he prays to her, not for. Not anymore.
The shadows cast from the aspens keep them tucked far away from sight, from God and his people alike. A temple for two without four walls to close them in. The only place on this earth that he’s ever found himself in perfect solace.
“I want to try something,” she breathes just when he’s prepared himself to leave. The tree at his back, knees parted, where she remains sat across from him. There’s nervousness there, not the fretful way she looks after a long night, nor the way she looked to him upon their first meetings. “Do you trust me?”
“Ja… more than anyone,” he reassures in a soft tone of voice, tipping her chin up with the tips of two fingers to further accentuate it. Her beauty and her uncertainty always strike a chord within him, a fire that never dwindles. When her eyes search his own, his breath catches.
He doesn’t say a word when she peels away the robes from the front of his trousers. Her hands linger on at the waistband for a moment, takes enough time to offer the gentlest peck to the side of his neck before continuing. It’s another first, being exposed to a woman like this when she lowers the band and has him shimmy backward to free his cock from his pants. Soft with shame or embarrassment, a concoction of other things he could not name, but the moment she looks up at him with pure delight he feels himself grow stiff.
“Wow… You’ve got a perfect cock,” she assesses with a laugh, finger running up the length of it as it twitches to life under her touch.
Scheisse.
He strokes her cheek with reverence as she bends down before him, watching him carefully through her eyelashes. Her warm breath drifts over his manhood and he’s already horribly aware that this would not last long. Another lesson, like the kisses, maybe. She could mold him any way that she likes and he would be pleased to play the role of her Adam.
The tongue isn’t what he anticipated. She flattens it against the tip, breathes a laugh when a keening whine is pulled from his throat. To see such an ugly, vulgar thing pressed to the beautiful mouth he’s kissed a dozen times now. It feels wrong. There’s no hesitation when her lips wrap around him. And then all of it— everything is just right. Every moment spent in this hazy, loving glow with her is right. If Hell were to come from this, then let it.
He can’t tear his eyes away from her, can’t bring himself to speak when he feels the way his cock hits the back of her throat, feels her swallow around him and make such a pleased noise as she wraps her fingers around the expanse she can not take.
Its pitiful, the way he must look: mouth agape, eyes lidded and heavy… He brings a hand to her hair, and runs his fingers through it as if she isn’t letting him fuck her mouth, but rather in the midst of something far holier, softer. Sacrilegious or divine. If God we’re watching, let him.
She pulls back a little, an obscene, wet sound in answer when her mouth is drawn back enough to merely press a kiss the tip, puffy lips glossy with drool. “Is this okay…? Not too much?”
“You are so pretty… it feels… just keep going.” His voice no longer possesses any feigned confidence, it begs like a wounded thing, chanting, “Bitte. Please…”
His hips tilt up when she parts her lips again, all trepidation be damned. This is something, something he’s aches for and never had the chance to feel. All of the ache, the longing to be diminished, to unite with the angel who fled Heaven for him. The cock pushes at her open mouth, smears thick beads of precum over her cheek, before she takes him in again with a delighted, muffled sound. Her soft mouth, the tongue that thoroughly laps at his shaft and follows her movements to wrap and suck at the head. Otherworldly, and… unfathomably bittersweet.
Her lips suction around him, the movements of her wrist only increasing, and with the second roll of his hips he feels his stomach begin to tense as pure heat rolls its way through him. A gentle coursing becomes a blinding inferno in mere seconds, and regrettably, instinctively, that hand so gently combing through her hair comes to snare it instead and force her down further.
His soft grunts and low pleading morph to something choked and almost agonized. It’s the purest rapture, a pleasure so absolute his eyes prick as he bows lower to cover over her as she swallows his devotion by mouth. The angel pants breathlessly when she pulls away with saliva and semen still stringing them together, cleansed by his thumb tracing over her lips, replaced so swiftly by his own mouth. The kiss is so chaste it feels misplaced here, but she nuzzles against him in this comedown from ecstasy, doesn’t even chastise how he lasted a mere two minutes.
And he vows, vows in the sweetness of her comfort and love that no one else will ever have this again.
— — —
Abstaining from meals during a fast is a struggle in and of itself; abstaining from her is some long-forgotten circle of Hell.
It’s not avoidance, but a necessity.
To think that his first sexual encounter would provoke days of concern, a wistful daydream about a future he never would have thought to have had otherwise. There was a desperate, starving desire to repent when he first arrived home after that, but nothing that a bottle of communion wine and a cold shower could not wash away. Repentance has lost its merit to him.
And after seven days, he’s perfectly aware of what he must do. To absolve them both from things where atonement seems far from a necessity at all. He folds his holy robes and leaves them on the bed in the room too small, set neatly next to his Bible. The rosary was the one thing that König could not bear to part with. The beads, red and shimmery, were chosen and strung together with him in mind. It’s slipped into the pocket of his jeans after the plain, black t-shirt is pulled over his head.
There’s a hammer in his gloved hand, and he doesn’t recall where he found it. Lying with its head rusted in the churchyard, perhaps half buried beneath the soil. Some of the other clergymen are talented at fixing things, but König’s never been very good with that. His first rosary was broken with a careless slip of his fingers, and he’s shattered more porcelain than he could count on accident.
Even communion wine can be a bit too strong, sometimes. Or maybe that’s only when the bottle’s been entirely downed. He’ll blame one of his betters when the stock is counted and one turns up missing, if they bother to come seek him out again at all.
The motel is dead at this hour, so late into the night. The few normal visitors have already been accounted for with watchful eyes, and the angel waits in one of the rooms on the second floor. He imagines the laces on her lingerie, the healing bruises on her throat, and that sweet expression upon her face. Or maybe that one was reserved solely for him. He prayed… no, he hoped so.
After tonight, there would be no more mercies for him. Or perhaps there would be an abundance, blessings from the vultures and the wolves and the maggots he would feed. New gods that were still far lesser than the angel who suffers men in sheets, but only looks to him with love.
And he doesn’t have to wait long, because the demon finds his way here with haste. Does he come here every night looking as proud as he does now? His attire even resonates with death, black with those white details, a costume that seems so fitting for one about to meet the very face he wears.
Killing someone isn’t so easy. Cain murdered his brother with a rock, described in such loose detail that one would think a playful throw led to Abel’s end. But it’s not so, not when the victim is hellbent on living.
The demon is smaller, but strong. He’s been in situations like this before, doesn’t have to spit the words to tell König so. They’re felt with each blow, with the sharp edge of the knife this bastard manages to dig into his side. Just barely, before it’s jerked out of his hand and thrown several paces away. The skittering across the tarmac is enough to chant doom.
There’s blood. More with the first strike of the hammer. It seemed so much easier in thought rather than practice. In his imaginings, the head would split with the first fall like an overripe apple, crumple in and the breath would leave the demon in an instant. Instead, it’s dozens. Blow after blow while the smaller man struggles below him.
A strange catharsis comes over him when his soul grows murky, when his hands are slick and the struggle comes to an abrupt end. The sobering only comes when he’s spent an hour driving down the most forested roads to find a place to dump the body. There’s no tact to it, laying a man to rest in shrubbery and dirt. With a head so collapsed it’s hard to think of this as a man at all. A corpse, something no longer simply human.
König does not pray for him when he rests the hammer in the deceased’s hands. Does not offer it more than a passing thought when he peels away back toward home. The deed is done and he’s free of those horrid burdens tainting his heart, keeping him held back on a short leash to divinity.
Like fate, she’s found out in the garden again after the bloodied shirt and stained gloves are discarded. The wound is patched with what he could find available, a hastily tied strip of gauze covers his side. A week or so at best until the gash would heal into an ugly, jagged scar. It seemed even a bastard devil’s blade couldn't be sharp enough to fell a Goliath when he’s caught by surprise and horny.
He feigns merely emptying the garbage into an outside bin, plays off the sting of the gash with a humble, lumbering gait. She beams up at him through lines of tears running down the sides of her face like small, silver streams beneath the darkened sky above.
He’s not a saint anymore, no… a guardian angel. The archangel Michael with his sword set ablaze and divinity scrawled into every scale of his chest plate. Something holy and glowing, unsullied and beautiful.
Like her.
“You’re crying…”
“Sorry… bad night. Client just ghosted me.”
No. This was good, couldn’t she see that? All the sleepless nights, the prayer and the constant, overwhelming longing. Everything he had suffered for her, and still she only comes to him with the thought of that horrible thing in mind.
“He’s dead.” Maybe it was just the fear of a loss of money. He had enough saved up someplace, and the collection pool would be beneficial enough to pivot them towards a new life. No church. No lonely motel. He had to test it, give her a trial and hope that she did not simply break.
The look that crosses her face is one of confusion… Then comes a strange twist of relief. Her mouth falls slightly agape and her arms squeeze slightly around his middle.
“We just spoke a few hours ago. How…?” Finally, suspicion.
Maybe he’s too drunk on playing God now to care, to realize this isn’t how a good man would have handled things. The only thing that holds any weight, that resonated with him any at all is the thought that he loves her, that he will protect her until his dying breath, pray at her feet and anything else she might ask.
That’s what pulls him to press her down against the bed of the truck, to kiss her with every lesson she’s blessed him with in mind. Tongue and teeth, fire and spit, she accepts all of it. She doesn’t beg him for an answer: she’s seen the worst of men, taken cocks far less deserving. Her hands find his hair as they drift away here, gives the strands a sharp tug to usher him closer, roll her tongue against his own.
The sheer tights she wears beneath her skirt are ripped at the seam between her legs by large hands, panties pushed to the side before she finally presses against the broad chest against her to gain some space. Her breath is shallow, face warmed and hair a mess, still the loveliest thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon.
“Are you afraid?” He tilts his head to the side, curious, as if there were no reason for her deny him of this now after he had just *killed for her*. After he forsook what once was all he knew all for her. He would do it again without question, with no gain at all, but the sting of rejection was not something he could entirely choke back.
But his angel never runs out of mercies, it seems.
“No… just give me a second.”
She slips her hand down between her parted legs, demonstrates for him just how to prepare a woman. He watches, mesmerized, as she circles the bud above her slit, dips her finger downward to spread wetness along her flesh. Dew over petals. A finger slips inside of her, and all at once is shoved aside.
“Let me,” he pleads, already pressing both hands to her inner thighs, tilting her hips upward as his head sinks between them.
“You don’t have to,” she whispers, but grants him his wish with feverish nods that betray her words, allows him to kiss her sex as he shifts himself into a better position.
There’s nothing to go off of but her sounds, the cries of pleasure when his tongue lolls out to lick at the nub where most of her reactions stem from. He mutters against her about her taste, something so ethereal he could not even begin to place. Her scent envelopes him in full, and he’s never felt closer to anything prior. She allows his clumsy licking, moans louder for him when he can’t stifle his own groaning. The pants are too tight around him, and patience is another virtue he finds that he lacks.
She doesn’t reach some fantastical height of pleasure when he presses a finger into her cunt, but her body seems to fit even that like a glove, squeezing around him as he lazily circles her bud with his tongue. She doesn’t come, but she tugs him by the hair to usher him back into another kiss, hands roving down his abdomen to free his manhood from the barriers of fabric. And finally… finally he’s granted entrance to Heaven.
The first thrust leaves him spiraling, lost into a world of silk and honey. And the angel does not give him any time to recover, she writhes beneath him, shifting her hips to pull him in deeper, muffles each whine and groan from his lips with her tongue hungrily lapping over his own.
He’s thought about having a woman many times, but never imagined it could feel this good. To be so complete, every woe or fear cast aside in the act of mindless pleasure.
He doesn’t know where to put his hands, to keep his eyes shut or gaze down at her and cease this assault on his mouth to tell her that he loves her, that she feels like pure fucking paradise and he’s already on the verge of coming undone. He settles for moving, dragging himself in and out of her in slow movements, turning his face away to bite down on her shoulder when the feeling of her walls cinching him like a vise threatens to spur him into finishing on the spot.
“That’s just… god… you’re good at this,” she gasps when a hand is sunk between their bodies, flicking at her clit as he spears her open. Her hands find his back, raking her fingernails down past his shoulder blades. It’s agonizing, trying to fight back the urge to breed her full, watch his come spill out from her perfect cunt until he finds himself hard again. The very thought makes him gasp, grind himself deeper inside of her as her nails dig into his back.
“Mein… this is… you understand…,” he’s babbling, hardly coherent, and she only seems to accept it. The angel chants her agreement amidst the beginning of her rapture.
She cries out for him when she comes, her sex pulsing around him as she shivers that all restraint is immediately lost. She hugs him so tightly, squirms as she hisses a curse into his ear.
It’s a miracle he’s even lasted this long. He halts his pace for a mere second to prop himself up, gaze down at her in absolute reverence before that fire swallows him whole. It’s unceremonious when he comes: a growl and a wail as he buries he face into her neck and pumps every last drop of his seed into her pussy.
He doesn’t want to pull out, doesn’t want to leave such a complete embrace. The world has already ended for him, a long time ago on the very night they met. There’s no need to drag out their ruin with whatever else occurs when she’s out of his grasp.
She strokes over the marks she’s made, gentle, tickling touches of her fingertips and shy giggles when their eyes meet again.
“I thought I would never get to do this with you,” she admits, quiet when her hands drift to cup his jaw instead. “You’re perfect, you know that…?”
He wants to cry, wants to fuck all of his woes away, kneel before her and beg that she find a place where they can never be apart. Steal her away to some cabin up in the Alps, where flowers grow in thick patches on the hillsides, a wild garden of her very own.
“… You should stay with me,” he huffs into her ear, fingers dimpling the flesh of her hips as he tries desperately to force himself closer to her.
“You can’t mean the church,” she giggles. “So where should we go?”
“We can figure that out in the morning, hm?”
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