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hemmingsleclerc · 4 months

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New Year's Day ┃Timothée Chalamet

summary: where timothee spends new year's day with his girlfriend's family and he may not understand their traditions but he still enjoys the night

''5..4..3..2..1 and!''

''Happy New Year!''

As soon as I heard the first fireworks in the sky I started eating the 12 grapes I had in my glass.All my other relatives at the table began to do the same, from the oldest to my little cousins. At some point I felt like I was about to choke and lose consciousness, but I wasn't willing to let any of my wishes come true.

I looked to my side and saw Timmy eating his third grape. He chewed calmly, enjoying the sweet taste of the fruit and at times I saw how he stifled a laugh when he saw me so desperate. I nudged him lightly with my elbow and motioned for him to hurry up.

''What?'', he asked, showing confusion on his face.

I had to swallow what was in my mouth to be able to answer him.

''You have to eat them quickly Timmy, if you continue like this it won't work and your wishes won't come true!'', I said

''I don't think I have any idea what I was supposed to be wishing for, anyways, why do it so quickly?''

''For more excitement''

When I finished the last grape, I thought about it a little, I didn't really remember what I had wished for but I was sure that among my 12 wishes was happiness, health and love. Everything happened so fast that I barely had time to think about other things to ask for. My brother and cousins had also finished their grapes and ran to the door where there were some suitcases and ran out. Timothée, still in his place at the table, watched everything with a mixture of curiosity and confusion as he continued eating.

''I thought they would spend the night here! Where did they go?''

''They will be back soon, don't worry, the block is not that big, they just went out for a little run'' I said

''¿What?¿For what?''

''To travel, silly!'' I exclaimed excitedly ''You have to run around the block with a suitcase, it is said that it is to attract luck to be able to travel a lot during the year''

Timothée stood there in silence as he slowly began to make a surprised face processing everything his girlfriend had said. He watched everything attentively and with a sparkle in his eyes, excited to be able to participate in the ''curious'' traditions.

This year, I thought it would be a great idea for Timothée to spend the New Year with my family since we had spent the previous year with his family, and I also thought it would be fun for him to know the rituals we did every year on New Year's Eve.

''That doesn't make sense at all''

''I know! It doesn't have to!''

When my cousins arrived I went to chat with them a little about how the race had been. Meanwhile Timmy started talking to my father when I saw my uncles carrying ''the old''.

''Oh my god Timmy you're going to love this'' I took him by the hand and ran to where my whole family was gathered.

Before it started I went to get a pencil and paper for both of us while Timothée returned to get his drink.

''Ready? you have to write down everything bad about the year'' I told him while I took a drink from his glass

''For what? What will you do with that?'' he asked while looking for a place to lean on and write, but since there wasn't one nearby, he stood behind me and leaned on my back while holding his glass in his mouth.

''Do you see that doll that is there?'' I pointed ''It is supposed to represent the old year, it is made of different things like cardboard, and it is set on fire but first we put all the papers with everything bad that happend through the year so that it doesn't repeat''

''They set it on fire? Is that safe?''

It's probably not the safest thing but I may not tell him that.

''Relax Timmy, we do this every year, did you finish writing?''

He nodded and handed me the paper, I folded it along with mine and put it between the doll before my uncle set it on fire. I returned to Timmy and stood in front of him while he hugged me and rested his head on mine.

''Did you had fun babe?''

''I have to admit it was a little strange but it was a lot of fun, we should do some of these things next year together with my family, I bet it would be fun to run down the street with suitcases with Pauline.''

I nodded as I turned to kiss him, I was sure that next year would be just as fun as this one.

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wzrd-wheezes · 3 months

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Forget Me Not - Remus Lupin x Reader

AN - this amazing idea was thought of by the lovely @thepunisherfrankcastle who posted this the other day. I couldn't not write it. Thank you for letting me write your beautiful idea.

Warnings: contains mentions of blood and an accident (nothing graphic literally a sentence) memory loss but other than that some angst and a bit off fluff.

3.8k words

It absolutely ruined him when the accident happened. The way her body fell limp in the rubble, blood smeared across her face. For a split second, everyone thought she was dead, unable to bring her back round. Remus knelt by her, brushing the dust off of her face, trying to mop up the blood with the hem of his t-shirt.

She was in the hospital for weeks, barely allowed to have visitors. The closest Remus got to her was through the cloudy glass that looked into her room from the corridor. He spent hours with his forehead resting against the glass, trying to get a glimpse of her to see if she was okay. The doctors seemed to keep pulling the curtains around her for privacy, promising to update him if anything happened.

He spent days waiting outside of her room, his back stiff from sitting on the hard plastic chairs, staring at the worn linoleum floor. The bright, fluorescent lights gave him a headache. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the book that he had tucked away in the back pocket of his jeans, his mind was a mess of thoughts and he found it hard to focus. Every few hours, the lady with the tea trolley would come rattling down the corridor and she would give him a sympathetic smile as she handed him his drink.

James and Sirius came to visit, they sat with him for hours, trying to convince to go home.

“C’mon, mate. You need to get some proper food down you at least.” James reasoned, looking at the crumpled paper coffee cups and the empty cigarette packets that were laying at Remus’s feet.

“What if she wakes up and I’m not here?” he answered, staring into the grey-ish cup of tea he was drinking.

“Then they’ll call you and you can come straight back.” Sirius rubbed his shoulder comfortingly, “You’ll feel better after a decent sleep. Can’t imagine you’ve had much here.”

Remus finally looked up, weak smile forming on his lips. He nodded – Sirius was right. He had barely slept since he’d been here. The uncomfortable surroundings and constant buzzing and beeping from the machines made it near impossible. He was exhausted. There were dark smudges under his eyes that were getting worse every day, a shadow of stubble across his jaw and his hair was a mess from him anxiously running his hands through it.

When he stood up, it felt like every bone in his body cracked, clicking back into place. Since he got here, he had barely moved, only getting up to go to the bathroom or to get a cheap coffee from the machine. He groaned, rubbing his hip to ease the pain. James and Sirius led him back to the car, Sirius’s hand planted firmly on his back, guiding him.

Remus could barely get his key in the door, his hands were shaking so badly, a combination of anxiety and the lack of food and sleep. His friends had offered to come in with him, to sit with him for a while. James had even offered to go and collect some of his mum’s cooking for him to eat. Remus politely declined, not feeling up to the company. Reluctantly, his friends retreated leaving Remus alone.

He wandered around the flat for a while, rummaging in the cupboards for something to eat, slotted two slices of bread in the toaster and flicked the kettle on. Y/N would go mad when she found out he wasn’t looking after himself properly.

The living room felt eerily empty without his girlfriend. The ticking of the clock was driving him insane, and he switched the radio on, trying to drown it out. Eating felt near enough impossible, his mouth was dry and the bread felt like he was chewing on cardboard. His fingers reached out for his mug, taking a swig of his tea trying to dislodge it from his throat. He rubbed his hand over his face. God, he was tired. The thought of sleeping in their bed alone was unbearable, the two of them hadn’t spent a night alone since they moved in together.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he must have because he woke up abruptly to the sound of the landline ringing. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt disorientated. It was nighttime now, the living room was bathed in gloomy moonlight and he nearly tripped over as he rushed to the phone.

“Hello?” His voice came out strained.

“Hello. Can I speak to a Mr Lupin, please?” the voice asked.

“Speaking.”

“Ah, hello Mr Lupin. We’re just calling to let you know that Y/N has woken up. She’s still a little groggy but if you wanted to come over in the morning to see her then you can.”

Remus felt like he could cry. It took all of his restraint to not just drive straight to the hospital now, but he knew he needed to let her rest if she had just come round. Instead, he went for a shower, finding the hot water soothing against his tired body. He ran his hands through his hair, lathering up the shampoo. For the first time since the accident, he felt like he could breathe properly again.

The bathroom was filled with steam by the time he got out. He could barely see his reflection in the mirror as the condensation dripped down it. He winced as he saw his himself, his fingers tracing the bags under his eyes. He rummaged in the cabinet for his razor, deciding to clean himself up a little before the morning.

That night, he decided to sleep on the sofa again, he told himself that it was just in case the hospital rang again, so he could hear the phone. Deep down, he knew that it was because he didn’t want to sleep in their bed without Y/N.

A decent nights sleep was much needed, Remus only awoke when the morning sunlight streamed into the living room. He looked around groggily, his eyes squinting in the bright light. He wasn’t used to waking up in his own flat, the last few times that he dozed off, when he woke up it was to the fluorescent hospital lights and the doctors walking down the corridor, doing their morning rounds.

He got dressed quickly, and gave himself a once over in the mirror before he left, running a hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly curls.

When he arrived at the hospital, there was a crowd of doctors and nurses that were outside of Y/N’s room. He waited anxiously for them to stop talking, nibbling on the skin of his bottom lip.

“Mr Lupin?” one of the doctors turned around, “We’re glad you’re here-”

“Can I go in? I need to see her.”

“Of course. She’s having a few issues with her memory at the moment. She can’t seem to remember much from the accident but seeing a familiar face might help jog her memory.” The doctor informed him.

Y/N looked better than he thought she would when he entered. She was propped up against some pillows, her face was patched up a bit and she had multiple wires and drips attached to her that were connected to different machines. She cocked her head when Remus walked in.

“God, I’m so happy to see you. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Remus rushed over to her, planting a gentle kiss to the top of her head. She stayed silent for a moment, her brows knitting together.

“I’m really sorry. Do I know you?” she pulled away from him.

Remus stood stunned for a few seconds, at a complete loss for words. He felt like time had stood still. He hadn’t noticed that the doctor was stood in the doorway, clipboard in hand. Remus spun around when he spoke.

“That’s normal,” the doctor began, “There tends to be memory loss in the days after someone wakes up from an accident so severe. Sometimes it takes a while for them to remember everything.”

“What do you mean ‘a while’.” Remus stressed, “I thought you said that she couldn’t remember the accident? Not that she couldn’t remember me!”

“She has an incredibly severe concussion. The extent of her damage is worse than we originally thought. She’s suffered a significant amount of brain trauma, which has most likely caused her to lose her memory. We’re hoping that it won’t be permanent, and her brain heals itself. But it could take days, weeks or even months.” The doctor explained carefully.

Every trace of colour drained from his face and he felt his stomach sink. His breath caught in his throat, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The doctor left the room, saying something about giving Remus time to process – he wasn’t really listening.

Remus moved to sit by her bed, reaching to take Y/N’s hand in his but withdrawing his fingers almost immediately. Y/N just sat silently, staring at Remus he could near enough see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to work out who he was.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeated, “I feel like I’m supposed to know who you are but I just can’t remember.” She bit down on her lip.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” Remus said, trying to remain calm. He was trying to look and sound reassuring, but tears were stinging at his eyes and he was doing his best to hold them back.

“Something keeps coming to my mind when I look at you. It’s right on the tip of my tongue,” she looked at him earnestly, “You know when you can’t remember something but you know that you know it?”

“I’m Remus,” he nodded, “I’m your boyfriend.”

“My... boyfriend?” her eyes widened and she reached a hand up to her mouth, “How long? Have we been together a while?”

“Since we were at school.” Remus confirmed, smiling sadly.

Y/N was speechless. It was as if she was going from one emotional state to another. She looked completely lost, struggling to get her head around the idea. She looked at Remus, observing him with a newfound curiosity. Tears threatened to spill out of her eyes and she swallowed hard, looking away for a moment.

“I- I don’t remember anything.” tears were falling now, she was growing increasingly more distressed.

“I think you should go now, Mr Lupin.” the doctor had appeared at the door again, “We need to let her rest. You can visit again tomorrow.”

Remus stiffened as he spoke, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t agree, he didn’t want to leave her on her own. He didn’t trust himself to speak, as if the words would open the floodgates and he would lose it completely. So instead, he just reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly for a moment before he left.

When he got home, Remus wandered aimlessly through the flat, his eyes dull and his expression sombre. He made himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the kitchen table. Sirius and James had left him messages on the answering machine, but he couldn’t muster up the effort to call them back.

Remus just sat there, thinking over his past. Over everything they had been through together. He had known Y/N for as long as he could remember. They had met on their first day of school, forming a group with James and Sirius and had been inseparable ever since. It was when they reached their teens that Remus started seeing her in a different light. He started noticing how she would lean into him to whisper things when they were doing late night study sessions in the library. How her nose would crinkle up when she laughed, how the sun caught in her eyes when they would spend lazy afternoons by the lake.

He had never had much in terms of affection, his childhood was pretty ropey, and he spent as much time as he could at school. Even when he grew up, girls never seemed to go with him. It was hard, when you were friends with people like James and Sirius, people who flirting and talking to people came so naturally to.

He had never thought that someone would love him like that. The way that Y/N did. When he finally opened up to her about his feelings and she reciprocated, he felt like the happiest man in the world.

He remembered all the times he had stayed up late studying, even though his body ached and his mind was growing less coherent by the house. He remembered the times when she would sneak off to go and make them both coffee, kissing his cheek before she left. He remembered being so damn tired the next morning but getting to spend time with her was so worth it.

When they eventually got their flat together, he was always so excited to spend his days off with her. It was as if he never had to worry about what he would do when she was around. He could just relax. He would do little things, like leave notes in her books and whisper sweet nothings in her ear as they snuggled up on the sofa.

The years of feeling underserving of being loved seemed so trivial now- so stupid. Y/N loved him. She loved him completely and irrevocably. Yet now, she had no idea who he was.

His head felt heavy and sore from all the thinking, from not letting himself feel for so long. He slumped forward in his chair, his elbows resting on the table, his face buried in his hands. He hated that the accident had happened. That he had to look at her and be a stranger to her. It was like there was a knife in his gut, the blade twisting every time that Y/N said she didn’t remember him. What if she never remembered him? What if this was his one shot at love and it had been ruined? For years, Remus had had a horrible thought in the back of his mind that their relationship was purely circumstantial, that if they had met in any other scenario that she wouldn’t have fallen for him. Now, it seemed like his worst nightmare had come true.

When he went back to the hospital the next day, he spent the walk to Y/N’s room trying to convince himself that this all was just some crazy dream, that he would walk into her room and that she would recognise him. He was devastated when she didn’t.

“Are those for me?” she asked when he walked in, nodding towards the bunch of flowers that he was holding.

“Yeah.” he smiled, feeling somewhat shy, “They’re your favourites.”

“Well, I’m glad you remembered.” she joked.

She laughed and he couldn’t help but feel his heart leap just a little. He didn’t even think that this was all new to her, that her personality might have changed. She still had her wicked sense of humour. He chuckled, but the sound felt hollow in his chest. A part of him couldn’t be completely happy, not while she still didn’t know who he was. It was bittersweet to hear her joke, it was as if nothing in the world mattered apart from the fact that she was here right now.

“The doctor was saying I should go home soon.” she broke the silence after a few moments, “He said something about how being in familiar surroundings might help jog my memory.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” he smiled softly, “Do you want to come home?”

“I think so...” her voice trailed off, “I’m just worried. I mean, you say that you're my boyfriend and I believe you but I just still don’t remember anything.”

“We can take things slowly.” he replied, “We can get to know each other again. You can get to know me...”

It pained him to say it. His heart raced as he realised what he had just suggested. They would be starting over. He had a horrible worry in the back of his mind. What if he couldn’t make her fall for him again?

A few days later, Remus drove her home from the hospital. They didn’t feel as uncomfortable around each other now; Remus had been at the hospital pretty much constantly for the past few days. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as the car pulled up outside of their flat, searching her face for a hint that she remembered where she was.

He felt his heart plummet when her eyes didn’t flicker. She didn’t seem to recognise anything as they walked into the flat. She looked as if she were a stranger in this place that she called home just a few weeks ago. He led her to the sofa, sitting down next to her. Every few seconds, his eyes would wander back to her face, wanting her to notice him, to remember him. It was like he was playing tug of war in his head, part of him wanted to break down and cry, the other was telling him to stay calm. He knew he had to stay strong for her.

“If you feel like you need space, let me know.” Remus offered, “I just want to make sure that you’re comfortable, that’s what I care about most.”

“Thank you,” she smiled, looking down at her hands as she wrung them together in her lap. Her hands were always a sign of her stress and anxiety – he had known that since school.

“I put together a box a stuff. Just bits and bobs from the last few years. Y’know postcards, letters, photographs, that kind of stuff. I can go and get them if you like?”

Y/N spent hours curled up on the sofa, sifting through the box that Remus brought her. She pored over the photographs, tracing their faces with the tip of her finger. He felt his heart throb when he saw the spark of happiness light up her eyes. It seemed like she was enjoying looking through the photographs, seeing all the good times they had in the past. He watched her, her smile was infectious, momentarily making him forget about everything that had happened.

“You wrote me all these letters?” she asked, wafting one in his direction.

“Yeah. I started doing it when we were at school, y’know over the summer holidays and then I started leaving them around in places for you to find. I’ve done it for years.”

“You really loved me, huh?” she mused.

“Love.” Remus corrected her, “I really love you.”

“Even now?” she cocked her head to look at him, “Even though I can’t remember anything?”

“Of course. I always will.” he met her gaze, his eyes softening, “It’s such a shame that you can’t remember everything but you get to rediscover who you are and who you were. I’m just happy that I get to be there alongside you for that.”

“But won’t it just feel like dating a stranger? Starting afresh?” her voice grew quieter and she looked down at her hands, picking at the skin around her nails.

“I get the pleasure of getting to know you all over again.”

Over the next few weeks that they spent back at their flat together, Y/N’s attitude towards Remus shifted. She had started to become more comfortable around him, like she wasn’t seeing him as a stranger anymore. They would spend hours curled up on the sofa together while she asked Remus to tell her stories about their time at school. She would laugh at his jokes, playfully hitting him on the arm as she did so – something that she used to do when they were younger.

For the first time since the accident, she started flirting with him. It was nice to see her back to the playful, flirty girl that she used to be. She would often tease Remus about their past and then take great delight when his cheeks went pink. Her touches started to linger and she had even started leaning against him when they sat together, her body brushing against his.

He was starting to be more affectionate with her too, though he was hesitant to initiate it as he didn’t want to move things along too fast and spook her. A sudden rush of excitement would wash over him whenever she showed any signs of falling into their old patterns. He couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off of his face.

One evening, while they were cooking together in the kitchen, something that they always used to do, he caught her staring at him. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in every detail like she was trying to commit it to memory.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Remus teased.

“Oh, shut up.” she laughed, turning away from him to stir the pot on the stove. Remus just chuckled, shaking his head and looking back to the dishes that he was drying. They stayed in comfortable silent for a while, occasionally Y/N would sing along to songs on the radio if she remembered them, though she would often get the words muddled up.

“Hey, Moony, can you just pass me the saltshaker?” she asked, her eyes still focused on the bubbling pan.

“What did you just call me?” The plate that he was holding nearly slipped from his fingers and he turned around so fast that his neck could have snapped.

“M-Moony.” she repeated, though this time the word felt unfamiliar in her mouth. It had come so casually before, dripping off her tongue like honey.

“You haven’t called me that for ages.” he said, his voice thick with disbelief, “I didn’t think you’d remember. How did you even...” his voice trailed off.

“I don’t know.” she moved to look at him, her eyes wide, “It just slipped out. It suits you though. Moony.”

Remus could have fallen to his knees. This was the first time that she has remembered something. Something about him. The way she said it so easily, as if nothing had happened at all. It was the first sign of hope in weeks that her memory might start to come back. Even if it didn’t Remus was enjoying getting to know her all over again.

While Remus lay on the sofa that evening trying to get some sleep, he had taken to sleeping on the sofa until she was more comfortable around him, he couldn’t believe that she was starting to fall for him again. The ever-present voice in the back of his mind had started to quieten. He had been so worried that his one shot at love had slipped from his grasp and it was killing him that there was nothing that he could to do make her remember what once was. He couldn’t believe his luck. The girl of his dreams had starting to like him, again. The first time wasn’t just a fluke like he always thought it had been. She liked him and she chose him again.

#remus lupin #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #marauders #marauders fanfiction

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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 3 months

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🤍a completely random modern au headcanon for each aot character 🤍

eren jaeger’s idea of late night fun is going to walmart/target/etc. he likes to walk around with his friends and be absolutely childish. bonus: he’s banned from a certain store for kicking an inflatable ball across the store.

armin arlert is self conscious of his body. it’s only really his torso though. when him and his friends go to the beach, he’s always the last one to take his shirt off. he doesn’t even have anything to be embarrassed about, he’s just disappointed he’s not as muscular as eren or reiner.

mikasa ackerman’s favorite color is a dark red. the blood, cherry type of red. she’s got a lip tint in that color and her nails are painted too much. she also chews her nails. she hopes the nail polish is enough to break the habit but it isn’t.

connie springer’s favorite fast food restaurant is burger king. he thinks it’s underrated. you can count on him to fuck up a whopper. he also always gets the cardboard crowns to wear.

jean kirstein loves night time. he loves the solitude, the way nobody expects anything from him, and the fact that he can just be. he doesn’t get lonely during his late nights but he wouldn’t mind somebody to share it with.

sasha braus smells really good. she doesn’t use any super fancy products, though. she’s just one of those people that naturally have a good aroma. her skin is also really soft.

ymir tans really easy in the summer. she never burns or turns red. she’s genetically blessed. the sun also makes the freckles on her face pop and clusters of them pop up on her back/shoulders.

historia reiss loves milkshakes and soda floats. she always orders them with a whipped cream and cherry. she prefers milkshakes from a diner rather than a fast food place.

marco bodt really likes plants. he has a collection of houseplants. they line his window sills and he even has a special little rack with a special little light. he’s got a super green thumb.

reiner braun drinks protein shakes religiously. he pretty much sticks to a diet of shakes, meat, vegetables and rice. there are few times where he breaks his routine, usually just joining his friends for a night of drinking.

bertholdt hoover has a surprisingly high tolerance when it comes to weed and alcohol. at least that’s what it looks like on the outside. he’s pretty cool, calm and collected. nobody’s sure if he’s immune to being drunk, or if he’s too anxious about acting a fool to show any signs of inebriation.

annie leonhardt owns a german shepherd 100%. she’s had it since it was a pup and it’s one of the most well behaved dogs. they’re oddly similar in their mannerisms. bonus: it’s named marley.

pieck finger is the type of girl to sit on the floor. like, at all times. when she’s sad, she’ll lay down completely and just stare at the ceiling. it’s peaceful and it makes her feel relaxed.

porco galliard goes through an ungodly amount of hairgel. his hair is hard like those ballroom/ballet dancers in competitions. he has trouble growing facial hair.

zeke jaeger gets his weed flown to him from another state/country. it’s the best shit around. he’s also never home because he “runs a business.” always found with a blunt near by.

levi ackerman doesn’t like energy drinks or coffee. if he needs caffeine, he gets it from tea or some kind of health drink. he doesn’t understand how kids hearts don’t give out with all their monsters and red bulls.

erwin smith is so friendly despite his appearance. he finds joy in little things like a heads up penny or when the barista remembers his name/order. he’s a pretty easy going guy.

hange zoe breaks her glasses all the time. they either sit on them or step on them. it’s easy for them to lose their glasses because their room is a mess. books, papers, knick knacks everywhere.

my jean fic

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lilyrizzy · 18 days

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continuation and happy ending for this break up fic. i fixed it! (and maybe did a sloppy job of it oops) BUT I hope this brings someone, somewhere joy.

When Daniel gets to the door of his apartment, there is a tall, cardboard box propped up against his door. He doesn’t know when it was delivered because he’s spent the last few nights since being back in Monaco bouncing between Scotty’s place and Blake’s, drinking more and sleeping less than he should.

It’s how he ended up in this mess in the first place; stuck in the minor injuries unit, bleeding and embarrassed, waiting for Max to come and rescue him. Because even now, six fucking months later, he still hasn’t changed his emergency contact information back to Blake.

Sighing, Daniel balances the box in one hand and fumbles with his keys in the other to get his front door open. Once inside he dumps the box onto the counter and pours himself a glass of water. Takes a sip, sets the glass back down, and feels lost.

The truth is, he doesn’t know what was worse. That he hadn’t expected Max to show up, or that he did, and even though Daniel saw him nearly every weekend still, like this it was- Different. Max with his mussed up hair like he’d rolled straight out of bed to come to the hospital for Daniel, reminding him of everything he didn’t want to remember.

Like how their kind of falling apart happened slowly, so slowly that the track limits crept up on them, and by the time Daniel tried to hit the break they were already in the wall. Small disagreements built on top of months of half-conversations, until resolution stopped being the goal. Instead, it was to get through a week, a day, a morning without cracking whatever tentative peace they’d found the last time.

Shaking his head is a bad idea considering he might have a concussion, but Daniel can’t stop himself from doing it. As though his brain is an etch-a-sketch from which the fights and the furious words he spat at Max regularly can be erased.

He groans out loud, tipping the rest of the water down the sink before turning his attention back to the parcel. Ripping it open gives his shaking hands something to do, gives his nail bed a rest from his anxious chewing.

A sweet smell hits him first, before his eyes can make sense of what he’s seeing, and-

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t a bouquet of tulips and a small, hand-drawn card.

To brighten your day, Uncle Daniel, the note attached said, in Isaac’s messy scrawl, but he bet the wobbly hearts underneath were all Izzy. The words all Michelle.

It’s enough to put the smile back on his face for just a moment, even as his stomach churns with the same homesick feeling he’s been unable to shake since he left his and Max’s apartment. Placing the card down, he takes one of the petals between his thumb and finger, feeling the waxy smoothness against his skin.

They’re a bigger bouquet than the tulips he’d brought for Max one time, back when their fights could be so easily fixed. Daniel can still remember the pleased flush that warmed Max’s cheeks as he’d looked between Daniel’s face and the flowers, eyes wide like this was the most romantic thing someone had ever done for him.

At the time, it had made Daniel proud of himself. Now, it just makes him sad. The idea that crappy, half-wilting tulips brought from a supermarket in Monaco could mean so much when Max deserved the world.

But this had been the way things always went. Daniel would show up with a poker chip from Vegas, a guitar pick from LA, a seashell from Perth, and Max would beam at him like he was the sun for bringing him a gift. Or just- maybe just because Daniel showed up at all.

I don’t understand, Daniel, why nothing with you is ever enough. Max had always thrown in his face whenever Daniel picked a fight as a plea for words, for attention, for affection. I am here, aren’t I? The more than you was always unspoken, but still deafening.

I’m always going to be here.

And he still was, living in their apartment that Daniel moved out of months ago. Still sending Daniel’s dad a bottle of wine on his birthday, still cuddling Izzy when he saw her at the grand prix last weekend. Still turning up to hospital waiting rooms for Daniel at four in the morning.

Why do I feel like I have to be a fucking games console to get the tiniest bit of interest from you, Daniel had spat at Max, another evening he’d come home to find Max engrossed in the sim. How am I supposed to trust that you love me when you hardly ever fucking say it?

For not the first time, Daniel wonders if maybe Max had been trying to all along, just not with words.

“Fuck, Maxy,” he says to the empty room. “Fuck sake.”

Rubbing his eyes, he paces to the window, wanting to press his throbbing head against the cool glass. He should go to bed, should crawl beneath the covers and sleep until he wakes up feeling strong enough to try forgetting Max all over again.

Needs to forget his worried eyes scanning over Daniel’s body as though trying to catalog where he might need fixing, the soft way he’d said Daniel’s name under the harsh glare of the hospital lights. His stupid fucking car, flashy even for the streets of Monaco, and far too fast at the same time, that-

That is still parked beneath Daniel’s building on the street below.

His eyes catch on it as they slit open against the rising sun, the sparkle of the paintwork against the tarmac. Daniel glances at the clock above his oven. He’s been home an entire fifteen minutes, and still Max hasn’t moved. If he’s not careful he’ll get a parking ticket.

Some things are worth it, he’d told Daniel when he’d warned him of the same thing, a million years ago now, picking Daniel up from the airport and lingering too long in the ‘kiss and fly’ lane.

In another life.

The life Daniel wants more than he can remember the reasons he walked out of it.

“Max,” Daniel finds himself calling out stupidly, even though it’s obvious Max can’t hear. He opens the balcony door, stepping out onto it and calling it louder. “Max!”

Though the traffic on the street below is quiet, almost non existent at this hour, Daniel’s shouts still don’t seem to carry far enough. There’s no sign Max has heard, no opening of a car door, no emergence of his blonde head from the drivers seat.

Daniel needs to do more, he needs-

Stepping back into the apartment, his eyes search his kitchen frantically until his hands grab the flowers on instinct. For a moment, he considers walking down the stairs and handing them to Max, an offering, an apology, a chance, but-

Daniel can’t let him drive away. He can’t risk running down the stairs only to find him gone when he reaches the pavement and steps back out into the Monaco sunrise. This moment is his tenth of a second, small but capable of making all the difference as long as he doesn’t take his foot off the pedal.

A split second of madness passes, and he finds himself back on the balcony pulling one of the stems loose from the bouquet. Before he’s thought about it anymore, he’s watching it hurtle off the edge towards Max’s car. It misses, landing just to the side by his front left tyre, Daniel isn’t giving up.

Stem by stem, he pulls the flowers loose, throwing them down onto Max’s car. His aim gets better, and soon nearly each one is landing on his bonnet or his windshield. Their petals make a soft sound as they hit the shiny bodywork of the car. Sunshine yellow against Ferarri red.

Finally, the car door opens and Daniel waits, arm suspended backwards in midair, still clutching a fistful of stems.

“Daniel, what the fuck are you doing?” Max shouts eventually, scrambling from the car looking pissed.

He covers his hand over his eyes to shield himself from the growing daylight, face screwed up as he squints up at Daniel. His expression should be a reminder of so many bad memories, and it is, but it’s also something Daniel doesn’t want to miss anymore.

“Maxy!” He shouts, letting the rest of the flowers drop to the floor in favour of leaning over the balcony. His heart is pounding so hard against his rib cage that he’s surprised the railing beneath him isn’t vibrating with it. “Can you- I love you. Can you come upstairs?”

For a moment, Max’s face just melts into blankness. The moment stretches, long enough that Daniel’s brain starts scanning for a joke to make, to backtrack, to just get out, but then-

Max smiles. A different kind of sunshine, but still so fucking bright.

“I love you too,” he calls up, his voice more than a little croaky. “I think- I think it would be better if I told you this more, before, but- But also I think it would be better if you came home.”

Daniel’s trainers slap quickly against every other step on the way back down the stairs.

#for once i stuck to my word and wrote the happy ending!#and it was bloody hard lol so #sorry if it sucks!#fic #max/daniel #also ignore delivery logistics that dont make sens plsss lol

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jasmines-library · 6 months

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I’m in love with the angst. Can you do a sister Winchester story where she’s at dinner with John and the boys and she starts choking

Knock it off

Note: Sorry this took me so long to get to! I wasn't 100% sure what direction to take this in so it's a little short i'm sorry, but I hope it's okay.

warnings: Choking. J*hn Winchester (yes he is a warning)

Word count: 1k

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

It was an unusual occurrence for the four of you to be in one room at the same time, let alone sat crowded around a dinner table eating something other than diner food or one of those ready made meals that were convenient, but tasted like cardboard and had an aftertaste that stuck around for far too long, But nevertheless, there you were. You were crammed in between your brothers, your knees rubbed up against theirs and your elbows occasionally bumped into each other as you took forkfuls of food.

There was an unmeasurable grin plastered across your face, reaching from one ear to the next. And there was one on your dad’s too. He was treasuring the moment, you were sure. The way his body relaxed into the wooden chair told you that much. With time left over after a hunt that went unusually well, he had decided to cook something so, a quick pit-stop and a few hours later, he had managed to produce a steaming tray of burgers from the motel’s half functioning grill, and whilst it was far from gourmet, and wasn't going to make up for his countless mistakes and poor parenting, or win him any ‘father of the year awards’, it was a gentle step in the right direction.

The sound of the tv playing listlessly in the background was drowned out almost completely by the chatter as you shared stories and memories, laughing at the few treasured moments that the four of you had shared.

You were about halfway through the meal when it happened; suddenly your body was completely deprived of air. You began to work up a coughing fit, spluttering and cutting out the chatter completely as everyone turned to look at you.

Dean deepened the creases between his eyes. “You okay there sweetheart?”

You nodded, trying to dismiss him with a thumbs up, but whatever was cutting off your airway wouldn't budge. Gasping for breath, you pushed your chair away from the table clutching at your chest. Your brothers were up in a flash frantically patting you on the back. It felt like hours before the offending piece budged and you took in air selfishly.

A few rouge tears trailed down your face as Sam led you over to the edge of the bed, setting you down gently. He rubbed his hands soothingly up and down your arms as you hyperventilated, now taking in too much air with the thought of running out again persistent in your mind.

“Deep breaths, Kiddo. Deep breaths.” He crouched down in front of you, taking your small hands in his and pressing a gentle kiss to them.

You followed his breathing, inhaling deeply, then holding it, savouring it and then exhaling back out again, until finally your body remembered somewhat how it was supposed to function and your breathing steadied.

Your dad came over hesitantly with a glass of cool water clutched gently in his hands. It was strange that even with all of his years hunting monsters, he still didn’t know how to act around his children when they were in distress. Fear gripped him tightly like a glove, taking over all of his control over his body. So, it took him a few moments to process what was happening before he actually made a move towards you.

“You alright?” He queried as you took gentle sips of water, under the watchful eyes of your older brother, Dean.

You nodded. “Yeah…”

Dean ran his hands over his face and let out a sigh. “Jesus, sweetheart. You scared the crap out of us.”

“Sorry…” You shrugged, pushing your shoulders up to your ears.

Sammy shook his head, tossing his hair around his face. “It was an accident.”

“Just remember to chew your food next time.” Dean quipped. He was always one to make a joke out of a serious situation to lighten the mood. He couldn’t stand the tension, it made him nauseous.

‘

You rolled your eyes and slapped him playfully on the chest. “Not cool.”

He turned his head. “You know I am.”

“Dude.” Sam said, giving his older brother a look. “Shut up.”

“What?! I am!”

He sighed. “If you say so.”

You just chuckled at their antics, glad that your incident didn’t ruin the tender moment between your family. You would always treasure little moments like these, with your brothers being your brothers, even if it meant spending time hauled up in a motel listening to the pair of them bicker. It was a reminder that sometimes, the three of you could be normal if only just for a precious moment.

⛤ MAIN MASTERLIST ⛤

#supernatural x reader #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x injured sister reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x sister reader #sam winchester x sister reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x injured sister reader #supernatural x little sister reader #dean winchester x little sister reader #sam winchester x little sister reader #john winchester x daughter reader

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onenicebugperday · 1 month

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@dyrujuz submitted: Hello :]

These fellas seem to be taking over the shelter I work at and I was wondering what they are. Pictures were taken in [removed] (please remove the location) and are these potential concerns for the animals here

Ps love your blog :]

Hi! Thank you! These are Indian meal moths, Plodia interpunctella, which are common pests in dry/stored plant-based foods like grains, nuts, and cereals. They especially love things like birdseed or other plant-based dry pet food, so it makes sense they'd show up in a shelter.

They're not outright dangerous to animals and don't transmit disease but if there's a large infestation they can spoil the dry food stores if they introduce moisture and bacteria. But if you open a bag of birdseed or whatever and there are a few larvae but the seed still looks dry and mostly whole and isn't a writhing mess of larvae, it's still fine. They can chew through cardboard and soft plastic so the only safe storage containers would be thick plastic, metal, or glass.

#animals #insects #bugs #submission #moth #indian meal moth #bugs in food

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 10 months

Text

Sweet confections

Oneshot Summary; Price brought the pastries to 141 as you asked him to, who could’ve thought sweet confections would spur the thoughts of sweet confessions?

Pairing: John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot

Word; 4k

Warnings; relationship-angst, fluff, implied age-gap

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: This was originally 2k🙃 Buuuut, I got carried away with delving into Price after seeing a post theorising about his previous dating life and just couldn’t help myself but write a snippet of the morning after their liquor-tasting date when sunshine!reader asked him to bring pastries to the 141 squad from Price's perspective.

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

On your first date, you'd brought him to 'the little coffee shop on the corner' you so endearingly called it. It wasn't as much a coffee shop as a bakery, Price remarked then. He even mentioned it the second time you'd come here to buy some bread together for dinner at your place. The third time, he'd shaken his head as he drove and spoke with you over the car's built-in phone, 'I've been working in the little coffee shop on the corner, I can wait for you here and we can go together to mine'.

Most of the space belonged to the bakery, stone ovens and counters to assemble the pastries. The rest was a quaint sitting area, with soft couch-looking seats compared to wooden-legged chairs and tables. Indeed, it was charming, gentle in a sense, concerning the neutral colour schema and warm bakery air.

Now Price stood in the same space smelling like newly baked bread and confectionery. It was early, before seven. Hence, the ovens were on full blast, loaded with loaves of bread and danishes. On the baking counter, cold sweets awaited completion, his presence suspending the process.

"Is that all?" Price's eyes focus on the cashier. According to you, she's the owner. She opened the place a few years ago to keep working with her passion after the official year of retirement, at her own pace and with her own ideas to fulfil a childhood dream.

His eyes fall on the things before her.

The usual for him and the rest of 141 on days likes these, coffees to everyone's taste and something to chew on. None favouring breakfast served on base since Price had brought something from his local place. He could scoff that a single prompted decision turned to habit on days like these when they would gather for meetings ahead of missions.

Usually, he would say yes. But this time, Price's eyes flickered to the right. 'Bring them something sweet in my name', your voice echoed from just 30 minutes earlier.

"I'll take some of those", he nods towards the colourful pastries behind the viewing glass.

"Any particular?" The woman asked. His eyes glide over the confections, some seemingly with a base of berries or other fruits, some with chocolate.

Price isn't too fond of sweets. Consequently, neither invested in what's good or not. Thankfully, he recalls which ones you'd pointed out as your favourites. 'Always taste the new ones when they come', you said when you'd visited the place together. Even if that hadn't been the case, Price would've trusted your tastebuds over his.

"Hm, I'll take two of each", he pointed to three different sweets, not attempting to pronounce their name even though in English. What he knew, or rather remembered, was your description of them. The pink one had a base of pomegranate with some curd, sweet but refreshing. The orange one contained peaches and syrupy cream, honeyed but with a delicate fruitiness. The tan one was some brownie fusion, if you ever want to taste diabetes. He'd chuckled when you explained the taste differences.

"Buying them for your girl?" Price's eyes jumps to the woman, who barely spared him more than an amused look between picking the pastries he'd directed her towards and packing them into small cardboard boxes.

"What?"

"Did your girl make you sleep on the couch after some argument? That's why you're trying to win her over with this?" She nodded to the first box of sweets she placed amongst his order.

You, she was talking about you. Price dipped his head, shaking it with a slight chuckle.

He wasn't startled, per se, that the women recognised him. He'd been here a handful of times in the last few weeks.

If it would've happened in the regular place he usually stops by on the way from his home, he wouldn't have even reacted. It was local, small, an everyone-knew-everyone case sooner rather than later. Although quaint for a city with its cosy inside, this place was still strategically placed on a corner between the juncture of two streets. And that's why Price isn't surprised the woman recognised him but tied him to you in the way she had.

"No, ordered me to bring some to my mates". He knew the woman had scanned him today, taken in his hard-to-misplace attire. Where there earlier only been a question mark, he'd now been placed in the box reading soldier within seconds of turning to face him from where she stood further inside the bakery after having called 'one minute' over her shoulder.

"Smart women, know you boys probably deserve it". She commented in passing, bending down to pack up the second sweet. Price hummed in return. "Hopefully, they'll like them, though I don't second her taste", the woman chuckled more to herself even though Price listened.

From how the woman dearly greeted you by name each time and a short conversation if it wasn't too hectic, he'd quickly gathered you were a regular here, your knowledge for someone who tasted but didn't bake the confectionaries giving it away as well.

"That'll be all?" She repeated the question from earlier when finally boxing up the last pastry. The three boxes were now effectively tied together and pushed together with the rest of his order.

"It'll be all", Price returned, reflecting the woman's smile as he reached to pay.

"Tell her I said hi and that I've got something new on the way for her to look forward to". He raised his elbow in an attempted wave, nodding a goodbye as he exited the bakery.

Not until Price stood at the curbside, a tray of coffees, one letter scribbled in neat handwriting on each cartoon cup, and two rather than one takeaway boxes of something to chew on did he realise he hadn't corrected the women once.

Your girl.

Price looked back inside through the windows lining the wall of the bakery. He couldn't see the women, probably already set off to complete the morning routine he'd interrupted.

Did she take it for granted that you bringing him here meant he was something more than just a date, someone you casually met? Because this wasn't neutral ground but a special place to you?

He faced his car, looking at his reflection.

His girl.

Price huffed, shaking his head and opened his car, placing what he'd bought in the passenger seat. He could only speculate why the woman had assumed you were a couple. But he knew why he hadn't corrected her, why he barely even had cringed at the notion of someone calling you his.

...

When arriving at the base, Price wasted no more time than to gather the mission files he'd had delivered to his office before heading to the scheduled meeting room.

When he pushes the handle down with his elbow, the door to the meeting room swinging open, he finds the rest of 141 inside. With his added appearance, whatever conversation they had halted.

"Morning, Captain", Gaz greets him, to which he nods his silent hello, clearing his hands by placing the things from the bakery on the table they sat around.

"Help yourselves to your usual", Price gestured to the things he'd brought. "And a mission file", he continued as he put down the folders he'd kept beneath his arm when not juggling the other things around.

His men reached forth, each taking the coffee cup with their initials along a sandwich wrapped in plastic foil. At first, their eyes were only swiftly shifted to the added boxes with intrigue until Soap dared to unwrap them, catching a look at what was inside.

"The place from yours gotten sweets now as well, Price?" The Scot looked over with a cocked brown, opening the rest of the boxes without taking more than a swift look down. Of course, Soap would be the one to inspect the boxes standing out from the team's usual orders.

"No, stopped at one in the city". Price shrugged, reaching for his cup of coffee but waiting with his sandwich. He would eat it, knowing you would give him a disapproving look if he didn't, though only later, when the coffee kicked in and made him hungry. The first visit back at base after a leave always does wonders of curbing his appetite.

As the black bitterness of coffee bit his tastebuds, he eyes Gaz as he lean forward, inspecting the boxes Soap opened and picked a pink pastry from. As his sergeant's eyes fell to the contents of the packages, he found the variety the Scot inspected seconds earlier.

"Why the hell the detour?" Gaze's eyes met Price, who took another drink of his coffee before he answered.

"No detour. I was in the city already".

Soap, who'd tasted the sweet he'd picked out and whose eyes rolled, accompanied by a content hum, leaned back in his chair as his attention travelled to Price. "What-", he began, eyes widening a wee bit as they locked with Price's. He doesn't know what the Scot saw, but whatever it was, it stopped his sentence abruptly with a rise of brows, a straightening of his back and a curl of his mouth's edge. "It's the lass, ain't it?"

Price didn't know why he stalled, why the takeaway cup halted in mid-air, why he didn't just say yes.

It wasn't that his men didn't know. It was impossible for them not to. They'd been there the night he met you at the bar. They, or Gaz and Soap, having encouraged him to talk to you when he'd hesitated because why would you be interested in him. Ghost hadn't said anything on the matter, but Price bet he found entertainment in how the Seargents' jabbed at their Captain at something so trivial. And much like pushing his first step, their reaction to seeing the two of you leave together followed the same characteristics.

So no, it would be hard for them not to know about you. And there went one of the reasons Price would hesitate to answer.

"S'pose it can't be anyone else", Price relented. The biggest reason he wouldn't indulge the rest of the fact a dispensed reasoning of keeping you hidden meant safety.

It made Gaz whistle, leaning back with one of the orangey sweets in his hand. Soap drummed his hands against his thighs after inhaling the rest of his small pastry. Ghost shifted in his seat, head cocking, eyes sweeping to inspect the confections the other two men had indulged in fleetingly before his attention returned to Price.

"How's it goin' then? Asked the lass out since last we saw the two of ya disappear in the sunset?" Soap asked, his question prodding for two answers rather than one. But rather than levelling the Scot with a look, something that silently would confirm his suspicions of what happened the night Price drove you home, he leaned back in his chair with a tip of his head.

"We've talked some, met a few times as well". Price took a sip of his coffee as if it would do anything else than exacerbate his nerves upon you being the subject of conversation and the memory you'd more than just talked after some of your dates. "Got those from one of the places we went, some of her favourites".

"Old romantic, you are, Cap". Gaz's comment made Price clear his throat. It was followed by a 'yeah, yeah' muttered under his breath almost bashfully.

"Well, I'd say the lass is rubbin' of good on ya", Soap steered the conversation in his ever-present direction of jest on topics like this. "Ain't all time our dear Captain spoils us with such sudden acts of kindness", the Scot reached forth, picking one of the chocolaty treats this time with a smug look and a glint in his eyes towards Price.

He can't help but roll his eyes at the jab. "It's her spoilin' you, not me. Ordered me to buy some for you lot as a greeting".

That made Soap's signature grin form. "The lass orderin' you around already, Price?"

"The real question is why he's accepting it. He doesn't like us bossing him around and barely any higher-ups as well", Gaz stated, lightly elbowing the Scot at his side with a chuckle, the latter joining in agreement.

"Did the request come this morning?" Ghost pulls his attention away from his snickering Seargents.

With his eyes settled on the man who'd been quiet until this moment, Price knew his Lieutenant didn't ask the question because he needed the answer, only the confirmation. If anything was Ghost's forte, it was gathering the scattered pieces of information dropped throughout the chat, what’s between the lines, enough to build a picture of what went on behind the scenes.

Price clocked that for the veteran, who'd nursed his coffee with sparing sips and lifts of his mask, there'd been enough details throughout the conversation for him to flesh out the parts left untold. The knowing look reflected in Ghost's dark eyes exposing it as well.

"We went out yesterday, stayed the night", Price brushed off. Knowing Ghost, he'd say there's a smile hidden beneath the mask, equally as smug as those visible and directed at him from the other two men.

"Starting to think you don't want to indulge us, Cap", Gaz pointed out. "It seems to be going very well between you two".

"Aye, Price, when will we meet ya lass again?" At Soap's question, the morning flashed before Price's eyes.

He'd woken up before you. No need for an alarm that Price was scared would wake you up in the process and he would hurry to shut off. The military had since long engrained the early hours in the back of his mind.

He'd woken with a blink of his eyes rather than a slow descent from slumber, immediately noting that during the night, the two of you had shifted to something more comfortable for sleeping than the previous cuddling. Your back was towards him, a little gap between you. Even so, his arm draped over your waist, and your warmth reached his front angled towards you.

Price had dragged his hand lightly down to your hip, feeling the skin beneath the oversized shirt you'd gone to sleep with, but his hand managed to sneak beneath nonetheless. When his palm settled on the curve of your hip, your skimpy panties beneath his skin, he'd pushed up on his elbow.

His eyes had travelled over your face, or what could be seen of it as your arm partly covered it, checking if you were awake even though your breathing already suggested you weren't. Noting your stillness, Price made his way out of bed slow to not stir you.

Dressing into his jeans and shirt felt wrong as he watched you continue to sleep soundly. He wanted to stay for a few more moments, press close to your back, bury his head in your nape, and linger in the moment. But he knew his willpower to go to base and hold the meeting he was supposed to would wain if witnessing you slowly coming to in his arms.

Price had debated how to leave your flat and fetch the things in his car without getting locked outside. He just brought your keys with him in the end, deciding against leaving the door ajar behind him, concerned for your safety despite the second gate out to the street.

He didn't meet anyone as he went down to his car and up again, allowing Price to wallow in the lingering warmth of your body close to his as he pulled his jacket tight around him in solace. Despite being summer, it wasn't warm in the mornings, crisp and slightly chilly until the rays peeks over the edges of roofs.

A feeling that hadn't been present in a long time, not a genuine one, at least, settled in his bones as he walked through your home with his bag slung over his shoulder. Domestic, his thoughts supplied a label to the feelings growing in his bones, muscles and every fleshly part of him as he slowed his pace past your bedroom, the door open enough that he spotted your sleeping figure beneath the covers.

It lingered as Price had taken a shower, using the towel hanging beneath yours on the rack when done. He'd stopped asking what towel to use just a week before, as a second joined your smaller one near the sink and one by your body towel.

He'd felt something warm enter him when he first noticed the newly added additions, even more so when he'd asked about it to be entirely sure and your head had popped into the opening. Explaining almost shyly you thought he should have his own from how often he's been staying overnight, and so he doesn't need to ask every time.

And since then, Price had become used to moving around your apartment without you by his side. Something about you giving him permanent things at your place erased that 'stranger' feeling one had before getting comfortable in someone else's space.

That's why, when he'd crouched by the side of your bed this morning, dressed in clothes portraying such a different reality to what he felt like this fever-induced daydream was, Price couldn't wait for you to prove that this wasn't just a morbid fantasy created under the influence of morphine taken to ease the pain of a nasty wound, one he was too incoherent to remember.

You'd shown him a part of yourself, your most intimate space, your home, to him, making him comfortable here. He could relax when stepping over your threshold. Knowing he stepped into your world. And yet, everything feels tied to you, not him. That's why he invited you over to his place, wanting not only to see your reaction to stepping into his world but seeing you in his home would settle the anxiety gnawing at his bones. Or so he hoped.

Price felt his fingers, which rested on his thigh, twitch. He wanted to reach for the phone in his pocket and settle the plans for the weekend that were coming with a quick text, even though it was only Monday.

He sighed at himself, remembering correcting the faulty phrase concerning you and his relationship, even though it came from someone much closer and who knew more about his relation to you. "She ain't my girl".

"Why? The two of ya already act like a pair, it seems". Price's eyes flickered to the pastries' Soap motion to, or more so, the significance behind them.

"They've known each other for a month, Johnny". Ghost's comment eases his nerves.

Yes, he'd gotten to know you well over a month. Outside 141 and his nearest circle within work, you were the one he felt the closest to. He'd caught himself entertaining the idea, not only upon talking with the lady at the bakery and now with the men surrounding him, but this morning when he'd walked around in the silence of your flat. He didn't dislike the idea of enjoying his or someone's space together with the other. But it was the first time he liked someone enough to tie into that future.

You brought so much for Price to look forward to, but most of all, you were the embodiment of comfort. Just your presence was enough for him to relax, let his shoulders drop and the tension in his neck ease. That's why it felt right spending time with you, why Price didn't think even a second about how much time you'd spent together despite meeting a month ago.

And yet, today, this morning, made him hesitant to go too fast forward, to let the previous night and this morning make him let go of all reins and fall headfirst into whatever this was.

Today this life, the one his occupation as a Captain of a task force entailed, merged just slightly with the reality he'd created with you on his leave.

You knew he was military, SAS, but neither of you mentioned his work, the topic not easily slid into, despite that you'd explained your job in more detail. It would've been more than right of him to do so in return, but explaining and talking about his profession was one of few included in general parentheses.

There was only so much he could clarify about the field he operated in. And legally, he couldn't disclose much about the task force either. If you hadn't known they were military the night you met and he hadn't gotten to know you'd dabbled in his field of work, he probably wouldn't have mentioned many of the things he had. He didn't keep it a secret, not the basics, but neither was Price one to bring it up in conversations.

Still, you stayed. After everything told and not, you were still here. You wanted him, or so Price assumed since the first night you'd met.

He assumed it wasn't simply feigned interest you'd shown when you'd concerned yourself of what haunted his mind when on leave. He assumed, that when he'd seen the gears turn in your head of how you could voice your questions without overstepping, it was from the sincere concern of doing so, not a forced attempt at seeming friendly. He assumed, that when you so sweetly looked at him only to say in that purred voice that you wanted to help him relax, it didn't only mean for the night.

Otherwise, you wouldn't have entertained him for this long. Yet again, that was what he thought. However, what Price knew what that he needed to give you something to work with. You couldn't support him without him relenting something about himself, this side of him.

He didn't blame his previous partners for his fleeting relationships. Not entirely. He'd remained strict with letting too much spill too early, knowing how some may react, how they try to pull away gracefully. Somehow it was a test, an unintentional one but a test nonetheless. And the answer didn't come until after his first deployment, when he found out how his supposed partner reacted to his previous emotional distance and later physical disappearance. A test of boundaries, one could call it.

And concerning it was only a few weeks more until his first one with you, he thought about it. A lot.

Price shook his head. He blinked, eyes refocusing, noticing his gaze had gotten stuck to the pastries on the table. As his eyes flickered up, he found that Soap and Ghost still exchanged arguments.

"Shouldn't stop him from askin' the lass if it feels right", the Scot said, arms now crossed over his chest, his shoulders resting against the backrest of his chair, spine curved.

"Can't rush", was all the masked Brit responded with, along with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Enough of his. Let's get on with the meetin'", Price interrupted, effectively ending the conversation. None of the others argued, noticing it was their Captain rather than Price commanding them to drop the subject as he opened the mission file before him.

Nevertheless, as they started the meeting, Price couldn't help that Soap's and Ghost's arguments replayed in the silence. Neither how you entered his mind when listening to the others discuss the details of the OP. It never overtook his attention, but it lingered in the back of his mind, gnawing away at the nerves in his inner skull.

After this mission, Price thought, he'll see how you've held up and maybe have a conversation with you.

He didn't like making promises he wasn't sure could be kept. But, this one, that he would come back to speak with you about it, he would go above and beyond to keep. Because it felt different this time, he longed coming back to you before even shipping off.

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denim-devil · 1 year

Text

Valentine | S.H

Summary - You present a promiscuous gift as a thank you, for your first Valentines, Steve decides to use that very gift…

A/N - So like- a fleshlight inspired this fic, you are welcome- fr though please enjoy this fic, I totally think Steve would be into this and a sweetheart about it- BIG SOFITE- also this is for my boys who love boneless chicken cause-

- NOT PROOF READ -

──────. • ☆:*.☽ .* :☆ﾟ• . ──────

It’s the thought that count, right?

The same sentence replayed on your mind, watching Steve nibble away at one of the crispy chicken wings he brought along. His smile whilst chewing away distracted you from the growing butterflies that swarmed your stomach.

The flowers he purchased not long ago sat in a beautiful glass vase, the very dining room light above the two of you bouncing from every ridge it occupied. The roses were a vibrant red, almost reflecting the love that grew strong daily between the two of you.

“It’s finger lickin’ good-“ Steve mumbled encouraging a soft chuckle from you. Riddled with anxiety a soft red blossomed across your cheeks which in turn had Steve glaring at you whilst licking away at the loose chicken left in his mouth.

The red box placed beside one of your quaking legs left unopened, the same soft pastel maroon ribbon left knotted, secreting the inappropriate gift. For a first Valentines gift indeed it would seem to forward? Right?

“Are you okay, can’t help but notice the- uh” Steve pointed to his cheek bones, the soft red now turning vibrant, closer to a tomato. Knowing how shy you got when something was up Steve decided to question the timidness that now strained you from refraining the truth.

You nod with a smile, one that could seem un-phased by the very question that ran through the canyons of your ears, swallowed up by the rocky sea of regret swirling around your head.

“Are you sure? Is it the chicken- fuck, I shoulda bought boneless I know you’re not a fan of…all of that”

Again you chuckle to yourself, letting a huffy sigh pass your open lips. Steve was clueless but he was smart, he would easily catch on.

“I…bought you something”

Eagerly reaching down for the hefty box, you manage to place it down close toward Steve. With an eyebrow raise, he sets down the napkin he previously used to clean the shimmery grease from the tips of his fingers before reaching over for the box, curiosity taking over.

“So this is what has you blushing?…huh”

The bow was slowly untied, the thicker parts pulled until the knot unformed, breaking the secret that incased you in a casket of burden.

“I’m sure it’s gonna be amazing, whatever it is”

The anticipation kicked in, each heart beat gaining speed until you physically couldn’t look at him anymore. The light clack of the cardboard lid slipped from the bottom of the box, presenting the elongated tan silicone fake hole, wrapped in a thick black plastic encasing easier for leverage.

Each passing moment of realisation had you hiding away in your oversized hoodie, the butterflies that once settled in the pit of your stomach growing like a swarm which infested your gullet, forcing the little amount of food you had managed to sneak in before passing the box over.

“Baby…you bought me this?”

The heat that flooded you still leaked up into Steve’s own face, a light dusting of pink journeying into his cheeks once he picked up the card with his name eloquently written in cursive.

Flicking the neatly folded piece up, his eyes landed on the short message. It was quick, to quick, almost as if you had the same hurriedness you were now acquainted with writing it.

It wasn’t sloppy, infact it perfectly captured the thought behind the very object he now gripped onto, pulling it from the crinckly, cerise tissue paper. The silence was loud, loud enough to disrupt any singular thought that could possibly ruin any kind of forgiveness.

“I- If it’s not- I can take it back”

You mumbled innocently. But Steve, Steve couldn’t help but feel how he began to plump up in his denim pants, his boxer’s incredibly tight, tight enough for discomfort.

“Are you kidding, it’s perfect…”

To focused on the new addition to the bedroom to realise the change in your posture, your face visible to the slightly older boy. He was stunned for sure but in ways that had his temptation skyrocketing, every single improper thought plaguing his mind.

“But why would I need this, when I have you?”

It takes a couple of seconds for his words to settle in, once they do, you look over catching his eye. They had changed from a soft light hazel to a unfathomable darkness as if every ounce of innocence drained from his body, questioning your limits.

“I just thought, something new, I can still return it before it’s-“

He coughs forcing you to stumble into nothing but a slight murmur of your lips which contorted until falling flat once more.

“Maybe we can try it out-“

Gathering yourself together, watching as Steve stood practically looming over the oak-vanished tabled top, holding the foreign object in his hands.

Capturing the exact moment your eyes target the fully grown mound at the front of his jeans, a breathy chuckle breaks the spell he managed to put on you, your legs working somewhat normally pushing you upwards.

“C’mere”

His free hand flaps you over, following his signal you do just so, slotting into his side. Still the timidness was pungent, it invested in your veins at Steve’s new found immaculacy, the bulge he sported still strong.

Walking you both into his bedroom, he sits, in turn you follow like a lost puppy, watching as he shuffled back into the pillows, splaying his body out, in due time he set the toy aside gently before reaching into his bedside cabinet, fetching out the clear bottle containing copious amounts of lube, thick and clear.

You took it in, not just the way Steve seemed to eager to unravel the toys usage and what potentially caused you to buy it, but also the way he accepted it so quickly, as if he had been waiting for something new.

“Mind helping me out a little baby?”

The nickname helped force you back into the moment, forgetting the same thoughts which clogged up your already full head. You felt hazy but with the lack of judgement it was easy to forget just why you were so nervous to share the gift with him.

“Yeah- sure, sorry”

Immediately Steve pulled you in for a kiss helping you slump into his side, now laying beside one another, the tension grew thick, thicker then fabric keeping his thick appendage from sight.

Wondering hands soon find the cold metal of his golden zip, swiftly you make work of it, the soft purr rattled through the lewd smacking sounds your lips created, distracting you both if only for a mere second.

Success had arrived like a knight in shining armour once you managed to wriggle a hand in, fetching out the unmissable fully grown muscle he produced. Hissing, Steve broke the kiss, his cock laying flat against his abdomen with a heavy thud.

It was almost overbearing at first, the tip a pastel pink with a twinge of red which grew with each twitch, a girthy vein running along the underside which split into a fork-like shape, invading the pale skin.

The pop of the cap startled you enough to watch the clear jelly like substance fall into his palm. Using it to his advantage, he lathers it across the entirety of his girth, two strokes to full soak the skin.

A soft “Fuck-“ escapes his open mouth, head falling back into the plush pillows now supporting his neck. Sneakily, you replace his hand with your own, a desperately broken Steve reaches over for the toy placing the intruding hole at his tip.

“Gotta watch okay, you might need the next size up, if that’s a thing”

Agreeing with the jock, his girth with the added length, it almost looked impossible to fit. His confidence never seemed to phase you, generally speaking, it was a fact, one you had beared witness to a plethora of times.

Biting your lip his tip sinks past the tight ring of silicone, the lube helping with the pressure.

“Oh shit- fuck”

It felt fresh, like a field littered with flowers, light yet so fucking realistic, he couldn’t tell the difference it felt that good, almost too good.

His eyes close once you begin a gentle pace, the trudging of his cock with the suction of each ridge inside dragged against every single sensitive, pumped vein scurrying across the very muscle creating the slick lewd sounds that bounced from wall to wall.

Each tug yanked harsh groans from the occupied man, your pace matched his eagerness in ways he couldn’t explain which he accepted, greedily taking up your energy whilst sucking the life out of him.

“I…I didn’t think it would be so, fuck, keep going, like that”

It had been a while for Steve, between work and your clashing schedules, the lack of privacy each evening grew thin but tonight he was in your very hands, ones which worked him for everything he had to offer.

Even the silicone had taken notes of his size, not being able to swallow him whole like you could do so easily showed the limits of the toy proving Steve’s ideology, it was good, but it wasn’t you.

“I think it likes you Steve…”

Each remark slipping past your lips had the coil in his stomach rattle with urgency, he was close, each pull, from his angry tip to the vein residing at his base ushered that very same coil to snap simultaneously.

“Gonna cum- holy shit baby”

Watching closely, small beads of thick, white load began to spill from the hole he managed to stretch soaking the neatly trimmed patch of hair surrounding his novelty.

His thighs shook with each small thrust he had left in him. Quickly your pulled into a wet kiss full of tongue and saliva shushing his fastened pants, a wave of bliss controlling his eager movements.

As deep as the kiss intended to be, he shifted away, not much, his breath still fanning over your pink cheeks, eyes, doe-eyed once more still trained on your own

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re onto something…”

#male reader #x male reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x male reader #smut #fluff #valentines #HELP-#I-#writing this was so #scrummy

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oonajaeadira · 6 months

Note

What if a pedroboy of your choice brings this snack over to you...

Have I told you lately that I love you? This made me squeal. I WANT TO FILL UP ON FRESH FLAVOR IN CAPYBARA FORM.

Listen. This could very easily have been Dieter or Frankie. But I was compelled to choose a new boy because this dude's gonna come down my pipeline soon and it feels like him. And it's nice to take these two out for a practice spin.

_____

You stare down into the bag in disbelief. Outside of work he can get distracted, forget where he put his keys, walk out the door with two different shoes on....

"I think you got my bag mixed up with Missy's."

Marcus smiles as he pulls plates out of the cupboard. "Nah. She prefers the hedgehog meal. I thought you might like these."

"Really?" When you pull the capybara shaped chicken nuggets out of the bag, he's there just in time to catch them on a plate as they accept their fate and tumble calmly out of their cardboard container.

"Yeah," he says, pushing the thick frame of his glasses back up his nose. "They're sleepy. Like you."

"Hey. The only reason I sleep late is because you like to keep me up late."

"I keep you up late because you keep me up. ...Late."

When he reaches to swipe one of the novelty nuggets, you hug the plate close and access your power, transporting instantly to the other side of the kitchen. "I thought you got these for me, you thief."

At first you're confused when your stockinged feet start sliding over the laminate kitchen floor. But then you realize your belt buckle is made of metal and he just gives you a sly grin as you glide straight into his arms.

"I did," he laughs as you stuff a puffy little cappy chickey in his mouth, chewing around a kiss to your cheek and a tilt of his head at the other bag on the table. "Mine's in that one."

"Oh? And do you also like the hedgehog meal?"

Shaking his head, he swallows. "Fox meal."

"Ah. Because you're foxy," you deadpan, anticipating the dad joke.

He holds you tighter burying his face in your neck and growling, dancing his hips stupidly against you. "Because I"m foxy!"

And now it's your turn to laugh and chew as he pops a crispy capy through your smile and keeps it there with a kiss.

#whoops #new pedro boy just dropped

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revelisms · 2 months

Text

A small moment with Primo and Terzo from a fic I haven't gotten around to finishing 🪴

WC: 1.4k | Hurt/comfort, dysfunctional family dynamics, bandaging wounds, mentioned blood, big brother Peemo doing his best.

The hall echoes around the pincher's thunk-thudding steps like a cavernous wallow: frigid and endless and lonely, as always. At the root of it stands a black-haired boy, stuck between the prongs of a three-branched tree.

Brother—father—mother and thing.

His knee is still bleeding.

A hand coiled strangely at his own shoulder, his eyes dismal on the tooth-rotted yellow of Nihil's office, he thinks and scowls and thinks again about how Copia, not more than five years on his bones, had tried to press a healing charm on his leg, with a shiver of magic that felt enormous.

He'd smacked his hand away, wide-eyed. Then he'd picked between the tears in his pantleg, found the nasty scrape still angry and red, those blue eyes peering miserably up at him, and scuffed.

Sister has the little freckle-face by the hand, now: her words a silken soothing only a distant memory of his remembers.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes, loosens.

He's off, without another breath—unable to stand any of it: the emptiness, the silence; muggy and dust-soaked and wretched and old. His shoes batter off the stones.

The tussle of habits and buttoned silks are used to this, by now. A mewling stray, some call him: but for all he glides like a cat through the bramble, he just as well soars: a small nightingale flitting through those staccato sunbursts of light and shadow and creaking doors, panting and running, running away from it—from nothing at all.

Still four wings. Still a cage of stone.

He stumbles over the grasses past the stoop to the East Wing: claps his hands on the glass door to the greenhouse. The air is thick with early spring, and damp with the first traces of nectar.

"Nonna." The old goat, nosing over his plants, of course doesn't hear him. He squeaks the door a sliver wider. "Nonna."

Primo sighs, pinching soil into his eyes, and immediately swears a storm. "Yes, what?" He swats his bony hands clean, gruffing dimly. His blondish hair hangs raggled and limp, a few strands slipped loose from the knot at his nape. He's in his gardening clothes, today: wrinkled shirt and trousers, green apron, smattered with fertilizer and grime.

"You three were supposed to be back hours ago. Sister Maria was ready to send a search warrant." His pale eyes leer, gentle for all they glower. He clicks his tongue. "What have you got into, now?"

Terzo, twig-like in the doorway, shrugs. His nails pinch at his shirt. "I, uh—"

His elder brother makes a wordless assessment: a bland stare that slips from his hair to his shoes. "You fell."

He chews on his lip. "I was just in a tree," he mumbles, sourly.

"Little one, we have been through this," Primo chides quietly. "You are too clumsy to do such things." He busies himself over the sink, finding a clean rag for his fresh-scrubbed hands, and hunts for his box of bandages. "One day, you'll break your neck," he grumbles on, peeling the cardboard open, and sighs again. "Come here."

Reluctantly, Terzo does.

Primo helps him up on the counter, his thin hands cold as claws, and takes his time examining the damage: knee, wrist, cheek. "Always in trouble, aren't you?" he wonders, zeroing back on his battered knee. "You shredded the poor thing."

The room is so green, so warm, so sunkissed and quiet—a softer sort, now. Terzo keeps his eyes on the ferns, his cheek between his teeth. Avoids the sight of his brother's back turning to look for the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads and whatever else shouldn't be in here but is, because of how routine this has become: how unlikely he is to go anywhere else: how often he has peeked his head around the corner with bleeding fingers and bleeding elbows and a bleeding heart in his hands.

And Primo, somehow, with his box of bandages, always seems to know how to tape shut the cracks.

"You must be more careful, Zito." He says it with a worrisome glance and a furrowed brow: more a mothering hen than the horned thing they've all assigned him to be. The cotton pad he's soaked in alcohol stings. "How your brother has the patience. Now—sit up, please. Hold still."

Terzo frowns, does as he's told, shifting his dirty nails against the paint-chipped counter. There's a cluster of herbs soaking in the window's sun: tarragon, sage, basil, mint. He plucks a sprig of fresh spearmint, sticks it between his teeth, muddling on it. Primo always keeps some there for him to do so, even though he complains.

"You will eat me out of those leaves," the old goat grumbles—per usual. He smears smooth the bandage on his knee, cleans off his elbow and sticks another one there. "You had lunch, yes?"

"In town."

"And what did you have?"

Terzo picks at his pantleg. "Piadina."

"Good." Primo dabs another cotton pad over his cheek. "And did you get your Chinotto?"

"Uh-huh." He smiles toothily, twists the soda cap out from his pocket. "'Nother for the collection. I'm gonna paint this one purple. See?"

"I see." Primo presses a small bandage over his cheek. "You will have a full set of armor, by the time you are done with those."

Terzo sticks the cap back in his pocket. "That's the point."

"Well, then—perhaps that will help you with these falls of yours."

The light shifts over the glass: a dappling through the pines that cluster around the clearing. Terzo watches it speckle across the floor. His fingers press five knifepoints into the counter.

Softly, unasked, a thin hand cords through his hair.

"You are alright, yes?" murmurs a low voice. "Only a few scrapes and bruises?"

And a little boy with magic that could dwarf him who his mother loved who Secondo could care less for and that must mean Secondo didn't care much for him, either—

He blinks at the plants piled around the room. Shrugs.

A quiet sigh ebbs across from him. "Then all is good, mh?" Primo's fingers comb softly through his hair again, mussing the strands into some floral nicety. And before Terzo can let that comfort shiver through him, let the tears pricking at his lashes build and burn and fall too, that hand draws still over his temple. "Come here."

He slumps into his apron. It reeks of compost, and that wet earthiness of worms, and a trace of his cologne: the one that smells more spicy than sweet. Terzo breathes it in like a blanket he was born with, breathes it out like the first gulp of fresh air he's had in an age.

"It is alright, little one," Primo is muttering on, rubbing gently over his shoulder.

Terzo doesn't think it is.

He doesn't know what he thinks about any of it, really.

He thought he wasn't going to fall from that stupid tree.

His bat-eared brother wraps around him like a dragon, like he's a little piece of gold in a rotted den—or, maybe, just a speck of rot, itself. But if he is, he hopes it's the kind he'll stick in his flowerpots, mingle up with the roots so it can grow into something else.

"You want to see the maggots I've harvested?" Primo hushes, smiling slyly.

Terzo blanches to his ears.

"Found them down by the river. They were nested in a deer carcass."

His head twists from his brother's shoulder. "Wait—is it still there? Can we go see it? Please please please—?"

"So you don't want to see maggots, but you...want to see that." Primo ticks a pale brow. "Satan, what am I to do with you?"

A small hand paws at his apron. "I won't touch it—I promise! Pinky-promise! Double-triple-quadruple promise!"

Primo kneads his fingers into his eyes, again. "You will help me with the roses first, eh?" Terzo's mouth pops open, ready for a beewinged bluster. "And then," his brother hisses on, before he can start, "maybe."

The smile that lights up the room might be worth it all—even if it is at something so grotesque.

"Maybe," Primo reiterates again—but Terzo's already off the counter, sprung free like a wind-up doll, hunting for the clippers and gloves, and, well.

It seems there's not much room to say no, after that.

#the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ficlet #papa emeritus i #papa i #primo #papa primo #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo #papa terzo #writing #in the messy family feelings again

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stevenbasic · 7 months

Text

Growing into the Job, Post 350: That was Then, This is Now, p2

“G-Gianna?” I asked Aubrey from my spot a foot off the floor, held aloft in Morgan’s strong hands, my bright colored shoes from the kids’ department dangling helplessly, “Wants to talk to me?” I gulped, trying my best to look dignified. Not an easy task. “N-now?”

I acted surprised, but I’d known this was coming. I’d had reports to complete, a bunch of data from the study to sign off on. It’d been tasked to me quite a while ago. As little as I actually really did for this thing, this clinical trial, Evolution relied on me and my authority to keep things on schedule. At least as far as my own paperwork was concerned, and this report had been due last night.

“Yeah, she says now,” Aubrey replied, a funny look on her face as she processed the scene in front of her eyes; the broadly smiling Uber-Amazon Morgan holding her shrunken boss like a toy, a boss that didn’t weigh very much, at that. Aubrey bit her lower lip before continuing. “And she sounds a little annoyed.”

“I am a little annoyed,” came a new woman’s voice, clear as day, from the speakers of my desktop computer.

What the?? Looking to my left I saw, onscreen, the videochat window already open. There she was, Gianna, remotely controlling my computer. She was here with us already, sort of. I thought I’d told Marisela to fix that, not allow her access to-

“Hi Morgan,” Gianna spoke, obviously able to see us as she remotely greeted the enormous blonde before me, “Can you put him in his chair so we can have a little talk?”

Next thing I knew I was being plopped behind my desk, butt-in-chair, facing the screen and an obviously nonplussed Gianna Albertini, Study Coordinator for Evolution Pharmaceuticals She was my liaison to the company and the face/ - holy crap look at her tits - chest behind all the money the practice was being infused with for its participation. She was young, she tended to be flippant about this whole project and my involvement, and she didn’t look happy.

After dropping me down into my seat, Morgan had stepped away, her big, long legs quickly getting her to the other side of my desk on her way to the door.

“Morgan, wait,”

Gianna’s voice stopped the big woman in her tracks. It spoke through my computer speakers, “maybe you can stay in the room with us as we chat.”

Morgan turned, with a smile, towering over my desk behind the terminal screen. “I can be doing that, yes,” she answered, with more than a small bit of excitement in her voice. Her smile widened, obviously enthused by the tone this conversation was taking. Even her teeth were big. I could see it already: she was looking forward to a dressing-down. Mine. A man’s at the hands of a woman with authority

Gianna regarded me through the camera. Her brow was crooked; she was not smiling. “Good morning, Doctor,” she spoke, “It’s been a bit since we last touched base, huh?” Though her tone was flat, I could see a glint of light in her eye as she regarded me even through our low resolution screens. She cocked her head. “You look hungry…and skinny.” she said, “Did you eat anything today?”

“N-no, I-” I actually hadn’t.

“Have one of those protein bars you keep in your desk,” she said, plainly. And then paused, waiting for me to act.

What the f-..? How did she know that? I thought, even as I found myself doing exactly as she’d suggested, opening the top drawer of my desk and pulling out a fruit-and-nut protein bar. Breakfast would probably be smart.

“You need the help to unwrap?” Morgan asked, from her looming position over my desk.

“No I-I got it,” I answered, peeling through the foil that - god help me - did give me more of a challenge than it should.

I took a bite. I’d thrown a few of these in here just last week but it still tasted old and stale, almost like the cardboard box they came in. A glass of milk might make it taste better, I couldn’t help but think.

“So, okay,” I began, between a few forced chews. I looked back at the screen trying my best to keep my eyes off her tits. “How long is this going to take?” I asked, “I have patients to get to.”

Gianna didn’t like that. “No, you don’t. I’ve had the staff move your morning patients to Morgan and Vida, because you’ll need the time for the report,” she said. She paused. “And, I don’t like your tone,” she added.

To that, I admit I bristled. Who was this woman, thinking she can run my day, my practice, my time with patients?! If you, dear reader, haven’t gathered it by this point, I was more than a little resistant to participating in this clinical trial to begin with. I was a little weirded out by the whole situation. Yes, the money was good for us - we actually needed it, with my reduced production - but I was not going to allow myself to be scolded by a corporate floozy behind a video chat screen. I was, however, smart enough not to say exactly what was on my mind…but I came exceedingly close. “Well, thanks for thinking of us, Gianna, but I have patient care as my first priori-”

“I’m going to have to ask you to call me Ms. Albertini from now on….,” she broke in, her body language shifting onscreen - She set her shoulders and thrust out her ungodly chest - in a clear move to show me who exactly was in charge. “...and I’m this close to demoting you from the principal investigator on this study and naming one of our girls instead.”

Okay, that was the last straw.

“What?!” I blurted, shocked by her boldness.

“You are late with the reports I needed from you, again. I’d given you plenty of time, and you’ve had more than enough warnings,” she laid into me, “I’ve tried to make this as easy for you as possible, because I know you have certain limits-”

“Limits?!?” I exclaimed, taken aback again by her attitude, her belittling of me. I know now, and I think I even kinda knew it then: that I was acting up, lashing out a bit irrationally. I think I felt the need to exert myself in some way, after all the humiliations and submissiveness I was starting to realize comprised my entire weekend. So it was here, I guess, that I was putting my foot down. “I’m perfectly capable of filling out the spreadsheets you need.” I started again, “I’m a busy person and this is-...this is just data entry. I frankly just need to find the time t-”

“Frankly you’re proving yourself to be just like other men,” she cut in, “and showing yourself incapable of the work.”

“Oh my god…!” I groaned, as I was vaguely aware of Morgan leaning a bit forward, over my desk. My hands shot up in impotent rage, but instead of jumping in with a defense of my beleaguered gender, my eyes suddenly drifted into Morgan’s massive, plump cleavage. Woof. A guy could get lost in there…

Morgan began to giggle, a deep and throaty chuckle as my anger began to slip through the cracks of my skull and I became lost in the vast swells of her chest.

Gianna took the opportunity - no doubt seeing my eyes dart upward - to lecture me on my sex’s many recent failings. Yes, yes, I knew that earlier this year women had become the majority of the workforce for the first time in U.S. history. Most managers, like Giana here, were now women too. All her bosses, the executives at the pharmaceutical company certainly were too, I was sure. She told me that for every two men who got their college degree this year, three women would be doing the same. The statistics regarding the graduate and professional degrees were even more dramatic. What do you think the workforce will look like soon? she asked me, Do you think society won't change because of this? For years, decades, generations, women’s progress had been cast as a struggle for equality. “But what if we know now that equality shouldn’t be the end point?” she asked me, as the blonde giantess Morgan continued to keep me tempted by her big Hungarian bosom. “What if modern society is simply better suited for women like me and Morgan, and Melissa and Olivia and Lakshmi and all the others, to dominate it? To run the lives of flawed, frail men like you?”

My heart was pounding. Was it fear or, god help me, was I turned on?

Men had been the dominant sex since, well, the dawn of forever. It was called ‘mankind’ for a reason, right? But I knew that, for the first time in human history, that was all changing - and it seemed to be doing so with shocking speed. Cultural and economic changes always reinforce each other, so - yes, like Gianna said - society was certainly going to be different with more and more women becoming the breadwinners, the business leaders, the politicians and even the clergy. Home life was also certainly going to change. With more husbands becoming dependent on their wives, if there was a ‘Battle of the Sexes’ imminent, like so many were predicting, would they be forced to 'bend the knee' to the so-called superior gender. What would happen to what we considered democracy? What we considered America?

And, it wasn’t just here in the US. The global economy was evolving in new, unexpected ways as well. Many countries were seeing the historical preference for having male children begin to erode. Gianna began talking about using new advances in medical technology to purposefully alter the birthrates of each sex. She wasn’t just talking about doing it abroad, but here at home as well. The thought made me squirm. Was I outraged? Disturbed? Excited? I didn’t know.. I was far too captivated by Morgan’s chest to understand even my own feelings.

“Oh my god, just look at you,” Gianna said, finally calling me out as I stared blankly forward clearly hypnotized by Morgan’s massive tits. She smirked with a knowing smile that mirrored Morgan’s own. “This is totally going to be how it happens, you know, ‘The End of Men’. You’re all just going to give in to your pathetic male urges and slowly fade away into our cleavages. Battle of the Sexes? We won’t have to fight you at all.”

“F-fight?” I said, confused. I was - I really was! - trying to be angry, trying to resist. But I knew I was instead coming across as pathetic and weak. I clearly, obviously, didn’t really care about my position here, my authority. I only cared about how fucking hot this was though inside my logical side wanted to be enraged and rebel. I was turned on more and more every moment, with every belittling comment Gianna lobbed my way. Regardless of what I said, it was obvious that I was exactly where they wanted me. They knew I would fall into line. Maybe I already had.

Gianna, though, had worked herself into an animated fervor, and she was very obviously still pissed. “I can’t wait, I really can’t,” she began again, “for this study to be fucking done with so I can get out of quarantine and get a hive of my own!”

What? What was she talking about?

“I want to start flexing,” she continued, now sounding like she was talking to herself as much as she was addressing me or anyone else. “I’m a fucking queen and all I have to show for it so far are these enormous tits.”

“wh-what do you m-?” I asked, obtusely. I really had no idea, dear reader, what was going on.

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t realize,” she pressed on, speaking over me, “how every girl around you has been busting through their bras, just to give you more to look at? Even me. Even just being on these fucking video chats with you has done this…”

At that, onscreen, Gianna turned in profile, pressed forth her shockingly big chest, and nearly gave me an aneurysm.

“It’s you, you little fucker, you little boob monkey,” she chastised, turning back to the camera, “You’re the one doing this to us.”

“Wh-what??” I stammered, more confused than ever. Is this woman crazy? What’s she talking about??

She continued on her rant, speaking quickly, in heat. “Yep I was assigned to you and surprise surprise what makes me best at getting you to do what I need?” At that, she cupped her hands under her giant breasts and lifted them, bouncing them up and down, flesh quivering above her neckline. “These. You’re the one male I’m allowed to talk to and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. We knew you were a tit-obsessed freak. I just can’t believe I’m so fucking attracted to you now, either. You’re fucking perfect, so small and weak.”

I was sputtering, confused, still trying to be angry and definitely weirded out by the delusions of this woman, but finding it hard - god help me - to argue back when a set of tits like that just told me I was cute. But, I knew I needed to somehow get this meeting out of its bizarre tailspin and was about to speak up again when Gianna asked for the blond behemoth again.

“Morgan, sweetie, can you pull his desk out of the way?” she queried, “Just make sure he can still see his computer.”

“Of course,” Morgan answered and then suddenly - sweet lord - with the ease of someone pulling the sheets off the bed she’d yanked my desk back away from me, just enough so, now that she’d stepped back around, she had room to squeeze in, crouch down between my legs and with one hand on each of my knees spread my legs. And she had, yes, repositioned my screen so Gianna could watch this whole thing and - more importantly for her, I think - I could see her.

“I obviously need you to imprint on me a bit,” Gianna explained through the speakers, adjusting her low-cut blouse and my view of her tits as Morgan looked up into my eyes and seemed ready to just pull the thin fabric of my scrub pants off me. With the same strength she’d shown with my desk, my pants could come off like tissue paper. I knew I’d be in her mouth in seconds. Morgan smiled, grabbed the fabric of my scrubs at my thighs, and slowly started to tear them away when suddenly we were interrupted.

“Knock knock,Sweetie,” an angelic voice came from the doorway, “I’ve got you your milk…”

Melissa.

===============================================

thanks to RiF again for his help editing and inspiring.

Here there be more:

#growing into the job

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atmilliways · 9 months

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Wrong On The Money (15)

part 15 of ?? | 637 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

For the most part, Steve tries not to lie to Robin about why he never has money anymore. . . . But he doesn’t go on many dates anymore because dates cost money, and he lies his ass off about that.

15.

For the most part, Steve tries not to lie to Robin about why he never has money anymore. He’s still paying his parents off for the car: true, because any dips in the payment plan will prove that he’s not ‘responsible enough’ for a car and they might take it away. He’s trying to save up to move out: kind of true, in that he has an emergency savings account that he puts a couple dollars into every week and never, ever withdraws from. He’s trying to watch what he eats: true, just not in the way that casually saying it usually implies.

But he doesn’t go on many dates anymore because dates cost money, and he lies his ass off about that.

“She’s chewing bubble gum,” he mumbles about one of the girls that Robin points out. The girl keeps eyeing him from around a cardboard cutout of Arnold Schwarzenegger; it's not subtle. “I can’t go out with a girl who chews bubble gum. One bubble pops wrong on a windy day and bam, it’s in my hair. That’s nightmare material right there, Robs.”

Or, “Yeah, I heard her laughing with her friends earlier and I’m pretty sure giggles that high-pitched could shatter glass. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Or (and he’s not proud of this), a hissed, “If you think she’s so cute, why don’t you ask her out?” Robin doesn’t talk to him for an hour after that one, until Steve gives her the apple from his lunch. Even though the apple was his lunch.

Suffice it to say, Steve’s dating life is hooked up to a ventilator and the doctors are thiiiiiis close to pulling the plug.

“So,” Robin says the morning after the championship game, leaning against the counter next to him during the dullest part of a dull shift. “How was . . . I want to say Belinda?”

“Brenda,” Steve corrects, and sighs. “I don’t know. First thing she said when we got to the gym felt like a shot at how I never got the team to the playoffs, so. Not feeling great about that.”

“Not feeling great about Brenda,” Robin reflects, nodding.

The nod continues long past her words, like one Dustin's perpetual motion doohickeys. Her eyes flick over to meet his, calm but concerned.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Steve?” she asks gently. “You kinda seem like you’ve been phoning it in for a while now. And I’m not saying that because you’re supposed to perform to a certain standard or whatever, just . . . it seems like you’re kind of giving up on things, a little bit, and I’m worried that maybe there’s a reason. And if there is, I want to help, okay? Not that you have to tell me or anything, but I’m here if you want to.”

Steve takes a deep breath.

What if he told her some of it? About how his TBD situation is a little less TB and a little more D these days. (Ha.)

No specifics. This doesn’t need to be a full on ‘I wanted Tammy Thompson to look at me’ confession. He’s not sure if he wants Eddie to look at him like that—if Eddie is willing to blackmail him, he probably hates his guts, right? But Steve wants to look at Eddie, sometimes. (Last night, when he’d made a final payment, fingertips brushing against Eddie’s warm palm during the hand-off behind the gym.) And has dreams about his hands, and eyeliner smudged around his waterline to make his big brown eyes positively huge, sometimes. Whatever all that means, he still needs time to sort things out in his head.

He opens his mouth to try and say something—

—And Dustin bursts into the store with Max in tow, demanding to know if they’ve seen the news and how many phones they have.

#steddie blackmail fic #steddie #steddie fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington #robin buckley

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legends-of-apex · 2 years

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‘Only If For A Night’ Ch. 4 | Tangerine x Reader

{Click here for series masterlist}

Rating: M for blood, injury detail, profanity, mentions of a pet rat dying

Word Count: 3,750

Chapter Summary: You finally reach your destination: The Sunrise Hotel. Despite reaching the supposed place of luxury and safety, tensions are still running high and Tangerine’s arm still needs stitches. Lemon heads out to get some food for the three of you, leaving you and Tangerine alone. The reader is not referred to as being any specific gender

A/N: Just realised I forgot to mention before the start of the last chapter! Momo is a character from the Bullet Train book who wasn’t in the film and Maria is Ladybug’s handler, in case anyone was wondering <3 hope you enjoy

‘Don’t look at me like that! Keep your eyes on the bloody road, you bellend.’ Tangerine grumbled.

Lemon just grinned with about as much glee as a Cheshire Cat upon witnessing his brother's unusual softness. He’d seen the way he shrugged off his jacket and immediately used it to shield you from the cold, how he even reached over to adjust the fabric so it covered your shoulders.

It wasn’t like him. Tangerine never showed anything other than contempt for anyone but his brother. Yet here he was using his precious Saville Row jacket to shield you from the chilly morning air. It wasn’t like him but it suited him, Lemon thought.

It was morning by the time Lemon pulled the car up at the base of the hotel. The clouds took on a pinkish hue beyond the hulking building as the sun crawled her way through the sky. The hotel was a detached building of about a half dozen floors encased in solid grey stone. The rain had clearly worn away most of the details that would have once stood proud along the ledges but some nestled beneath thick ledges kept their engravings.

Right at the top, in bright white and curly neon letters read ‘The Sunrise Hotel’.

Tangerine surveyed the empty parking lot, his elbow bent out the open window so the cold chewed his forearm. ‘Bit of a shithole, innit?’

‘Just cause it’s not your glass fuckin’ fishbowl of a penthouse?’ Tutted Lemon, tired and irritable having driven so far for so long. He needed his eight hours of rest which he sorely did not have.

‘Well, look at it!’ Tangerine blew smoke from the corner of his mouth so it dissipated out into the morning air. ‘The place probably has rats crawling about everywhere.’ And yes, he also missed his glass fishbowl of a central London penthouse. Not that there was anything in it to miss, really.

Lemon gasped only to be shushed by his brother for being too loud as you slept. ‘Everywhere has rats crawling about everywhere! Don’t you remember Stevie?!’

Lemon couldn’t believe his brother referred to rats so distastefully, least of all when they themselves made a pet out of a rat that lived in their shared bedroom when they were seven. He wasn’t a pet by nature but they made him one by feeding him bits of stale crackers they found at the bottom of their schoolbags.

‘Fucking hell, Lemon. Course I remember Stevie, God rest his soul.’

Tangerine was offended Lemon thought he’d ever forget the poor sod. How could he? The clever thing had somehow survived the rat poison set down on almost every inch of the cramped apartment by their foster parents, or at least he did for a month or two. The twins had a funeral for the rat in a patch of grass around the corner from their home. They played football on that green after school most days with a patchwork ball so haphazardly taped together that it couldn’t really be considered round anymore.

Lemon had been so upset that he couldn’t do anything except sit on the grass, clutching the makeshift coffin in his tiny hands and weep. Meanwhile Tangerine, through his tears, dug a crude little trench with a flat-edged stick.

Stevie was laid to rest within a cardboard Nokia phone box in a grave about as shallow as a child’s thumb. But the twins were only little, they couldn’t have known the importance of digging graves deep in a neighbourhood full of urban foxes with painfully hollow bellies. They still left wilting buttercups on that spot every day until they had to move homes again, even after foxes desecrated the grave.

‘Exactly. So shut your mouth and go wake up sleeping beauty.’

When you awoke it was to Tangerine gently shaking your shoulder. ‘Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. That’s us here.’ He spoke quietly, his lips and moustache upturned at your grogginess.

It was time to say hello to The Sunrise Hotel.

‘Hi, there! You alright?’ Lemon waved to the receptionist as he approached the desk. ’We have a booking for room-‘

‘Room 601. Correct?’ She asked abruptly, barely even looking up from her paperwork.

Tangerine’s hand flew to his gun instinctively. But he didn't draw it. The way the woman smiled when she looked up made him falter.

‘Uhm, yeah…how’d you know?’ Lemon asked, thick eyebrows raised above calculating eyes. The old vinyl record blasting through metallic speakers seemed to wobble as he spoke, as if it too was nervous.

From his tone of voice, Tangerine could tell his brother was immediately suspicious and probably analysing the shit out of the woman as he spoke. He waited for a signal that something was wrong, even going so far as to step in front of you slightly to keep you out of sight of the woman. But the signal never came.

‘I was told to expect two dashing gentlemen and their acquaintance possibly arriving today.’ She said simply, stepping out from behind the smooth wooden desk. ‘Follow me. Let me show you to your room.’

‘Dashing?’ Lemon mouthed to his brother who simply shrugged his shoulders before wincing from the wound on his arm. Neither of them had ever been accused of being dashing before.

Tangerine let his hand fall back to his side, away from his gun. Instead, he shoved his hand in his pocket, sliding his fingers inside the knuckle duster that nestled there. Just in case.

‘Stay close.’ He told the both of you, quietly.

Tangerine was just as on-edge as you were, his entire body tensed. He eyed every corner of the hallway, every doorway, like he was daring some potential threat to step out and try something. Even the passing bellboys were not immune from his analysing stare, despite their friendly smiles. It was nice to have someone else so fiercely paranoid around even just because it meant you weren't the only one worrying about danger lurking around every corner. Lemon seemed calm, as he always did. He had a quieter was about his suspicion.

The receptionist led you to the elevator, its edges encrusted with shimmering brass. ‘So what brings you to the area? Business or pleasure?’ She asked, awaiting the ding.

‘Bit of both, I suppose. You know how it is.’ Tangerine replied, his tone overly friendly. His mouth upturned into a forced, closed-eyed smile before dropping back to normal the second she turned around. He was overcompensating for the strange way he had his jacket hung over his shoulder like a cloak to hide his arm’s bloody stain.

After ushering you in before her, the receptionist pressed the button for the sixth and final floor with the tip of her nail. Her ring and middle finger were cut shorter than the rest, you realised. Her other nails could have almost been mistaken for neon pink talons, like they would slice anything they touched.

‘You’re very lucky, you know. We have prepared the finest suite for you.’ No one replied so Lemon asked her about a mini bar to put an end to the uncomfortable silence.

You stood beside Tangerine and he looked over as you fidgeted lightly with your hands. When you caught his gaze he blinked slowly and smiled just a little, like he was trying to reassure you that you were going to be okay.

And you were going to be okay if he had anything to say about it.

You found his attempt at reassurance odd only because he seemed so on-edge himself. He didn’t believe that you were safe and yet he wanted you to feel like you were. Maybe it was just wishfull thinking? He probably just wanted this job to be over.

What set this particular hotel apart from others was the carpets. They weren’t patterned in gaudy tones or uneven beneath your feet. In fact they were immaculate and beautiful to the point where you almost felt bad walking upon them. The carpets didn’t look like they were supposed to be tread upon. The entire hotel didn’t really look lived in or occupied at all.

It was an older building. Her bricks reminded you of some Hollywood actress from the 1930s in that they were old but forbidden from ever showing it in anything except wisdom. The same could be said for the dangling light fixtures dotted like golden willow trees along the flowering ceilings. You wondered just how much of a pain they must have been to clean.

When the receptionist ushered you all inside room 601, the space opened into a wide room with couches crowding around a deep-set fire pit on one side and a kitchenette on the other. Right at the room’s centre hung the biggest chandelier they could have possibly crammed into the room. Its size made the endlessly high ceilings almost look small in comparison, the crystal daggers hung and twinkled so grandly that you had to avert your eyes lest they feel like burning.

‘If you need anything during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask. Dial number one on the room phone for the front desk and ask for me. My name is Alicia.’ She tapped her name tag with a single pink talon. ‘Dinner is from 5 pm in the restaurant on the ground floor. Come at your leisure.’

With that and a soft click of her heels, she was gone.

‘Don’t hotels usually ask that you book dinner?’ Lemon questioned no one in particular.

No sooner had the door shut behind her did Tangerine’s phone ring. He excused himself and walked into the nearest bedroom, closing the door behind him.

‘Well done.’ Their employer's voice grated through the phone as Tangerine dumped his travel bag on the bed closest to the window, peering outside at the view.

There were two beds in the room, both generously-sized doubles with fine white cotton covers and inviting pillows. It felt strange that he and Lemon suddenly had the privilege of staying in such places only after they started killing people for money. It felt even stranger that such a beautiful looking room came with an escort job, they never usually had such perks. But you were a high-value target, he supposed.

‘I was a piece of piss, really. I told you we’d handle the journey.’ He picked up his bag again and instead placed it on the bed closest to the door. It was childish but he liked being closer to the door in case anything nasty came knocking. It was a habit he’d had since he and Lemon were kids. ‘It’ll be keeping the package safe here that’ll be the hard part.’

His employer hummed, a frighteningly deep sound that didn't match his flowery accent. ‘You let me worry about that. Your work here is done. I shall transfer you the rest of the payment once you’ve left the hotel. It was a pleasure doing business with you.’

Tangerine frowned, dragging a hand back through his hair before wincing as the movement stung his wound. ‘So that’s it then? We’re just supposed to leave?’ He cleared his throat to hide the hiss of pain, his voice now stern.

‘That is what I paid you for, yes?’ The man sounded impatient but robotic. Tangerine couldn’t have cared less about his annoyance.

‘No. You paid us to keep the bloody target safe.’ He heard his voice rising as his arm kept stinging. The wound must've opened up again due to the lack of stitches. ‘If we leave, what’s stopping the Blackjacks or any other fuckin’ gang from waltzing right here in and blowing their brains out then eh?’

‘Because I own the hotel.’

That gave him pause. Tangerine had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about the bricks.

‘I couldn’t give a rats arse if you owned the fuckin country, mate. That doesn’t make the place invincible.’ Tangerine flexed his fingers in irritation. ‘My brother and I have a reputation to uphold and dead packages don’t look good on our resume.’

The hotel just looked like any normal high-end hotel, even if it was a bit quiet. He couldn’t understand why their employer was so sure that you would be safe here.

The line was silent for a moment. Their employer sighed, his breath heavy. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Have us stay until you get here. I don’t see any security running about and I doubt your fucking bellboys would be any good in a tussle.’ He heard a sharp intake of breath over the other end of the phone, a sign of wilted patience. ‘Look, we’re not asking for any additional payment. We just like making sure the job’s done proper.’

At the promise of not having to fork out any more cash, the man caved. ‘Very well then. I suppose I shall see you soon.’

‘Yeah, I guess you will.’ Tangerine hung up the phone and chucked it on the nearest bed.

‘Arsehole.’ He uttered.

In the meantime Lemon had been going through a nearby restaurant’s menu with you since he heard your stomach growl. It would be hours until dinner so when Tangerine came back he slipped out to get some food for you all. Tangerine disappeared into the bedroom again, leaving you to get settled in your own.

After setting your bag down on the large oak desk at the foot of your bed, you got changed into some more comfortable clothing and looked around the room. It was set up in an older style, not as old as the hotel herself but still older. Most of the furniture looked like it cost a small fortune with its detailed etchings and fine finishes. The sprawling bed at the room’s centre looked especially expensive with its curved frame, dark wood and solid. Thankfully it didn't creak when you sat upon its edge.

What an insane twenty four hours you’d had. You’d gone from staying on your own in your tiny little safe house, alone and afraid, to being driven to perhaps the most luxurious hotel you’d ever been in by the Twins. You’d been shot at and hunted but most importantly you’d been protected and despite everything, you allowed yourself to feel just the tiniest bit safer than you did by yourself.

About a half hour later, you sought out Tangerine, calling out his name from the open bedroom doorway.

‘In here!’ He called out, his voice disintegrating into a groan. You frowned and walked inside.

The first sight that greeted you was the bed where his clothes lay folded pristinely next to his open travel bag. There was a gun nestled atop the perfectly pressed fabrics. The other bed housed Lemon’s belongings, strewn neatly but more carelessly than his brother’s.

‘Everything alright?’ He called out and you kept walking until you reached the bathroom’s entrance. White light streamed out of the ensuite doorway, casting golden rays on the opposing wall.

‘I just wanted to make sure your arm was okay.’ You offered.

He just laughed. That was funny given the blood coating his hand.

He stood so his wounded arm faced you but that wasn’t the first thing you noticed. His waistcoat lay discarded on the sink’s edge and he only had one arm in his shirt. The fabric hung off him almost like a side-cape, his wounded arm and half his bare torso were fully on display before you.

He peered into the mirror, a needle and thread clutched between his fingers as blood seeped down his arm and slicked his hand. His dress trousers hung low on his hips and every thick, deep ridge of his chest and stomach was evident beneath the harsh white light. The skin stretched tightly over the muscle there as he moved and flinched. You tried not to let that distract you.

He jolted suddenly, eyes scrunching shut and sucking air in through his teeth. His golden necklace swung back against his chest as he moved so sharply, the pendant twinkling in the light.

‘Do you need some help with that?’ You asked.

He spared you a glance, giving you the once over before looking back to the mirror. He looked like he was irritated by your question, his eyebrow raised. But something you would soon come to learn about Tangerine was that was just the face he made when he was thinking a little too hard about something, he just happened to stare disapprovingly at the nearest thing in his field of view.

He was thinking about letting you be that close to him, about how much he liked the thought.

‘I’m alright. Thanks, love.’ But as he said it he winced and fumbled the stitching again.

‘Here, let me.’ You touched his forearm gently, reassuringly before you moved to the sink.

Such a gentle touch made his stomach drop. He didn’t protest as you washed your hands and took the needle from between his bloodied fingers, just quietly observing. It looked like he’d dipped his hand in a tin of red paint, blood collected in vein-like vines along the surface of his golden rings and pooled slightly at their base.

He leaned back against the sink so you could get a better look, inviting you into his space. He clutched his forearm to keep himself steady for you, his bare chest bulging as he did.

Again, you tried not to let that distract you.

Instead, you stepped in even closer to him, examining his arm. You were close enough to smell his cologne and the faintest hint of the cigarettes he smoked. He must have bought the expensive kind of both because the smell wasn't at all unpleasant.

‘You’ve made a right mess of yourself.’ You huffed.

‘Yeah, I never was the best at fixing things.’ He usually preferred to be the one making a mess. He said it like he was talking about sewing a button back on, not like he was stitching up a gash in his own skin.

‘Stay nice and still for me?’ You requested and he did so without hesitation. You felt his body tense as the needle pierced the torn skin but he didn't so much as utter a curse. Lemon always said he never listened but he found himself listening to you like a song. Stubbornness seemed to drain from him with each word that left your lips. It was probably just the blood loss.

You decided to keep talking just to keep his mind off the pain. ‘Stitches are less of a permanent fix and more of a helpful nudge in the right direction,’ You reassured him. ‘Your body has to handle the fixing part all on its own and yours looks like it’s had plenty of practice.’

The numerous scars that littered his upper body hadn’t escaped your notice. One in particular on his shoulder caught your eye as it intersected with one of his tattoos. A scorpion stretched from the flat part of his shoulder with its tail etched in a beautifully straight line along the sharp edge of his collarbone. The tail flickered over his shoulder and about a quarter of the way down its dark, curled tail sat a jagged scar where something had once cut deep into his skin.

His tattoos especially longed to be touched, to be appreciated for how beautiful their penmanship was. Where you were standing you could only see an English bulldog with a monocle, a swallow on his forearm and the scorpion on his shoulder. There was one of his ribs too but you dared not let your eyes linger any longer in case he noticed.

‘This line of work was never without its- fucking hell.’ His eyes widened as you drew his skin together tightly like a corset. He gripped the bathroom sink with his free hand, knuckles white, and swallowed a groan.

‘I know it must be really sore. I’m sorry,’ Your voice was soft, gentle. It wasn’t a tone he was used to being on the other side of. You placed a hand on his arm again in comfort and he liked it being there. The touch let him focus on something other than the pain.

Between tattoos and bullet wounds, his skin was used to the cold sting of a needle. That usually didn't mean stitches ever hurt any less. But he was surprised at how little your needlework hurt and how gentle you were until now. He barely felt anything compared to the times he’d tried to stitch himself up or when Lemon helped.

‘If I’m still alive after all this, I owe you one for that.’ You pointed to his arm, the stitches now tied off.

‘Just another to add to the collection, love. And it’s when not if.’ He corrected you. ‘I have absolutely no intention of letting anything bad happen to you.’

You looked up at him just for a second as you dabbed some blood off his arm. He was sincere, it seems. As you found he always was. ‘It's not your intentions that I’m worried about.’

‘You don't trust our employer…’ He trailed off in thought.

Lemon didn’t either and he was always the intuitive one. Even if he did have to relate people to cartoon steam engines, he was never wrong about the feeling he had about someone. Ever. Tangerine trusted his brother’s judgment significantly more than his own.

‘And you do?’ You asked him. Of course you didn't trust the guy who paid to have you kept safe when everyone else wants you dead.

He dodged the question only because he sensed that wasn’t really what you were asking. ‘I won't let anything bad happen to you. I promise.’

‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to make promises you might not be able to keep?’ You asked, daring to look up and catch his gaze again. The blue in his eyes swam the way warm oceans did when kissed by the sun.

‘I don’t.’ He replied and he meant it.

There was something in his eyes then that you couldn’t place. But it was gone all too quickly as you both heard Lemon’s muffled voice through the walls shouting to say he was back and that the food was still warm.

You stepped away from Tangerine and he from you.

Tangerine tag list: @icy-spicy @simpingforclaudette @cockete @padfoot-1959 @revenstaz @family-video @multifandomfanfic @robertdowneyhiddlesbatch @ashyyslashy @ifilwtmfc @ayoyouyo @noz4a2 @jo-noodles @vi0letblu3s @thelooneytoon @4ng3l-0n-34rth @sjprongs @stardustworlds @willowpains @chanooopy @elizabeth-skywalker @queenofstarsanddarkness @vampire-teeth7 @andfreeshipping (please feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list <3)

#tangerine x reader #bullet train #tangerine bullet train #bullet train 2022 #aaron taylor johnson #only if for a night #series #fic #mywriting #k.exe

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twothpaste · 5 months

Text

fic snippet featuring lucas & porky & the profound disillusionment of realizing you're never gonna get through to a motherfucker 😔

It laid, back then, a hundred n' fifty some-odd feet from the shoreline. No walkways of wood nor metal carved the path. If an audience with the king was what you sought, you'd have to rough it to his throne. Through the soggy stench of rotting cardboard. Drenched facades melting, squelching, and pooling at your heels. Traverse his skyscraper's serpentine spine. Either atop its precarious columns, or beneath its ribcage archways. Today, the big stupid spikes with which he'd adorned the sides've since been weathered away to moundish stumps. In 2 ADD, though? They'd formed a sharklike jaw line in the treacherous muck. Dentition to rival the Dragon's own.

She soared high. Black streak on a gray blanket. Wouldda blotted out the sun with her wings, if it'd been up there to begin with. Even back then, New Pork's desolation had a notorious propensity for overcast weather. Lucas had to wonder whether that was her doing, too.

Lord of the Rings wouldn't make it into his repertoire for a long while. Leder's library had yet to scavenge any copies. The Hobbit, however, was a White Ship stowaway. The old judge kept it in a secret stash, with the rest of the survivors' forsaken tomes. Lucas'd been the first to read it, once the locks were finally broken. He couldn't help but think of it. Here of all places. Stony imagery of a lost mountain kingdom. A darker dragon, hoarding ill-gotten gains. How small he felt. How bitterly humble. To traverse these halls.

The Absolutely Safe Capsule didn't sit atop a gilded pile. Just purple-gray rubble. N' acid rain puddles. N' concrete.

A broad, hungry, window-bound smile greeted him. Upon his arrival.

Lucas didn't humor it with any of his usual salutations. Not even a glance. Just trudged right past the pane, and seated himself upon a closely-nestled boulder. He remembers his chewed nails clawing against the harsh, clammy surface.

"Y'know, Lucas," Porky purred. With no particular forward. Whether the king thought his visitor's silence haughty, amusing - or perhaps even infuriating - he didn't bother to say so. "I've been thinking," he simply announced. Craning his miserable neck, right up to the glass, as if tryin' to catch whatever delightful pout or scowl might grace the hero's dumb, pimply face.

"I bet," said Lucas. Flat as a burnt flapjack. That made Porky grin, too.

"It's sort of funny. Hilarious, even. That your so-called new society's here, to salvage my city."

This came about as outta left field to Lucas as it probably does to you. Which is to say, hardly. Weren't never really conversations, to be had with Porky. Whatever happened to be on his mind, he'd barf it right onto your sneakers. Then glance at you, expectantly, almost innocently. Like he was awfully eager to watch you clean it up.

"My city," he repeated. With a cough. "Which, as you know, I modeled oh-so-painstakingly after our old world."

Lucas turned those slatey eyes of his toward the Capsule. But held his tongue. Again - you can call it patience.

"It's almost as if nothing starts from the ground up. You're always recycling something rotten. Always on the shoulders of man-eating giants. Even if you try to pretend otherwise."

"Yep," Lucas contended. Gray as the rock he perched on. "That's the idea. We're learnin' from the past. Y'couldda stood to do the same."

Porky's prison emitted a raucous cackle. If Lucas were still looking, he'd've seen a curled lip. A snarling smirk.

"Oh. I learned plenty, my friend."

To sigh would be to appease him. Spoiling a bad dog.

"I don't really get why you won't apologize," Lucas mused, instead. "Why y'won't even fake it. There's folks who'd fall for it."

(He prob'ly would've. He thought. Up until three days prior. He'd decline to add that, though. Let Porky guess it for himself.)

"Heh. What can I say? I'm an honest guy. Much more honest than you cheating, stealing, hypocritical hicks give me credit for. Besides -- Agh..! Haahhck…!"

Porky's bone-popping shrug was cut short by a trademark wheezing fit. Lucas waited. Nails grating.

"Ah.. Hagh… Besides.. Little ol' Porky Minch's got nothing to apologize for, anyways. All I've done is reveal the cold, hard truth. Taught you sorry lot a thing'r two 'bout human nature." His royal highness dipped into a mockery of the peasants' lowly drawl. Before extending one hand, to count his points on his wretched fingers. "Uncertainty, control, anger. Frailty. Self-destruction. That's always been the long n' short of it. N' always will be."

"Agree to disagree," Lucas maintained. His low, crackly, teenaged timbre shifting an inch closer to a growling grumble. Porky ate it up. When you've been stuck in an oversized baseball for two years, you tend to develop a ravenous craving for the smallest of crumbs.

"Fine by me. Your descendants'll realize I was right all along. Even if you're too proud to accept it."

"My mom always used to say somethin' 'bout pots n' kettles."

"Ha. So, you admit you're the kettle."

"I'm more of a skillet, I reckon."

"Well, ain't that goddamn charmin'? My mom bashed me over the head with one of those, once. I ever tell ya that story?"

"Y'didn't. M'sorry to hear that."

A snort.

"No you're not."

In lieu of an answer, Lucas could only stare. Impasse was a recent addition to his vocabulary. He'd read it in one of Leder's books. He traced its edges, in his mind's eye. Chewed it, silently, between his tongue and teeth.

#2thprose #osha's eleven #das conk crete baybee

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