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eff4freddie · 22 days

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Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

Sunday nights were dead. Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift.

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller au #joel miller smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena x you #joel miller x female reader

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ghoulfriends-and-tin-cans · 1 month

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Howdy Partner - Part 1

I...yep. This fic finally broke out of the cage in my brain and found its way into the world. Careful. It bites.

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know!

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Pre-War!Cooper Howard (Fallout Show) x fem!Reader

[A/N: This is just fluff with some suggestive language, because as sinfully hot as he is as a Ghoul, he looks like an absolute cinnamon roll as an actor.]

Warnings: Fluff, mild angst, mutual pining, idiots in love, they both think their feelings are unrequited, Cooper is already divorced, flirty friends to lovers, they both wanna kiss so bad, drinking but not heavy, mentions of alcohol, they're not tipsy but they have had a couple of glasses of champagne.

~*~

"Cut! That's a wrap for this week," the director called, and everyone on set began to disperse. Beginning to corral the various props so they could be stored until Monday, I breathed a sigh of relief that the week was over. Halfway through winding up one of the ropes, someone cleared their throat behind me.

"Pardon me, ma'am. Any chance an ole cowboy could int'rest you in a celebratory drink?" The faux western accent drew a smile across my lips before I could school my expression. When I turned, Cooper Howard stood in full costume with his cowboy hat held respectfully over his chest. Always such a gentleman.

"Surely there's some gorgeous starlet who you'd rather be drinking with, Mr. Howard," I teased as I laid the looped rope onto its hook. Clasping my hands behind my back, I blinked innocently up at the man who'd been my friend for years and had quickly carved a spot for himself in my heart.

"Now, why would I want to take another woman out on the town when the most gorgeous one in all of Hollywood is standin' right in front of me?" He murmured, and despite the pang it sent through my heart, I gave a sly smile as I grasped his arm.

"One of these days, Coop, you'll regret being so flirty with me," I said as he plunked his hat on top of my head instead of his own. I couldn't imagine it looked as good on me as it did on him.

"Oh? And why's that?"

"Because, one of these days, the woman destined to be your next wife might overhear you, think you're taken, and give up before she's even met you." We walked toward his trailer, dodging busy workers as we talked. "Or worse...I might actually think you mean those sweet little things you say to me."

Keeping my head forward as we walked, I caught him looking at me out of the corner of my eye, his expression inscrutable.

"Wouldn't that just be a shame," he muttered, but his tone contradicted his statement entirely. A large grin stretched Cooper's lips as we stepped inside his trailer. I knew the drill by now. We left the door open, and I took a seat as he ducked behind a privacy screen at the other end. His accent fell away as he changed out of his costume. "That hat's yours now, by the way."

For a moment, all I could hear was the gentle sound of cloth as I tried to force my tongue to work.

"What?"

"They had about ten of those hats for this movie, and I snagged a couple. One for me, and one for you. That one's yours," he called, and butterflies swarmed in my stomach. "Assuming you want an old actor's hand-me-down, of course. You could always just leave it in my trailer today when we go for drinks and the costume people will find it. I just remember you saying you liked the way the one from this particular movie looked, so I figured..."

He trailed off as he walked out from behind the privacy screen in a white button-down shirt and some dark brown slacks. My breath hitched in my throat, but I shook my head quietly.

"No, I do love it. I'm not leaving it here," I said as I got to my feet. "Thank you, Cooper."

Pink dusted his cheeks, and I couldn't help but wonder how I got this lucky. He didn't feel the same as I did, but it was enough that he considered me one of his close friends. Or, at least, that's what I told myself on those lonely evenings when I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms.

I'd been lost in thought for a moment, snapping back to reality when he waved a hand in front of my eyes.

"You in there?" He asked, a mix of amusement and concern coloring his features as I blinked up at him. "You looked like you were a thousand miles away."

"Only about fifteen," I muttered, and before he could ask what I meant, I plastered what I hoped was an enthusiastic smile on my lips. "Well, what are we waiting for? You wanted a celebratory drink, so let's go get it, shall we?"

Cooper had known me for too long to be fooled by that. Like always, I could see his jaw clench for a second as he tucked the information away in the back of his mind for later, then smiled back at me.

"Lead on, ma'am." His faux western accent was back, and he gave me a little wink as I slipped past him out of his trailer.

I'd expected to find myself in a bar with him, but Coop had different plans. He'd driven me to his place - a much smaller house than the one he'd previously shared with his daughter and his ex-wife. He'd downsized after the divorce, choosing a more rustic place that was closer to nature than his cushy almost-mansion had been. Modern conveniences were still present, but he was no longer surrounded by the stifling side of city life.

Kicking our shoes off and wandering out onto the upstairs balcony, we raised our champagne flutes and toasted the success of the new movie. I tried not to watch the bob of his Adam's apple too closely as he swallowed.

Looking out at the dark expanse of the night and the bright lights of the city several hours later, we'd barely finished more than a couple of glasses each. It was so incredibly easy with him. We'd talked the whole evening away, focusing on everything and nothing, paying no mind to the fact that the world kept spinning without us.

Eventually, a cold breeze whirled through the air, and we retreated inside. Cooper grabbed an oversized blanket and we cuddled up together in his living room in front of the fireplace. Setting the hat he'd given me on the coffee table, he wrapped his arms around me and let me rest my head on his chest.

This wasn't the first time we'd curled up like this, but it felt more weighted this time. His chin touched the top of my head just as I noted how fast his heart was beating.

Adrenaline. That's all it was. We'd both been startled by how quickly the temperature had dropped. There was no way it could be anything else.

"It looks better on you," he murmured against the top of my head, and my own heart thudded faster in my chest. "The hat, I mean."

A huff of laughter escaped me.

"Somehow, I think your fans might disagree, Mr. Howard. Hell, even I disagree," I admitted as I toyed with one of the buttons on his shirt.

"That's too bad. All of you are wrong. You look so damn good in it," Cooper said as one of his hands skimmed up my back. He sounded more serious than any of his other silly little flirtatious statements ever had - a feat I hadn't thought possible. I could never tell if he was joking when we were alone like this.

"Careful, now. I might end up thinking you're serious–"

"I am," he blurted as his grip around me tightened by a fraction. "I'm serious."

When I lifted my head to look up at him, Cooper was already looking at me; his gaze was soft and vulnerable as he lifted a hand. The backs of his knuckles brushed down the side of my face so gently that the breath was stolen from my lungs.

"Cooper..." I tried to tell him what I was feeling - tried to force all of the words I'd been holding back to the tip of my tongue - but they got stuck somewhere in my throat.

"It's okay," he breathed, his voice was low and rough as he spoke. "You don't have to say anything. I know this probably isn't... I'm divorced, older, and I have a kid. I'm not under any delusions about how undesirable my situation is, but I just wanted to say it once...before I lost my nerve."

I must've fallen asleep. I was dreaming, I had to be.

"I don't expect you to feel the same. You're so beautiful, so kind...you must have men beating down your door for a chance to be with you, and you're stuck here drinking with a washed up old man," he murmured, guilt winding around every word. "When I drive you home in the morning...if it would make you more comfortable, we can forget I ever said anything...blame it on the champagne."

Alarm rocketed through me. I didn't want that. I didn't want to forget. I didn't want to blame it on the alcohol.

Dream or not, I just wanted Cooper.

Leaning upward, I took a chance and pressed my lips against his. They'd always looked soft. I never thought I'd get the chance to find out what they felt like on anything but the back of my hand.

When he kissed me back, I'd never been so glad to be wrong.

Giving in to my desires, I braced one hand on his chest and buried the other in his soft, dark hair. He grabbed the back of my neck, pulling me closer as we drowned in each other.

When we finally broke apart, Cooper nuzzled my nose drawing a breathless, joyful giggle from some dazed part of my mind.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, and I nodded my head.

"I did assume I would be when you stated that you'd be driving me home in the morning," I teased, and he gave me a gorgeous smile, his eyes twinkling in the low light.

"Beautiful smart-ass. I meant...stay in my room with me. Not the guest room," he murmured even as his gaze dropped to my lips again. "I promise I'll be good - keep my hands to myself."

"You don't have to." The words whispered against his lips prompted a hungry hum from his throat, but he shook his head.

"I want to wine and dine you first. You deserve that...deserve to be treated like a princess," he said, "that way, when the time comes, and I finally have you all to myself, you'll know how much you mean to me."

A desperate whimper escaped me, and he smirked like the cat that got the canary.

"Now, can you be a good, patient girl for me tonight, sweetheart?"

I agreed, muttering under my breath that he was a damn tease, but my protests were silenced by the look Cooper gave me as he led me to his bedroom. Longing looked good on him.

~*~

Taglist:

@live-logs-and-proper

#ghoulfriends-and-tin-cans fic #Cooper Howard x Reader #Pre-War!Cooper Howard x Reader

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xiexiecaptain · 1 year

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The biggest thing I've learned to help manage my ADHD in regards to getting things done is to Follow Those Impulses

(I'm not saying this will work for or is even a good strategy for everyone, but in my own situation it's helped me.)

I'm like allergic to consistency in schedule and cannot enforce one on myself so all it leads to is self-loathing and failure. Trust me, I've been attempting to will-power, shame-fuel my way through it since I was a preteen (I'm currently almost 30.) It does not work for me.

Obviously medication can give me a huge leg up on stuff. But beyond a certain point my brain is simply not wired for long-term sustained consistency.

As in many of my issues, I've found that working with myself gets better results than fighting myself.

When I follow those sudden impulses of interest and motivation, I get things done.

To the outside, I look absolutely haphazard. I'll pause a show I'm watching mid-sentence, stand up, and go empty the dishwasher because my mood/brain/chemicals *ping*ed that it was suddenly do-able and not a huge overwhelming task. Or I'll be putting away laundry and that *ping* will go off and I'll spend three hours re-organizing my closet.

To a neurotypical, this looks like distracted and disorganized behavior.

To me, it's following the way my brain naturally works in order to accomplish tasks.

My ADHD manifests in that I experience very small and unsustainable windows of motivation and interest. So when I feel that window crack open, doing the Thing right then (when the situation enables me to) can mean the Thing actually happens. Even if it's not the thing I'm "supposed" to be doing.

With a neurotypical in that situation, they might be putting away clothes and think: "Oh, I should organize my closet. I have time this weekend, I'll do it then," finish putting away their clothes, and then organize the closet when they had free time that weekend.

I used to try to do things that way too. Because it was how I was taught that "responsible, real people" did it, and had "finish one thing before you start another" drilled into my head. But I'm literally not wired to work that way. And I've been working on undoing that internalized ableism of believing one way of doing things is better and I need to change to adhere to it. I don't and shouldn't be expected to to my own detriment.

For me with the closet example, the weekend would come and I would spend 5 hours screaming at myself to stop working on whatever did have my interest in order to go organize the closet. Sometimes I might ended up doing it. More often, I would not be able get myself to do it even after all that. I would just sit there, yelling at myself, hating myself despite my brain literally not having the chemicals to initiate the activity (let alone follow through) and nothing would get done. Not even the thing I wanted to focus on instead.

The only thing I did accomplish was hating myself for not being able to do "simple" things like other people (read: neurotypicals.)

This is basically how I spent the majority of my schooling; doing simple tasks felt like running in sand. And I internalized all the messages that told me it was my own fault I couldn't run as fast and in as straight a line as those running on pavement.

The past few years, I've been trying to follow impulses more. And its honestly been really helpful.

I get more done even if it isn't a "consistent" amount or I can't always count on having a specific thing done by a certain date.

But the big thing is that I spend less time hating myself for not doing what I "should" be and more time actually doing things when I have the motivation for them. More shit happens, I'm undoing some of that self-loathing.

tl;dr: My advice for fellow adult ADHD-ers is:

Try to learn what your natural rhythms are and, where possible, try leaning into them. Without judgement, try working with your natural tendencies rather than battling them at every moment. See how it feels, see what you accomplish (and not just in the capitalistic "productivity" way--spending 3 hours hyperfocusing on researching the history of wheat germ counts!) See how your brain and body feel.

Your brain is wired different, let yourself operate different.

#adhd #add #neurodivergence #neurodiversity #adult adhd #adhd inattentive #adhd tips #adhd acceptance #original posts

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042502 · 28 days

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☆༉ — CHRIS STURNIOLO. The unwritten rule.

about. Everyone knows the rule, don't fall in love with your best friend's boyfriend.

word count. 2K

a/n. This is the Chapter 2, I hope it sounds interesting to you. My first language is not English, you will read this under this warning. m.list.

I've liked Chris for a long time. A shameful long time, and no one, not even Anna knows it. She thinks that in eighth grade, when he asked me to the dance and I said yes, he was just being nice, and when I said: "I like it a little, okay?” waiting for her to say she was.

She just said: "Come on, you can't really like me. It’s Chris.”

I could still remember her telling me how lucky I was because it turned out that he couldn't go because his grandmother had passed away and he had to fly to Boston for the funeral. At that point Chris wasn't worth Anna's time or interest, so he wasn't supposed to be worth it to me.

But I thought so. I wanted to go to that dance with him, I wanted to be his girlfriend, but we couldn't go to the dance, and when he came back from the funeral Anna had told everyone that I hadn't wanted to go out with him and was too kind to say no.

He listened, of course, and we didn't speak again until the end of our freshman year of high school, when we ended up standing next to each other waiting to leave the school during a fire drill. I can't be the only person who sees the problem with that, right?

We spoke only one day.

"Hello, what's happening?" And guessing how burned we'd be if there was a real fire, And after that, I admit that I thought, wait, maybe, someday...

And then, something from six weeks ago, I saw him at a party.

I saw it, but Anna had it.

I see Anna waving at him as I get on the road. Chris raises a hand too, and I try not to think about that party. About what I thought at that moment.

About his hand touching mine.The party that Anna and Chris got together at was a thing where summer oh shit school is going to suck, and all the usual suspects were there. Anna ran into a bunch of people from the drama club, and everyone was talking about what work they wanted to do.

I was looking around the house, greeting everyone who passed by and talking about summer, We all agreed it was too short.

I wandered off to the studio, which was his usual study. A haven for dad complete with a comfy, stubby chair that they clearly didn't allow into any other space in the house, a collection of newspapers and magazines, all open in articles about sports, and two huge shelves, They ran from floor to ceiling and were filled with paperback books and what looked like old manuals, but there were also some books on the coffee table, of the kind that are all photographs. One of them was shoes.

And here's the thing about me: I like shoes. Good sneakers. I have twenty seven pairs, and twenty-five of them are ones that I decorated myself or bought already designed. Two pairs are in my room now, stark white and waiting for inspiration to strike.

Which leads me to what happened. There I was, flipping through the shoe book and wondering if I could get a copy and decorate a pair of sneakers with shoe cutouts. I saw heels around the edges, boot dancing across the top, and bright yellow lace with lovely tiny silver slippers on the ends. When I saw a painting on the wall.

I don't know much about art, but the painting was clearly valuable. It was nicely framed and had one of those little reflectors that say "Look! Look at this picture!" about her. I had also been waiting to see one of those little white cards screwed to the wall next to the painting with a little title like "the internal struggle of the human spirit", but there was nothing there, just the paint and the light.

The paint, well, it looked like shit.

I didn't mean it figuratively, I was serious, literal.

I moved a little closer, interested and horrified, and I practically had my nose against the glass frame when someone entered the room. I looked over there, and it was Chris. I smiled at him.

And then I felt my heart drop into my stomach because... Well, the summer had been very, very good with him.

Chris had always been three things: silly, joker and obsessed with music.

During the summer, had grown to the point that I had to look up to meet his eyes, and he had a pretty muscular body. Not the big, bulky kind you always picture when you hear those words, but long and toned ones.

He seemed... I wish I were a poet, but he looked beautiful in a strange, exotic way and when he said "Hi, Ada", I wanted to run up to him and trace the lines of his cheekbones with my fingers and then touch his hair.

And that's fine, the rest of it.

Although, I did not do it. I just said "Hi Chris, can you tell me what this is?, like he was normal old Chris, the one who had vomited just before giving an oral assignment in fifth grade and is not suddenly a wonderful creature whose face, that had all angles and was huge, with amazing blue eyes, It had come together in a way that worked and made me shiver.

"It's a painting” he mentions smiling at me. I had always liked Chris's smile, She was friendly and warm, but now in that face he had become, it was lethal.

“I, I kind of realized that.” I cleared my throat.

I knew from Anna that being beautiful wasn't all that great. Anna had changed in second and third grade. One day we were both first year girls, the next day, She was a supermodel who had an A-list girl as a best friend. Maybe it wasn't so dramatic, but it was quite sudden.

Anna had always been pretty, but she became beautiful quickly, and people had noticed it. She liked it at first, it was even all they noticed. And then she got used to it. That took a while though, and I remembered her screaming "I am more than breasts! You know?" to a boy we met at the shopping just after everything had changed for her, and then how I had cried that night in my room, hating that people looked at her and saw nothing more than her body and face.

“Looks like…" Chris remained silent, narrowing his eyes and looking at the painting.

"Shit?" I said, and then he smiled back at me. My stomach did a somersault with that smile and I swallowed hard. I told myself it was Chris, and that I had known and liked him forever.

The thing was, I had always liked him.

“That's what it looks like, but I don't think it is.” It still sounded the same, I still sounded like Chris, a voice that had been a little serious and deep for him before. Now he was laughing. “I think it's dust.” He pointed to the painting, careful not to touch the glass. “Look, do you see this?”

As soon as I saw Chris' reflection in the glass, I nodded anyway.

“Looks like a smudged handprint” I give it a short look, and then go back to see where it says. “Just like someone leaves a mark, time and nature wear it down. Maybe it's about what's left after you create something. The little you're not supposed to see, but that's what it has to be for a painting to exist.”

Now he actually sounded like the Chris I knew, the one who had greeted in the hallways every day last year, the one who was my friend.

“Or some boy just thought, hey, I have this gob of coffee, why don’t I smear it on a canvas?”

“Disgusting” we both laugh. “Where have you been all summer, anyway?”

"Me?" I'm ashamed to admit that I yelled at him.

“Yeah, I didn’t see you around.”

“That's because I was at home, helping out and all that.” explained. “My father paid me to paint the garage.”

Brilliant, now she sounded like a fourth grader. My dad paid me to paint the garage! I had no life!

“I painted too” speak. “Houses, I mean. Do not paint to paint. I did some of that, but most of it was at home, like I said.”

I relaxed a little more then, despite his appearance he was still Chris.

“So, that's how you got those muscles” I hit him on the arm. He shrugged, blushing a little.

Imagine a boy, He is a little taller than you, with the perfect skin of those that scream "Touch me!" and long disheveled hair. He looks so sweet, and it is. Surely you can understand why I dropped the book I was still holding.

He bent down to take it at the same time as me, and for a moment we were so close that I could have leaned over and kissed him.

“Take” He extended the book to me. We were still so close, and he was looking at me, the smile in his eyes darkening into something deeper, more intense.

“Thank you” although I bet it sounded more like "garatyuhrh", and then I reached for the book and he handed it to me, his hands touching mine for a moment.

And then he said "Ada", and took my hand again. I looked down, my ears stained with the dark green my father wanted for the garage, and his hands were stained too, white and yellow, and the book slid to the floor as he did more than touch my hand. He held it, and slid his fingers into mine.

Our palms were pressed together, And all I could think of was a line I had read somewhere, about palms pressed together like a kiss, and he was still looking at me and then we were standing, still holding hands, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I could only watch and wait, waiting and breathless for him to move closer and closer and….

“Ada, You won't believe what I heard the game would be. It’s… Oh”

It was Anna.

He looked straight at Chris, and smiled the smile she gave when she saw a boy she wanted to see.

"Hello you” she was splendid, tanned, Tall and beautiful, her black hair curled around her heart-shaped face, and I saw Chris smile back.

"Hello Anna” Chris greets her.

“What have you been doing this summer? “Come and tell me everything while I go to the store for some soda.” she smiled to me. “I have to go in a while. One more story about camping and I'll start screaming I swear, I wish I could have gone.”

"I know” Because he had been there when his mother said no, I tried not to notice that my hand was no longer touching Chris. “Don’t just bring Grape, okay?”

“I wouldn't just bring Grape , ok. I would, but I won't." He put his arm in Chris's as he led him out of the room, driving towards her as only she could, and by the time they returned with a few six-packs. Anna smiled at me, a pleasant, bright smile. “Chris likes Grape , too.” He throws me a can of Pepsi. "Your favorite."

“Mine too” Chris made that comment, but he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at Anna, perplexed I would even say stunned, and I knew he wasn't going to turn around.

I looked at her, and she was smiling the smile she made when she saw a boy she wanted., and that's when I knew I was going to get it because that's who she was and what she did.

I saw that I had already achieved it.

I went to the kitchen to drink my Pepsi. I served it in a glass with ice. I waited for the effervescence to dissolve. Delay techniques, and by the time I took it and returned to where Anna was, she and Chris were sitting together, talking.

Anna was nodding attentively, like everything he was saying meant to her. Chris was still looking at her slightly dazed, but then he looked at me and started to say something, and then Anna touched his face and kissed him in front of everyone.

And there it was. He was hers.

He could have talked to me first. He might have even held my hand first. But that didn't matter.

Except for me.

જ⁀➴ taglis. @l34n @jetaimevous @jnkvivi @loveyoumatthewbernard @d1tzy-bl0nde @laxbabe131147 @slut4chriss @dontellaf1lms @surniolozzzprincess @sturnlova @inlovewithchriss @whicked-hazlatwhore @mattsgirlsblog

a.n. If you want to be part of the taglist leave a comment below and I will add you. Thanks for reading, remember to like, share with your friends and leave a nice comment ^^

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ashascoven · 20 days

Text

☽ ✯ venture x witch! reader pt. 1! ✯ ☾

✯ welcome to my first venture fanfic ever!! ╰(*´︶`*)╯

✯ my venture fixation and endless fanfic reading of them has led me here, hours deep into writing my own...

✯ now that im typing this at 4 am on a school night.. i might have to post this in multiple parts..... 23 pages of fanfic that's still a wip uh oh!!

✯ ahem, i hope theres some fellow venture lovers out there who'll enjoy this! happy reading! :D

☆ FANFIC DEETS! venturexreader ☆

reader is a female who practices witchcraft! i wrote her that way because i also am a witch irl! :,)

VERY lengthy build-up fanfic (LOTS of reading.. i type a lot i think?)

venture is referred to as sloan <3

lifeweaver is besties with the reader, referred to as niran!

everything related to witchcraft here may be exaggerated / inaccurate for fanfic purposes.. but i tried writing it all into an experience > just reading!!

eventual ritual smut....

feel free to hmu, hope u enjoy :D

For every night that the full moon showed her face, the couple would be outside to accompany her. •°. *࿐

They'd bask in her glow to the grounds below, cherishing the energy of grace that she brings with her starry companions and practicing gratitude with her.

Both of them would dance around in the grass with bare feet, laughing away at each other's joys until they're so dizzy that they land into the planet’s arms, hand in hand, heart to heart. 𓆩♡𓆪

Gazing at the shapes of the misty clouds above their heads, they'd point out whichever ones reminded them of each other with giddy smiles on their faces.

Sloan would roll over with that sweet, chipped grin of theirs, facing you and holding your face gently.

Their thumb would run along the corner of your lips, eyes sparkling at how much they could just take you under the skies right now.

“ah, mi cariño, you're so.. beautiful. no crystal in the world could ever compare to your beauty.”

You'd turn to face them, putting your hand above theirs with a blush on your face.

“oh, sloan! you're too kind, my charming agate..”

“anything for the gem that makes my heart race.”

The two lovers would giggle at their silly rock jokes, holding each other close under the night’s gentle breeze.

Never wanting their time together to end, they'd lean into one another, eyes fluttering shut as their lips meet once again.

The natural softness of your lips pressed against theirs sent shockwaves through their body, none that their drill could ever replicate on a battlefield.

You made them feel so warm and loved inside, especially with the way your hands made it to their hair every time you two kissed.

It felt like the world had stopped, and all they could process was how needingly their hands moved all over your body in response, taking their time with each mark, crease, and even speckle of hair.

They loved everything about you after all.. each “flaw” of yours was just another spot that they had the honor of touching and kissing. <3

They'd pull back for a breath, but really it was just to take you in once more.

“you’re so special to me, mi vida, you know that?”

The moon was going to show herself at her fullest tomorrow, but curses, you were dreading her appearance..

“something's brewing.. tomorrow won't be a good day, i can feel it.” You mumbled to yourself, glaring down at the black candle you held with its own silver plate.

The flame that once stood still flickered at your words in response, emitting up to you in what felt like commiseration.

“mm, something's gonna happen, right? go on, you can tell me~..”

You poked your index finger at its flame in a petting motion, watching as the flickering intensified. The shape of the fire leaned away from your touch in shame.

“don't be sorry, it's not your fault.. shh..”

You tilted your head at it and cooed with a comforting tone, holding the candle closer.

The flickering stopped and the size of the once spirited flame dimmed down into a ball of burning light.

Moving your gaze back to the rain outside of the window you stood in front of, you sighed.

“just, please protect them for me, okay? i know you can do it, take this and keep them safe..”

You held the candle steadily in front of your face, careful not to drop it with one hand.

The other hand reached down into the drawer of your altar’s nightstand, pulling out an old, used incense stick.

With the edge of it, you used the dripping wax to draw out a sigil onto the body of the candle, whispering an affirmation in hopes that it reaches the universe in time.

Then, you placed the candle down, thanking it for letting you borrow its energy.

You looked back at your sleeping lover, resting peacefully in the bed you two shared.

They hugged a pillow that you had nudged in place of where you were laying, already drooling all over it. Their hair was a mess and their body already took over most of the bed.

Yeah, they were just in a grey T-shirt and purple boxers with lightning bolts patterned onto them, but god, they were such a sight to take in.

You smiled, before looking back at the window and its altar, your heart feeling a little lighter for the night.

“yeahh.. they'll be alright.”

“moorningg sunshiinee~! (っ˘з(˘⌣˘ )”

“mmhh.. whehh..”

“i mean, it IS raining.. but i made you sunny eggs anyway!”

“actually, i dunno if they're.. exactly.. sunny? they're all nice and poached up for you though! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ”

You felt a plate nudge at your side, earning a groan out of you.

“c’mon mi corazon! you gotta eat something!!”

“por favoorr!!! pleaasee wake up, i wanna hug you before i go! (っ´ω`)っ”

“whuh- huh??”

You finally budged at the gloved hands that were lightly shaking at your shoulders, pushing them away.

Squinting at their blurry face, you rubbed your eyes to get a better view of the person in front of you.

“before you.. go? you don't normally leave this early, sloannnn..” You yawned, looking up and down at their work clothes in confusion.

They had a different color jacket on today, but your tired mind didn't think to question it, figuring it was because of their job.

“yeahh I knooww my love, but there's some.. new ruins that my buddies found at work..! r-really important duty calls, and history awaits!”

“here, eat this for me! please?” They grinned, holding the plate in front of you as you sat up.

“mmh, promise me you'll stay safe baby.” You shoved a piece of burnt toast in your mouth without really looking at it.

“of couurrssee, y/n! don't you worry your little pretty head about me, i'll be fiiinee~ (つω`｡)” They sat the plate down next to you, wrapping their arms around you and snuggling their cheek on top of your head.

“mmhmmm, you better be, or i’ll keep every mirror and glass in this house covered when you're dead!” You reached up, playfully smacking the top of their head.

“nooo!! :( how am i gonna talk to you when i’m a cool mummified spirit thennn?ヾ( ￣O￣)ツ"

“no matter how much your ghost bangs on my crystal ball, screaming ‘y/nnn!! mi amooorr.. my priiinceeessss!!! myy woorlldd!!’.. you'll be talking to yourself.”

“baby nooooo :((, pleeaaase don't abandon me like thaatt, really! don't worry about me, i’ll bring back goodies for you n’ everything! (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ” They pecked your lips, holding your face with the cutest puppy eyes ever.

“awwe, fiinnee. i believe in you, sloan.. i won't curse you with being a lonely spirit.. yet. (´-.-`)” You joked, your hands making it on top of theirs.

They rolled their eyes, continuing to make a mess of your face with their honey-coconut chapstick.

You happily absorbed all of their pouty kisses like a crystal soaking up a person’s energy.

You could've sat there and let them kiss you awake forever..

..but unfortunately, the excavator had a job to do.

With one last kiss on your lips, they hurried over to the bedroom’s closet, snatching up a backpack and their signature drill from it, and they waved their way out of the door.

“alright baby, i gotta go now! i love you, i miss you already! (´ ε ` )”

“oh-! i love you more! thanks for the food! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡” You blew them a kiss.

“nonono, thank YOU for leaving those drinks by the window for me! :D” They peeped their head out of the doorway one last time before rushing through the house.

“don't forget to tell the bugs goodby- WHAT.”

“LOVE YOU MOST!! (o^ ^o)ﾉ”

“SLOAN!!????”

“IMSTEPPINGOUTTHEDOORNOW,BYEBABYCAKES!MUAHMUA-”

You watched them scurry down the road from the window, familiar looking jars clutched in their arms with a grin on their face..

They just took your jars of moon water to work.

You've been carefully curing those jars with salt under the moon light for literal years.

What the fuck.

With your palm now on your face, you sighed.

“there's no way they just- okay.”

You pressed your hands together and closed your eyes.

“i won't sacrifice them to the gods in their sleep tonight i won't sacrifice them to the gods in their sleep tonight i won-”

The smell of egg and toast hit your nose, making you look down at your side.

The plate of breakfast was still sitting there.

“oh, hm.” You picked up the fork and sliced an egg open with it, watching how the yolk oozed out slowly, inviting you to enjoy it.

‘chef sloan, huh?’ You raised a brow, bringing a piece of it to your mouth.

‘did they.. try poaching eggs this time? weird, i thought they were in a hurry.. it’s cooked wel-’

You immediately stopped chewing, the slight taste of metallic water failing to compliment the wetness of the actual egg.

You felt your right eye twitch, hoping that the egg wasn't boiled with what you thought it was.

It was then that the adventurous Sloan Cameron was destined to die by the hands of their own lover.

They jogged through the rain in a hurry, abruptly halting at the bus stop they almost just ran past.

They knew you would've gotten onto them for not taking an umbrella, even more for snatching up their water jugs, but they figured they'll make up for it by kissing you all over later.

With their bags strapped on, drill in their hands, and their girlfriend’s jars now burrowed in their pockets, they were amped for their own little mission awaiting them at a site reserved for the Wayfinder society.

See, they weren't actually called for any “important duties” at work, nor were any new ruins discovered.

Rather, they had their own plans for today's solo expedition, and that included secretly taking a trip down an untouched mine.

It was near one of the less active dig sites at their main workplace, hidden under old, giant tires that probably haven't been moved for years.

How did they find it? More like, how didn't they?

Their bus arrived, and they climbed on, paying for themselves and the one other person behind them with a ‘oh, don’t sweat it!’

They casually sat down towards the front of the bus, careful not to bang their filled pockets against anything, and sighed in relief. ( ´ ▽ ` )

Them and their drill both took up four seats, all dripping wet from the rain outside.

Some people gave them looks, but they were oblivious to it, one hand patting their drill while the other held the edge of their seat.

They looked to the front window of the bus with a smile, bopping their head side to side while thinking of you. (b ᵔ▽ᵔ)b

Any worries about being found or getting in trouble for working on a site alone was out of the window; today was a paid day off for workers in the society.

But Sloan? Oh, Sloan Cameron was the most committed and daring worker that the Wayfinders had.

If they weren't invited to anything for the holidays, they'd gladly spend their days putting in more time at work, not caring whether it was even meant to be a work day or not.

If they felt like digging, they could dig that!!!!

No one else at work ever minded anyway, their proven ability to work efficiently and optimistically is what earned their reputation of being reliable enough to be left alone.

Uncovering stories of the past cost them nothing more than physically getting active until they felt like bugging their girlfriend to cuddle them to bed.

..Sloan only ever really took their days off if it meant staying home with their beloved now.

Otherwise? They essentially were paid really well just to do what they love; collecting pretty rocks and bones for their lover, going on fun expeditions for their love of archaeology, and building big muscles in the process.

It was a triple-win in their eyes, they wouldn't have life any other way. No bad day or sudden curse could ever change that..

(TELL ME THEY WOULDN'T CALL IT A TRIPLE WHAMMY!!!!!!)

Oh, how they felt themselves warm up at the thought of their goddess at home, but quickly shook their head, reminding themselves why they were here at this specific site.

To think that such a cave with so many marvelous finds was right under everyone's noses was bizarre to them.

Sloan was so happy that they were the only one to know about it, gushing to themselves about all the crystals they'll bring home for their witchy wife to work with.

They let their mind wander again, imagining the smile you usually have on your face from their grand returns home.

Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→ Σ>―(〃°ω°〃)♡→

You'd rush out of your little sanctuary shack that was on the side of the house to the sound of the doorbell, nearly breaking through the wall to wrap yourselves around them, kissing their dirt-covered face without a care in the world.

‘welcome homee babyy, i’ve missed you soo much, muah muah!! how was work? anyone i need to curse today? are you hungry?? thirsty?’

They chuckled to themselves at the thought of your voice, unconsciously rubbing a hand on the side of their face with a ‘shucks.. (ง ื▿ ื)ว..’

They thought about how you'd take quick notice of the extra bag they've come back with, panicking and offering to help them carry their things inside.

Then, they'd shush you, shuffling over to the living room mat to empty said mystery bag, revealing an endless galore of a crystal witch’s dream.

From that point on, you'd probably tackle them down and they'd laugh, laying there to suffer the wrath of your kisses with no complaints.

Their imagination strayed towards admiring you.. how kissable your neck always is, how holdable your waist was… how much they wanted to take in the view of you on top of them and absolutely devour-

Nonono, they had a mission right now, and that was to acquire stones for their magical wife!!! ⸜(*ˊ��ˋ*)⸝

Sloan eagerly lowered themselves down into the tunnel of the cave, rope in one hand and flashlight in the other.

Their mining goggles were on, their backpack was on their back, and their jackets were off, leaving them in a white tank top. The jars they stole borrowed from you were now in the pockets of their pants.

Water and sweat dripped all over their arms and neck from how humid it was, but they were too excited to care.

They quickly scouted the place out like a sailor, the grin on their face growing at the sight of all of the crystals already visible to the surface.

It was like this mine was carved out for them, each colorful gem crying out ‘take me home to your lover!!! (」°ロ°)」 take me home to her!!! (」°ロ°)」’

Oh, did Sloan listen to their pleas alright, setting their bag and jars down near the entrance, instantly getting to work with their handy pickaxe.

They would've used their drill, but they stuck to pickaxes for these types of missions, wanting to bring home actual clusters of gemstones for you and not.. pellets.

Besides, whole rocks would be easier to preserve in water than crumbs, right?

Everytime they brought their pick down to the deposits of stones, the grin on their face widened in joy.. It was probably bright enough to start emitting light in the darkness of the mine.

The sound of the axe hitting the ores was music to their ears, so they kept swinging and chucking each one of your gifts into their bag, not a single worry in the world to bother them.

“ooohh, myy y/nnn! i can't waaiitt to bringg these homee to youuu~!!◝(⁰▿⁰)"

“i can't wait until they get home so i can kick their ass.”

You crossed your arms with a huff, staring in disbelief at the jars of moon water that were, in fact, missing.

Only one jar remained, and it was in the sink, empty.

Your eyes made way to the pan left on the stove, some pieces of egg still floating in the foggy water.

Your right one was probably still twitching, but you were just too distraught to notice.

“is this what i was having those feelings about?”

You clenched your fist, bringing it down to the counter.

“today was feeling off because my own partner decided to.. snatch ALL of my jars on the way to work.. as if that's something they normally do!?”

You looked at your flytrap plant pet that sat nearby, shrugging in a ‘wtf’ kind of way.

One of the plant’s traps closed themselves in response, slightly seeping downwards.

“ugh, i know, right?! it beats me why they'd just.. DO that, ya know?”

Another trap closed themselves, joining the first one in silently chiming in and sagging down.

“see, i really want to trust in sloan, i love them with my entire life! anndd afterlife! but.. also, who the fuck just steals a witch’s water?! not even a burglar would do that!”

“like, i was curing those for years, man! if sloan lets sunlight touch any one of those jars, i'll curse them for eterni-”

Both of the closed traps opened quickly in unison.

“..you're saying i.. shouldn't? curse them?” You raised a brow, a hand now on your hip.

The plant pods closed themselves back, not dipping their heads downwards this time.

“hm. i guuueeess that's true.. i was considering the voodoo doll approach to really teach em’ a lesson but.. you're right.“

“i can just sacrifice them another day.. today can be ass-kicking, tomorrow will be their downfall.”

You finished with a grin, starting to put some plates away as the flytraps reopened their mouths, sitting as if nothing had changed.

After a couple minutes of washing and drying used dishes from the night before, you felt something soft rub against your leg.

“wha- oh my gosh!! hii squuiishhyy!!” You squealed, lifting up the fat, fluffy creature that nudged its head on the back of your calves.

It wasn't exactly a cat.. or a dog..

Actually, it was a raccoon, a big albino one, and he was here to distract you from the bones you had to pick with your partner.

“myyy fluuffyy companionn, how aare youu?? :D”

You snuggled him, rubbing his face against yours.

He kind of just.. didn't react, cutely letting you hold him with a neutral •ᴥ• on his face.

Then, another soft creature rubbed against your ankles.

“aahh, spaaarkkyy!! my other fluffy companion!! what about you? how aree youu doingg todaay?? >:0”

You smiled, lifting it up to rub the other side of your face.

It wasn't a raccoon this time, but a black possum, and he had a white patch of fur in the shape of a star on his back!

He curled himself into your grasp with what seemed like his own little smile :0)

Both of the pets were adopted and well taken care of by you and Sloan.

Your partner found the possum on the way to work one day, insisting they kept him and named him Sparky because of the way his pointy teeth sparkled.

They couldn't stop running their fingers along his teeth for weeks, having to be dragged away by you for the possum to find some peace.

‘look at how razor sharp they are!! do you think his teeth could bite my fingers off?! id pay him with food, then i could get cool omnic prosthetics-’

‘sloan! that'd be-! ..messy actually, if you're gonna get blood everywhere, at least let me hire a vampire first.’

‘mi amor.. :( vampires only really existed centuries ago! how would you even find one for me right now? are you gonna make one of those cool pacts or something??’

‘id sacrifice you to one from the pas- nevermind, ‘cause you'd probaablyy want that, so i’ll just.. pretend to sacrifice you and not actually do it. (っ˘ω˘ς )’

‘nooOOO!!!! >:((((‘

As for the raccoon, you had found him while having a cleansing session in the woods, luring him with fruits and veggies that you had originally brought along for any wandering fae.

(You also made sure to come back later that day with more goodies as an apology to said spirits, leaving them with fruits, nuts, and honey.)

When you brought him home, you named him squishy, simply because he was fat and.. well.. squishy.

Sloan tried to play with his teeth, followed with their failed attempt at getting the two new pets to play a game..

‘y/n, look! they both have the cuuteestt baby hands!! that gives me an idea..’

‘you hold sparky like that ʕ •̀ o •́ ʔ, i’ll hold squishy like.. this! ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ we can play rock-paper-scissors! here, this'll be rock..’

And with that, you two now lived with Squishy and Sparky (and other pets being your plants & their bugs too).

A doorbell going off ended up interrupting your moment with your companions, earning a startled jolt from you.

‘oh? who could that- oh my stars-!’

“i forgot niran was coming over! Σ(O_O)”

✯ if you've made it this far, thank you for reading! <33

✯ here is the link to part 2!!, also on my profile.. here are the borders used!

✯ enjoy your day/night, stay hydrated, and keep loving venture <3

#sloan cameron #venture ow2 #venture overwatch #venture x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch #ow2 #fanfic #fanfiction #save me sloan cameron

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cutecurly-hair · 4 months

Text

Hearts Unleashed (Part 5)

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Black!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Smut, Body Shaming

Words: 5,738

The weekend flew by, and before I knew it, Monday had arrived with its usual speed. I found myself back in the same classroom, at the same place and time, but something felt a little different. Nick and I had been texting non-stop over the weekend. It was just casual conversation, nothing special, but for some reason, it made me inexplicably happy.

I noticed a bunch of curly black hair in front of me. Charlie and I hadn't talked since that day. I sent him a bunch of texts, but he didn't reply. I checked with Ellie and Tao, and they hadn't heard from him either. It wasn't just me he was avoiding; it seemed like he was avoiding everyone.

Interrupting my thoughts, Nick said, "This is Nellie," showing me a picture of his dog, and she was the cutest thing in the world.

"Oh, my god, she's so cute! I've always wanted to have a pet, but ever since our cat died when I was little, we just never got a new one," I said, a tinge of sadness in my voice.

Nick's brows furrowed in concern, a cute little habit that I couldn't help but notice when he was puzzled or concerned about something. "You know, maybe you should come round to my house and meet her. Plus, my mom has been bugging me to invite you over" he suggested. I couldn't contain the smile that spread across my face, I don't know if it was because of Nick's mom has been asking about me or Nick inviting me to his house.

"Are you free on Saturday?" he asked hopefully, his brown eyes searching mine.

"Yeah, I think so," I replied, feeling a flutter in my stomach.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

"Charlie! Charlie! Wait up!" I yelled across the bustling school hallway, dodging through students those rugby drills are finally proving some use.

Finally catching up to him, I took a moment to catch my breath. "What happened with you? I've been calling and texting you. I was even this close to coming to your house to make sure you were alive," I said, demonstrating the minuscule gap between my thumb and forefinger to prove my point.

Charlie turned to me, his face a mix of surprise and sheepishness. "Sorry, I've been dealing with some stuff, and I needed a bit of space. Didn't mean to worry you."

I crossed my arms, trying to hide my concern behind a facade of annoyance. "A simple 'I need space' text would have sufficed, you know."

He scratched his head, a nervous grin appearing on his face. "Yeah, I know. I'll keep you in the loop next time. Promise."

As we walked, the tension melted away, and our usual banter resumed. Charlie might not be telling me everything, but our friendship stayed solid, thankfully.

"Ugh, I've got a ton to catch you up on," I exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. His laughter filled the air. "Do I detect some juicy gossip?" he teased, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. Even though I haven't talked with him for a couple of days, I still couldn't help but miss him. I had every right to be mad, but I knew deep down Charlie was keeping something from me, but it was within his right to tell me when he is ready.

"Oh, you have no idea," I replied, joining in the laughter.

"You look fine, sweetheart," my mother remarked as she emerged from the archway. She must have noticed my tenth attempt at fixing my hair and the frustrated sigh that accompanied it. Admittedly, I may or may not have put on a little makeup. Sensing my mom's curious gaze, I decided to address it before she could.

"I'm going to a friend's house. I'll be back around 5," I informed her, trying to keep it casual.

"Are you heading over to Charlie's?"

I hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Um, no, his name is Nick," hoping my response would slip past without her catching the name. My mother, sensing something, walked over to me and handed me my coat and gloves, well aware of my tendency to get cold easily. I was honestly not made for cold weather.

"Is this a boy from school? You know how I feel about you going to somebody's house," she probed, hinting at her concerns. I knew I had to choose my words carefully to navigate this conversation if I wanted to be allowed to leave the house.

"He's my classmate in English. I want him to look over my paper that's due next week," I lied, maintaining a calm tone and hoping she wouldn't see through the deception.

"You've never needed help with your papers before. You're really good at writing," she remarked, clearly skeptical of my story.

"This paper is 50% of my grade. I have to do well on it," I asserted, emphasizing the importance of the assignment and knowing that grades were a language my mother understood well. Having dealt with her expectations back home, I knew I had to convince her to let me go.

She looked pleasantly surprised. "Yes, you're right. Grades are important. I'm surprised I didn't have to remind you," she smiled, genuinely pleased to see me showing concern for my academic performance. Seizing the moment, I quickly put on my coat and gloves, ready to head out the door.

"Come back in time for dinner!" she yelled as I walked away. I gave a quick nod to show I heard and hurried off before she could ask more questions.

My hands were practically freezing, despite the gloves doing a lousy job of keeping the cold out. I stubbornly kept them on, pulled my coat tighter, and power-walked down the street. The bone-chilling London winter seemed to pierce right through me, making me pick up the pace even more.

I stood there for a moment, torn between knocking and ringing the doorbell. My indecisiveness was playing its usual tricks on me. But before I could finally decide, the door swung open. There was Nick, giving me a gentle smile.

"Hey," he greeted. It was kinda unexpected to see him so chill and casual, a side of him I hadn't really seen beyond the school environment.

"Hey," I smiled back, deciding to ditch my gloves that weren't doing much to fight off the cold anyway.

Nick made a gesture towards a delightful chocolate and white mix Border Collie. "Uh... this is Nellie."

"Hey, Nellie. You're so adorable," Reaching down to pet the dog behind its ears. The warmth of Nellie's fur against my hand brought an unexpected comfort, making the chilly weather outside seem momentarily forgotten.

"Did you do something with your hair?" he asked, his eyes locked onto my puff ponytail that had consumed a good chunk of my morning. Lately, I'd been experimenting with new hairstyles, breaking away from my usual braids.

I immediately reached up to touch my hair, a hint of worry crossing my face. "Wait, is it bad?"

He shook his head without hesitation, offering a reassuring grin. "No, you look… it looks great." His compliment made me feel like the effort I put into styling my hair that morning was totally worth it.

"Okay, you better come in before Nellie thinks we're going for a walk," he said, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than necessary.

"Okay"

Walking into his house, I couldn't help but notice how incredibly homey it was. The place just radiated coziness, making it clear that it wasn't just a house; it was a warm and welcoming home. Definitely nothing compared to mine, my house was just cold and empty still filled with boxes. I noticed a few portraits on the wall, nowhere really of his dad. Which I have nothing to brag since my parents have been divorce.

He led me upstairs to his bedroom, which I couldn't help but feel uneasy, like it was way to personal...like I shouldn't be here. But as soon as I saw his room it was very clean...? Definitely not what I was expecting.

Nick saw the look on my face "What? What's wrong?" he asked looking around confused. I couldn't help but chuckle, breaking a smile "It's so clean in here...it's weird," But overall, it suits him with the rugby poster littered all over the walls with a cute little light hanging over his bed. There it was again, that small hint of vanilla, smoke and a mix of musk but the musk was a lot stronger.

Dramatically, he placed his hand over his chest, gasping, "Are you seriously thinking that I am weird because I know how to clean,"

"I just never expected something like this," I said, gesturing to the room. Walking around, I noticed a few books on the shelf. "Especially for a rugby player. I mean, aren't you guys supposed to be dirty, by default?" I picked a book off the shelf, the title reading "Le Petit Prince (French Edition)."

A French Novel?

Sensing my curiosity, Nick blushed, swiftly taking the book from my hand and putting it back on the shelf. "My dad gifted it to me, but I barely read it," he admitted, a touch of embarrassment in his expression.

Sensenig that his dad was a sour subject I decided to drop it. Still observing his room, noticing the little trinkets of action figure and posters, until my eyes landing on the little snacks on the TV stand plus Mario Kart next to the Nintendo, excitement bubbled up within me as I took in the familiar sight.

"You have Mario Kart!" I exclaimed, my eyes lighting up at the sight of the game. Memories of playing it flooded back.

Nick's eyes beamed. "You like Mario Kart? Do you know how to play?" he asked, a playful smile on his face.

I nodded. "Me and my Dad used to play all the time when I was little. I still do, just never really picked it back up," I said, shrugging.

"Do you want to play?" he asked, holding the Nintendo playfully.

I smiled. "You don't even have to ask."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

"Come on, Come on I'm in the lead! Can you just let me win" Nick yelled, he was particularly begging at the point.

"It doesn't matter cause you're not going to win," I smirked. He's literally the King of Rugby and practically wins at everything. This is one thing I'm really good at, so I am definitely not going to let him win.

"Can you let me win one time? You've won five or six games."

"I am literary going easy one you,"

"No!" he groaned at the screen when he saw my Princess Peach cross the finish line. I couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.

"You need more practice, Nick. Maybe I can give you some tips," I teased, reveling in the playful banter. It was one area where I knew I could outshine the rugby star.

He pouted, "I don't need tips. I just need a fair chance." The adorable pout he sported was enough to make anyone's heart melt.

"I think this is just Karma kicking you in the ass; you can't be good at everything," I said sarcastically, while grabbing a little popcorn.

He nodded in agreement, "No, you're exactly right. You're just good at everything," he admitted.

"No, I'm not," I chuckled. But there was something in the way he looked at me, and it's been happening a lot lately. I can't quite figure out why he has this knack for making me feel this way. It's as if a single glance from him is all it takes to turn me into a bundle of nerves.

"You are. You're a proper little nerd. And you don't even know it."

"I am not!" I protested, playfully nudging him.

"Let's see. You're good at video games. Literally all school subjects, but especially math's. Amazing at photography. Befriending dogs, and you are good a sports manager. Like I have never seen our gear so clean before-"

"Shut up!" I interrupted in a playful groan, feeling warm flush spread across my cheeks. Covering his mouth, while pushing him onto the bed. It seems this was the only way of shutting him up.

"You know it's true," he mumbled from beneath my hand, a blush coloring his cheeks. "Get off me. Seriously, get off," he added with a laugh, the room filled with our shared laughter.

The laughter quickly faded, leaving a lingering warmth between us. I don’t understand this feeling, I have never felt this way before. Our eyes were saying one thing, but our bodies were saying another. In that stillness, I became aware of the soft sound of snow falling outside.

"Oh, my god" I was star-stuck looking out the window.

His eyes followed mine, and as he turned to the window, a quiet gasp escaped his lips.

"It's snowing."

We just look at each other we didn't have to say anything, we jumped up from the bed, rushing down the stairs putting our coats on. The air was charged with anticipation, I was on the brink of witnessing snow for the very first time in my fifteen years. Nick handing me a hoodie in the process.

I shook my head refusing the offer, but he only shoved it back in my face,

"You were freezing when I first saw you this morning," he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. But he wasn't taking no for an answer.

I couldn't help but laugh, realizing he had a point. Gratefully accepting the hoodie, I slipped it on, feeling the warmth envelop me trying to ignore his overwhelming scent.

"It's a bit big," you said, glancing at the blue fabric draping down to my knees.

"It looks good on you," he said breathlessly, he was looking directly at me. Two compliments in one day, that was definitely something.

It was absolutely beautiful outside, the cold didn't bother me as much as before, it may or may not have something to do with the hoodie I was wearing.

Nick wasted no time sticking his tongue out to catch the tiny snowflakes. His cheeks had a rosy flush, and there was something about the way the light hit his hair, making it look a bit browner. He looked marvelous.

Caught staring, I locked eyes with him, and there was a fleeting smile on his face. Before I could fully process it, he playfully threw a whole snowball at me, leaving me in disbelief. I hurriedly made a makeshift snowball. It instantly became a snowball fight.

For a moment, just a moment everything seemed perfect, the way he laughed when Nellie was eating the snow. To when he brushed the snow off my hair. The way he took pictures of me when I made snow angles. When he laid beside me all I did was listen to him talk any and everything.

It was just perfect.

I couldn't shake the knot in my stomach, and suddenly, those stolen glances and shared moments held a new weight. When he looks at me, it's like he's seeing something beyond the surface. There's this intensity in his gaze, and I can't help but admire the way he looks at me. The way his eyes light up when he smiles, the little expressions that make him uniquely him. The realization hit me -

I have a crush on Nick Nelson

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Ellie snapped her fingers in front of my face, trying to grab my attention. My eyes, however, were glued to the three little bubbles dancing across my screen, eagerly awaiting Nick's response.

Ellie couldn't resist taking a peek at my screen, and a knowing smirk crept onto her face as she shook her head. "Oh, I see what's got you all distracted now."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm listening," I mumbled, tearing my eyes away from the screen to meet Ellie's amused gaze.

She chuckled, leaning back in her chair. "Nick, huh? The mystery guy who's got you glued to your phone?"

Blushing, I tried to downplay it. "We're just chatting, you know, about random stuff."

"Random stuff, right," Ellie teased, wiggling her eyebrows. "I've seen that look before. You've got the 'crush glow' all over your face."

Rolling my eyes, I shrugged. "Oh, come on. It's not like that. We're just friends."

Eyebrow raised; Ellie smirked. "Friends who text 24/7, interesting definition of friendship."

I sighed, realizing she saw through my attempt at nonchalance. "Okay, fine. Maybe there's a tiny crush. But seriously, don't make it a big deal."

Glancing out the window, I spotted Nick chatting with a pretty girl that I always seen around school. They were standing so close, and her laughter reached my ears even through the closed window. My heart sank as I watched them share a moment. She was effortlessly charming and ever so pretty, and the way Nick's eyes lit up in response made my stomach churn. It felt like they were in their own bubble, leaving me on the outside looking in.

Ellie looked at me and she frowned and nudged me gently. "Y/N, what's going on? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

I forced a weak smile, attempting to mask the turmoil inside. "Oh, nothing. Just caught up in my thoughts, you know?"

But Ellie wasn't buying it. She followed my gaze, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene outside. "Oh...that's Imogen. That's one of Nick's close friends,"

"Oh, really?" I tried to sound casual, but I could feel a knot forming in my stomach. "Just a friend, huh?"

Ellie shot me a knowing look, her eyebrows raised. "Y/N, are you getting jealous?"

"What? No!" I protested a bit too quickly, my cheeks heating up. "I mean, why would I be jealous? We're just friends, like I said."

Ellie chuckled, clearly amused by my reaction. "Sure, just friends. a friend who you have a crush on."

I rolled my eyes, attempting to change the subject. "Let's focus on something else. What were you saying before about our plans for the weekend?"

Ellie raised an eyebrow, clearly not letting me off the hook that easily. "Smooth transition, but we'll get back to this later. Anyway, I was thinking we could do a little movie night at Tao's. We can bring some snacks, binge-watch our favorite films, and just unwind."

"Yeah, that sounds great," I replied, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling. "Movies and snacks sound like the perfect distraction."

As we continued discussing our weekend plans, my mind kept drifting back to Nick and Imogen. I couldn't help but wonder if there was something more between them. Were they just friends, or was there a deeper connection? The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I found myself absentmindedly scrolling through our previous texts.

The guys were practicing for an upcoming match, and I was just here cleaning the Rugby they have already gotten so dirty after a couple of throws. Occasionally, Nick would glance over in my direction, offering a reassuring smile or a quick wave.

"I can't believe they have cleaning rugby balls. Doing the dirty work while we get all the glory?" Charlie teased, nudging me with his elbow.

I chuckled, playfully swatting at him. "Someone's got to keep these in top-notch condition. Can't have you all playing with muddy balls, can we?"

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of action, I noticed I haven't been seeing you lately. Any particular reason?"

I hesitated for a moment, debating how much to reveal. Finally, I decided to open up to Charlie, knowing he'd always knows what to do. "Well, I've been meaning to talk to you about that. You know, get some 'guy advice.'"

"I think I am the worse person to give 'guy advice'. especially now" Charlie looked down the ground.

Noticing the sadness in his eyes, I joked around with him "Oh come on, Charlie, don't be so hard on yourself. You're my go-to guy for advice, whether you like it or not."

He managed a small grin, "Alright, shoot. What do you need from my services this time?"

I sighed, glancing back at Nick on the field, his focused demeanor contrasting with the playful banter of the other players. "It's just... things have been different lately. We've been hanging out more, texting, you know, normal friend stuff. But I can't help but feel there's something more."

Charlie looked worried as soon as I brought up Nick's name, "Of course this is about Nick Nelson,"

I nodded, "Yeah, it is. I mean, we're friends, but there are these moments, these looks, and it makes me wonder if there's something more. And then today- I don't know... it just hit me differently."

Charlie glanced around to ensure no one was eavesdropping before he spoke. "Look, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but there's something I think you should know."

My heart sank a little, and I furrowed my brows in concern. "What is it, Charlie? You're making me nervous."

He took a deep breath before continuing "Okay so Tao told me to tell you that-

"Wait why couldn't Tao just tell me himself?"

Charlie looked a little uneasy "Because Tao is Tao"

Great he still doesn't like me.

I shook my head, urging Charlie to continue. "Tell me what Tao said."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "Tao found out from a friend who is also friends with Nick, and he said that Nick is single. But he is super interested in this girl that was originally from the all-girls school."

I swallowed the lead in my throat "What girl,"

Charlie sighed looking out onto the field "Her name's Tara Jones,"

My heart sank as Charlie dropped the bomb about Nick's interest in Tara Jones. Her name replayed in my mind like an annoying song on repeat. I couldn't shake off the blame creeping in why did I let myself get attached? Was I just too naive, thinking there could be more between us?

Nick's wave from the field added salt to the wound. I managed a feeble smile and a wave back, but inside, it felt like a whirlwind of emotions. Watching him, I questioned every shared laugh and conversation we had. Were they all just leading up to this moment where he'd be drawn to someone else?

The game raged on in the background, but my world stood still in that painful moment of realization. The cheers from the crowd turned into distant echoes, drowned out by the pounding of my heart, echoing the rhythm of disappointment.

How can I be so stupid.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ +

She was so beautiful, and I could see why Nick might be into her. Browsing through her social media, her confidence and elegance just stood out. It's something I feel like I lack. Her dark skin had this warm, rich tone that glowed in every photo. The more I looked, the more I found myself comparing. It made me question if I could ever match up to someone like her in Nick's eyes. The more I scrolled, the more I felt like an outsider peeking into a world that seemed so different from mine.

"See, I told you," Tao said, peering over my shoulder. Charlie shot him an annoyed look.

"Tao, come on, give it a rest. This doesn't necessarily mean anything," Charlie snapped.

"Like hell it doesn't," Tao retorted. I deeply sighed; their bickering wasn't making the situation any better. Isaac looked at me with a hint of concern.

"We don't even know if she actually likes Nick back," Isaac chimed in, attempting to offer some comfort.

Charlie scoffed, "I'm the one stuck seeing them in class every day, and trust me, it's nauseating. Believe me, he's into you," he added, shooting me a look.

Tao, fixing his gaze on Isaac, cautioned, "I've warned you about fueling romantic fantasies that just won't happen. Life isn't a romance novel, you know." ignoring Charlie reassurance.

"But I want to believe in romance." Isaac wined still looking hopeful. Our heads turned to the door when Ellie came in, Isaac immediately jumped at the chance "Ellie! So, there's this girl at school who Nick's got a crush on?"

"We've heard from multiple sources" Tao cut in, but Isaac completed ignored him "We don't know if they're a thing. Can you talk to her? Since she is in your year"

Isaac's hopeful gaze shifted to Ellie, who raised an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. "Whoa, slow down. First, spill the tea. Who's this mystery girl Nick's into?" Ellie said, playing dumb while glancing at me to check if it was Imogen we were talking about. I just quietly shook my head no

Tao chimed in, "Her name's Tara Jones. She was originally from the all-girls school."

Ellie crossed her arms, processing the information definitely wasn't expecting that. "Tara Jones? She's a sweetheart, I don't know Tara that well. I can just go up to her and ask who she fancies. And I'm, too busy being the cool, mysterious new girl, who everyone wants to hang out with."

Isaac quickly jumped back into the conversation, seizing the opportunity. "We just want to know if there's something going on between her and Nick. You know, for Y/N's peace of mind."

"I'm fine. It's honestly fine. I'm just being an idiot and overthinking things," This whole thing has been stressing me out, more than I realize. It's probably best if I cut my losses now before I get more attached.

Ellie gave me a sympathetic glance rolling her eyes while she sighed "Well, I can try to find out, but no promises, only if I get a chance I'll ask her,"

I flashed her a thankful smile, and Isaac promptly leaped into Ellie's arms. Sometimes, I forget how much of a hopeless romantic he is. Charlie joined in, gesturing for me to join them. Gratefully, I embraced the warmth of the hug. I realized I wouldn't know where I'd be without them.

Tao sat there, glaring, watching the scene.

The next school day rolled around, and I made a quick stop at the boys' locker room to check on inventory, making sure to steer clear of any awkward encounters, especially with Nick Nelson. Luckily, I managed to avoid any unexpected run-ins. However, as I strolled to my next class, it hit me that I'd be sharing a class with him soon. The knot in my stomach tightened, and a sense of unease settled in, a reminder of the events from the day before.

Waving at Charlie as I eased into my seat, a jumble of nerves hit me hard. Concentrating seemed like an impossible task, with my thoughts entirely hijacked by the looming encounter with Nick. What in the world was I even going to say to him, if I mustered the courage to say anything at all? The classroom blurred as my mind grappled with racing thoughts.

"Y/N?" he said, staring right at me with worried eyes.

Finally returning back to earth, I mumbled, "What?"

"You just spaced out," he observed.

Not knowing what to say, I managed a simple "Oh," fiddling with my blue pen, which oddly seemed to help with my nerves. Nick, sensing the habit, scooted closer to me. I swear I could feel his body warmth.

"What's up?" he said, looking directly at me. "I can tell when something's on your mind," he added in a hush, leaning even more closely.

Gosh, I hate the way he makes me feel. The way I act around him is ridiculous. I hate that every time he gets close, my heart races, every touch, every feeling. I hate all of it!

Why does he make me feel this way?

"Do you...Do you want to come to my house later?" I blurted out, causing for Charlie to peek over at me with panic eyes screaming What the hell are you doing!

He looked surprised, but all he can do is smile.

Mom is not going to be here until super late, so I can have the house all to myself. I cleaned from top to bottom of house, throwing all the boxes away and tightening up everything was squared away.

Hearing a knock at the door, it was him standing at my door smiling from ear to ear.

"Hey"

Opening the door for him, "Hey,"

"So, how does this work?" he asked hesitantly, glancing around the room as if unsure of what to capture with my old Canon. The way he held the camera was so awkward, it brought a smile to my face.

Figuring it was a fair trade after all the rugby lessons, I decided to teach Nick a thing or two about photography.

"You can take a picture of anything you like, really. It could be something beautiful, something that grabs your attention, or simply anything that intrigues you," I explained, observing him furrow his brows while peering through the viewfinder.

"Anything?" he asked, seeking confirmation.

I nodded, a spark of enthusiasm lighting up my eyes. "Exactly! That's the beauty of it. Photography allows you to freeze a moment in time, to capture something you love, like, or find amusing. It's incredible how a single image can encapsulate so much emotion, tell a story, or even memories."

Nick listened attentively, his curiosity evident. I continued, "You see, every photo has a story behind it. It's a way of preserving feelings, experiences, and moments that might otherwise fade away. You get to share your perspective with others through the lens, allowing them to see the world through your eyes."

As I spoke, I could see Nick growing more intrigued, absorbing the idea of photography beyond just pressing a button. "Give it a try," I encouraged, "Capture something that stands out to you, something you'd want to remember."

Right as I looked back at Nick, I noticed that fuck, he was looking directly at me. His eyes looked into mine and there it was again, that knot in my stomach. I didn't know what to do, I had completely froze. His eyes seemed different though-

Feeling a buzz in my pocket, I checked my phone. It was a message from my mom, letting me know she wouldn't be home until midnight and that there was lasagna in the fridge. A sigh of relief escaped my lips, knowing I wouldn't have to explain having a boy in my room when she returned.

Hearing a click, I turned to Nick, curious about what had caught his attention through the lens of my camera. "What did you take a picture of?" I asked.

"Just something that I thought was beautiful," Nick replied with a soft smile, his eyes lingering on mine. Raising my eyebrows confused but also curious. He didn't say anything at all, other than putting the camera down.

"Want to watch a movie?" he suggested,

"Already one step ahead of you," I grinned, pulling out one of my favorite Marvel movies.

We settled into the living room couch, time passes by, and my eyelids begin to grow heavy. Waking up to see the credits rolling I quickly sat up. I completely sleep through the whole entire movie.

Looking out the window, it was dark outside, looking at Nick he seemed to be tensed.

"I feel asleep, didn't I?" I chuckled.

Nick's lips curved into a gentle smile, "Yeah, you did. Must have been a comfortable couch."

I stretched my arms, attempting to shake off the drowsiness. "Sorry about that. I guess I needed the nap."

Nick shrugged, "No problem. You looked peaceful."

We sat quietly, the feel of the movie night still in the air. Even with the unexpected nap, the evening felt calm.

"I should probably head home," Nick said, glancing at the time. "It's getting late."

As he stood up, I walked him to the door. Opening it without caring about the cold air seeping in, the night possessed a certain calmness, and the air held a subtle tension, like the moment before something shifts.

"Thanks for inviting me over," Nick said, and for a moment, our eyes met in a way that spoke volumes, yet said nothing at all.

"I wish that you didn't have to go," I admitted, feeling the weight of the night settling in.

"I wish I didn't either," Nick confessed, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"You look so cuddly like that," he added, his gaze lingering on my knitted sweater.

My eyes softened, and a playful grin tugged at the corners of my lips. "You think so?"

He nodded, smiling back at me. "Yeah, like a giant teddy bear."

I chuckled, feeling a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the sweater. "Well, I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

Nick's cheeks turned a shade of pink, and he scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin on his face "It's meant to be one," he replied, and we stood there for a moment, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if I didn't have early morning practice, I might consider staying longer."

I felt a subtle warmth spreading through me. The casual banter, the shared laughter it all felt so easy and right. Yet, there was an unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that lingered between us.

"I guess I'll see you around," Nick said, but he didn't make a move to the open door; it looked like he wanted to say something else he just couldn't find the words.

As he stepped closer, the air between us seemed to shift, and before I knew it, he pulled me into a gentle hug.

Vanilla. Smoke. and Musk

I slowly wrapped my arms around, wanting to not let go, but he quickly pulled away, backing towards the door.

"Um… catch you on Monday," he mumbled, clearing his throat, his gaze fixed anywhere but on me. He melted into the night, leaving me standing there, gaping at the door, with a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my mind.

Charlie casually peeked around the side of the door, and from the look on his face, it was clear he caught the whole thing.

"Still questioning if he's into you?" Charlie asked, shooting me a knowing look.

#nick nelson x y/n #nick nelson x reader #nick nelson x fem!reader #nick nelson x blackreader #nick nelson fanfic #kit connor #heartstopper #charlie spring #black!fem!reader #black reader #heartstopper netflix #heartstopper fandom #heartstopper fanfic

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captainremmington-13 · 1 month

Text

Cold

A Bellova x Coriolanus One-Shot

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova, Drusilla, and Oliveria. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

Summary: Gym class gets heated in a multitude of ways.

⚠️Warnings⚠️: swearing, violence, mentions of injury, allusions to sex, slut shaming, bullying(?)

A/n: This takes place one school years before TBOSAS occurs, (the equivalent of their junior year of high school). Also, I HIGHLY recommend you catch up on my series, A Lady Made of Snow, before reading this.

“Damn, Plinth, how are you so good at this?”

Sejanus laughed, releasing his hands from the metal bar and landing solidly on his feet. “I train at home when I have free time. Pa always said that a man’s strength is split between physicality and mentality.”

Bellova rolled her eyes playfully. “I wouldn’t know, my father always said that brains are far more valuable than brawn.”

Sejanus walked over to the bench where she was sitting and picked up his gym towel, dabbing it across his forehead to rid it of sweat. “Your turn, Bellova.”

She sighed, tightening the neat ponytail that kept her long black hair out of her face. She would much rather be working on that history essay that was assigned this morning. But for now, she had to do as many pull-ups as she could in one minute while Sejanus held a timer.

At least she excelled in gym class. Professor Aggrippina Sickle consistently praised her for her skills. She was flexible, strong, and nimble, all the traits needed to make a quality athlete. Though she didn’t hate the physical education period, it wasn’t exactly her favorite. Sickle worked every student hard, pushing them to their limits.

About ten pull-ups in, Bellova saw Coriolanus walk up to Sejanus, taking a seat next to him. This was quite unusual, it was usually Sejanus who initiated conversations, not the other way around.

Clearly, Coriolanus was up to no good.

As soon as the timer in Sejanus’s hand went off, Bellova let go of the bar and strode towards the two boys. Their gym clothes consisted of a loose tank top and shorts, which were mainly academy red with a hint of gold near the edges of the fabric. They weren’t very flattering, but Sejanus and Coriolanus still managed to look good. If their lives had played out differently, she would’ve been quite flustered being so physically close to them.

The girl’s clothes were slightly better in Bellova’s opinion. The tank tops were similar to the boys’, but instead of shorts, they had skirts with built-in shorts underneath.

The only thing Bellova didn’t like about them was the stares she got as soon as she walked out of the girl’s locker room.

Bellova only stopped walking when she was inches from Coriolanus’s legs. “Get up, I was sitting here earlier.”

The blond rolled his eyes. “I’m not an Avox, you can’t just order me around.”

Instead of continuing to bicker, Bellova simply turned around and placed herself in between her two classmates.

Sejanus and Coriolanus exchanged glances, but didn’t attempt to shoo her away. They knew that if they did, they’d each walk away with painful bruises.

“I’m so fucking bored,” Bellova complained, inspecting her nails for any signs of damage. “I wish that Professor Sickle didn’t make us stay here until everyone is done with her drills. I could have gotten started on the history project, or that essay that was assigned this morning.”

“The essay should be easy,” Sejanus said. “Professor Click said it only needed to be two pages long.”

Bellova shrugged. “True, but you know I love to go above and beyond.”

Sejanus looked up at the clock that hung just above the gymnasium doors. “Well, the period ends in two minutes, you won’t have to wait much longer.”

“Good,” Bellova said, turning to Coriolanus to give him a snide look. “Both of you desperately need showers.”

Coriolanus scowled back. “You have no concept of manners.”

“And you think you do?”

“Watch it,” Coriolanus spat. “Or I’ll-“

His threat was promptly cut off when he noticed a girl storming up to them.

“Oliviera,” Bellova said, giving her a sickly sweet smile. “How can I help you?”

The girl in question glanced at Coriolanus, then Sejanus, and finally locked gazes with Bellova again.

“Whoring yourself out again, I see.”

Bellova looked shocked, which was a rare sight to behold. “Excuse me?”

“First you fucked Felix, and now these two?”

Coriolanus watched, speechless, as Bellova’s face turned pink. “What the hell are you talking about? I went to the gala with him at the end of the last school year, and that was it. We never even dated.”

“Oh, please,” Oliviera said smugly. “You obviously slept with him. I saw you get in his father’s limousine and head towards the Presidential Palace. Tell me, why did you do it?”

“You’re a fucking liar,” Bellova hissed. “I slept in my own bed that night, thank you very much. Coriolanus can vouch for me, he was there when my car arrived.”

Bellova shot Coriolanus a look, as if to say ‘back me up.’

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah I was.”

Bellova bit back a grin, trying to conceal her relief that he had actually helped her out.

“Now that that’s settled,” she began, giving Oliviera a sharp glare. “Don’t ever ask about my personal life again. In fact, don’t even fucking speak to me, or I’ll ruin you and your family.”

Oliviera’s pale, pointed face contorted into an expression of rage. She raised her right hand, ready to strike Bellova across the face.

“Woah,” Sejanus said, instinctively placing an arm in front of Bellova. “Leave her alone, Oliviera. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Sejanus, I can handle this,” Bellova snapped, standing up abruptly.

“Bellova,” Coriolanus said, grabbing her wrist. “Don’t. You’ll get in trouble with Professor Sickle.”

Bellova pulled out of his grip, giving him a warning look. “Don’t get in my way, Coryo. Trust me, you’ll wanna stay out of th-“

Oliviera suddenly grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her forward, promptly cutting her off.

Bellova screamed, causing every head in the room to turn to her. Oliviera harshly tugged on her ebony locks once more, and delivered a mediocre but effective punch to her cheek.

“Get off of me!” Bellova cried, trying to push her assailant away.

Sejanus was the first one to come to Bellova’s aid, freeing her from Oliviera’s iron grip. Coriolanus found himself standing up as well, grabbing Bellova by the shoulders gently and moving her several feet away from the other girl.

She was deadly silent, which frightened Coriolanus slightly. He was worried that her rage was building up, and that he’d be the target when it finally boiled over.

Professor Sickle was now rushing over to where Sejanus and Oliviera stood. She demanded an explanation from Oliviera, but she refused to speak. Instead, Sejanus told the professor what had happened, but left out all of the sensitive information.

Bellova could hear Professor Sickle scolding Oliviera, and didn’t even try to bite back her grin. The bitch was going to get what she deserved.

Oliviera ordered to go to the dean’s office, so she headed out of the gymnasium, dragging her feet. Then, the professor approached Coriolanus and Bellova.

“Are you alright, Miss Reginelle?” she asked, gently moving Bellova’s hair out of the way to reveal the bruise forming on her cheek. “Oh dear, we need to get some ice on that. Mister Snow, can you take her to the nurse’s office while I dismiss the rest of the class?”

Coriolanus nodded, and beckoned for Bellova to follow him. She did so reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

The walk to the school infirmary was…tense, to say the least. Bellova held a hand up to her cheek, covering the purple and blue mark on her face. As they passed by, several Academy students gave them strange looks.

They weren’t used to seeing them within a foot of each other and not arguing.

Coriolanus pretended to ignore it, but it bothered him. He didn’t like feeling judged. He also hated rumors, as they were beyond his control.

But he kept walking, keeping his gaze straightforward as he and Bellova approached their destination. He refused to let her or anyone else know he was perturbed by the attention they were receiving.

Finally, Coriolanus spotted the infirmary doors. Politely opening them for Bellova, he followed behind her once she’d entered the room.

“Miss Drusilla,” Coriolanus began, approaching the middle-aged woman dressed in white who was sitting behind a desk. “Bellova was attacked during gym class. She needs a cold press for her face, and perhaps some ointment to help with the swelling.”

Bellova was quickly ushered into a plus chair by Miss Drusilla, and instructed to stay put until she returned with the ice. Coriolanus stood next to her, feeling quite awkward. What was there to say?

He cleared his throat. “I’m surprised that you didn’t really fight back.”

Bellova sighed. “I wanted to pin the attack solely on Oliviera. I don’t want any blemishes on my academic record.” She gave him a wry smile. “That would give you a leg up, and I can’t have that, can I?”

He laughed. “Of course. You’d never give me the upper hand willingly.”

She gave him a cheeky grin that very nearly made him blush. “You know me so well.”

Coriolanus expression then turned more serious, his pink lips curling downwards slightly. “But seriously, that girl was out of her mind.”

“She’s a jealous bitch, always has been,” Bellova said. “She desperately wants to get laid, and thinks that I’m stealing boys away from her or something ridiculous like that.”

“Ah.” Coriolanus never quite understood the reasoning behind girls’ rampant jealousy. Wouldn’t it be simpler to just focus on themselves? He supposed he’d never really know.

Bellova sighed, turning her head away from Coriolanus. She thought back to what Oliviera had said right after claiming she’d had sex with Felix Ravinstill.

She accused Bellova of sleeping with Coriolanus and Sejanus. And, even worse, she implied she’d fucked them both at the same time.

It was an absurd assumption, really. Everyone knew that Bellova had a less-than-healthy relationship with the Snow heir. They exchanged horrible insults, and went out of their way to provoke each other. There were some times, like now, where there was peace between them. But those moments were becoming rarer as time passed on.

It was obvious that she wasn’t extremely fond of Sejanus Plinth either. He was a nice boy, but he was district. If he hasn’t been born in District Two, she would have considered him a close friend. Bellova couldn’t be too closely associated with him, or people would talk.

Miss Drusilla returned with a small bag full of ice and a small jar. She placed the bag in Bellova’s hands. “Keep that on your face for about ten minutes, and then apply the ointment after.”

Bellova nodded, doing as she was told. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Of course, dear.” The nurse then turned to Coriolanus. “You can head to your next class, Mister Snow.”

He nodded, and looked at the injured girl before him. “See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t reply, simply giving him a small nod, half of her face hidden by the ice.

The bruise was painful, but the cold demeanor that Coriolanus gave her somehow hurt even more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the phone in Bellova’s room rang, she immediately picked it up. She assumed either Persephone or Lysistrata wanted to check in her. After all, they were there when the incident took place, but were on the opposite side do the gym when it occurred.

“Hey,” she said into the speaker, her tone casual and relaxed.

“Hello, this is Bellova, right?”

Her body tensed immediately. It was Coryo.

“How did you get my number?”

Bellova winced. She hasn’t meant to come off so aggrssively, but when she was caught off-guard, it happened naturally.

“Sejanus,” he answered simply.

“Ah.”

Fuck, this was awkward. Bellova took a deep breath, and then spoke again.

“Why exactly are you calling me?”

“I just…wanted to check in with you. I assume the bruise will heal up soon?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “As long as I keep icing it and applying that ointment Drusilla gave me, it will be gone in a week or so.”

“Good,” Coriolanus said stiffly. “I also wanted to inform you that after you left the campus, I found out that Oliviera was suspended for two weeks as a consequence for her actions. When she returns, she’ll be closely supervised.”

Bellova rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t seem harsh enough. But if she fucks with me again, she’ll really get what was coming to her.”

Coriolanus’s laugh rang in her ear, and she found herself grinning like an idiot. Quickly forcing the smile to fade, she added, “I appreciate you backing me up earlier.”

“Of course,” he replied. “It was the right thing to do.”

“Careful, Coryo,” she said teasingly. “It’s starting to sound like you care about me.”

She could practically see him rolling his eyes. “Trust me, that’s not what I was trying to convey.”

Bellova felt her fondness for him fade immediately. “Whatever. I need to go, I have homework to do and so do you.”

Coriolanus hummed. “Alright. I’ll leave you too it.”

“Bye.”

Bellova set the phone back on the receiver a bit too harshly, and collapsed backwards onto her mattress dramatically.

Just when she thought he was trying to be being nice to her, he metaphorically slammed the door in her face.

But that was just how Coriolanus was. He’d show hints of affection and care, and then turned cold. She wasn’t sure why, but she suspected that he was afraid to be vulnerable. She sympathized with that, but the constant game of hot-and-cold was irritating.

Why couldn’t he at least try to be more consistently considerate?

‘Stop it,’ she chided herself. ‘It doesn’t fucking matter. He’s always been like this and that’ll never change. Now, we have homework to finish.’

With that, she pushed herself off of her bed and headed to her desk. She sat down on her plush chair and opened the drawer designated for writing materials. Retrieving several sheets of paper and a fountain pen, she took a deep breath and began to write, ignoring the throbbing on her cheek from the escapades that had occurred earlier.

Strangely, the bruise didn’t feel like something to be ashamed of. It felt like a battle wound, something that showed she could handle herself.

It further proved that she was strong, resilient, a true Reginelle through and through.

And nothing could take that away from her.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊❆ ‧

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker, @vxnilla-hxrddrugs, @mystargirl-interlude

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! I’m so sorry this took FOREVER to write, my life has been rly busy this week :(( I apologize if the quality of this fic isn’t great, I kinda rushed the ending a little…

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! (I had to add some of y’all to a comment instead becuz tumblr won’t let me tag more people for some reason☹️)

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x oc #tbosas #the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #original character #thg prequel #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader #sejanus deserved better

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heliads · 2 years

Text

Sunbeam

You and Peter Maximoff have been best friends since forever, as evident by the nickname he won't stop calling you. It's a shame, then, that you might be feeling something a little stronger than just friendship.

masterlist

a/n: this has been in my drafts since november bc i have been afraid to post anything that wasn't a request but Too Bad For You! i am now uncontrollable by man or beast so you get the fic anyway :)

Your footsteps echo through the halls of Xavier’s school. You skid around corners, not exactly running but certainly moving faster than a mere walk. The bell will ring in just a few seconds, and you’re still not at the training room. You manage to slip inside the door moments before class starts, and quickly make your way to the back of the crowd of students before the instructor can notice that you were almost late.

You think you’ve managed to avoid getting called out for your near miss, but as you disappear into the group of mutants flung to the far corners of the room, you hear a voice behind you.

“You took your time getting here, huh, sunbeam?”

You groan, but can’t hide a smile. “Do you always have to call me that?”

Peter Maximoff is grinning at you when you turn around. “Obviously. It fits, doesn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. “Just because my mutation has to do with creating light doesn’t mean you have to use the nickname.”

Peter shrugs. “Come up with a better one, and I’ll use it. I happen to like sunbeam a lot.”

You reach over to shove him on the shoulder, but Peter, as always, manages to move a little faster than you and dodges it just in time.

“Of course you like it, you’re not the one being called sunbeam all the time. You do know no one else calls me that but you, right?” You counter.

Peter snorts. “Yeah, because I’m the one who created it.”

You add one last bit under your breath, but he still hears you. “Because it’s a terrible nickname?”

Peter gives you a look. “Because it’s a great nickname, and they’re simply jealous of my insanely good nickname-creating abilities.”

You’re about to challenge this, but another one of your friends breezes into a spot in between the two of you. “Quit flirting, you two, we’re about to start class.”

You and Peter both make faces at Jean Grey at the exact same time.

“Jean, just because you’re dating the least romantic person on the planet doesn’t mean everyone else flirts by just talking to each other.” Peter says, and Jean rolls her eyes.

“Oh, shut it, Peter. I hope today’s a combat lesson, because I kind of want to punch you in the face.”

You laugh at that. “We all want to punch Peter, that’s just normal.”

Peter narrows his eyes at you, and crosses around Jean to wind up next to you in the span of half a second. “Is that true, Y/N? You’d punch your friend?”

You make a face at him. “Gladly. You’d deserve it, too.”

Peter holds his serious face for a second longer, then loses it in a laugh. He’s never been able to stay upset around you for more than a little while. It’s the same with you. That’s why the two of you are friends, actually. When you get on everyone else’s nerves when you never stop making jokes, you go find the one other person who’s exactly like you– Peter.

True to Jean’s wishes, today is indeed a combat class, although you’re just doing drills. You and Peter partner up automatically, and join the other students in lining up in orderly rows throughout the training room. The Professor has been insistent that everyone should know how to defend themselves if necessary, although you are allowed to use your powers to improve your chances at winning.

Peter aims a lightning-fast punch at your head, stopping just shy of hitting you. You don’t flinch; you never do. Sometimes, you think that’s a sign that you should probably practice combat with someone other than Peter, because you’ve never been able to get it into your head to actually fear him hurting you. All the same, you can’t quite convince yourself to pick anyone else. Maybe Jean was right about the flirting comment after all, although you’d never admit it to her face.

It’s your turn to go now, and you flash a bright beam of light at Peter’s face. This causes him to blink slightly, dazed, and in that time you’re able to lunge forward and aim a kick at his chest. Unlike most of your other opponents, Peter is able to recover in barely any time at all, and one of his hands flies up to catch your foot just before it connects with his chest. You’re expecting this, though, and your second attack hits him in the shoulder.

Peter grimaces slightly, shaking it off. “Nice one, sunbeam.” He grins at your exasperated look. “And no, I’m not giving that up anytime soon.”

The two of you continue with the drills, exchanging sarcastic comments all the while. Despite all the times you’ve complained about the nickname, he’s still the only one you allow to use it. Read into that as you will, but you prefer to not think about it all.

The more you think about it, the more you realize that you might want something more from Peter Maximoff than just friendship. And, seeing as Peter moves on faster from anything than anyone you’ve ever met, you can’t afford to lose him. Especially not if you scare him off by wanting more than he can offer. So, you keep your silence, and pretend you don’t want to smile as brightly as the light from your mutation whenever you hear his favorite nickname for you.

You and Peter walk through the school together after class, specifically choosing a path where you come across the fewest number of people possible. There is no thundering noise like the sound that echoes through the halls of a school for mutants, and simultaneously, no silence like the quiet of finding a moment alone.

Peter pushes open the doors that lead outside to the ground, and you let your eyes flicker shut happily as the fresh air washes over you. In a way, you think your powers are somewhat connected to the actual sun– the more time you spend in its gaze, the better.

When you open your eyes, you notice that Peter isn’t paying attention to the rolling hills, but looking at you instead. He’s wearing this soft sort of smile that you don’t usually see on him. He’s traded in his usual self-assured smirk for contemplative happiness, as easy as changing clothes. You let yourself look back at him for a moment too long, and you swear you could let it go on forever.

But you’ve got places to be, things to see. You and Peter aren’t just wandering aimlessly, you’re both walking to Xavier’s office to hear something about an upcoming mission. You’ve been hearing snatches of rumors about this assignment for a while now, but nothing’s set in stone yet. You know that it involves the entire team of X-Men, so it must be important, but the rest will be revealed later.

Jean is already in the Professor’s office when you get there, and Scott, Storm, and Kurt show up soon enough. Once you’ve all gathered together, Xavier begins to talk. There’s a gathering of young mutants happening in a building near the school. It’s a way for children who have just gained mutations to figure out what to do next, a stepping off place of sorts for them to leave their normal lives behind and learn how to live with their powers. This sort of thing has started happening a lot recently; it’s how you learned about Xavier’s school in the first place, actually.

The only problem is that the Professor has heard rumors of a planned attack on the conference. That’s why he’s sending all of you, so you can act as guards and make sure the younger mutants will be alright. After about half an hour of discussion, you’re ready to go. Xavier only just heard about the attack, so you’ll be shipping out in an hour or so. Not a lot of time to prepare, certainly, but that’s just life as one of the X-Men. Constant battles are nothing new.

The X-Jet touches down in a quieter part of town about two hours later. You, Peter, Jean, and the rest file out quietly, with the Professor giving you directions over a headset. Due to the volatile nature of this mission, and the fact that an attack could come at any second, you all collectively decided that it would be best if Xavier remained on the plane. Although he is certainly a powerful mutant, none of you can afford him getting injured or taken out in the fight.

You find the building soon enough. It’s a tall office building, with many stories of glass windows and concrete and steel walls. You and the rest of the X-Men exchange glances, then head inside. You meet with the event organizers soon enough, who seem grateful to have you. It must be terrifying, knowing that the attack is coming but going through with the conference anyway.

The X-Men spread out to different corners and floors of the building, all of you on high alert. Peter’s on the floor below you, although you walk together until you reach the stairwell.

He turns to you one last time before disappearing through the doors, tossing you a familiar half-smile like this is just another day of training. “See you later, sunbeam. Try not to get killed.”

You manage a smile in return. “You too, Peter.”

Then he’s gone, and you’re left to stare at the closing door. You have no idea how deadly this attack will be, if it will even happen at all. All you can do is watch, wait, and hope that all of your friends will be alright. You pace back and forth, making sure nothing out of the ordinary happens.

After a moment, you see it. A few dark, armored trucks are pulling into the parking lot, even though the event started at least an hour ago and the new arrivals have essentially stopped. Everyone who’s supposed to be here has already shown up, and anyone who’s arriving– well, you don’t know who they could be. You drift closer to a row of windows, and stare at the men starting to pour out of the trucks.

Instantly, you’re reaching for your earpiece. “Guys, I think I have eyes on the attackers. Armored trucks, east side of the building in the parking lot. There’s a lot of them.”

A moment later, Jean's voice crackles into being. “I see them. I think there’s around three dozen. Get the kids out now.”

You fling yourself into action, shouting for the organizers to round up the mutant kids and get them out of there. You help carry the kids who are too young to run as fast as they need to, and make sure everyone gets out. You’re too high up to risk the elevators, as those are likely one of the first targets of the attackers, so you direct everyone towards the stairs.

You look around you, but you think everyone is out of your floor. You radio this into your earpiece, and after a few minutes, you hear confirmation from Storm and Scott that they’ve done the same. Peter’s already making trips to get people out as fast as he can (which, incidentally, is very, very fast), and Kurt is starting to teleport people who can’t get out as easily. Jean is heading towards the parking lot to slow down the attackers, so you start to do the same.

A few moments later, your feet hit the asphalt as you run through the front doors. You fling up wide beams of light to blind your opponents, making it easy to take them down before they even see you. Light appears in your hands like daggers, slicing through weapons and dismantling enemy technology before it can be used.

Jean runs up beside you, breathing hard. “These guys are done for. I’ve taken down one of the other trucks, too. I think we’re done.”

You start to nod, then frown. “Wait, did you get the third truck of soldiers?”

Jean’s face falls. “What do you mean, third truck? I thought there were only two.”

You shake your head frantically. “No, I saw three. We have to find them now, before it’s too late.”

Jean starts to cast around with her powers, searching for the remaining guards. After a moment, her face contorts with horror. “It’s too late.”

A half second later, you hear a massive explosion. Behind you, smoke and fire issues from the building, but you can’t see anything that’s happening, because the blast from the building knocks you back into the ground and you can’t feel anything at all.

You don’t know how long you were unconscious, but when you wake, ears ringing, you can’t seem to keep track of anything at all.

You stagger to your feet. “Jean. Jean!”

Your friend materializes out of the heavy, dark smoke that seems to choke out everything nearby. “I’m here. Guys, radio in if you’re safe. Y/N’s with me.”

You hear a voice spark to life over your earpiece. “This is Scott, I’m safe. I’ve got eyes on Storm, and she’s fine.”

Storm confirms this, and Kurt teleports to your side to prove that he’s alright.

You’re still missing someone. “Peter, you alright?”

There’s no answer, not even a crackle of static. You try again. “Peter, come in.”

Nothing. There’s a heavy sort of horror that’s starting to lodge itself in your throat, one that you can’t seem to claw out.

“Peter!”

Silence. Jean’s staring at you, and starting to say something, but you can’t seem to concentrate. Why can’t you hear him?

“Have any of you seen Peter?”

Beside you, Kurt is starting to shake his head. “Last time I saw him was before the blast. He was heading inside to find more people.”

You swallow hard. “He was still in there?”

Kurt can’t meet your eyes. “I think so.”

You stumble slightly, suddenly dizzy. Jean reaches out an arm. “Y/N, wait a minute. You don’t know what’s happened.”

You brush her arm off. “That’s the problem. I’m going in.”

Jean starts to stop you, but she freezes in her tracks when she sees the look on your face. “I have to find him, Jean.”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but at last she nods. “Stay safe.”

You don’t have time to confirm this, because you’re already off and running through the rubble of the parking lot.

As you draw closer to the building, you feel your footsteps slow in shock. This building had been tall, maybe eight stories, but now? Try four. Three, if you don’t count the ruin of the final level. It’s a mess of ash and dust, and all you can think about is that Peter is somewhere in there. You had been on floor four, and Peter had been one below you, so he’s somewhere in three.

You push through the doors, and they fall apart at your slightest touch. You cough at the dust that hangs through the air like a second atmosphere, and make your way to the stairwell. You stumble and slip, barely able to see a thing, but still you go. The stairs are blocked at the third floor, so you run down to the second floor again and try to find another way up. You have to resort to climbing up onto the ruin of what had once been a conference table to punch a whole through the cracked and broken ceiling to make your way up.

You pull yourself through to the third floor, shaking and covered in dust and ash. Your voice is hoarse, and your lungs can barely work through their layers of smog, but you call out nonetheless.

“Peter. Peter, can you hear me?” You can’t hear anything. “Peter!”

You wander through wreck after wreck of hallways and rooms, shouting all the while.

The more space you cover, the more you start to panic. This floor is barely a floor at all, more just utter devastation. There is rubble everywhere from the collapse of the other stories, and Peter could be buried under any of these piles of concrete and cement. You shout again, then double over, coughing. Dust hangs suspended in the air, so thick you can practically draw a finger through it.

It is now, when you just manage to get your breath back, that you hear something. It’s quiet, barely a shift in the rubble, but it’s enough. You move towards it, walking at first and then running when you hear it again. The sound comes from a pile of debris in the corner of a room. You start to pull away chunks of concrete, ignoring the cuts opening up on your hands. At last, you see something that makes a sob rise up in your throat.

There’s a hand lying there in the rubble, badly scored by ash and blood. You frantically clear rocks away from it, and after a moment, you see him. Peter lies in front of you, so still that you nearly scream. When he moves slightly, barely even a rise and fall of his chest, you want to cry. You crumple to the ground next to him, hands reaching for him even as you feel the need to pull away.

“Peter.”

The word is barely a whisper, more like a hope. The impossible happens, though, and Peter starts to stir. He speaks, and his voice is a cracked, broken version of his usual confidence, but it’s him.

“Hey, sunbeam.”

You let out this half-laugh, half-sob sound, and fling your arms around his shoulders. After a moment, he raises his arms to embrace you back.

“I thought you weren’t coming back. Don’t ever do that again.”

When you lean back, you can’t seem to keep your eyes from tracing his face, again and again.

Peter chuckles. “Not planning on it, trust me. I knew you’d find me, though.”

You frown. “Why’s that?”

Peter straightens up, propping himself up on his elbows. “Because I know you, sunbeam. I don’t need anything else.”

Everything else falls away when he says this. You stare at him, face painted with ash, and then you lean forward and kiss him. You can taste the sharp tang of dust on his lips, the crack of it against your mouth. There’s a certain fragility to it, like you’re afraid to move too fast and hurt him, but when Peter kisses you back, he’s more sure than you’ve ever seen him.

He laughs quietly against your lips. “If this is what I get when I nearly get injured, I think I’ll have to do this more often.”

You want to yell at him and laugh at the same time, so you settle for kissing him again. It produces the desired result, anyways, which is to both shut him up and satisfy the roar in your chest. You’ve got him back. Peter is here. Damn the rest.

xmen tag list: @enchantedcruelsummer, @awaywiththe, @amourtentiaa, @elaineygrace, @rogueanschel, @caswinchester2000, @gods-fools-heroes

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff imagines #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff oneshot #xmen #xmen imagines #xmen x reader #xmen oneshot #quicksilver #quicksilver imagines #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver oneshot #xmen peter maximoff #xmen peter maximoff imagines #xmen peter maximoff x reader #xmen peter maximoff oneshot

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tesalicious2 · 9 months

Text

My brain is dead bc school started. But it’s also pumping hard on the procrastination train using COD

so, it’s training for the recruits and Ghost and Soap are in charge of it. It’s hot so the morning meeting is in a hanger instead of outside.

It’s going to be drills today but stopping at 10:30 and restarting again at 4:00, keeping the them out of the blistering heat in full gear to avoid heatstroke.

Ghost is wearing a short sleeve compression shirt today, a rarity for sure. So rare, Soap has never seen just that, always a jacket over and half way zipped.

And Soap is staring.

Directly at Ghosts chest.

It’s a beautiful chest and Soap just wants to lay his head on it. Ghost’s pecks are well sculpted and stand out just like the rest of his chest.

Ghost stops mid sentence and yells at soap, ‘you gonna share with the class or keep drooling on the floor.’

This earns a chuckle or two. Ghost smirks expecting he’s just embarrassed Soap.

The heat must’ve killed Soap’s brain and shame because, without missing a beat, he responds ‘you have huge breasts.’

The silence is deafening.

Soap quickly scrambles out of the hanger to anywhere. Hopefully he finds Price to save him, but the man could only do so much. Gaz would help him escape at least, the good man that he was. But he’d laugh at him first.

Back in the hanger, Ghost is left standing there in shock.

‘If you lot can keep him safe from me until 10:30, approximately 2 hours, I will give everyone the week off.’

Ghost had never seen so many soldiers run so fast and so in tune with each other.

But it didn’t matter.

Soap was DOOMED and they both knew it.

#headcanon #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #tf 141 #crack #ghost #mw2 #john price #kyle gaz garrick

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necroromantics · 6 months

Text

🧺 — Laundry And Taxes

chapter 8. // (masterlist)

AN: MB BOUT THE WAIT Ive been adjusting to new medication but Im getting the ball rolling again. Im gonna try and post daily or every other day :]

Toby awoke the next morning to the muffled sound of arguing coming from the living room. It sounded as if somebody was fighting over the phone. Sluggishly, Toby walked out of his room to see what was going on. As he quietly lingered in the entrance, he saw his mother crying to herself as she continued to quietly fight with whoever was on the other end of the call.

“Mom? What's wrong?” Toby called out, causing Connie to jump and quickly hang up.

“Nothing, sweetie,” she assured softly as she wiped her tears and stood up to head into her bedroom. Toby watched her for a moment, trying to push down the worry he had felt.

He made himself a bowl of cereal before sitting down on the couch, turning on the TV to a slasher film which had been playing on a channel for Halloween. As Toby watched the killer brutally hack a woman to pieces, the boy’s face scrunched in disgust.

‘That's not accurate at all, come on’ he thought to himself as he took another bite of his breakfast.

As he gulped down his cereal, he couldn’t help but put himself in the position of the killer on the screen. Toby couldn’t help but imagine himself as the one to drill that knife into the chest of the pleading victim. He couldn’t stop from wandering into the terrifying depths of the decayed forest in his mind. Hatchet in his hand, huffing as drool drips from the deep gash in his cheek, blood staining his shoes. His dishes clattered as he dropped them into the sink, turning on the water to rinse them off. Running his hands under the cool downpour, Toby’s gaze turned over to a small orange container hiding behind the toaster on the kitchen counter. His brow creased as he turned off the tap and grabbed the bottle, quickly realizing it was full of pills. The boy tilted his head slightly — he hadn’t refilled his medication in months. As his eyes scanned over the label, he could feel a strange sort of sickness bubbling up from his chest and into his throat.

Toby swung open the door to his mothers room, causing her to take a seated position from the bed she had been laying on.

“Are these yours?” He asked, holding up the bottle of antidepressants. Connie rushed over to the boy and grabbed the pills from his hand.

“Where did you get this?” She demanded to know, guilt pouring from her eyes.

“I found them on the counter. Who were you on the phone with earlier? Was it Frank?”

Toby’s voice got louder as his mother stayed silent. The boy let out an exasperated sigh as he stared at the woman who promised she was done with that man for good.

“Are you fucking kidding me? After everything he did?” He began to shout as Connie did nothing but avoid looking her boy in the eyes, shame dancing on her aged face, her eyes more tired than usual. Toby scoffed and left the room, closing her bedroom door hard behind him, and storming out of the house.

He hadn’t thought about where he was going, his feet were moving faster than his mind. It was almost instinct for the boy to end up at the park, standing by the edge of the forest which surrounded the area. Toby sighed as he took a seat on an empty park bench, leaning back as he attempted to collect himself. The sound of children's laughter filled the crisp October air, the trees had begun to drop their orange and golden leaves, forming decaying piles of foliage on the ground below the swaying branches. He turned his head over to the playground as he made a mental note of the families chatting amongst themselves.

Toby watched as a father pushed his young daughter on the swing. The boy assumed the girl must’ve been starved at home, judging by her small size. He looked over to the monkey bars and saw a middle school boy call out to his parents to watch him cross over the bars. Toby thought to himself that the boy must be looking for attention in public because his parents would never give him the time of day at home. They must spend all their time arguing, he thought. It made him sick, watching all of these families feign innocence. He knew the truth, Toby knew the types of things that happened behind the scenes with people like this. He had seen it back in the old world, and back in the place he grew up in. He knew that behind the smiles and laughter, behind the childsplay and parental praise, there was only violence. At least he had the balls to admit it, he thought to himself as he stared bitterly at the people around him. Once again, Toby had felt as though he was deemed nothing but a leper. Sick, cruel, rejected. The autumn heat was gentle as the warm rays danced on his pale skin. He couldn’t seem to take deep breaths, his chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself slowly. He didn’t understand why the park choked him, devoured him whole. Toby thought that it must have been because he was so close to the forest.

Suddenly, his maggot-filled train of thought came to a halt as Toby noticed a little boy awkwardly standing idle beside him. He grimaced as he looked over to the child, who was holding something in his hands.

“What do you want,” Toby muttered, looking annoyed at the presence of the boy. Without a word, the small, sickly looking youth placed a rock into Toby’s hand and then proceeded to run off back to his mother, who had been watching closely the entire time.

Confusion took over his initial repulsion as he glanced down to examine the gift. It was a regular rock, there was nothing special about it. Toby looked up once more, and watched as the young boy quietly clung to his mothers side, standing close towards her leg, not daring to play with the other kids. His mother chatted with another lady who had also brought her child to the playground that warm weekend afternoon, laughing over the latest gossip. Toby felt himself being overtaken by a feeling he hadn’t felt since that night on the porch with Jack, back in Mississippi. Something he didn’t have a name for. It felt like a heavy coat, or like a quiet prayer that somebody you love would linger in the doorway a bit longer before they took their leave. He squeezed the rock in his hand and tried to shake off the weight that washed over him and stood up, making his way back home.

The walk back to his house was quiet. The subtle ambience of nature and man mingled in a harmonized symphony; there was a pair of siblings putting out decorations for the quickly approaching Halloween, and a few cars whizzed past the boy. He tried not to think about what would’ve happened to them if they had met him while he was still branded with the mark of a proxy.

As he opened the front door, he noticed his mother humming along to the radio as she washed dishes and prepared for dinner. Neither of them said a word as the boy silently shuffled past, and headed into his room. Toby placed the rock the young boy had given him on the surface of his dresser, sitting it neatly beside the portrait of his family.

The following day, Toby found himself shopping with his mother, following her around mindlessly, lost in his own thoughts. As they passed the home renovation section, he eyed the axes locked onto the wall, ignoring most of what Connie had been saying to him. Something about how the pipe under the sink had been leaking, something about what to make for dinner. Something about a clock. Taken by surprise at the word, Toby’s heart skipped a beat, it nearly knocked the wind out of him.

“What?” He asked.

“We need to get you a new clock,” Connie repeated. Toby remembered that he had destroyed his previous one, and shook the shock off. The uneasiness took hold of him.

“No, it’ll be fine.”

On the drive back home, Toby had gotten himself excited over a box of candy he had bought for himself, though he knew deep down his sister would take half of it as soon as he took his eyes off of it. It was some sick revenge of hers for all of the years he would steal her Halloween candy. He looked out the window at all of the passing buildings of the city, listening to the music playing on the radio. As the song faded out and the next one chimed in, he immediately recognized the sound, and his heart dropped. Toby quickly scrambled to turn it off, feeling the same sense of dread squeezing his chest as he did in the store.

“What was that for? I thought you loved that band,” Connie asked, glancing over at her son who looked as if he was going to be sick.

“Not anymore.”

The band that had been playing was Three Days Grace, he had loved their music since their first album. The girl he knew as Natalie loved their music as well. It was something they typically bonded over. He would secretly try to impress her by stealing CDs or downloading their music onto his MP3 player. Toby hoped the car ride would end soon, he didn’t want to think about it anymore. He didn’t care for clocks, or Three Days Grace. He didn’t want anything to do with her, and insisted to himself that it was better off if she had died alongside that forest in the old world. There was little to no chance she had made it into the new world anyways, there was no use in dwelling.

Over the next few days, Toby asked his mother for homework to do to keep himself busy. She had printed out a large booklet on various math and sciences, which he had gotten a quarter way through. The boy sat at his desk, tapping his pencil against the table as he bounced his leg. He was never good at math or science. He hated all the rules and logistics. Toby couldn’t force his mind to focus on the nonsense questions as much as he wanted to. He stared down at his empty paper for a moment before looking up through his bedroom window, peering out at the dark nightly forest that draped around his backyard. There was a burning desire within him, like he was missing something. He was unable to stop his mind from wandering into the past again. Toby thought about Natalie, and the last time he had seen her. She had forced him to make a decision, that he would come with her and leave everything behind, to get out while they still could, or to stay in that forest and watch her as she left. Being the stubborn boy that he was, Toby told her off, shouted that she didn’t understand, demanded that she leave him anyways, because he was better off without her nagging. And she did. Without screaming, or fighting, she left him alone in that abandoned cabin that they had made into their wreckage of a home.

She didn’t want anything to do with him or the life he lived. Natalie wanted better for herself, and Toby knew that wasn’t realistic. He knew better than anyone that there is no life outside of the warzone. He knew the bitter truth that you cannot make a human being out of a weapon.

Toby groaned and leaned back into his seat. Even when she was gone, that girl haunted him. She tortured his sleep, overtook his thoughts. All he wanted now was to be free from her. And a small part of him only wanted to see her again. That small part quietly hoped that somehow, by some miracle, she wanted to see him again too.

“Haven’t you taken enough from me?” He whispered out quietly. Toby closed his weary eyes for a moment, and the only thing he could picture was how she looked when she was mad at him. The way she glared at him with her one good eye, the way her brows creased, her shoulders raised. The way she crossed her arms and scoffed. The tone of voice when she told him to shut up or to watch his mouth. Frustrated, Toby dropped his head onto his desk with a thud and grumbled to himself before lifting himself up and grabbing his cellphone.

He hesitated before punching in digits to a familiar phone number. It rang for a moment as Toby waited impatiently, until he heard a click as the man on the other end of the call picked up.

“Hey Brian, it’s me.”

“Toby? What do you want man, it’s past midnight,” Brian groaned, audibly having just been woken up.

“Do you have any information on Natalie? Where she grew up, where she might be?”

“Jesus christ, go to sleep.”

“I wouldn’t call you if it wasn’t important man, please just help me out,” Toby pleaded.

Brian sighed to himself for a moment, “I’ll figure something out for you tomorrow, alright? Get to bed already.”

Toby smiled victoriously to himself as he hung up the call, heading over to his bed. He thought to himself as he laid his head onto the pillow, that maybe, the girl would finally stop tormenting him if he saw her again and got the last word. The world around him was quiet as he drifted off to sleep.

That night, he fell into a dream where he sat on an old, stained and torn mattress in an abandoned cabin which was full of smoke. Beside him, sat Natalie.

“What’re you doing here, Toby?”

“I came here to see you Nat, I came all this way to find you.”

The two found themselves standing face to face in a snowy wasteland, smoke was rising from her mouth and draped around her face, covering her like a mask.

“Don’t you know how to leave me alone? I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mountains of ash and smog poured out as Natalie spoke. She turned around, and began to walk away from the boy, leaving bloody footprints as she left. Toby followed after her, but was weighed down by something, and could only drudge through the heavy snow as the distance between them grew further and further.

“Nat, come back! Fuck! Stop walking away, don’t be a pussy about this,” he shouted out. The girl's tall silhouette disappeared into the horizon, and Toby stood still in the snow, anger burning through him like a wildfire.

“Fuck you, you stupid bitch! You always do this shit, I’m fucking done with it!”

As he screamed out, Toby jolted awake, breathing heavy through the sting of lingering anger. His empty heart was beating fast as he placed a hand over his chest, falling back onto his bed. The sun began to rise, lightening the skies of dawn. He closed his eyes again as he fell back asleep.

Later in the morning, Toby awoke to a soft knock on his bedroom door, and his mother calling out that there’s someone on the phone for him. The boy quickly went over to grab the phone from her hand, closing his door behind him.

“Your mom sounds like a sweet lady,” Brian teased through the phone.

“Shut up dude. Do you have anything for me?” Toby asked, still half-asleep.

Brian told the boy that he had found a ‘Natalie Ouellette’ residing in a small town in North Dakota, but that he couldn’t confirm she’s the one that Toby was looking for.

“Thanks, you’re the best.”

“I know.”

Toby ended the call and quickly scribbled down the information Brian provided before it slipped his mind. He decided that he was going to take the chance and head to North Dakota as soon as he could. There was no more time to be wasted. To him, it was comparable to a bandaid that needed to be ripped off.

Toby sat at the dinner table later that evening, picking at his food as he listened to his sister share about her day at work. He had already begun to pack his bag, and mapped out a route to take. He wanted to be gone by the end of the week, and didn’t know how to break the news to his family.

“Uh, mom… I know I just got back home, but I have an old friend I need to visit in North Dakota,” Toby mumbled to himself, staring down at his plate of food to avoid the looks his mother and sister were giving him. Connie raised an eyebrow at the boy as Lyra glanced over at him, taking another bite of her dinner slowly.

“She’s a good friend of mine, and I-”

“She?” Lyra blurted out, mouth full of food. Toby looked up at his mother, who gave Lyra a nudge to mind her manners.

“What’s her name?” Connie said, interlocking her fingers and feigning excitement.

“Uh… Natalie.”

“You met her before right? She’s not just some creepy old guy you met on the net?” Lyra asked, leaning into the conversation.

“Yes Lyra, she’s a real person. Is it really so hard to believe I have a friend who’s a girl? Jesus you guys.”

“No no sweetie, it’s not that. Just, wow, all the way up north? She must be a very good friend,” his mother spoke as she continued to work at her food. Toby furrowed his brow as he ate.

“Yeah. She’s my best friend.”

After an awkwardly long dinner, Lyra went into her room, and Connie continued the conversation with her boy as they cleaned off the table.

“When are you leaving?” She asked softly.

“I was hoping sometime tomorrow, or the day after.”

His mothers eyes widened with a hint of sorrow.

“That soon? How are you getting there?”

“Probably just hitch hike,” Toby said as he placed the last of his dishes into the sink.

“You know, aunt Lori almost got killed doing that.”

“I’ll be fine mom, I know how to handle myself.”

As Toby attempted to brush his mother off, she put her foot down and stood in front of him, placing a wad of cash from her purse into his hands and squeezing.

“Use this money for a train and something to eat, please.”

“I don’t want your money, I promise I’ll be fine.”

“Please Toby, you know my heart can’t take anymore worrying.”

Toby looked into his mothers pleading eyes and took the money, nodding a thank you as he turned to his bedroom for one last sleep in his own bed. He wasn’t sure when he would be back home, he never liked to plan too much.

Lyra leaned over towards Toby, who was sitting in the passenger's seat of the car while their mother drove. It was a spot Lyra usually sat in, but Toby had claimed rights to the seat as it was his ‘going away present’. She pestered him about the trip from the backseat, the boy's bag sitting beside her. He quietly prayed to himself that no one would notice the hatchet residing inside of his backpack.

“Take some pics for me once you get there. My friend has family in North Dakota and she said the scenery is nice,” Lyra requested, which Toby agreed to.

Once they reached the train station, the boy grabbed his bag and threw it over his shoulder. He gave his sister a side hug, and a quick goodbye. Connie tried her best to contain herself as she stood composed in front of her son. It wasn’t easy for her to accept that her little boy was grown up now. Toby reached for his mother and brought her into a tight hug, letting the embrace linger on a bit longer than usual.

“You be safe, and you know I’m just a call away if you need anything, and don’t forget to watch your health, and be careful. If you need me to send you more money or clean clothes or-”

“I’ll be alright, mom. I mean it. The trains gonna leave soon,” Toby interrupted his mothers worried ramble as he squeezed her hand in a bittersweet goodbye.

“Goodbye sweetie, I love you” she said softly, squeezing his hand back.

“I love you too.”

Toby took his seat on the train and held his bag closely beside him as it began to move slowly down the tracks. Staring out the window, he watched his sister wave wildly at him as he passed, which he awkwardly waved back to before his family fell out of view. He chuckled silently to himself as he reclined into his seat. The countryside was beautiful this time of year. Dense forests painted with rust and sunset danced along the tracks, occasionally he’d spot a deer or a coyote. He had never been on a train before, nor had he ever been up north. Toby thought back to his time with Jack, and the paintings that he had made which hung up on his wall. It was as if they both had been discovering the new world in their own ways. Then, he thought about what Tim had told him, that this world was a fresh start for all of them, a second chance. As he looked out at the world passing by him, for a moment, he almost believed it.

#tombwrites #tombfic #creepypasta #ticci toby #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby fanfiction #ticci toby fanfic #ticci toby creepypasta #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta fanfic #ticci toby headcanon

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callsign-peach · 1 year

Text

Signs

request(s): A fic where ur maverick’s daughter and roosters best friend and Jake tries to hit on you but fails? + Can I request something where Jake is dating someone deaf? I don’t see a lot of representation and I feel like there should be more! Thx!

warnings: i'm not deaf, so there will most likely be inaccuracies, but i did take asl in high school and have kept in contact w/ some Deaf classmates

a/n: sign language is in italics, written out in english rather than asl format ---- Bradley waited for Pete to finish with the newest class of Top Gun students, knee bouncing as he sat in one of the empty seats.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?"

Bradley rolled his eyes at his wingman, and Jake narrowed his eyes. "This the same reason why Maverick cancelled training for tomorrow?"

At the mention of his name, the Captain walked into the room, flight suit tied around his waist. "What did I do?"

"Rooster's gonna bounce a hole into the floor, all I asked is if it was the same reason you're letting the new guys off the hook tomorrow?"

Pete nodded, grabbing his eyes. "It is. Come on, kid. We're gonna be late."

Bradley waisted no time, hopping up and following his godfather out of the room.

Jake stared at the two retreating men. "See you tomorrow, I guess!"

Hours later, the go-to drinking hole near base was filing up as usual.

"What's on tap tonight, Penny my dear?" Jake asked, sauntering into The Hard Deck.

The older woman looked up from where she was drying glasses, soft smile on her face. "Same as usual, Jake."

The aviator thought for a moment, before ordering his usual. "Hey, do you know why Rooster was all anxious today? Could barely keep up with the drills."

"I do, yes."

"Why?"

"Oh no, not getting an answer out of me that easily. They'll tell you when they want you to know. Now," Penny nodded over to Javy near the dartboard, "I think you're needed over by the back."

Jake huffed, taking his pint and going over to his best friend. "Hey, you ready to lose?"

The two men played a couple rounds of darts before the rest of the Dagger squad arrived, the group starting their usual game of pool.

"There he is!" Mickey cheered, thankful Bradley had shown up. "Finally, someone who can rival Phoenix at pool."

Bradley snorted, taking the cue from his friend's hand. "How many games you lose, Fanboy?"

"Too many." The shorter aviator frowned, going to the bar to grab another round.

Jake was distracted, eyeing up the woman who had walked into the bar a few moments after his friend. "I'll be right back."

No one seemed to hear him, so he nodded his head and dipped from the group, going to introduce himself to the mystery woman.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asked.

No response, not even a pity smile.

Jake sighed, wracking his mind to figure out if he had seen this woman on base, with another aviator or sailor, anything to explain her lack of response.

"Okay, no drink, anything on the food menu you like?" Jake asked, presuming the woman wasn't into drinking.

Still no response, so he nodded to himself and made the walk of shame back to his friends, who had since noticed his disappearance.

"She give you the cold shoulder?" Rueben asked, laughing at his friend.

Bradley had a smirk on his lips as he brought his beer bottle to his lips. "Nice one, Bagman."

"Like you could do any better, Bradshaw." Jake shot back, finishing off his beer.

"I'm sure I could, but not with her."

"Why?" Mickey asked, always ready for gossip among the aviators.

Bradley was silent for a moment. "That's Mav's daughter, closest thing to a sister I have. So," Bradley set his bottle on the table. "I'd rather go through Coffin Corner again than ask her out."

"Maverick has a daughter? Since when?" Mickey voiced the question everyone but Bradley was thinking.

"Since her mom dumped her at Mav's place when she was three." Bradley's voice lacked emotion. "I'll never forget when he first showed up with her, thought my mom was going to lose her mind right then and there."

Not knowing how to change the topic subtly, Bob was the first one to speak up, asking if anyone wanted to rack the balls for a new game. --- Tying his flight suit around his waist, Jake started walking over to the hangar where he knew Pete would be, hoping to get advice on some improvements for his next module for the Ensigns.

He stopped when he saw the man standing in front of his own plane, hands moving rapidly.

"Oh." Jake mumbled softly, wishing he had been anywhere else, not about to break up what appeared to be an argument.

Pete turned his head when he heard Jake accidentally kick an abandoned wrench. "Hangman?"

"Could I talk to you for a second, Mav? If you have time, no rush." Jake spoke quickly, eyes dancing between the two, noticing the similarities of father and daughter.

"Yeah, yeah, just-" Pete signed something to his daughter, who huffed and stormed away, eyes catching Jake's for a brief moment.

"What's up?" Pete asked, wiping his hands on the rag in his pocket, some oil sticking to his knuckles.

"I was going over the plan that you said we could use for the new guys, and I noticed some stuff was different than what Admiral Kane wants them to know."

Pete stared at the young aviator. "Is there a reason why you came to me rather than just going to ask Kane?"

Not having a good reply, Jake opened his mouth before clamping it shut.

"That was my daughter." Pete explained, nodding to the open hangar doors.

"Yeah, Bradshaw mentioned it the other night. I didn't know you had a daughter."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Hangman." Pete spoke, voice clipped. "Just- for the plans, put in whatever Kane wants to add. That's what I do."

Jake nodded, thanking his superior. "Thanks, Mav." --- You watched as Bradley thanked the barista, taking the two cups from him and walking back over to the table you had claimed when you walked in.

"A coffee for you." Bradley said, setting one cup down on the table, taking a long sip from the other.

Who's the blonde guy you fly with? You asked, wasting no time with small talk. You had known the man across from you for almost your entire life, you knew he was always going to say he was doing fine.

Bradley coughed on the coffee, setting down his cup. Why?

I asked first. Who is he?

"No one you need to concern yourself with." Bradley spoke as he signed, a habit of his. "His callsign's Hangman. He's known for leaving his wingman."

The callsign was familiar to you, your dad having mentioned him after the uranium mission. He's the one who saved you and Dad. Why do you hate him?

"I don't hate him, but I don't particularly like him, either." Bradley took another swig from his drink. "Again, why do you want to know who he is?"

Shrugging, you brought the coffee to your lips. Curiosity.

Bradley knew you well enough to guess where the conversation was heading. "He's going to break your heart, he's not one to settle down."

Doesn't hurt to ask. Will he be at the bar?

"Yes, why?" Bradley asked, not liking where this conversation was going.

You're going to introduce me, I want to know the guy who saved the lives of the two most important people in my life.

"Fine, but not just to him. That'll be too weird. You can meet everyone." Bradley wagered, smiling when you relented to his ask. --- Bradley chewed on his lip as he waited for your Lyft to drop you off outside the bar.

Both he and Pete had offered to drive you over to the bar, but they both had to be on-base all day, and you had spent the day in San Diego, so a ride-share made the most sense.

“Hey, Rooster, why don’t you get a beer, she’ll text you when she’s here.” Pete joined his godson outside.

“I’m good.”

“Bradley.” Pete looked at the younger aviator. “She can handle herself, has been for a while now.”

Growing up, Bradley had been your guardian angel, so-to-speak. He was in the grade above you, and was a force to be feared when the kids at school made fun of you.

“She still like ciders?” Bradley asked, standing from where he was hunched, leaning on the railing.

“Oh yes, first thing she asked for after you dropped us off.”

Bradley laughed, going in to order two hard ciders.

---

You smiled at the driver as you got out of the car, making sure you had your phone and purse before closing the door.

You had texted Bradley that you were in front, but assuming he was with his friends, you didn’t wait for him to greet you.

Pulling the door open, you were met with the smell of stale alcohol and multiple colognes, creating a unique smell you hadn’t realized you missed.

Penny smiled from the bar, nodding her head over to the corner where you noticed Bradley’s distinct Hawaiian shirt.

Sending her a smile, you made your way over, moseying around a few khaki-clad men and women.

Bradley spun around when he felt a tap on his shoulder, face breaking out into a wide smile.

“Hey, you made it!” He greeted you, handing you the hard cider that he had gotten a few minutes ago.

Having noticed the newcomer, the dagger squad all paused their game of pool, wanting to meet you.

“Everyone, this is Mav’s daughter,” Bradley introduced you, before pointing to each member and signing as he spoke.

It’s nice to finally put faces to the names my dad has been praising for a while. You signed, Bradley interpreting for you.

“I thought Rooster was pulling our legs when he said Mav had a kid, honestly.” Mickey said, smiling at you.

Jake had been silent during the introductions, choosing to watch as you reacted to each callsign, eyebrow raising when Bob was mentioned.

He noticed the twinkle in your eye, and how you had a scar poking above your eyebrow. He noticed that you were wearing some cut-off shorts and a loose top, the go-to for the hot San Diego summers.

“-is Hangman, but you already knew that.”

Jake was brought out of his thoughts when he heard his name, smiling at you. “It’s nice to see you again. Hopefully all’s well with your dad?”

Bradley signed Jake’s words, and you snorted.

“He’s just an old man who doesn’t know his head from- no, I’m not going to interpret that. Oh my God.” Bradley groaned. “It was a mistake introducing you to everyone.”

You slapped his shoulder, though you had a smile on your face.

The dagger squad had accepted you with open arms, and Mickey wasted no time telling you the dirt on the rest of the squad, Bradley having even learned a thing or two.

---

Over the following days, Jake had learned more about you from his flights with Bradley. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“If I say no, are you going to ask me anyway?” Bradley asked, squinting as he looked over at his wingman as the two went over the post-flight checklist.

“No.”

The answer stunned Bradley, who was honestly expecting the opposite. “Ask away.”

Jake paused, gnawing on his lip. “Is Y/N seeing anyone?”

Bradley looked up from where he was scribbling the time they finished flying. “Why?”

Shrugging, Jake toyed with the dog tags, a nervous habit he had developed during the uranium mission training. “Curiosity.”

Bradley chuckled at the answer, remembering when you had replied the same the other day when he asked why you wanted to know about Jake.

“No. She’s not seeing anyone.”

Jake smiled, wiping a speck of dirt off his helmet.

“I know it’s hard for you, but try not to do anything stupid. She’s been though enough, getting played doesn’t have to be on that list.”

---

Days later, you were sitting at the cafe you and Bradley often met at, though this time you were nose-deep in potential employers.

A sudden shift on the table made you jump, heart racing. Looking up, you let out a breath when you saw Jake.

“Sorry, sorry!” He said, fist moving in a circle around his chest.

Stunned, you pointed to him and rose an eyebrow. You sign?

Jake blanched, sitting in the seat across from you. “Clearly not enough.”

You laughed, pulling your phone out of your purse and opening the Notes app.

Do you know sign language? You signed sorry.

Jake looked at you as you passed the phone over, eyes falling to the screen.

“I don’t, not enough to hold a conversation.” Jake spoke, thankful Bradley had mentioned that you could get by reading lips, so long as the person didn’t speak too fast or too slow.

“But I’m learning. I’d really like to get to know you, and what better way than learning a new language?”

You smiled, grabbing your phone.

No one has ever done that before. Thank you, Jake. What do you know now?

Jake smiled, rambling off the various words and phrases he had memorized, smile growing as you nodded for encouragement and helped fix the positioning for certain words.

You’ll be a pro in no time, it took Dad weeks to learn this stuff!

Laughing, the two of you spent hours talking, getting to know each other, before you two were nicely kicked out of the cafe so they could close.

“It was nice getting to talk to you, can we do this again?” Jake asked, not wanting the night to end.

I’d love that. You signed, mouthing the words as you did.

The two of you set a night each week to meet up, and before anyone knew it, the two of you were inseparable, finishing each other’s sentences.

---

a/n: do i get the award for not knowing how to finish anything? Because I think I do!!

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