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adore-laur · 3 days

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HER

— the moment harry realized he was in love with sawyer. he fell first, but she fell harder 🩶

——

Harry, an eternal optimist and lover of fluttery sensations that made him weak in the knees, knew Sawyer was his soulmate in December of 1987.

In a way, he felt thrilled about it. He adored his friendship with Sawyer, the girl he laughed unabashedly with and could be his complete self around. There was pure contentment swimming in his psyche every time he was with her, but she was taken by another man who had a leash on her heart and dragged her around. At the end of the day, Harry was pacified by how Sawyer always returned to him until a sensation called Jealousy wanted her to never leave his side and made things a bit too obvious.

Enter: Crush on Sawyer. There was no need to reiterate how the physical attraction had transpired in seeing a clementine-colored bikini hugging smooth, golden skin. That day had just been the beginning of Harry's infatuation tipping overboard because, with someone like Sawyer—endearing, angelic, and fun-loving—the more time he spent with her, the deeper he fell.

After only six months of friendship, Harry began fighting fervent urges to kiss her. They occurred unexpectedly—if she had cutely giggled at a joke he made, squished his cheeks together when he was being a ditz, or proudly declared herself as his number one fan, his lips would ache to introduce themselves to hers while whispering, mine, mine, mine. However, he knew better than to give in. Even though his blood pumped hotly and his skin felt a spark whenever Sawyer touched him casually, he was a composed gentleman on the outside. In an alternate universe where she was officially his girl, he hoped she touched him differently—her hand in the back pocket of his low-rise jeans, a tender bite on the tip of his nose, or her thighs wrapped around his waist when she was feeling needy.

Harry's urges had grown stronger whenever he and Sawyer were alone together. When he started getting hard during friendly moments that should never warrant a boner, he knew he had to scold his male brain and squash any hopes of dating his best friend.

Yet in those cherished moments, a nauseating thought confronted his confidence. Would their friendship be tainted by his true feelings? Was there a chance Sawyer would realize he could treat her better than her lousy boyfriend? He would dedicate his whole life to making her smile. He'd spoil her with spontaneous date nights and kiss her all over until she was flushed and breathless. Call her baby. Were his fantasies too far-fetched? Was he a wicked person for wishing her relationship would fall to pieces so he could swoop in and love his girl right?

A single day in December had left him lovestruck with more questions than answers. It all started with a Madonna song and a gift gone wrong.

——

The annual Christmas Eve bonfire event on Daytona Beach was in full swing. The evening sky was a blend of orange and burgundy clouds drifting close to the horizon. Below, the Atlantic Ocean shimmered, its surging waves a distant spectacle. The shore's white strip of sand was imprinted with an erratic cluster of bare footsteps, the coarse grains cooled by the impending darkness of twilight.

The beach was packed with tourists and locals alike. Celebrating the holiday season without an onslaught of snow and frigid air was a dream Harry had growing up in England. He preferred a Christmas tree in the shape of raging flames crackling with all-embracing warmth, competitive oceanside activities, and an assortment of free booze at his disposal—hard ciders, piña coladas, flavored vodka, and spiked eggnog served in a mason jar.

It seemed like a thousand different parties were going on at once. It was a rambunctious environment, and it wouldn't be surprising if the cops showed up to ruin the fun with their tiny flashlights and handlebar mustaches. Or maybe they would be gracious and let everyone off the hook in favor of the Christmas spirit. At least it wasn't as rowdy as Spring Break, where dozens of teenagers had gotten busted for marijuana possession and disorderly conduct. Harry thankfully skipped out on it this year, and after reading about the incident in the newspaper, he decided to only visit Daytona Beach once a year for the sake of his sanity and liver.

He was lying on the sand, his hands bracing the back of his head as he stared up at the faint crescent moon awaiting its turn to shine brilliantly. He breathed in the aroma of burning hickory wood and toasted marshmallows, which brought forth nostalgic memories of childhood camping trips. As the waves lapped the shore, he felt utterly content, knowing that tomorrow he would visit extended family in Sarasota, see how fast his little nieces and nephews had grown up, and laugh with relatives like no time had passed. Not to mention stuffing his stomach with hearty home-cooked meals and beating all of his cousins at Clue.

While the thought was nice, Harry drank one too many strong apple ciders tonight and was now wondering how he was going to accomplish the hour-long journey home. His throat was warm, and his head was a little dizzy. He had played a game of Horseshoes with a group of guys, and whoever lost had to chug an entire plastic cup of cider. Harry cut himself off after three and abandoned his teammates for, again, the sake of his poor liver. Maybe if he passed out on the shoreline, some good samaritan would drop him off at the closest bus stop.

Music blared from a nearby group's boombox, Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" reverberating into his bones. His foot tapped in time with the drumbeat as he closed his eyes and smiled reminiscently, thinking about last summer when he and Sawyer watched Dirty Dancing at the Silver Moon Drive-In Theater. It had been an arousing experience, thanks to the humid weather making Sawyer's skin glow and the film's sensual scenes that had made him squirm in his seat. Then they tried to recreate the lift scene in his backyard, which ended up with Harry's hands glued to Sawyer's hips many times, the delicate fabric of her skirt brushing his nose. In a completely platonic way, of course.

God, that had only been two months after they met. Harry needed to somehow banish his attraction to Sawyer. He couldn't continue longing for her soft, slender figure to fit perfectly against him. Or wishing she would smile brighter than the sun before leaning in to kiss him through breathy laughter and pretty moans. It had to stop. She was taken, and he would never ruin a good thing for her. She deserved all the romantic feelings life had to offer. She deserved to be loved. And while it killed him that she didn't see him as the man for the job, he would love her from afar. He'd subdue his unruly heart and appreciate the gift of knowing her at all.

There'd come a time when Harry would accept the fact that she was simply out of his league. However much it ached, he'd survive. Yes, he'd eventually bleed out watching her get married, carry children, and grow old with her lover, but his wounds would be stitched together by getting a glimpse of her newfound happiness.

If she kept him in her life, that is. He feared she'd forget about him one day and haunt his mere existence for eternity.

Harry sighed and took a sip from the lukewarm water in his red solo cup. Being tipsy made him meek. He had to face reality and realize Sawyer saw him only as a friend. And Harry saw Sawyer as a... a friend. That he sometimes wanted to make out with. But, in his defense—

Two palms suddenly covered his heavy-lidded eyes for a brief second, tethering him to the present. Then, a gentle breath warmed his ear. "I made it," whispered a familiar voice. Sweet Sawyer.

Harry's body practically melted into the sand as a delightful shiver racked his system. He smelled her jasmine and orange blossom perfume behind him, a spritz that was somehow innocent and erotic at the same time. Butterflies let loose his belly, and when he opened his eyes, they fluttered around his heart. Sawyer's face appeared upside down, her long, wild hair cloaking them in a private moment. Her expression was so radiant that he was almost blinded by its beauty.

"How was the Clemente Christmas?" Harry asked. He knew she had brought her boyfriend home to meet her family today—something she'd been excited about—and the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. Had he held her hand under the dinner table, pulled her into an empty room to kiss her supple lips in secret, and lent her his jacket after they left? Curiosity killed the cat, so he blocked those questions from morphing into a green-eyed monster with gnashing teeth.

"It was fun!" she replied happily. "We did the white elephant thing."

Jealousy churned in his gut, but he flashed her a tiny smile and rolled over into his stomach. "Yeah? What'd you end up with?"

Sawyer grinned, sitting cross-legged on the sand and looking so fucking precious in a cream-colored knit sweater and bootcut denim jeans. "A creepy porcelain doll from my grandma's basement," she said.

"Don't tell me you brought it home with you," he replied.

"She's sitting in the backseat of my car."

Harry sputtered out a laugh and said, "How delightful. Totally not possessed and cursing all of your belongings right this very second."

She giggled without reserve, and his heart ached. "Anyway, hi. How was your day?"

He shrugged and hiccupped. "Lame. Didn't do much."

"Well, I'm here now. Let's have fun." She reached forward and hugged him—the tiniest hint of coconut lotion he inhaled from her jawline drove him momentarily insane. She always smelled heavenly, like an angel stepping through the mist of a waterfall.

When Harry reluctantly pulled away, he got a good look at her, noting her subtle makeup and tired brown eyes. She had a long day but still wanted to be in his company before he left to visit family for a week. It meant the world to him. He craved kissing her so badly because of it.

"Have you been drinking cider?" Sawyer asked, her manicured nails lightly scratching the nape of his neck. He nearly purred and nuzzled her like an affectionate feline.

"Maybe."

"Mm, I want some."

Harry gasped theatrically. "That's illegal, Sawyer. Naughty girl."

She cocked her head to the side and said, "Nineteen is basically twenty-one."

"You're such a little rulebreaker." She was quite the opposite of one, but he enjoyed teasing her occasional rebelliousness. He stood and brushed off the sand from his sweatpants before asking, "Are you sure you don't want eggnog?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Yuck. No thanks."

He restrained himself from giving her a noogie and moseyed over to the line of folding tables with coolers and cartons of liquor on them. He grabbed a small glass bottle of hard cider, the ice-cold condensation a welcome distraction. He remained frozen in place, trying to tame his heart from getting too ahead of itself. It palpitated knowing Sawyer was here, and they were technically alone, and he was just tipsy enough to feel like a loose cannon when it came to his urges. She looked extra cozy and kissable tonight, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes off of her. Touching her too.

Friends could find each other unbelievably pretty, right? It was normal. He could flirt with her without being too forward. He could touch her politely. But she's not yours to admire so blatantly, buddy. Reel it in.

Harry rolled his shoulders back and returned to Sawyer. She was hugging herself while staring at the roaring bonfire a few meters away, slightly shivering. The temperature was in the low fifties, which was the coldest Florida had ever been during the year. He knew Sawyer thrived under the summer sun, so without wasting another minute getting caught up in his tangled web of thoughts, he tossed the bottle next to her and swiftly removed his black UCF pullover.

"Thank you," Sawyer whispered, looking up at him. "I forgot my blanket in the car."

Before he could stop himself, he said, "I'll be your blanket." Damn, what had they put in those apple ciders?

She snorted and put on his pullover. It was large and loose-fitting on her, and Harry hoped traces of her perfume lingered in the threads for weeks afterward.

He sat down beside her and cracked open the bottle with his teeth. "Take one sip of this, Sawyer. I'm serious; that's all you need."

She grinned mischievously and snatched the bottle from his grip before taking a swig. Her plump lips caressing the rim was a sinful sight, as was the way her throat bobbed with a swallow. She winced when the taste registered—the uneven spiced rum to apple juice ratio was obvious. But then she groaned deliciously and took another quick sip before Harry pried it from her fingers.

"You like it?" he murmured with a smirk, feeling warm from head to toe.

Sawyer nodded and wiped the corners of her mouth with her knuckle. "Gosh, I needed that. I couldn't drink at my grandma's because I had to drive my parents home." She rolled her eyes. "They had way too many margaritas.”

"I bet you had fun regardless."

"I did." She watched him drink his water, her eyes lighting up with a question. "What about you? Your family Christmas is tomorrow."

Harry's mouth curved into a smile as he replied, "Yeah, I'm stoked. I haven't seen everyone in a long time."

She nudged him. "Are you bringing a girl home?"

His nerves sparked, exploded, and then disintegrated. Sawyer had never inquired about the potential of other girls in his orbit, so he was thrown off course. His brain short-circuited, trying to compose an intelligible response even though there was only one truthful answer.

Eventually, he mumbled, "Um, no. Not this year." He left it at that.

"Do you see any girls you like here?" she pressed, her twinkling eyes searching the groups of people both near and far.

"What?" Harry stared at the side of her face. He suddenly felt like he was being inspected under a microscope. He didn't want to talk about girls with Sawyer—it felt wrong and unimportant. They didn't matter when she existed. Didn't she know that?

"C'mon, when's the last time you asked a girl out on a date?" Sawyer poked the mole adjacent to his mouth. "Tonight's the perfect opportunity."

"I don't want to date right now," he said a little defensively. But would you say yes if I asked, like the selfish man I am?

"How come? Dating is so electric."

"I'm busy. I've got baseball tryouts next year and can't afford to be distracted." It was true, but fuck if he didn't plan to make time for her.

Sawyer frowned, losing her inquisitive momentum. "Am I a distraction?"

As Harry contemplated the least offensive way to answer her question, the beginning of "True Blue" by Madonna started playing, and he observed people dancing around the bonfire, free-spirited shadows lit by an orange glow. He thought about what a distraction really entailed. He had dated in high school and still managed to graduate with average grades. He'd maintained friendships during the strange period after graduation. He'd met people through baseball tournaments and hung out with them frequently.

Then Sawyer had drifted into his life like a summer breeze—pure, gentle, and invigorating. Everything he had thought he knew and wanted was altered. The scope of his desires instantly shrank when she stood before him on Cocoa Beach and called him out on his flirtatious behavior. All he had seen and cared about was her. He hadn't been the same since.

"You're not the kind of distraction you think you are," Harry said finally. He hoped the semblance of his admission wasn't too vague.

Sawyer tucked her chin into the high neckline of his pullover. Kissable. "What does that mean?" she asked quietly.

"It's..." He sighed, acutely aware that he needed to tread carefully. "It's complicated. You just take up a lot of space in my mind, I guess."

"I don't mean to."

"No, not in a bad way," he said quickly, scooting closer to her. "You're just... inescapable."

"Oh," she said, sounding confused. "I only wanted to hang out and dance with you tonight before you have to leave."

"Sawyer, I invited you here. Trust me, I want to hang out with you." Harry pawed at her hand. "Mi chica fav- favorita."

Her brows caved in before slowly rising toward her hairline. "I think you've had too much cider," she said, amusement making her lips twitch.

Harry was getting drowsy, the settling liquor warming his blood and nearly breaking his self-made promise of staying in platonic territory. There was no predicting what words would slip off his tongue, so he accepted defeat. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed ruefully. "I should head home."

Sawyer whined in protest and looped her arms around his bicep, resting her chin on his shoulder. "But I want to dance with you." Her eyes were pleading, all doe-like and mesmerizing. The last streaks of burgundy light in the sky reflected in them, looking like portals to an ethereal planet. How could he possibly refuse?

"Then we'll dance."

Wordlessly, she led him closer to the bonfire, squeezing past dancing bodies. Her hand gripped his tightly, and she looked back at him every so often. He had half a mind to tug her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her. She was so spellbinding. The way her jeans hugged her legs was some kind of witchcraft. The shape of her smile could heal his deepest wounds. Her sweet soul, bursting with kindness, solicitude, and wisdom beyond her years, was his greatest weakness.

She was one in five billion. And how lucky he was to dance with her under the twilight sky, his heart reaching out to her. I love you, it called out. Please love me back.

"Your cheeks are flushed," Sawyer said, stopping them in the middle of the crowd and draping her arms over his shoulders. They began to sway back and forth to the lighthearted beat. Harry's arms wrapped completely around her waist, and he leaned in, wanting to melt into her like a gooey marshmallow over an open flame. The bonfire warmed his skin, but it was Sawyer that warmed everything underneath.

"I'm happy," Harry murmured in her silky hair. He took pleasure in the fragrant whiff of candy apples.

"Be honest with me, Harry. You seem a little cloudy."

She was so attuned to his weather. He usually emitted a sunny disposition; however, gloom was inherent in even the happiest of people. But the clouds always passed by. They were never perpetual.

"I'm just gonna miss you." There were several other reasons as to why he was duller than usual, but they were far too pathetic to speak aloud. Namely, the fact that Sawyer had spent the day establishing her boyfriend as a part of her family. Meanwhile, Harry didn't know what her parents looked like—was her mother responsible for her daughter's devastating beauty? He hadn't gotten to cuddle Sawyer on the couch while everyone opened gifts—would she have minded the display of affection? He hadn't even gotten to hear stories about her childhood from aunts and uncles or flip through baby books—had she been a stubborn wild child with babydoll eyes no one could say no to?

He was wholeheartedly, undeniably gone for her. And it was gutting him.

"It's almost Christmas," Sawyer said, letting him twirl her like a princess before guiding her body closer to his again. "You should be ecstatic."

"I am," Harry said with a soft laugh.

"Then what's the matter?"

He moved his lips to her ear and let them linger there for a few seconds before he built up the courage to confess, "Wish I could take you home with me."

Sawyer's dancing slowed, her punctuated exhale ghosting over his collarbone. "Me?"

"You," he said, his clammy hands gripping the fabric covering her back and twisting it nervously. He fought the urge to nip the shell of her ear. "And I have a gift to give you before I leave, but I'm now realizing it's probably stupid."

"Why would it be stupid? What is it?"

Harry stepped away and reached into his back pocket. His fingertips grazed the jewelry box, and he swallowed down anxiety. He had been eager to buy a Christmas gift for Sawyer, but now he feared it was too telling of his fond feelings toward her. There was only one way to find out.

He held it in front of his chest and gently opened the velvet lid, revealing the piece of jewelry he had a goldsmith custom-make. It was a gold chain necklace with an initial pendant—"H" for Harry. The sentiment was simple enough. They were best friends, and he wanted her to remember him when life got tough.

"Harry..." With her eyes downcast, Sawyer ran her thumb over the metal surface. "Harry, I can't accept this."

Her unexpected response brutally stabbed him in the gut. "Why not?" he asked sadly.

Sawyer inhaled deeply, then said, "I don't know how to put this without sounding strait-laced, but... I can't wear another man's first initial around my neck. Imagine my boyfriend seeing that." She crossed her arms, shrinking in on herself. "It'd cause problems."

Harry let everything wash over him and sink into his bones. He had known the gift was a ballsy move, but the true intention and sentiment behind it weren't meant to create an interpersonal plight. He had only wanted to show his appreciation for their friendship. Her boyfriend hadn't even crossed his mind. Why would he?

"You don't like it?" He spoke softly, too discouraged.

"I do!" Sawyer gripped his forearms and leaned into him. "Harry, it's so beautiful. But please understand where I'm coming from."

Harry silently tugged up the chain hiding under his shirt to show her the "S" pendant he bought for himself. The nearby firelight made it gleam. Sawyer's eyes locked in it, and he swore tears began forming in them, if only for a second.

"I thought we could match," he said. "And, you know, always have a part of each other wherever we wander."

Sawyer nodded, but it didn't make him feel any better. She must have thought he was pitiful. "I just think we should wait until we're further into our friendship," she replied.

Wait. He loathed that word. When he felt something, he pounced on it before it could disappear. And what he felt for Sawyer, even if he knew the feeling wouldn't be going away anytime soon, was rare. No girl had left him so enamored. Loving her was easy. It was intoxicating. The lust had grown like a meadow of wildflowers at the peak of spring. Somewhere in between the weeds, seeds of love were planted. They sprouted quicker than expected, and it was his fault for tending to them.

He couldn't control the overgrowth. And he couldn't control the torment leaking out of his voice when he said, "It's okay. I'll wait for you."

Sawyer's hand covered the jewelry box still in his grasp, her fingers brushing against his. "I'll take it home with me and keep it in a special place until I'm ready to wear it. How's that sound?"

"I'm sorry," Harry said hoarsely. He ignored her comment, strictly focusing on patching the holes in the sinking ship that was this conversation. "I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"Don't feel bad," she assured, shaking her head. "I appreciate the gift so much. You're always so thoughtful."

He tucked the box back in his pocket and embraced her instantly, worried she'd drift away. "Are we good?"

"We're good. Solid as a rock."

He squeezed her frame. "Best friends still?"

"Of course." Sawyer pulled back to lightly kiss his cheek before resuming their swaying, this time to a ballad. "Now let's dance."

Under the December sky, surrounded by strangers, Harry let his emotions run rampant. He knew he would leave the beach wounded, but Sawyer secured him to the present and made him temporarily forget about his failure.

When he stared at Sawyer, he let himself fully feel the flutter in his chest. She was so goddamn gorgeous in any light—it felt unfair to hold such a precious vision in his arms. She was attentive, staring right back at him, her irises dark pools of temptation. It felt like she could see into his soul, his imperfections all on display. But she was gentle with them and never made him feel too fragile or too flawless.

When Sawyer rested her cheek against his chest, right over his thumping heartbeat, the warmth that coursed through his veins confirmed it all. It hit him like a hundred-mile-per-hour baseball pitch to the head: Harry was in love with Sawyer. What scared him the most was that it wasn't just ephemeral young love. This was steady, consuming, and only going to swell over time.

His body had known it before his brain. And his soul, while he didn't know it until today, had been searching for her since he took his first breath.

——

#harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles x oc #harry styles #harry and sawyer #southpaw #adore-laur

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wahooitsamee · 1 month

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how peach's backstory in the movie should've gone!!!

seriously, what was the need to get rid of toadsworth?? it's been a year and i’m still not over it.

#mario #smb #mario movie #princess peach #toadsworth #baby peach #smb fanart #the super mario bros movie #super mario #smb movie #nintendo #nintendo art #i know that technically toadsworth would be a lot younger than this when he initially found peach…#but his young design doesn’t sit right with me😅😅#giving him a dark mustache just felt wrong #itsa-art

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roosterforme · 1 year

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Red Flags, Green Flags | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Hangman complains about his date’s red flags, but Bradley thinks this girl sounds amazing.

Warnings: Fluff!

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check out my masterlist for more.

Hangman tossed some darts listlessly at the dartboard and sighed. "What's your problem, man?" Bradley asked. "You look miserable tonight." "Yeah, you usually get off on beating us at darts. What's wrong?" Phoenix asked. "I have a girl meeting me here for a second date in a little while," Hangman drawled, sipping his whiskey. "I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have asked her out again." Payback snorted. "What's wrong with her? She not hot enough for you?"

Bradley rolled his eyes. That was probably the case as each girl Jake dated somehow looked more like a model than the previous one. "Nah, she's real cute," Hangman said, scratching his chin. "She's just giving off some red flags for me. I think I was momentarily blinded by her face when I asked her out again, because she's definitely not my type." "What red flags does she have?" Phoenix asked, taking her turn at darts. Bradley settled into his seat to listen. This ought to be good. "Well, she's really close with her family. Likes spending time with them," Jake said with a frown. Bradley's brow scrunched up; he thought that sounded pretty nice, actually. "And she volunteers all the time. At the library and the animal shelter and the soup kitchen. She's always so busy, it took forever to even schedule the first date! So I don't see this lasting past tonight," Jake added, finishing his drink. "She sounds pretty good to me," Bradley said cautiously. Actually she sounded really great. "You could always volunteer with her one day, then you'd get to spend some time with her." Jake scoffed. "I'd rather just find a girl who wants to spend her time with me," he said, flashing his charming smile. "This one is finishing graduate school for social work and likes to take her grandma to bingo. Plus, she definitely seems like the kind of girl who would wanna hold hands all the time." He grimaced as he finished. Bradley just gaped at the other aviator, rendered speechless, because Jake had just described his dream girl. Cute, smart, helpful, loving, independent, and kind. And if she agreed to a second date with Jake, then she was definitely interested in him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?" "Oh shit, there she is," Jake grumbled, setting down his glass and heading toward the bar. Bradley stood up and stared as Jake approached a beautiful woman with a stunning smile. "Is he for real?" Bradley asked Phoenix in a dreamy voice. "She's awesome." "He's an idiot, but we already knew that," Phoenix told him with a smirk. "Why don't you go talk to her, Rooster. She's adorable." Bradley shook his head. "I can't, Nat. She's on a date with him!" But the more Bradley watched you and Jake together, it seemed like you weren't really into him either. You were smiling, but it wasn't reaching your eyes, and you had your arms crossed as Jake chatted with you. "Hmmm, fuck it," Bradley muttered as he took a deep breath and headed for the bar. ---------------------------------------- Jake was nice and attractive, but he wasn't really doing anything for you. And now you were starting to regret agreeing to meet him here. You'd been contemplating calling him all day and canceling for tonight and any future dates, but you ultimately decided to give it one more shot. But now you weren't paying any attention to him at all, because your eyes just landed on the most handsome man you'd seen in a long time walking up to the bar near where you were standing. He was literally the definition of tall, dark and handsome, and wearing a fun Hawaiian shirt. And he was looking right at you. You felt yourself smile at him like an idiot when he grinned at you from behind Jake. He had a mustache that somehow made him look cute and playful. You wished he would say something to you. Oh shit, you hadn't heard anything Jake was saying. You tried to pry your attention away from the newcomer, but then he rested a hand on Jake's shoulder and said, "Hey, Hangman, you gonna introduce me to your new friend?" His voice! You were biting the inside of your cheek to keep calm, because this man's voice was sexy. Like pillow talk sexy, and making out in a movie theater sexy. "Uh, sure," Jake replied, looking mildly annoyed. "Y/N, this is Rooster. Rooster, this is Y/N." "That's a pretty name," Rooster told you with a crooked grin, and it took you a second to realize he was talking about you. "Thanks," you replied with a laugh. "Rooster must be your call sign? You're an aviator, too?" "Yeah, my name's Bradley." "Bradley, it's nice to meet you." You liked his name, and his silly call sign. You liked the way he was looking at you and his kind brown eyes. "Jake didn't get you a drink? That's not very nice, Jake," Bradley said to your date who just shrugged. "I'll get you one. What do you want, Y/N?" You had to bite your lip before you accidentally replied with 'you'. "Gin and tonic," you told him, and you watched as he was instantly flagging down a bartender. His huge bicep was flexing below his sleeve as he leaned against the bar and turned toward you. "So, Jake was telling us all about you," he said, and you were surprised once again to find Jake was still in your proximity, because Bradley had your full attention now. "Really?" you asked, eyeing Jake, surprised he would have been telling anyone about you. There wasn't much to tell after the first date. He didn't seem that interested in you, and you hadn't even kissed him goodnight. "Yeah, he said you're getting a master's degree, and that you like volunteering and hanging out with your grandma," Bradley said, handing your drink to you when it arrived. "Um, yeah, I do," you said with a blush as Jake smirked at you. But you turned your attention back to Bradley when he spoke again. "That's cool. I volunteer with Big Brothers and Big Sisters as a youth mentor. And I used to love knitting with my grandma when I was a kid. I'm still pretty good at it, actually." Your jaw was hanging open, and you were having a hard time speaking. Was he for real? You took a sip of your drink and tried to gather your thoughts. Was it okay to ditch Jake and hang out with Bradley instead? "I volunteer a few times a week, but I always make sure I have time to take my Nana to bingo," you said with a laugh when Bradley smiled at you. "You're really a youth mentor?" "Yeah, last week I took some kids on a hike to the state park beach, and Wednesday evening I'm going to teach them how to bake a cake," he told you before finishing his beer and setting down the bottle. "That's sexy," you said, surprising yourself and Bradley. But you didn't regret saying it. Not one bit. Because Bradley's cheeks flushed pink, and your eyes were drawn to his scars that you were itching to touch. A startled laugh escaped his lips. "You think so?" "Yeah," you said, nodding your head fervently. Bradley shifted closer to you, and you noticed that Jake was nowhere to be found. ---------------------------------------

Bradley liked you. A lot. You were absolutely gorgeous to look at, but you were also smart and funny and interesting. The more he asked you about yourself, the more interested he was. You told him about school and your family and how much you loved going to the beach. And now you were so close to him, you were tracing his watch band with your fingers while you talked. "I think it's sweet that you used to knit with your grandma. Mine is practically a professional bingo player, she wins almost every week. And she's really cocky about it too," you said, and Bradley laughed. "She is! She likes to gloat about it when she plays shuffleboard." "She sounds fun," he told you. "And just so you know, I'm pretty good at bingo, and grandmas love me." "I'll bet they do." You actually giggled. He was making you giggle. God, he didn't want this night to end. He was trying to think of a way to ask you out, without making it awkward for you or Jake. "So what kind of cake are you baking on Wednesday?" you asked him playfully. "Not sure yet, but I was thinking about chocolate. You wanna come over and help?" Bradley couldn't explain it, but the idea of you helping him with the baking project had him excited. "You could stay and hang out afterwards. Maybe we could watch a movie together and have some of the cake?" "Are you asking me on a date while I'm technically still on a date with Jake?" you asked him with a grin. "Oh, your date with Jake ended a good thirty minutes ago," he informed you with a very serious look. "Now you're on a first date with me. You having fun?" You started laughing and looked away as your cheeks flushed. "A lot of fun, actually. I like you. You had me at youth mentor and really sealed the deal when you offered to feed me chocolate cake." Bradley couldn't stop smiling. "Can I get your phone number?" "Yes," you replied, and Bradley noticed you and he were standing so close now, your bodies were practically touching. He watched you type your name and number into his phone as he asked, "You'll come over on Wednesday then? For our second date?" "Yes," you replied, handing his phone back to him with a smirk, but your lips were twitching like you wanted to laugh. "Since we're going out now, is it cool if I kiss you?" Bradley asked with a smirk of his own. Your lips looked so soft, and Bradley really wanted to touch you. You smiled up at him and said, "That was pretty smooth," before running your fingers along his scarred neck and up into his hair, pulling him closer. Bradley leaned down until his lips met yours, and it was the perfect kiss. You were perfect for him. He put his hands around your waist and pulled you a little closer, kissing you a little deeper. When you pulled back, you pressed your lips together. "Text me your address and I'll be there on Wednesday. For cake baking assistance and our second date." "I will. I can't wait to see you again," Bradley replied, and it was the truth. Bradley walked you to your car, and with one more sweet kiss you were gone. When Bradley went back inside to settle his tab, Jake approached him. "You stole my date," Jake drawled, shaking his head but smiling. Bradley just grinned at Hangman. "It's pretty funny when you think about how she completely ditched you for me. Maybe I'll let you give a speech about it at the wedding."

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vixenobrian · 4 months

Text

Seeing Ghosts

This is the first fic I've written here, so I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x reader

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"Bradley honey, I'm home!"

No answer.

I sighed, setting down the groceries on the island countertop. I knew he was home, the Bronco sitting in the driveway was a clear indication of that, but I also knew why I had received radio silence.

"How was Mav?" I asked, almost scared of the answer myself.

"Mav's fine hun." Bradley retorted. He must have been upstairs in the bedroom, hiding away from me. I understood how hard this must have been on him, but not seeing my husband run down the stairs and greet me with a kiss when I walked through the door still kind of hurt my feelings. Still, I knew how important his space was after his visits.

"How are you bubs?" I called back. Nothing.

Mav had been in and out of the hospital for months now, more and more parts of his body slowly giving way. For a man who wasn't supposed to live past his 30s, everyone was certainly surprised to see it was in fact old age that did him in. Recently though, it was his brain that was going, and this seemed to be the hardest on everyone.

Bradley had been struggling, badly. Between his parents and Ice, Mav was the only one he had left, and to see him slowly slipping away, losing both his body and mind at the same time? Bradley had barely been able to stand it. Each night he would come home after visiting, crawl into bed, and simply lay his head on my chest and cry. I really wasn't sure what else to do at this point, other than be there for him.

I sighed, grabbing the fancy bottle of wine I picked up from the grocery store, before heading upstairs. We both needed a pick me up, and what better way than a good wine, and a home-cooked meal.

"Roos, darling," I called, slightly pushing open the door to our bedroom. I vaguely caught a glimpse of his figure, but I pushed right past it, wanting to grab the things I knew he needed and was probably avoiding. When he got like this, he tended to neglect his medicine, and I knew if I took a glance at him, I would have too. I grabbed the bottle off of the bathroom counter, seeing it right next to his spread-out shaving kit. I pushed back into the bedroom, finally looking him in the eyes.

"Roos, I have a- oh God!"

Rooster sat on the edge of the bed, his big broad shoulders slumped over in defeat. I could tell he had been crying by the dark red circles around his eyes, but none of this is what concerned me. Above Rooster's top lip laid no mustache, something he had worn with pride for years. He always considered it his best feature and took meticulous care in grooming it. I had never even seen him without it. I knew something had to have been terribly wrong.

I sat down the wine on the dresser, my excitement fleeting with the bottle, before reaching for his face. I brought my legs over him, straddling his lap, before taking his face into both of my heads. Immediately, I began to wipe his tears, while simultaneously peppering kisses to his cheeks.

"Roos, honey, what happened?"

"He called me Nick again."

My heart sank, pulling him fully into my embrace. I felt tears start to fall from my own eyes and the boy beneath me began to sob, shaking in my embrace. His hands clenched the back of my shirt, as I attempted to comfort him in his sorrows.

"Bradley, I am so sorry," I said. I felt guilty. I felt anger toward Maverick, even though I knew none of it was his fault. Still, he had hurt Bradley, my Bradley, and the anger that came with that radiated through me. I took a deep breath, trying to push these emotions down.

"I just want him to see me" He whimpered into my shoulder. My hand found the nape of his neck, slowly playing with his hair there. It was his comfort spot, and I felt him slowly relax into me, letting all of his body weight fall freely as if we were being combined into one. I let him lay here for a few minutes, switching between playing with his hair and rubbing his back, before slowly backing away, and once again taking his face into my hands.

"Bradley, honey, I am so sorry that happened to you, but I need you to know, no matter what happens, Maverick loves you so much sweet boy," I comforted, "and on top of that, I love you so much. So no matter what, you are loved, Bradley."

He pulled me in the back of my neck, planting a sweet kiss right on my lips. The lack of hair felt foreign to me and caught me off guard. I pulled away, still holding his face in my hands, when I noticed his cheeks turning a color red.

"So, how bad is it?" He asked genuinely, causing me to chuckle.

"You are still the most handsome man in the world Bradshaw," I told him genuinely, "but how long before it grows back?"

#miles teller #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw fic #top gun rooster #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw #top gun: maverick #rooster top gun #top gun #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw angst

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intoanotherworld23 · 10 months

Text

Blissful Therapy Session

Pairing: Reader x Pedro Pascal

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, those whole thing is pure smut and sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swear words

Summary: This is a session with your therapist that you will never forget

HEARTS, REBLOGS, AND COMMENTS are greatly appreciated and praised! If you wish to be added to the Pedro Pascal tag list please let me know its always open! Thank you guys so much! Love you all!! XOXO

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

"Fuck you look so good right now." His words encouraging to you as his lips started moving down your neck sucking on the flesh. "So fucking good."

The tiny hair prickles of his mustache brushing against your skin tickling you making you giggle. Making him smile against your collarbone trying not to chuckle himself.

His large hands felt so warm against your skin. Your body was melting into his sensual touch so perfectly it was almost scary. You have never felt like this with anyone ever before.

The fabric of the leather couch kept sticking to your skin having to lift up your hips so you didn’t accidentally rip your skin. Although you really weren’t paying that much attention to the couch, and focusing more on Pedro’s cock.

“I knew you would be a good girl for me.” Whispering little praises in your ear.

"God I love your cock." Humming around his lips as he drilled himself deeper inside of you.

It was wrong what the two of you were doing. He was your therapist and he could lose his license if he got caught. You were vulnerable and haven't gotten laid in a long time, and he was a willing participant.

There was something about Pedro that had your thighs always clenching together. So many nights you were knuckle deep inside yourself imagining what he was doing to you right now. Never did you think he would make the first move on you. It was almost like you were dreaming.

"Come on sweetheart don't lose focus on me now." A dark voice bringing your back to reality feeling the tip of his cock slowly entering you again. "Gotta fuck that damage out of you."

"Oh god Pedro don't stop." Raking your nails down his back as he leaned on his hands on either side of your head. "Shit right there right there."

"God damn you are so fuckin tight." Groaning through clenched teeth as he concentrated on not cumming too early.

Looking up at his soft head or hair tempting you to reach up and pull on it. His once chocolate brown eyes now darkened with lust and desire. Whimpers leaving your mouth every time he thrusted into you.

"Nobody fuck this pussy good enough for you sweetheart." To be honest he was completely awed how tight you were, and felt shocked that nobody made you feel good. "If you were mine I'd worship that wet little pussy of yours everyday."

Pedro leaned his head down kissing along your collarbone getting to the tops of your breasts a wet tongue brushing your bouncing breasts. Attaching his mouth to your nipple sucking on the nub until you felt a slight sting.

Feeling your back scraping against the leather couch. Sweat dripping down your back making you slide back and forth. Legs wrapping around his waist giving him an all new angle. His eyes moving to your face to watch your reactions.

Pedro has never been more turned on from just watching you. To know how much he was satisfying you was enough for him. It was like his dreams and fantasies were coming true.

"Fuck so good taking my cock like you are." Immediately your eyes moving down watching as he disappeared inside of you mouth open in amazement.

"Oh god." Your head falling back as you arched your back feeling him all the way in your stomach.

"This pussy is mine sweetheart." Growling as he leaned forward his mouth right by your ear his possessiveness had you moaning. "All mine to play with to fuck to taste."

"Fuck yes it's all yours." Whining as your hands reached out beside you gripping on the leather your nails digging into the fabric. "Mmm god you fuck me so good."

"Can feel you squeezing my cock so deliciously." Sharply thrusting into you making you deliberately clench around him as your hands gripped his thighs. "God I should have done this sooner."

His eyes moved to your chest watching as your breasts bounced, and a drop of sweat falling down to your chest. The room smelled like sweat and sex and it had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Wanna hear you moan my name while you take my cock baby." His hand grabbed your chin making you look into his eyes. "Watch that pretty mouth say my name."

"Pedro." Crying out his name in the throes of ecstasy making him wear a shit eating grin he was loving the power he had over you. "I'm gonna cum."

"Oh no sweetheart you're not cumming just yet." Hands grabbing your body turning you around on your hands and knees ass up in the air. "Not until I say so."

Hands gripping onto your ass squeezing your cheeks as he thrusted back inside of you. Both of you groaning as he started to move your head tossing back and forth with this new angle.

His pelvis pushing against your ass every time he drilled himself inside you. Your cheeks jiggling his skin smacking on yours the sound making your cheeks heat up. Feeling your arousal slowly sliding down your inner thigh.

"You're a damaged little girl aren't you." He wasn't asking you a question more like making a statement his eyes watching your body writhing under him. "So fucking damaged."

Feeling his hands move up and down your back as you felt your hips bouncing back against him. Licking his lips as he watched you lose complete control, and he was loving it.

Pedro felt like he was taking advantage of you, and felt bad but the way you were moaning his name changed his thoughts. There was something about you that he had to have, and he couldn't believe he had you right now.

For months he's listened to you complain and talk about your love life. He was becoming more invested in you the more sessions you had with him. Fantasizing all the things he could do with you if you were him.

Some people would say he's taking advantage of your vulnerability, but if anything you made the first move. This was something the both of you clearly wanted.

"Pedro I'm gonna cum." Crying out as you felt your pussy clenching around him and that familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach you knew you weren't going to last long. "Oh god please Pedro."

"Cum for me sweetheart." Whispering into your ear as his body leaned forward his chest pressed to your back.

Your orgasm felt like such a sweet release as your hands gripped the arm rest in front of you. Pumping his load inside of you both of you breathing heavily as you tried to get your mind straight. His cock twitching as you squeezed around him again. Both of you drenched in sweat the liquid cooling your body off from a brief second.

Still in disbelief that you just had ravenous sex with your therapist. Completely unexpected and something you never thought would take place. Now you were just hoping that all your sessions would be like this from now on.

"That was amazing." You stated out of breath making him chuckle as you turned your body on your back as Pedro stood up.

"That's only the beginning sweetheart." He winked at you making you smile as you laid there on the couch still naked.

After a few minutes of silence his phone started going off. Quickly putting on his underwear he grabbed his phone and talked to whoever was on the other line. Awkwardly sitting there now wondering if you should just leave or wait for him.

Now thinking that he was starting to regret what just took place. You wouldn’t blame him though since he would probably lose his license if he got caught, and he wouldn’t be able to find a job anywhere else.

Standing up you grabbed your clothes and started to put them on. Feeling ashamed that this was probably a one time thing, and things could become uncomfortable now.

"Thanks bye." He said as he hung up the phone and looked to you with a suspicious smirk. "Well looks like my next appointment won't be coming."

"Really?" Squeaking out as he stood in front of you pulling your body into his placing your hands on his chest.

"But I know someone who will be coming." A hand coming down hard on your ass making you squeal.

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missathlete31 · 1 year

Text

Pulled Strings

Summary: Jake Seresin is feeling stressed so he gets out his violin and begins to play. The only problem? He's not alone in the barracks today and some of his teammates are shocked to learn of his hidden talent.

This story came from the knowledge that Glen Powell was trained on the violin. Is it filled with unnecessary angst? Yes. Does it paint Hangman in a good light because it's the only way I know how to write him? Also Yes. Sorry about that.

Jake Seresin was used to stress, you didn't become one of the Navy's Top Aviators without being accustomed to it, but this mission was starting to become a bit much for even him. First it was the long suffering rivalry with Rooster. Jake didn't particularly hate Bradshaw, he just never understood him, or his proclivity to over-thinking. Sure, Hangman tended to stray a little far over the line of cocky, but he had faith in his abilities like every pilot attempting the skills they did on a daily basis should. Rooster's naivety was annoying for its sheer unsoundness. He was clearly talented, he wouldn't be where he was if he wasn't, so this faux, 'I don't know if I can go that fast or fly like Maverick' was just getting frustrating at this point.

Hangman knew he crossed a line when he brought up Rooster's father, and if he was honest with himself, he didn't even mean for it to land so wrong. He didn't mean to make it sound like he blamed Maverick, or that Nick Bradshaw's death was anything but a tragic accident. He only meant to light a fire under Rooster, to show Bradley and by extension Maverick that the mustached man was never going to be ready to fly if he didn't stop thinking and living in the past. Bradley did the team no favors, he did himself no favors, staying in his head instead of in the sky.

Since the altercation, Jake had apologized. Maverick took it with a genuine look, his eyes lost in a past that Hangman knew he was fortunate to not understand but had callously brought up anyway. It probably would have felt better if Mav had taken a swing, but the older Captain just patted Jake's shoulder and told him to go get ready for his flight later in the day.

Of course then the dark haired pilot went up to run a hop with Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote.

Jake's initial plan was to reach out to Bradley for his apology as they hung around the ready room but before he could get the words, Coyote was in G-lock and Jake's heart seemed to stop. Javy was Jake's best friend, his only real family if he was honest with himself, and the thought of losing him that day made the ramifications of this suicide mission a lot more sickeningly clear. Hangman had shakily collapsed next to the radio once Coyote finally answered but then the bird strike happened and everything seemed to get even more clouded with emotions. Jake would never survive something bad happening to Javy but he in no way thought he would feel the same way about the others, not until he kept hearing Phoenix's voice calling that they were on fire, of Bob's panicked cries that they needed to eject, of Maverick screaming they couldn't save the jet. All three voices, combining with Mav's calls for Javy to pull up, were terrifying enough to cement into Jake's nightly rote of nightmares for the time being. Another strain from an impossible mission.

Hangman went to the hospital after Phoenix and Bob were picked up like all the others but somehow, once everyone was deemed more or less in one piece, it seemed only he and Rooster remained in the waiting room, both men needing to see their teammates with their own two eyes. Jake mustered his apology there and Bradshaw, reeling from the close call of almost losing Phoenix, Bob, and Coyote in the same afternoon, had only begrudging nodded.

Things weren't fixed, they never would be, but a truce was created. And, the asshole part of Hangman also wished he could point out to some of the others who still looked at him with disappointed looks, Rooster was now flying faster and giving Jake a run for his money in terms of being wingman. Especially now that it was basically written in stone that Maverick was flying; he had demolished the course the other day after the funeral.

It was a scary concept, a foreign concept, but Jake was suddenly finding himself thinking he might not be the one flying this mission. He had the speed, that much was never in doubt, and his target locks were getting better- still not the best, but certainly no worse than the others. No, Jake's deficiency was that he had no team; the others trusted him about as far as they could throw him, and he could tell from day one that Maverick held pride in pilots that could work together, not solo showboats. Hangman had overshot his landing field in this whole predicament and it was really throwing the blond Texan off kilter.

Jake wasn't used to failure, he didn't allow for it. He didn't have to worry about facing his parent's wrath for failure anymore, that bridge collapsed and burned the day he left for the academy, but there was so much expectations Jake had placed on himself because of them, so much need to prove that he was worth the time, the effort, the love that was never given.

Yet as the hours to shipping out crept closer and closer, Hangman seemed to find his place was being filled by someone else and the looming shadow of not being good enough was getting ready to block out his sun.

Hence the stress.

His normal stress reliever was running but the typical North Island sun was hidden in rainclouds this afternoon. The team was able to have their standard lecture but hops had all been scratched, leading Jake to feel restless as he paced his small housing. Normally rain wouldn't deter a run completely for the hot shot pilot, he actually found it quite peaceful, but he doubted Maverick or Cyclone would be as accepting and the chance of a reprimand for risking illness so close to shipping out dissuaded the blond. His next thought was the gym but Jake didn't have the stomach to run into any of the others, they were on better ground but not enough that anyone went out of their way to include Hangman, except Javy of course. Coyote had texted earlier to say that he and some of the other pilots had taken the short respite the weather had afforded them to get off campus, and from the lack of noise around him, Jake assumed he was the only one left in their housing block, which offered a unique opportunity. Hangman headed over to closet, pulling out the guitar case that was one of the few personal items he allowed himself. Opening it carefully, Jake reached for not a guitar but a violin, the mismatched instrument case his attempt at not allowing others to know his hidden talent. Playing the guitar was expected from a Texan, but a violin? Not something normally entertained from a cocky Naval Aviator.

Jake took our his bow and made sure to grab some rosin, greasing it gently and properly like he was shown so many years ago. When everything was ready he brought the instrument to brace against his neck and began to play, the notes coming easily as he moved through some scales and uncomplicated melodies. Immediately, Jake's shoulders un-tensed, the power of music always calming him, and he closed his eyes and pretended he wasn't back at Top Gun and training for a deadly mission but rather back home, in Midland Texas, playing in the orchestra room with Ms. Elliot, one of his most beloved teachers, as she watched him with a pride reserved usually for parents that Jake had never experienced before.

Quickly, Jake was transitioning to harder pieces, the melancholy of both the rain and his own disappointment in his performance thus far these past few weeks making him long for sadder and more drawn out music. He naturally went to Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto, skipping to the second movement so he could relish in the hauntingly dramatic opening melody.

Next he switched to Bach. Jake was not normally one for changing composers so quickly but he allowed it today, his fingers just playing with no real thought, his bow slicing across the strings as he integrated the two musicians a few times as the pilot sounded out his feelings. It was emotional for the blond, his own inadequacies coming out through the notes and Jake wasn't surprised when a tear, and then two, slowly trailed down his cheeks. He didn't try to wipe them, couldn't stop now that he was so engrossed in the music anyway, until he thought he heard a knock on his door.

"Bagman!" a familiarly angry voice called, "hey Bagman!"

Jake's fingers stuttered, his bow coming across jagged and letting out a screech that made goose bumps prickle on his skin. For a moment the blond stood there unmoving, shocked at the interruption to a point he didn't really know how to proceed. His guest, however, seemed undeterred.

"BAGMAN OPEN UP!" The voice called again and Jake finally recovered enough to put his violin down. He could sense the blush rising on his cheeks, the natural embarrassment of being caught, although he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of. He felt unsettled, not liking to ever be caught unaware, and Hangman couldn't help but curse himself for not ensuring that he truly was alone on base before he started playing. Hoping he could act it off as the radio, Jake put his violin back in its case carefully, but when he recognized Phoenix's knock for a third time, because of course it had to be the fiery female pilot that loved to give him shit on a good day that caught him, he jumped and slammed the case shut.

Striding over, Jake took one last second to wipe any remnants of the tears the music caused him away before swinging open the door. He schooled his mask in place and tried to look annoyed, hoping to throw Phoenix away quickly, but he was met with not only the dark haired woman but her WSO behind as well. The addition of Bob shouldn't have been surprising, they seemed to be attached at the hip these days, but it still made Jake's haunches rise, now seemingly caught by both of them.

They were all silent for a moment before Natasha gave a long suffering sigh, "finally" she drawled.

Jake narrowed his eyes, "What?" he questioned, his tone a touch too emotional to play off his normal Hangman persona, "What do you want?"

"I want" Natasha grumbled out in clear annoyance, "for you to lower that classical music crap you're blasting. We can hear it down the whole barrack."

In what should have been a relieving moment, since Phoenix wrongfully assumed Hangman was listening to classical music and not playing it, Jake couldn't help but scoff in an indignation he didn't quite understand. His temper flashed, "right" he sneered, his trademark cold smirk growing, "can't upset precious Phoenix, god forbid someone does something she doesn't like."

Her dark eyes flashed as her nostrils flared, "Rich coming from you, but I shouldn't be surprised that you would have no decency for any of the rest of us. Thinking you own the place like you always do."

"It was just music-"

"It was loud-"

"We were trying to catch up on some sleep" Bob stepped in, playing mediator to the two high tempered pilots, "been a little difficult since the bird strike." Phoenix immediately shot her back-seater a traitorous look, no doubt hating for the man to expose a weakness so easily to Hangman of all people. Jake, however, stepped back with a shaky nod, understanding more than anyone the debilitation of night terrors. "Fine" he spoke up, curt but not mean. "I'll keep it down."

Bob looked grateful, a smile rising on his lips, "thank you" he replied back and then when his partner stayed silent, he cleared his throat. He lifted an eyebrow towards Natasha and when the woman caught it she rolled her eyes, "thank you" she murmured, before turning away and moving to go back to her own room. Bob looked to follow before his eyes caught something left on Jake's bed. "Wait?" the bespectacled man spoke up questioningly and Jake followed his gaze to see the bow he had failed to put away in his haste, "is that yours?" Bob continued.

"Yeah?" Jake couldn't stop the defensiveness in his tone, "so what?"

"You were playing before?" Bob looked weirdly delighted, his excitement making Phoenix turn back around, "you weren't listening to music, you were playing it."

"Look Baby on Board-"

But Jake's words were cut off as Natasha stalked back over, "That wasn't Bagman" she explained with all the certainty in the world, "that was a recording." She turned to her partner, "like we said before Bob, it was like a professional."

Somehow such a off-handed compliment from Phoenix of all people made Jake's stomach flip and his cheeks reddened. He held back the urge to run a anxious hand along the back of his neck. When he looked up he saw Bob's knowing stare on him, "Violin?" the WSO asked softly, smiling when he saw Hangman's small nod in return, "it was beautiful."

"Hang on" Phoenix pushed back forward, now heading into Jake's room uninvited. "That couldn't have been you, you don't have a violin."

"I do actually" the blond moved back to his guitar case, "it's here." Somehow if he kept his eyes downcast, he could ignore the burning blush of embarrassment at exposing himself like this. When Hangman undid the buckles and showed the small string instrument to the duo in front of him, Bob gave a acknowledging hum but Phoenix's brow furrowed. "So you really play?" the shock was slowly leaving Nat's tone, replaced by a lift that made Jake worry. "Yeah" he nodded, green eyes watching as the woman kneeled down next to his instrument, "I do."

"Okay" her fingers ghosted over the strings carefully, "so play us something."

"Excuse me?"

"Play us something" she looked up at him, face challenging. "If it really was you" she goaded, "you should have no problem."

Hangman rolled his eyes at the dare, "I'm not some street monkey" he reasoned.

"Are you scared?" her dark eyes were bright with mirth as she took a seat on Jake's bed as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Jake would be lying if he said it didn't send his heart into a somersault at the sight. His feelings for Phoenix had always seemed to simmer within him, but time and angry barbs between them had cauterized Hangman's hopes of anything ever happening. To see her now, sitting in his room, waiting for him to expose such a hidden and beloved part of his soul, was preposterously frightening. "Come on" Phoenix urged, though her voice lost a lot of its edge and seemed more curious. "Your audience is waiting."

As Bob moved to take his desk chair, Jake picked up his bow and sighed, relaxing his shoulders to get into position. Jake knew he could play the piece he had been working on before but something about seeing Natasha sitting there in front of him, her right foot tapping against her left in her impatience, made him think of another song. He started the first few notes, the look of recognition crossing Phoenix's face as the popular sound of Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' filled the tiny room. Jake knew Natasha had grown up in California, but something about the East Coast crooner that was Sinatra and his mantra of 'My Way' always made the blond think of the fiery female pilot. Natasha Trace was a force to be reckon with on a good day, an immoveable stone on a bad. She was unforgiving in her quest to get what she wanted and yet her drive helped encourage everyone around her to want to be at her level. She was a brilliant pilot to watch and even better to fly with, and even though Hangman left her on that first day, he only did it because he knew she could handle herself up there in the skies. Her getting in the way of his shot was an unfortunate circumstance and though Jake could have easily defended his actions and explained the situation, he knew he would always be delegated to Phoenix's enemy rather than her friend. Hangman knew his place despite how much it killed him.

As the song came to a close, Jake finally opened his eyes to see the twin looks of awe on his teammates' faces. When he put down his bow, the blond pilot prepared for the teasing but Bob began with a round of applause that Natasha joined. "That was great" the bespectacled WSO announced, "really great."

"Thank you" Hangman turned to put his instrument back down, properly this time, avoiding Phoenix's look. The woman scooted to the edge of the bed however, to watch him, "he's right" she finally spoke up, "it was great."

Jake's cheeks flushed with barely hidden pride, "told you I could play" he countered, meeting her eyes.

She smirked, her expression playful, "guess it's par for the course for a rich kid like you. Must of had a whole bunch of hobbies to impress mommy and daddy."

Jake's face fell as he thought about his childhood. Yes his family was wealthy, but they were poor in everything else that mattered: love, affection, conversations, attention. He tried to hide his shudder when he thought of his Father's reaction to him choosing to study a girly instrument instead of spending more time with a pigskin. "Yeah" he finally gasped, his face pale from unease of the memories, "something like that."

Sensing she messed up, Phoenix leaned closer, allowing a hand to catch Jake's arm, "hey" she called, until she finally managed to get him to look at her again, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's fine." He closed the buckles on the guitar case and stood up from the floor. "Alright" he clapped his hands together, "concert is over now, you guys can go and get back to your naps or something."

Natasha sighed, "Bagman-"

"I said go" he nodded towards the door, "I don't think I need to show you the way."

Bob stood first, looking a little crestfallen, "well thanks" he murmured, heading out into the hallway. He didn't wait for Natasha, which was good as the short woman still hadn't moved from Jake's bed. Hangman crossed his arms defensively, "what Phoenix?" he shot out, his tone cold.

"Nothing" she shook her head before getting to her feet. She crossed the room and headed for the door, only stopping as her fingers gripped the door frame. As though debating with herself, Natasha waited a moment, then finally turned back around to look at Jake, "I guess we aren't always what we seem right?" she asked him, their eyes meeting.

"I guess not" he replied back, not exactly knowing what she meant but understanding enough to know that it went beyond the violin.

She nodded, "See you around Bagman" she called heading after Bob.

"Sweet dreams Phoenix" he whispered back, before shutting his door. He didn't go back to playing, honest in his hope that Phoenix and also Bob were able to catch up on sleep, but he felt he didn't exactly need to. The stress and uncertainty of what this mission would bring was still there but Jake felt lighter. He could only do what he could, could only prepare as best he could and have faith that the best possible outcome would unfold. He had to, because any alternative would break the blond beyond repair.

Also here is a link to the most beautiful cover of my way on a violin. I’m obsessed with it ❤️😊

youtube

#top gun maverick #glen powell #jake seresin #top gun hangman #jake hangman seresin #top gun #natasha phoenix trace #top gun fanfiction #hannix fic #hannix #Jake Seresin is a musician because Glen Powell is #Youtube

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belugamenace · 6 months

Text

One Piece - Excerpt from Fic in Progress - Zoro/Sanji

Where Sanji was once a promising figure skater, and Zoro is the guy who moves next door.

rating - explicit

tags - angst, hurt/comfort, modern au, ableist language from character, internalized ableism, injury, chronic pain, violence, miscommunication, pining, from something awkward to lovers, past child abuse, happy ending, slow burn, tags to be added

—

Sanji tried to act like his back didn’t bother him- that it was just an inconvenient injury now passed, long gone- like his ice skates and the bitter bite of winter. But sometimes his lower back ached after sitting or standing for too long, or his spine felt like it was on fire and woke him up in the middle of the night, or his muscles would tense or spasm at any time without reason, and he had to convince himself it was nothing. “I just slept wrong.” He would tell himself. “I just pulled a muscle.”

Almost a year ago, Sanji had an accident on the ice. Sanji, pro figure skater, silver medalist for his country in last year’s World Figure Skating Championship, the man projected to be a top contender for gold next year, if he really tried.

Now, he wasn’t even an option. Too much had happened. It was too chaotic, too difficult to process. He couldn’t even go on the ice anymore, not professionally, not physically, and especially not emotionally. He could never go back out there, and it broke him. It wasn’t even his fault.

He caught a glimpse of the scar in the mirror. The long scar that tore down his back in a jagged line, from the nape of his neck to his pelvis like a bolt of ugly lightning to a tree.

He could act like he didn’t see it, but then he would get in the shower. He would lather soap on his back, and the tips of his fingers would brush over the rough tissue, so different from the rest of him, and he couldn’t forget, not then. Sometimes, when his mind wandered, he would push on the scar wherever he could. His nerves would spark with pain, but he gritted his teeth and bore it- it was nothing like the pain he experienced that day. And because the pain then was so much worse, he could at least take this much now.

Eventually he would relent, giving up against the pressure of his own hand. The way the pain fizzled up and fired through all of the nerves in his back made his whole body jerk forward, made him sick. And once again, for another day, he would be weak. A coward. A baby. A fool for thinking he could ignore his life changing injury. An idiot for thinking he would ever go back to how he used to be.

He did it again. The mind wandering. He gripped the bathroom countertop, waiting for the sharp bursts of pain to subside. Eventually, the stabbing, prickling sensations dampened into a dull ache, not as intense but not quite gone.

He stood straight (or as straight as his spine would allow), threaded his fingers through his blonde hair, hopped in the shower, and didn’t so much as get clean as he used the shower in the morning to wake up. He sighed into the cold water that hit his face and then frowned as it made his bones ache. He felt like an old man, and he was only 22. He spun the shower nozzle until the water began letting off steam.

When he got out, he simply put back on the pajamas he was wearing. He hardly moved around anywhere anyways. Not like he was sweating. He paused and looked at himself in the mirror.

Dark circles enveloped his under eyes. He didn’t think his eyes looked blue anymore- or maybe they were, just darker, like a shadowy gray storm-cloud before the sun truly sets. Could eye color change in your early twenties? Or did he just hold himself different, the light no longer catching on his irises like they used to? He thought his cheeks looked hollow, and he brought a hand up to inspect his face. His fingers touched a scruffy beard and mustache. When was the last time he shaved? He shrugged.

Everything was fine.

Zeff was in the kitchen, chopping onions unfazed. Sanji thought he didn’t have tear ducts. He’d never seen the man cry- not for sadness and definitely not for onions. Not even when he almost died. He had just been really angry then- not at him, but at the situation. Zeff didn’t like things he couldn’t control.

Sanji slid past the older man and reached for the cupboard.

“Breakfast soon.” Zeff grunted, not looking up from his knife. He was mincing garlic now.

“Okay.” Sanji nodded, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and placing it under their coffee machine. He popped a pod into the top, pushed the lever down and pressed the drip button. The machine whirred to life and a glorious stream of liquid goodness descended into the mug. It stopped the whirring and the dripping and shut off automatically, signaling for Sanji to pick up his reward. Zeff scoffed.

“What?” Sanji sipped at his coffee, choosing to bite. Zeff was annoyed at something. It was probably stupid- like how he would get mad over how Sanji chose to cut potatoes. He walked past Zeff and to the kitchen table. He leaned slightly to put the mug down.

“You used to be proud to grind your own coffee grounds. Now you’re just lazy and okay with drinking that crap in a pod.”

Sanji felt indignant, a heat rumbling in his chest. He felt… frantic… defensive, like he should retort back to protect his dignity.

He used to grind his own coffee, physically, with a stupid little hand-wound coffee grinder that his hands could no longer grasp onto.

“Grinding my own coffee is a little harder now, considering,” He gestured to his own body. “I’m a fucking cripple.”

Zeff stopped his knife and looked at Sanji, eyes squinting. He stood there, just standing and staring for a little bit. “You need to go out more. You look like shit.”

Sanji rolled his eyes and turned back to his coffee. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” He didn’t want to go out. He didn’t want to go out and be pitied or fawned over. His hands got clammy at the thought of someone recognizing him. He didn’t think he could stand it if someone talked to him about figure skating, or worse, that day.

It happened once, when he went to a park 8 weeks after his surgery, and was sitting at a park bench while Zeff walked to get him a warm cup of tea. A woman walked up and stood over him, asking him if he was the Sanji Vinsmoke. He could barely lift his head to look at her. Shame washed over his skin. “Y-yes.” He had stuttered out. Instantly, her eyes got darker, not with malice or anger but with pity. Sanji hated it. “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.” She had said. “It’s such a shame they let that man get so close to you.”

He lowered his gaze, looking at the woman’s shoes, shiny little kitten heels which sunk in the dead winter grass. He looked at his shoes, which were stupid and ugly but Zeff said that they were good for his back. Something about extra support in the soles or some shit. He missed his dress shoes.

Sanji got lost in the ground, his ugly shoes and the dirt, until he noticed the woman was no longer there. Her shoes were replaced with a grumbling Zeff. “Some people have no manners.” He grunted as he sat down. He handed Sanji his tea. Sanji looked up and around. The woman was gone. He looked to Zeff, who got himself a coffee and was sipping at it with a look of disdain dripping from his face.

Sanji took his coffee and walked to the living room and sat down, uninterested in the conversation. He didn’t want to go out.

“I’m serious!” Zeff called from around the corner. “You need sun and exercise. Just sitting all day isn’t good for you, even if you think you’re healed as much as can be.”

“Zeff, I’m really not in the mood to have this conversation.” Sanji closed his eyes and held his coffee close.

“How about this,” Zeff said. Sanji heard the click of the stove being turned off and Zeff’s footsteps from around the corner. “Come with me later to the new neighbor’s house.”

Sanji opened his eyes and looked at the old man, confused. “Why?”

“Because you’re sad and lonely and need to meet people. I think he’s a firefighter or some shit.”

Sanji leaned back and closed his eyes again. No way was he going out today.

—

well, here’s an excerpt from a fic i’m working on for zoro and sanji! it’s not up on ao3 yet, but it will be soon :) i hope people like it

#one piece #fanfiction #zosan #ao3 #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #zoro x sanji #angst #hurt/comfort #wow i’m writing again guys let’s cheer

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ereardon · 1 year

Text

Too Far Gone [Bradley "Rooster Bradshaw x Reader]

Summary: Your life changed forever the moment you fell for Bradley Bradshaw. But his life wasn’t an easy one to fit into. He had more baggage than lost and found at JFK airport. You were always one for a fixer upper. Bradley could be your ultimate passion project. But was he too far gone for you to save him?

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x reader

WC: 1.5K

Warnings: Angst, death

You could pinpoint the very moment you saw Bradley Bradshaw because your heart stopped for a beat.

Or maybe it just felt like that, but really it was the fact that the jukebox chose that exact second to cut out, eliciting groans from the other patrons. But there was nothing except a wide smile on your face as Bradley caught your gaze across the room.

The way his fingers circled your waist on the dance floor, the effortless way his lips curled back in a grin beneath his mustache when he looked at you, the hearty chuckle he let out when you recited your best dad jokes, all made you realize you somewhere deep in the recesses of your heart that he was it. He wasn’t just some guy you’d pick up at a bar and fuck under the cloak of night, wash away with a cycle of laundry the next day, a number never saved into your phone’s contact book, fingertips only ghosting over your skin, never laying down roots like pioneer settlers.

No, he was the kind of man you moved mountains for. The kind of man you worshiped under the faint yellow lamp light after a night spent picking furniture for your new house, the kind of man you took home to meet your mother and made sure she served him the good bagels, the kind of man you prayed to raise babies with.

The only problem was, he didn’t think he was.

You loved Bradley instantly. You were drawn to him, like mosquitos on moist skin during a hike in Acadia. He was your candy. He was the whole fucking pre fixe menu. He was your lifeline.

And he was terrified every time you told him that fact.

Bradley didn’t have to woo you. You were already his. But he did it, anyway. Maybe to prove to you that he knew your worth. Maybe to prove to himself that he was worth your time.

You moved into his home, the one he had shared with his mother before she died, six months after that night at the bar.

You told him you loved him after four months. Took him to meet your mother back in New York for Christmas. Laughed at the way he attempted to sleep comfortably, all six foot two inches of him, on your childhood double bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and the shrine of photos your mother kept on the walls that made it look like your wake, every step down the hall revealing another portrait, your childhood seemingly spread out in framed perpetuity.

You understood when he didn’t say it back right away. You had always been like that: quick to fall. Quick to confess. Quick to hurt.

Bradley was the opposite. He needed structure and you tried to give it to him. He needed space sometimes and you let him have it. You knew when his eyes grew dark and his lip twitched but he remained silent that he needed to be alone. You were the rainbow in the sunlight after his stormy days. No matter how far he receded, you knew that he’d come back around. He always did. Fingers reaching out to thread through the waistband of your jeans, dragging you onto his lap, his lips pressed tightly beneath your ear.

I’m sorry, he would say. I’m trying.

You begged him to tell you what was wrong. You begged him to tell you what was rolling around in his beautiful mind. You needed to know what pain lingered away in the cabinet of his heart that he kept under lock and key.

You begged him to fight. If only because it would guarantee he would finally tell you the truth.

He was a closed book and you were a voracious reader. You read all the contextual material but you had yet to read the source. You knew everything about him that he let you know, but nothing that truly mattered.

After a year, you were still saying I love you to a silent half of the bed, Bradley curled away so he couldn’t see the tears slipping down your face.

But you wouldn’t leave. He wanted you to stay, you knew it.

He was the man of your dreams, but he couldn’t say it.

It didn’t matter. He showed you he loved you every day. It was the way he rested his chin on your shoulder as you cut cucumbers for a salad. The way he always filled up your car with gas when it slipped below half because he knew how much you hated to pump it yourself. It was how he always made sure to keep your favorite coffee in the cupboard, and how he’d create a space for you to snuggle into him on the couch, your guilty pleasure show already queued up and ready to play.

So after a year, you thought maybe he would never say it. That maybe it didn’t matter to hear the person you loved more than life, more than air, tell you that they loved you back in words. Perhaps it didn’t matter that he had never said it. He showed it in every choice he made, every breath he took.

But then you snapped.

The wine curdled in your stomach along with vodka and beer and you had a finger pressed to his chest in the kitchen with one light flickering intermittently, your shoes splayed somewhere near the door, Bradley’s shirt rumped from where you had fisted handfuls near his collar in anger as he parked the car after a night out.

Why don’t you love me? Your demanding words filled the kitchen. The space you loved. The house you adored. The comfortable life you had once only dreamed of. And you were ready to throw it all away for three words.

When did I ever say I didn’t? His soft brown eyes were filled with regret and looking at them too long made you want to dig yourself a grave and lie down in it, stop causing him so much pain, stop being such a burden, stop making his life harder than it already was.

When you never said it to start. The tearful echo of your cracked voice bounced off the walls, filling Bradley’s heart with sorrow.

He reached out and pulled you into his arms. I do love you. I’m just scared.

And then the file cabinet in his heart sprung open. He was afraid. He was terrified. He had watched his mother mourn his father for his entire life. He had watched Mav walk away from him. He had watched his wingman die. He had seen his teammates get shot down. He had loved someone who had left him in the middle of the night. He had loved his mother as she died peacefully in his arms. He had known love and death and he was reeling from the impact of it all.

He was the physical embodiment of sadness. He was pain personified. He was broken, he said.

You’re not broken, you replied.

You can’t save me, no matter how hard you try.

Yes, I can.

And you tried. Bradley collapsed in your arms and you brushed away the tears, whispered in his ear how kind he was, how loved he was.

Every day you told him he was loved. Cherished. Good enough. Smart enough. Kind enough. Strong enough.

But it wasn’t enough.

So when the stick turned pink, you didn’t try to stop the tears from falling. It felt like a trap. A vicious circle. You knew he would leave. Why would he stay? His greatest fear was pain. There was no greater pain than having a child you would one day have to leave.

You considered leaving. You considered staying. In the end, it was Bradley’s choice.

He held the test in his large hands and you watched tears slip down his cheeks.

To your surprise, he got down on his knees, fingers gently lifting up the hem of your shirt. He pressed his lips to your still flat stomach.

I love you. His words reverberated beneath your skin, enveloping your unborn child. It was the first time you heard him say it unprompted. He raised his eyes to yours. I love you, too.

You couldn’t fix him if he didn’t want to be fixed. Your son’s hands in his father’s was the only medicine that could attempt to erase all of the pain in Bradley’s life. All of the mistakes and heartache and sorrow that filled him to the brim, threatened to spill over onto the spotless floor of the life you two had built together.

It wasn’t until years later, when your son was grown and you watched Bradley hold his grandson in his arms for the first time that you realized he had never been as broken as he had led you to believe. The pieces had always been there.

All it took was one look across the bar to know that you would be the one to put him back together, make him whole.

Tag list: @double-j @seresinhangmanjake @topguncultleader @hangmandruigandmav @momc95 @minamisulemisa @shawnsblue @blue-aconite @brehonodea @crthurston @angelbabyange @jason-toddsthighs @secretsicanthideanymore @taytaylala12 @mandylove1000 @mizzzpink @showmethewayhomehoney @tvjunkie08 @mygyn @wkndwlff @sadpetalsstuff @shanimallina87 @averyhotchner @oneelleandaneye @starrynightskyz @darkestbeforethedawn16 @rxmtoon @atarmychick007 @djs8891

@sexytholland @teacupsandtopgun @rosiahills22 @eyesthatroll @wildlyobserving @wittywhispers @khaylin27 @atarmychick007 @rosewritesitout

#bradley rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster imagine #rooster x you #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun x reader

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buckybarnessunflower · 2 years

Text

L i q u i d L u c k

Summary: Bucky has had a series of bad dates. A stranger gifts him something called liquid luck to help him, he's unsure if he'll ever use it but then he sees you and his mind is made up. Bucky finally gets lucky with you in a bathroom.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X reader , Dark!Bucky, mention of Chris Beck X reader

Rating: 18+ (Dubcon, smut, sexual assault heavily implied)

Word Count: 3549

Warnings: Reader cheats on her boyfriend Chris Beck, Bucky spikes readers drink. Smut ensues. Lloyd Hansen makes a brief appearance. Talk of sexual assault. Dubcon no aftercare.

A/N: I posted this last night but I forgot to list some of the warnings. I deleted it and am now posting an updated warning. Thank you for the anon that brought it to my attention. I do apologize for anyone who may have accidently read it last night when I had not posted the accurate warnings. That was not my intention

Bucky breathed in and out through his nose, allowing the smell of alcohol from the bar he was in to help put him at ease. The bar he was in wasn’t overly crowded like most bars in New York on a Saturday night. The talk and laughter from the other patrons distracted him somewhat from his own self deprecating thoughts.

He was beyond frustrated that another date had gone terribly wrong.

Dating today was N O T like dating was back in the 1940s.

He knew he wasn’t the same man he was back then.

He knew he had lost his charm and his dazzling smile that used to get women weak in the knees.

He knew that while most men wore chains around their necks or nice watches around their wrist that he was forced to have a metal arm.

Bucky rubbed his flesh hand down his face and sighed before he took another large gulp of the amber liqueur in his glass. He couldn’t get drunk but the feel of the liqueur going down his throat, leaving behind a slight burn as it made its way down felt nice.

It made him feel more human and less like the brainwashed assassin Hydra forced him to be all those years ago.

The sound of a chuckle beside him made Bucky glance up, the man was muscular in build with light brown hair that was shaved on the sides and a thick mustache.

“Woman troubles huh?” He asked, turning on his bar stool to look directly at Bucky.

Bucky gave a slight nod to his head in acknowledgment before turning back around to take another swig from his glass, he wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk about his troubles to a stranger that couldn’t even begin to relate.

“Name’s Lloyd” the man said, holding out his hand for Bucky to shake.

“Bucky,” he said, shaking Lloyd’s hand.

The grin on Lloyd’s face grew, “Oh I know who you are” he said and could tell Bucky’s body stiffened, unsure as to what Lloyd’s intentions were. Vibranium hand gleaming as he tightened it into a fist, ready to fight if necessary.

“Calm down big guy, I just noticed it seemed like you were down and out, I figured it had to be over a girl. Women now-a-days like to play hard to get, what with all of this women have rights bullshit they think they’re above us. They think they can lead us on during dates, wearing as little as possible, hell even sometimes taking us back to their apartments then BAM they don’t want to fuck. It’s sickening really and I hate to see another man hurt because a woman simply hasn’t learned her place yet”. Lloyd said, moving his chair closer to Bucky’s.

Bucky refused to fully look at Lloyd, not knowing if it was a trap or not so he chose to stay silent. He didn’t need his publicist breathing down his neck because he said the wrong thing to someone.

“That’s why I’m giving you this” He continued while taking a vial of something off of his necklace to hand to him.

Bucky stared at his outstretched hand in his peripheral vision, frozen in his place- unsure if he should take it or not.

“Think of it as liquid luck. You put a drop in a woman’s drink and her body begins to crave you. Even if she’s interested in you or not. She’ll walk out of a bar with you, smile on her face and her cunt dripping with the need to be filled. You take her home, do what you want and leave. She’ll forget it ever happened.” Lloyd grinned, now dangling the vial in front of Bucky’s face.

Bucky watched as it swung back and forth, it was tempting, so tempting.

Part of the reason why he was so upset about tonight was because he wanted NO needed to fuck. He wanted to feel the warm silky smoothness of a woman’s cunt wrapped around his cock. It had been too long since he last had sex, he had gotten a little rough with the last girl and she had blasted him online. A picture of bruises and bites littering her skin didn’t fare well with the public’s already shitty opinion of him and any potential sexcapeds ended before they could begin after hearing how other women could barely walk after sleeping with the ex-assassin.

He had been hopeful about the woman tonight, had wined and dined her how he would a woman back in the 40’s but she went on and on about her ex boyfriend. She had even started to cry in the middle of the date, accusing eyes turned to him. Expecting The Winter Soldier to have done something terrible to the woman. “I’ve got to go” she had said before abruptly leaving, chair turned over in her haste to get out of the restaurant. Bucky had been left to pay the tab, food half-eaten and his cock still semi-hard where he had been expecting to get lucky.

Bucky grabbed the vial, milky white substance reflecting the fluorescent lighting from up above.

“I knew you would take it,” Lloyd said, hand clasped firmly on Bucky’s shoulder.

—----------------------------------------------------

Bucky laid in his bed back at the compound staring at the vial.

Was he really going to use it?

Had he really become that desperate that he needed “liquid luck” to help him get his dick wet?

The sound of the porno he had open in the background broke him from his train of thought.

He couldn’t take any more nights like this.

He couldn’t handle the sounds of the fake moans and orgasms from the pornos.

He didn’t care what Tony said. No matter what tags he clicked on, none of them could fulfill his desires like having an actual woman underneath him.

—----------------------------------------------------------

Bucky pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew out the smoke. His lips turned up in a smirk as he glanced down at his drink and then back up to the dance floor, watching as the “liquid luck” took effect.

He had been watching you from afar for most of the night.

You had come in shortly after he had arrived. You and your friends had run over to the bar, giggling as you stumbled over each other's stiletto heels in a race to get to the bar first. You had been pushed into Bucky, a contagious smile on your face as you turned to him to apologize when he helped steady you.

The warmth of his hand had felt too good to go unnoticed. Bucky had noticed how you had leaned closer into his touch. Your friends didn’t even realize how you and the stranger at the bar were enamored with each other. The smell of your vanilla shampoo and floral perfume was intoxicating.

One of your friends shoved a shot of tequila at you, liquid spilling over the edges onto your skin tight red dress. His eyes instantly glanced down to find that it had darkened the fabric around your breast, you hadn’t even noticed- too busy throwing back the shot and wincing at the burn going down your throat.

A drop of tequila clung to your plump bottom lip and Bucky had to adjust himself in his chair when he felt his pants tighten. He took a chance and swiped at the drop of tequila on your lip with the pad of his thumb, your eyes closed and Bucky swore he heard you moan. You were so receptive to his touch and he knew he had to have you.

“C'mon babe we gotta go dance” One of your friends said, pulling you away from Bucky and onto the dance floor.

Bucky knew as he watched you go that he wasn’t going to leave tonight without you with him..

He felt in his pocket for the vial Lloyd had given him.

Tonight was the night.

He wasn’t going to take any chances, he wanted you and he was going to get you in his bed.

It was at that revelation that he found himself at the bar most of the night.

He watched as you and your friends danced and had fun, giggling as you took turns grinding on one another that had him and every other man in the room entranced.

Finally you stumbled over to the bar, Bucky placed his hand on your lower back to help steady you.

“Thanks” you grinned up at him, loving the feel of his hand on your lower back.

Your eyes met endless pools of cerulean blue that had you taking in a shaky breath.

You could see the barely contained lust poorly hidden in their depths. It made you shiver and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself in hopes to cover yourself from his roaming eyes. Uneasiness settled deep in your bones, you could feel his lecherous stare all over your body.

You asked for more shots and turned away from the bar to avoid any conversation with the man. Yeah he looked good but it was something about him that just felt off and he looked so familiar but you couldn’t place where you had seen him before.

Since you were turned away you completely missed when the bartender placed your order of shots on the counter.

Bucky took his chance and added a drop of the liquid from the vial to your shot.

He watched as you downed it with no problem, no sign of disgust on your face at all.

Now he could only wait and watch to see if it would take effect.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was like a fire had been lit under your skin, it felt hot, too hot and it seemed like no one else was feeling the same way. Desire pooled in your belly and you could feel your pussy start to soak your thong. You felt dizzy, the room started to spin as you stumbled over to the bathroom.

You stood near the sink, splashing water on your skin in hopes of cooling yourself down but you let out a little whine as your pussy throbbed with desire. You didn’t know what had come over you, your boyfriend Chris was always good about fucking you good but he was away on a NASA mission for a few weeks. You whined again at the thought, your pussy ached to be touched and you had a brief thought about stuffing your fingers in for hopes of momentary relief until you could get home and watch one of your and Chris’s sex tapes.

The sound of the door opening had your eyes wide in surprise, a hand clutched at your chest to calm your racing heartbeat. You swore you had locked the door after coming in.

The man from the bar walked in, a predatory glint in his eyes as he looked at you up and down while he locked the door.

“Th…..th…..This is th…. The woman’s bathroom” you stuttered out, the edge of the sink digging into your back the more you tried to press your back against it.

“I know” was all he said as he walked closer to you.

The feeling of desire was beginning to overwhelm you. You could smell his cologne, tones of amber and sandalwood quickly becoming addicting. You squeezed your legs together tightly in hopes of satisfying your swollen clit.

“Aw. You want me baby”? He asked, taunting you.

The seed had been planted in your mind now.

Fuck.

You did want him and you didn’t know why. Chris was such a good boyfriend and you had dreams of becoming Mrs. Beck one day but God the man in front of you had you wanting to throw all that out the window for one night with him.

He looked like sex on legs and God you couldn’t possibly walk away from a chance like this. Could you?

His pupils were dilated to the point where only a small ring of cerulean blue could be seen.

“I want you” he whispered in your ear, your knees weakened at his confession.

Bucky wrapped his arm around your back, turning you so you were facing the mirrors over the sinks.

His lips trailed down your neck.

Kissing.

Licking.

Biting.

Bruising every inch of your sensitive skin. A moan escaped that had Bucky smirking against your heated flesh.

He couldn’t believe it. It was actually working.

His vibranium hand traveled up your stomach to the valley between your breasts, he yanked at the fabric of your dress and his mouth instantly watered at the sight of your plump breast.

“Look at these tits babydoll. I bet they’re sensitive” he said, groaning as he plucked and rolled a nipple between his metal fingers. They pebbled at the feel of the coolness of the vibranium and you couldn’t hold back your moan the more he pulled and tugged at them.

“I’ve always been a tit man and these are gorgeous” he confessed, grabbing a handful of each.

“Look at us” he whispered and you did as you were told.

It made your thong dampen even more than what it already was.

Bucky was standing behind you, his front pressed against your back with the top of your dress pulled down past your navel. His flesh hand had one breast gripped tightly and his vibranium had the other gripped tightly.

It was a beautiful contrast.

Flesh and metal.

Pain and Pleasure.

He nipped at your neck again, making your eyes roll back in your head at the instant pleasure you felt.

Chris had never made you feel like this before.

You whimpered when he left your neck to trail his lips down the expanse of your back, his hands left your breasts to follow his lips.

He pulled your dress all the way down, until you were left standing with only your thong.

Bucky growled when he felt your thong soaked through.

His index finger rubbed at your glistening folds, pulling your thong between them, making your yelp.

“Ssssshhhhh babydoll. I gotta see what I'm working with” he said and you felt yourself blush at the thought of him looking at your pussy close-up.

“Pl…..please” you whimpered out as you tried to close your legs so he couldn’t see.

“HEY! Stop that. No hiding from me. This pussy is mine” he said, smacking at the inside of your thighs making you yelp again as you hesitantly opened your legs.

“You got such a pretty pussy baby” he said before licking at the pad of his flesh thumb and bringing it to your wet entrance.

You whimpered at the feel of him pushing his thumb along with your thong in your entrance, the lace fabric slightly hurt but not as much as his thumb flexing, trying to widen your hole.

“So tight babydoll fuck” he groaned, taking both hands to pull at your hole to make it slightly gape for him. Bucky collected a tiny pool of saliva in his mouth and spit directly in your hole.

“Oh God” You whimpered at the feel of his spit dripping out of you.

Your mind felt hazy with lust. You felt like you were in a cloud, not able to think clearly, only of the man currently on his knees thrusting his fingers in your pussy.

You could hear squelching noises each time he thrusted in.

“Hear that babydoll? Your cunt is begging for me” He said while pumping his fingers lazily in and out of you, like it was a chore to be defiling your body.

“Gon….Gonn……Gonna cum” You cried out and whimpered when he abruptly pulled out of your cunt.

He tsked in annoyance as he stood up and unbuckled his pants, sliding the worn out leather through the loops before grabbing your wrist in a tight grip and wrapping them in his belt, pulling the leather as tight as he could against your skin.

“Can’t have you cumming without permission babydoll. Sorry but tonight is about me and what I want, not what you want”. He said with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He ripped your thong off of your body before he slid his boxers down enough for his cock to spring up and hit his stomach.

Your mouth dropped when you saw how big he was, doubt coursed through you and you couldn’t help but look at him with fear in your eyes.

“What is it babydoll? Don’t think it will fit?” He asked while rubbing the tip through your folds, gathering as much of your wetness as he could.

You shook your head as your breath hitched when his tip caught in your hole.

Bucky bit his lip, fuck he had just breeched you and you already felt so tight.

“Just gonna slide in real quick babydoll” he groaned as you whimpered when he pushed the tip completely in. You could feel it tug on your hole as he tried to pull out and push back in.

It was all too much but at the same time not enough.

You felt too full and you felt like you needed more.

With each inch he pushed in, he pulled right back out so he could rub your wetness on his cock that hadn’t been in you yet.

He had to fight not to just ram all of himself in you but he wanted you to want this.

He wanted you to beg and plead for more.

He wanted to see the look of desperation on your face as you begged to be filled.

He glanced up at the mirror when he pushed a little more in you, your mouth was slightly open and your eyes were halfway closed.

You looked like a goddess.

Better than anything he could have dreamed.

With his vibranium hand he gave your ass a quick smack and looked up in enough time to watch your eyes roll back in your head.

“Fuck you like to be spanked babydoll”? He asked and chuckled when you moaned after he gave your ass another quick smack.

“I may never let you go babydoll. I may keep you at the compound chained to my bed forever and ever. Just use this tight little cunt whenever the fuck I want to” He said before pushing all the way inside of you, his balls hitting your skin making the both of you shudder.

Your wrists were hurting, his belt too tight around them but the pain was nothing in comparison to the pleasure you were feeling of his cock nestled deep against your cervix.

You had N E V E R felt so full before.

N O T H I N G could ever compare.

Now that he was completely inside of you he showed you absolutely no mercy.

He pummeled you with each thrust, hitting your cervix each and every time with a precision like you had never seen before.

It felt like he was trying to get deeper, like he was trying to fill your womb.

“Feels so good babydoll” he said, pulling at your hair so you had to look at the mirror.

Your skin was flushed, cheeks rosy pink as Bucky fucked you thoroughly.

“C….Cu….Cum Pu….Puh…..Please” you struggled to get out as it felt like Bucky was fucking you even harder.

“Fuck can’t even speak right cause I'm fucking you so good” he said, pulling your hair harder to bring your body back plush against his.

He wrapped a hand around your throat as he kissed and bit at your neck.

Sweat rolled down his face the more he exerted himself.

“Cum when you want to babydoll” he said, finally answering you as he squeezed your throat harder.

Your vision became spotty, tears threatened to spill any second as you struggled to breathe.

It was like he had hit something deep within you when you felt something snap.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, your eyes rolled back in your head as your cunt clenched at his cock so hard that he couldn’t move in or out of you.

“FUCK” He groaned, feeling you cum. He looked down and noticed your cream in a ring around the base of his cock making him groan again.

“Gonna cum babydoll fuck this pussy is so goddamn good” he said pushing in and out of you again.

You could barely hear him though, your ears were ringing from the sheer intensity of your orgasm.

He thrust in and out.

One more time.

Two more times.

Three more times.

Then he was spilling into you, his cock spurting his cum into your velvet silk walls.

You were both breathing hard as you came down from your highs.

He pulled his belt loose from your wrists, rubbing the sore skin soothingly as he kissed your neck and shoulders.

You whimpered when he pulled his softening cock out of you, your combined cum dripping from your used and abused cunt.

“Ssssshhhhh you did so well babydoll” he whispered while helping to pull your dress up.

He turned you to face him so he could kiss your lips and wipe away your tears before he left you alone in the bathroom.

#dark!bucky x you #dark!bucky smut #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes smut #chris beck smut #chris beck x reader #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagines #dark bucky barnes #dark bucky smut #dark bucky x reader

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star-shard · 2 years

Text

Late Night Bite

Elvis x Vampire!Y/N

Premise: Blood is blood, but nothing tastes quite like Elvis Presley. It’s worth the trip to Graceland and he’s especially eager tonight.

Word Count: 2k

Warning: Biting, momentary breath!play if you squint, sexual themes

Note: 1960s!EP, Elvis giving off some sub vibes 👀

It’s incredible, that even at this hour, there are still fans anxiously hanging around the gates of Graceland. Elvis had only just recently gotten back from some filming. You personally didn’t mix well with Hollywood, there was so little privacy out there. But here, this slice of Memphis, was it’s own kingdom. And you felt nothing but at home as you simply moved passed the gaggle of girls to tap on the gate. “Excuse me,” you said simply to the guard near by, “I’m here to see Elvis.”

The man on the other side, a new guy by the looks, with a mustache and a hat both a bit too big for him chuffed back, “you and everyone else,” he mumbled on with a sip of his coffee. Now, you weren’t one to be rude. After all, how would he know about the special relationship you had with Elvis Presley.

“Tell him that, Y/N is here.” That got the slightest response from him, the coffee cup lowering. Even if a new guy, all front gate operators were informed about your name. That if you arrived, you were to be let in. And for a moment while he seemed flustered, looking through a pile of papers, as if trying to see if there were any pictures of you to confirm you were indeed Y/N, “no need for that, I don’t photograph well.”

But still, the man did his job. He phoned the house and described you. And it didn’t take long for him to nod and gesture for the other girls to clear out to the side. A little smile came to your lips and you gave the others a little nod, “I’ll see if I can’t bring a souvenir back for you ladies,” that alone turned their frowns back into giggles.

The stroll to cross Graceland’s grounds was always pleasant. You recalled the time a car was sent your way and while touched, you preferred just enjoying the walk up the drive. Elvis could be patient when needed.

Before you were even on your second knock on the door, the maid had opened it. “Hello, Dorris, how good to see you,” you smiled politely at her. “May I come in?” It was only manners. But of course there was an extra layer to your asking that most people didn’t know about.

Dorris had been working here a few years now, and she had a bit of instinct to be careful around you. Which you understood. It hardly insulted you, if anything you admired her wariness. It meant she was good at keeping out the wrong strangers. “Of course, miss,” she said standing off a little, “you know, he’s already gone up to bed but, I could see about getting together supper?”

You held back a chuckle at the idea but declined, “thank you, but I’m not very hungry for supper.” Fully in the door you already had caught his scent. On the top note there was the usual men’s cologne, a bit of sweat, but the undertone was something only you could catch, something deeper and under the skin. It’s what had gotten you so smitten in the first place. That and everything that beautiful mouth could do. Both musically and otherwise.

Dorris nodded and took your coat, which you thanked her for. And as she hobbled off to her usual duties, sparing a double take back your way before heading down the hall, you felt just the bare edges of craving. The air was thick with him. But, keeping yourself as composed as ever, you simply headed up the stairs. And as your shoe creaked against a loose step, you swore you heard some rustling in his room. He must have been feeling eager.

And unlike at the front door, it only took a grazing of your hand to bedroom door for him to say, “come in.”

You preferred being together in a bedroom, it was private here, and the only light that got in here came from the glow of a television. It was simply his style but the darkness certainly ended up suiting you. “Well, aren’t you a picture,” your hand shutting the door behind you, shutting you both in. “The girls waiting outside were making just that expression you got on right now,” you point out.

Elvis sat on the edge of his bed, he’s all silk pajamas and the shirt completely unbuttoned, it’s already half off with his neck on display. “Teasing early, you must have really missed me,” he said with just a bit of a cheeky inflection. That was apart of his charm, if Elvis were to fall to his knees he’d do so smiling.

“Well I can’t exactly bite a record, can I?” You responded coyly, stalking a little closer in his direction. Even if he had that little smile on, you saw him grip the sheet at your approach in anticipation. Elvis had always enjoyed being bitten. The moment of pain followed by pleasure. Even with you two first met, back when he was kid faced with a hit song on the radio, he liked the rush. And boy had he aged like a fine wine.

Elvis leaned back a little, opening his legs from where he sat so you could get in closer. “There should be enough of them, would fill you right up.” And now, looming above him, you two were closer than you’d been in a regretful couple of months. His career had been a whirlwind since day one. And you admired his talent, his success, but lately it had been keeping him busy. Maybe too busy.

“Darling, have you been sleeping?” You ask off handedly, observing the view below you. Your hand cups his face and a finger runs across the dark circles under his eyes. You remember when it was only his make up running that would get on your finger tip. But no, that’s just something like real tiredness. You shake your head and click your tongue in concern.

After all, you two have a unique relationship. And you can’t deny that you’ve come to care for him.

Elvis just put his warm hand over your icy one, leaning into the touch, “guess the girls in LA just keep me up all night.” It’s a little dig, his playful smile though saying he wants a little roughness in return. And you are more than happy to oblige, your grip lowering down to his neck. You see his pupils go wider at the sudden grip and the slightest gasp escapes his lips.

“God… so needy it’s almost hard to watch.” You can feel his pulse right up against your fingers now, beating hard and fast, you can actually feel his blood rushing under his skin. And it’s enough to make your fangs come out with a hiss. They’re pearly white but that’ll soon be fixed. “Boys like you are nothing but trouble, too gorgeous for their own good.”

You can see Elvis’s hips start to jostle a little, like he wants attention down there as well. Now he’s far from a virginal feed, you know hat he gets up to. But those flings truly are distractions compared to what a man can get from a vampire.

So often Elvis was the center of his universe and no one dared talk down to him. But in here, in their little momentary world, Elvis released all of that.

You lift your knee to prop between his legs, giving just the bare minimum of attention and enough friction for him to rut a little. “Just like a puppy,” you chuckle, your hand going down to trace his collar bone as your fangs lower to scrape at his neck. Just the slightest contact. “Bet you could just live it up like this, in a bed for me whenever I want, whenever I get peckish…” His nod in response causes your fangs to graze him again and you hear a whine escape.

Your knee then applies some pressure to his crotch and you can tell he’s holding himself back from touching you. He knows better at this point. “Please,” he breathes, the word almost getting caught in his throat, “Please feed… mistress.” You give a little shrug. Since he was so polite as to ask.

Your fangs stick down into his neck, precise and clean. And pure red velvet fills your mouth. It’s just as good as it was in the back of Club Handy that first night, when he was all shook up from the music, when you could practically feel rhythm going down your throat. In your life time favorites came and went. You had your regulars in rotation to satisfy your needs, but nothing tasted quite like Elvis Presley. He was a treat.

By the time you lift away from his neck the only sign of your work is the already slowly healing puncture wounds, and a single drip that happens to travel down from his neck and traveling down to his chest. His eye lids flutter in time his his heartbeat and he leans back to catch himself. Before he can go back any further you catch his lack of etiquette. “You gonna let sweet Miss Dorris clean after you now?”

Elvis, knowing it’s not done quite yet holds his position and stays still as marble as he waits for your tongue. You let that blood drip go down to his belly button before scooping it up with swipe, slow all the way back up to his neck, he’s shivering, sweating, it just makes it taste all the better. And to finish off, a kiss on his neck.

“There’s a good boy…” Only then do you allow him to fall back onto the bed, his chest giving light raises and falls. You allow him to relax. Pleasurable as it is, a vampiric feeding is intense for who’s getting fed on. Both arousing and draining. You’re one of the few people to see him exposed like this, to see him so human and vulnerable. You can tell by the droop of his eyes how much he needed this.

You give your lip stick a little swipe with your nail, making sure it’s in order. “Live with me,” Elvis mumbles your way. You’ve heard similar things from your victims. You’ve lost count of the number of men that have said those very same words. It’s amusing, but you can’t help but half wonder if he means it.

“Darling, I’m hardly a housewife,” you quip as you head to his closet. While feeding takes a lot out of a human, it only energizes you. “Besides, I think you’d get a little tired giving me permission to enter every room.” You pretend to adjust your hair in the mirror, as if you could see a reflection anyway.

Elvis looked up through those thick eye lashes of his, those doe eyes, “I’m up all night anyhow” he reasoned, not much strength in him as he lifts himself up slightly, “Why not be up for a good reason…” You come out of a closet with a scarf in hand, red silk. It seems to excite him enough for him to prop himself fully back up.

“You’re up enough, love bug,” you say, putting the scarf against his nose and lips. It restricts his air flow only slightly, just enough for a little excitement. “…Now kiss me.” It’s only a bit of thin cloth between you as his lips reach out for yours. It’s cold meets hot and even with the less blood he’s still as feral as a tiger in his kiss. Even with the wisp thin cloth dividing you.

This is how it has to be with humans. As lovely as they are, as lovely as they taste… and as they sound, you know a serious relationship would only drag the both of you into the fire. There’s too much life in him, and a lack of it in you. It’s easier to tease him. “If you’re wanting a piece of me, you could take one of my jackets,” he points out as he watches you tie that very scarf around your neck.

He’s being cute, you smile in his direction, “oh it’s not for me, darling. It’s for those girls outside… I already got a piece of you.” You lick your lips which earns just one more skipped beat from that beautiful chest of his. After all, this was just a quick bite, some satisfaction. And also, that boy needed his sleep right now more than anything. You were sure he’d dream of fangs and pleasure.

#elvis #vampire AU #had fun with this one :)

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kats-kradle · 11 months

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Hey! Journeying over from rereading your fics to ask you some Poirot questions! : ) Had you already liked Poirot prior to 2017’s Murder on the Orient Express? And did you immediately fall in love with Bouc in the first film or did it take until Death on the Nile?

Hi!! I love talking about Poirot!! Buckle up😂😂

First off I would like to say that it made my day to see that not only did you read my fics but you reread them!! And then you actually came here to talk to me!! You’re the first person who’s actually done that so it really made my day.

Also: I apologize in advance. When I start talking about Poirot I tend to launch into rants and I… may have done that here so I will say now in case you don’t make it to the end that I would love to hear your thoughts about the movies or anything else Poirot related! Did you know about Poirot before the movie? What are your thoughts about Bouc?

To answer your questions, I guess I could say that technically I liked Poirot before watching the movie. I actually had never heard about Poirot until the movie came out, and one of my sister’s friends took her to see it and then leant her the book. I stole it and read it in almost one night and ever since then have been absolutely enthralled by Agatha Christie! I own almost all of the Poirot books and have been trying to branch out and sample her other writings, but I keep coming back to Poirot.

By the time Death on the Nile came out I forgot the Bouc was a character who existed because I hadn’t seen MotOE since it came out in 2017. When I saw him, I did remember that he’d been in the last movie, and was absolutely delighted that they were going to turn him into the Hastings of the movies (especially because he was so happy and full of life😭) which of course we all know what happened with that and now that I’ve recovered from my shock and denial I can take a step back and acknowledge it was a FANTASTIC choice to kill him, and to do it in such a shocking way—but also, I’m also not a a fan of how much Kenneth Branagh deviated from the source material by doing that.

Adding Bouc to the movie was a choice that made sense, if Kenneth Branagh is going for a Poirot Cinematic Universe. People expect a sidekick, and in stories where the cast has to change every movie, it’s nice for the audience to have a familiar face other than the main detective. However, I also think Kenneth Branagh shot himself in the foot by shooting Bouc in the neck, because he went out of his way to add and establish Bouc as a reoccurring character, just to kill him off in the second movie. I think the audience will now have more difficulty connecting with the side characters in the future since they’ve had two movies with the same character, as a opposed to already being used to the characters changing every movie. But then again, I’m still in denial. Along with this, it’s setting up the next movie to have a distinctly dark tone.

Well, now I’ve gotten started on the topic of Poirot and I can’t stop😂😂😂 Enjoy my decent into madness.

Another way that dear Kenny boy shot himself in the foot is with the iconic mustache. His mustaches in MotOE were luscious and beautiful, despite the critic they received. Branagh understood that Poirot has impressive mustaches that are quite a spectacle to behold, even if the rest of the world can only picture the measly little mustache that David Suchet displays in his version of Poirot (don’t get me wrong I love those adaptations but just… the mustache is all wrong. And David Suchet Poirot is a subject for a different time or we’ll be here forever😂😂). In DotN, for some reason he felt the need to give the mustaches a tragic backstory????? Narratively, I guess it’s a nice bookend and theme to the movie as a whole. BUT HE FELT THE NEED TO GIVE THE MUSTACHES A TRAGIC BACKSTORY????????????? Despite the fact that in DotN the mustaches aren’t actually long enough anymore to cover up the scaring shown at the beginning, HAIR DOESNT GROW ON SCAR TISSUE!!!! It just doesn’t make sense😭 Along with that, now he’s destroyed the main characteristic of Poirot, his trademark. Poirot is quite vain about his mustaches and even when he wears a fake one in Curtain (for reasons that I won’t spoil but if you know you know) Hastings only finds out at the end of the book, and Poirot’s manservant treats the subject with delicacy since the mustaches were such a sensitive subject to Poirot.

While I’m STILL talking about Poirot (forgive my rant I can’t stop) I’m going to take the opportunity to mention the stark difference in quality between MotOE and DotN. I’ve now seen both of these movies multiple times and back to back. Overall, I think MotOE is much better. DotN uses a lot of green screen, and it’s pretty obvious and creates for some flat feeling backgrounds. For MotOE, they took shots of the mountains and overlayed the train on, instead of all CGI. Now, I don’t know for sure how much of each movie and which parts use CGI; it could be that MotOE uses more CGI and I just have a bad eye for spotting it. It was just my impression that the backgrounds in DotN were severely lacking.

And let’s talk about the music. MotOE delivers and excellent score that makes you feel a wide variety of emotions, and they use the theme of repetition well in The Armstrong Case. For me, it had just reached the point in the movie where the theme could have started to be annoying; but the. they used it magnificently when Poirot was explaining the murder, and the simple and relentless, already melancholy melody turned into something truly heartbreaking, turning a scene of twelve people stabbing a man to death into something poetic. 10/10 one of the best uses of music and one of the best scenes ever, in my opinion. DotN, besides the songs sung by the talented Sophie Okonedo as Salome Otterbourne, has no notable music to take away from the movie, besides the absolutely grating (I don’t know what it’s called but it goes like. DUN DUN. DUUUN! DUN DUN. DUUUN! I think if you search Death on the Nile on YouTube you’ll find the song titled the same by Patrick Doyle). I got tired of hearing that by the third time it played, and my annoyance with it was one of the main things that I took away from the movie.

AND ANOTHER THING both movies took creative liberties with the stories, but one of the creative liberties I did not like about DotN was how explicit they made it. Between that dance floor scene and the scene at the tomb… when I go to see a movie that’s rated PG-13 I like to feel comfortable seeing it with my father and not feel the need to slam my hands over my little sister’s ears. Especially when I want to slam them over my ears instead😭

All this being said I’m 100% going to go see a Haunting in Venice, but not because I’m expecting it to be good. I’d just like more fuel for my rants. I didn’t even get touch upon what an amazing actor Tom Bateman is and how I’m mad that he only plays serial killer roles outside of Bouc.

Anyways I hope that answers your questions😅 thank you for your ask, and congratulations if you made it this far. It did truly make my day to see the phrase “rereading” in association with my fics, and I feel as if you were some curious passerby on the street who I started passionately and somewhat aggressively ranting at. I apologize. Also I took a break from ranting to check out your blog and you’ve got a great curation of posts. Good luck getting rid of me now. Prepare to see me in your notifications. Sorry for the essay.

#asks #i………..can only apologize for the length of this #but anyways. thus is the way of tumblr interactions #you send me an ask I give you an essay and now you’ll never get rid of me #just like when you feed a stray cat #poirot #hercule poirot #bouc #murder on the orient express #death on the nile

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motheatenscarf · 1 year

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OH, okay, so Zenos is CRAZY crazy.

A shame they wouldn't let him be just an unhinged weirdo from the start and tried to make him be some like... apathetic manipulator, he was creepy and boring for like 98% of Stormblood and then just went BATSHIT INSANE. Mask off, cackling like a lunatic, started espousing the virtues of violence for violence's sake, turned himself into Shinryu, said, "Thanks for the fight, I finally felt alive before I died, unlike all the rebellions I've been trying to seed to give me an interesting challenge, BYE, BESTIE!" and then killed himself??

And you know what? Good for him. I was at least laughing at how batshit he went. Be weirder and more unhinged! His ethos is stupid, but god, if you're gonna give me NOTHING but bullshit mustache twirling boring fucking villains with no humanity or depth to them, the LEAST you can do is give me memorable scene chewing. If you can't be interesting, at least be FUN.

I will say, taking the story in good faith, I'm deciding he does make a VERY good dark mirror for Talia! I forget the exact quote, but he said something to the effect of, "I can see even now you want to rip my throat out with your teeth," and like, that was VERBATIM something I said Talia would do when she got her hands on him, so like, yeah, he's not... wrong... about specifically Talia being a revenge addled violent murderer at heart. That's why it's important that Talia always has that morality anchor. Her instincts are DARK. (Other people joke if anything ever happened to a character they'd kill everyone and then themselves; Talia means it. It almost happened when she lost her sister!)

I grant you those instincts are born of like, y'know, caring too much about things, and not like... this bizarre violence fetish born of apathy, or desperately trying to pursue the thrill of the hunt or whatever. The Dark Knight story got it right when the Moogles said that the reason you angst and plunge into the depths of despair and rage is because you're scared of losing the ones you love or are hurt from having already lost them. Moogles know what's up.

But like, Talia doesn't NOT find joy in being the best murderer in a room; in her mind, it's all she's good for, so she does take some joy in her strength.

So Zenos rolling up and unlike the good people in her life who inspire her to be better (the twins, Lyse, everyone from Heavensward but mostly Aymeric now), just goes "I see you! We're the same! WE'RE FRIENDS NOW!" and she just... needs to go take a long think while floating in the ocean while it rains. Because she already knew she needed to do better in order to be worthy of the admiration these ACTUALLY good people place in her, but WOOF, that was a blow to the ol' self esteem.

Anyway, CHICKENSHIT move that he took his own life, but I still say I'm the reason he died, so by rights, his dumb spinning golfclub bag of swords belongs to my girl now, those are the rules.

I'm REASONABLY certain he isn't really dead, if only because I've seen his Stormblood model, and I've seen the fanart and gpose shit people post of Zenos, and uh. Either people are really REALLY kind in lovingly re-rendering him, or at some point Zenos is going to come back just to wash his fucking hair.

#Caitlin plays FF14 #FF14 spoilers #cannot stress enough he went like FULL BLOWN jeremy irons in the D&D movie from 20 years ago crazy

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roamingtigress · 7 months

Text

The Merry Misadventures of Hosea and The Mustached Idiot

RoamingTigress

Chapter Four:

Touching You, Loving You

A lot of people get Dutch wrong. One of the things they say is that he's 'evil.'

Yes, he looks so evil as he closes his eyes while I trace a finger along the cleft of his chin. He used to hate that thing; he was self-conscious about it. That was until I touched it, and kissed it, and he found out it was a sweet spot; one of many we'd discover together.

Dutch is lying with his head in my lap, both of us wearing only what nature intended for us to wear. I feel that skin-to-skin contact would have more of an emphasis on what I am trying to tell than skin-on clothing. My free hand is in his, as we both listen to the sound of the warm rain pattering on the top of our tent. He despises being out in the rain; he hates the feeling of his clothes sticking to his skin, and how cold it makes him feel. As a younger boy, I enjoyed the warm rain; I loved the smell of it, and and had to jump in every mud puddle. I still love the smell of rain, but when you get to my age you can feel the rain creep into your joints. We've put together some tonics to help with this issue and it helps to a good degree.

Another thing they say is that he's 'crazy', and truth be told his choo-choo may have jumped the tracks, but we're crazy together. We have to be to survive in this world. He has what one could call separation anxiety; his attachment to me is to such a strong degree that he fears losing me; I reassure him it wouldn't happen. He doesn't even need to say a word to tip me off that his separation anxiety creeping up, I can just tell from his eyes; that separation anxiety doesn't just show itself in anxiety in him, but also sadness. He will give me personal space, of course, and when I get back he'll shower me with affection, though initially, he'll pretend to snub me but his eyes betray him.

Dutch tilts his head as I move my touch along his jawline, just lightly dragging a nail along his skin. He smiles, not a titch of anxiety nor sadness in those dark eyes, who glisten with happiness. I love seeing him smile, how that mustache twists and turns and I'll do things, say things on purpose to get him to smile and if he's already smiling, I'll make that smile widen more.

Each of the places that we touch, particularly those sweet spots, has a message and a meaning behind it, and this, and disserting the perception of my love and our relationship as I touch those spots on him, is what this chapter is about.

Touches to the jaw, silent speech. You can argue the same for lips, but it's the jaw that ultimately makes the speech. We say so much to each other without saying a word. A look here, a look there, a head tilt, little subtle gestures. This morning, even before he opened his eyes I knew he was going to feel sullen today if I didn't intervene; I woke up to the smell of the incoming rain. I averted that crisis with a back rub as he was once again using me as a glorified mattress. I ended up waking him up doing so, but he woke up in a good mood and remained so.

"I could stay like this all day . . . " Dutch murmurs, his eyes closing for a moment as he squeezes my hand, and gives a whisper of a kiss on my knuckles.

I just smile and trace a finger along his cheek, a spark in my eyes to match his. "I know you can. And for a good while we can. Sometime today though we have to do the trade run. We both know what Cripps is like about not having the product sit for long."

There was a camp raid the other day when I wasn't around, but Dutch was. Unfortunately, his arm went, and . . . Well, he had a limited capacity to defend. He knifed a few, pistol-whipped a few others, Cripps brought down a few with one shot of his Carbine Repeater but outnumbered, the rest got away with much of the goods. He felt ashamed but put on a brave face. I know he tried.

Dutch rolls his eyes. "He was short of one item for a full run. The turkey feather was right on the table!"

Oh, how that man makes me smile as much as he makes me want to rip my hair at times, and it grows even more as his kisses move from my hands up to my arm. I consider for a moment, and just lightly, lightly take hold of his nose, and run a finger along its length. He was distracting me! While I'm there though, touching the nose represents security; a strange sort of thing to perhaps symbolize, but when one was once self-conscious about it in the early years of dating, it means the difference.

People think he's manipulative; the man knows what he wants and knows he is adorable, and will run with it. As you know, he's a master of the puppy face and all those little gestures to get things out of me; I admit, I'm too soft when it comes to that. Alternately, he is also easy to manipulate as well; a touch here, a touch there, even when he's putting on a front can get him to where I want him to be. Words can also be a weapon; the right words can help talk him down, get him grounded and put in his place, soothe, amuse, to make him feel special. Likewise, he can be a word master. Right now he's looking at me with that expression, combined with a pout, because he's not getting his way.

"You are just trying to derail my thoughts again, are you?"

Dutch feigns innocence, as if he's not known to try and distract me. "No . . . "

We lock eyes for a long moment. I know he's telling a little white lie, I'm trying to bring you this meaningful dialogue, but how could I be frustrated? I let my hand drift over to his chest, specifically over his heart. He brings a hand over to place it on top of mine, forming a physical connection. Now this one is a logical one; a touch over the heart, heart-to-heart.

"My favourite part on you, 'Sea." Dutch spoke almost in a growl, reaching up a little to lean his head against my heart for a moment; I close my eyes for a moment as I love it when he rests his head against my chest; the feeling of his gorgeous inky hair hair against my skin, the feeling of connection. I gently hold him there for the moment.

"Though your hands are there too . . . " Dutch takes hold of one again, and gives it a kiss; I'm convinced the man is addicted to touching them, kissing them, holding them, watching them, doing things that put him in the position to be touched by them.

I laugh, though enjoying it. "You're not going to let me do this thing are you?"

A knowing smile from Dutch gives me the answer. Yes, he's trying to distract me. Again.

Hands represent connection. We're constantly using them in everyday life, from the most mundane tasks of passing whatever bit of material to Cripps to fighting off O'Driscolls. We're always touching each other, holding each other, bridging communication with them. Now and then we give *those* gestures to each other, all part of our marriage.

I hear some call him ugly. An absurd accusation! I look down and see laugh lines in his eyes, that stupid smile, that nose . . . I only see a hopelessly adorable man who is now nibbling on one of my knuckles, complete with the same soft eyes as a spaniel puppy. Yes, how hideous.

And then there are those who do think he's a bit of a stud. Naturally, I agree. With that swagger, he likes to think he's showing me off around town, but in reality, it's just as much of a time to show him off. I see the looks he gets when he's dressed in his best from both ladies and gentlemen and it fills me with pride. Some even think he looks just as good dressed down, and I'd agree. Some call him babygirl and, well, I do too. If you really want to get him to blush, call him Babygirl Kitten Whiskers.

"You are irresistible!" I grin and tap his nose.

Dutch just outright grins, nipping at my finger. I love seeing this playful side to him, I love bringing it out, as he does with me. We're two old fools in love who often act like we're back in our earlier years together and I love it. May it never change.

"I've been called worse."

I've heard the words from bounties who have the face of a potato to some of his study subjects, many of which I have a hard time distinguishing; good on Dutch to know who from who. So many of them wear similar outfits, similar hairstyles, and some even sound like each other. I think he's a gorgeous man and his unique features make him stand out among the rest.

I've heard he is stupid. While I do consider myself the brains of our relationship, and he has many of those moments where I think his brain was left on the side of the road somewhere between Van Horn and Tumbleweed, there's a strange brilliance to him. He does much of his studies when his study subjects aren't aware he's studying them; he'll walk into a bar and watch them interact in the corner of his eyes, on a verandah, on a walkway as he smokes a cigar or plays the harmonica. He'll dress down to blend in with the townsfolk, to mixed results; some recognize him right away with those unique features of his and other times he slips through the cracks.

I've been told our relationship isn't real and only exists in the minds of those with a 'creative imagination'. I heard this has been happening in some strange circles I've never heard of before. In all likelihood, *they*, the deniers, don't exist.

I let my hand slip down to Dutch's belly, which I start to rub over in slow, gentle strokes; I know that the whole region is ticklish but my intent is just to rub. He closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh, his head tilting back. With the proximity to so many vital areas, this is a vulnerable spot for most living beings and to be allowed to touch it on some certain species, especially cats, is the highest honour, as means total trust. We have to admit he has some catlike tendencies; so an ultimate symbol of trust it is for us. I got him to 'purr' for you a little earlier, and he's starting up again as I trace a finger along the shape of his navel. Utter and complete trust in such a sweet and willingly vulnerable moment.

With the reactions I am getting out of him, who could deny we aren't a real couple? Who can deny the deep love that we have for another, and who are they to deny us? Pass the bucket, sponge and mop, I think he's melting on me, and maybe I'm melting with him into a puddle on the ground.

I've been told our relationship is 'toxic', nothing can be further from the truth. Soulmates are meant to be and soulmates we are. I am the head of the relationship -- a purely consensual decision which also happened naturally -- but in no way do I view Dutch as inferior, nor does he feel it. The love, respect and trust we have for each other is unquestioned, and I need him as much as he needs me.

"You tryin' to get me back to sleep, 'Sea?" Dutch murmured, one eye half open, sneaking a kiss on my belly and caught by surprise, I let out an unexpected squeak. I dare not react further as it'd only encourage him or give him ideas. I'm not a particularly ticklish individual as this idiot here is (do as you wish with this disclosed information about him, he deserves it), but there's something about the feeling of that mustache (which is softer than it might look), on your skin.

Some say he is charming and I am in full agreeance with them. Perhaps he is being more silly and adorable right now than what you'd typically consider charming, but charming nonetheless. He certainly knows how to work his charms; as you know, he enjoys getting me jealous and possessive. He knows what words to use when I'm mad with him, feeling down about whatever.

I maintain a large personal space when I'm particularly angry at him and he respects it and doesn't dare cross over that invisible barrier. Doing so means I won't hear those words, so I won't see the pleading in his eyes . . . And also means he won't be cuddling me much like how a child hugs a teddy bear when they need comfort, holding my hand to console. It's an incredibly hard moment for us both.

Right now though, I'm far from angry at him.

"No, not done yet!" I smirk and move my hand over to his waist; that spot over that sweet spot right hip that makes him squirm and he moves up into my touch like a giant cat. I love making him move, making him squirm and he knows it but never truly fights it.

Dutch grins a lopsided grin, that stupid, silly grin. "Nor do I want it to be done."

That slutty little waist that he has is perfect for dancing, particularly as he's gotten a bit soft in the middle; I'd wager to say he's an even better dancer now. A touch to the waist represents movement on the physical level, but also on the mental level. If he is feeling down, we often take hold of each other by the waist, pull each other against ourselves, and just hold each other like that for a long while. Maybe one arm would be over our torso but one would always remain at our hip. A particular adorable thing Dutch often does when I take hold of his waist is that he'll lift one leg off the ground, and balance his weight a bit against me when I least expect it as if trying to tip me over. I then proceed to tickle him or send him on his way with a smack on the ass if he does knock me off balance or nearly so, as he deserves it, the shit.

My next destination on Dutch is his face once more; I missed a spot. Along the way though I dance my fingers back up his torso again. He lightly places a hand over mine as if he is following me on my journey over his body, something I catch him doing from time to time. He seems to do it a bit absentmindedly.

"I want . . . I want what you've been done to me to be done to you." His voice is . . . Soft, asking. Maybe he thinks he's been neglecting me; truth be told he's nearly smothering me but . . .

I tap him lightly on the nose. "When I'm done here we can trade places."

I drift my finger over his mustache, and I lightly trace the shape of it that he trims to perfection. He gives me a nip; there's a spark in his eyes and he holds my finger in his teeth for a moment, as if it was one of his cigars, before he lets go after I give him another light boop to the tip of his nose.

"You are a pain in the ass!" I scoff, and my idiot companion just grins.

"You knew what you weres getting into."

I huff, but ruffle up that lovely hair of his. "Don't remind me. I got that all that and more."

Dutch lets out a hearty chuckle, absent-mindedly playing with one of my hands again. He just can't keep his hands off of them, even as we sleep he has to hold onto one. "I thought It'd be fun to throw in a few surprises!"

"Smartass!"

I know I shouldn't encourage him, but I grin and return to my duties before he tries to distract me again. I apologize for the interruptions I'm getting here; with Dutch, rarely does anything involving go right to plan.

I trace along the edge of Dutch's trademark mustache, which he twitches. In a moment he'll take a nip at my fingers; the playful glisten in his eyes tells me that time is coming very soon. As if on cue, he does take a nip but just misses my finger. The back of a finger strokes over that soft mustache, but instead of nipping at it, he gives it a kiss. From the mustache, I move my touch over to that silly soul patch; it's a silly, tufty thing. I give it a light tug. A touch to the lips means love; with them, we try to say all the right things with them, and we kiss with them. The thing with his head in my lap has a thing for having his mustache stroked.

I'm convinced there's not a place on Dutch's body where doesn't love being touched, and I find it charming. Even at our nightly readings, we'll be reading our paragraphs to each other, and he'll be touching one foot against mine, just for the contact. Or maybe to be just slightly annoying, or both.

"Sure you want to change positions?" I ask, warmly looking down at my love with his head in my hands; he looks so comfortable, and beautiful in such a state of bliss. He still looks willingly vulnerable.

Dutch nods and after a long moment, no words, just soft eye contact, he slowly sits up. He kisses me softly on the lips and I just as sotly return it, before he gently guides me onto his lap as I did with him. It's strange to have him being this quiet but he can say a lot without saying a thing just by his expressions.

He takes his time exploring my face with a finger, as he did all those many years ago. We were watching the clouds one day. We need to do another cloud-watching; right now it's raining so not great, but maybe when the rain stops, and the sun comes out.

"Eyes . . . " Dutch murmurs, tracing a finger along a cheekbone. "Windows into the soul . . . "

I almost cry at that. He'd been vocally quiet thus far today, as he often is when it rains, but it wasn't just the words, there was something about the tone in which he spoke them which went right into my soul with that statement. I hold onto one of his hands and give it a squeeze as he does often with me. My breathing is hitched and I feel a finger brush away a tear. I leaked a bit, I suppose.

"God, you're beautiful . . . " I whisper, and reposition slowly so that I can reach up and touch his face as it feels as if he is looking lovingly into my soul. "I don't say it enough but you are. You frustrate me, you know that, but then you catch me off guard like this, and . . . "

Dutch chuckles a bit at being called frustrating but he gets it. "I guess I'm doin' my job." He winks.

I smile and kiss his finger. Dutch is a man of many hats, quite literally. He's an outlaw who'll rustle livestock and has once or twice cleared out Emerald Ranch of its stock on some occasions and can clean houses of its valuables. He's a bootlegger, a bounty hunter, a market hunter, a gambler, a collector of tarot cards and purloined family heirlooms . . . And a purveyor of my heart.

"Yes, yes you are, Duchess, yes you are."

I smirk a bit as I want to demonstrate how that nickname affects him. "Duchess Babygirl Kitten Whiskers . . ." And sure enough, he blushes and coyly tucks his chin in.

Big bad tough Dutch Van der Linde, ladies and gentlemen.

He gets even tougher when I nuzzle my face against his tummy, and sneak a kiss in. He reacts with a squirm and outright *giggles*, a sound I'm sure you wouldn't expect to hear from him. I love how ticklish he is; it's an adorable trade secret I'm willing to let out of the bag and let you use as you wish; that's an honour (just return him towards the end of the day; he's a nice intimidation factor on those long trading routes). I often sneak it in as 'punishment' to 'reign him in' and just because. And this time it was 'punishment'; it seems only fair as well that he distracted me while doing this thing and I'll do the same for him. Plus, I couldn't resist when given such an opportunity.

"Now you aren't goin' to let me do this are you?" Dutch laughs, those crow's feet ever evident in the corners of his eyes.

I grin. "Maybe if I'm nice."

He kisses the back of my hand, and almost reluctantly brings it down with him as he moves to lightly touch where my ear connects to my jawline.

I close my eyes with a happy little sigh. Each time he touches that area I'm reminded of our second date. He was shy and awkward at first but it was the first place he kissed aside from my lips; I never thought it'd be so sensitive to touch, but . . . It was just waiting to be discovered.

"Memories . . . " He spoke quietly. "A touch here . . . Memories."

I let out a happy sigh but feel myself getting emotional again. Dutch looks down at me with concern in those expressive eyes. I take him by the hand that touched me in that sweet spot and give it a squeeze in reassurance, as he does for me so many times. Dutch needs a lot of reassurance, more than he lets on at times.

"It's okay . . . " I speak softly, massaging a knuckle. "It feels good to release these feelings. You just helped draw them out."

"How is it that we know what each other thinks . . . ?" Dutch asks in a soft voice, unmistakenly mixed with awe and wonder, unexpected innocence even, and a slight emotive shake to it. "How we even know what we'll say next?"

I kiss his fingers and feel a tear escaping from my eyes, which he softly wipes away, and I see the waterworks turning on for him too. A lot of people see the stoic side of Dutch, and I see it as well, but at times, well, he makes himself emotional.

"Because we're soulmates."

Dutch repeats that word in nearly a whisper. You're likely familiar with how (sometimes obnoxiously) loud he can get when he talks, but when he speaks quietly, it's such a sweet, sweet sound that bores into my soul.

"Soulmates . . . "

I give his hand another squeeze, link my fingers in between his and softly wipe away his tears. He puts on a halfhearted stoic show as I do so, but I know better. There's little that can get past me; he knows but still tries.

"I ain't cryin', 'Sea. Allergy season."

I just smile a bit and shake my head. "You softy."

"I ain't a softy!"

I laugh and grab that lovely chin of his as he studies my face; he closes his eyes and lets out the best imitation a man can make of a cat purring. With a free hand, he holds my hand there. I'm convinced he set himself up for that to happen; as per my footise mention a bit ago, if he can find a way to get some part of himself touched, grabbed, or kissed, or swatted, he'll find a way. Dutch is a needy fellow, and needs reassurance; I think some of that comes out of his need to be affectionate and to get affection, though ultimately the love we have for each other has a heavier weight on the scale.

"If you say so."

Dutch gives me a light tap on the nose. "You really want to draw this out, don't you? Not that I'm complaining, I could stare at you and touch you all day . . . " His voice has a low, deep quality to it and feel his eyes dance among his point of view.

"Alway among my favourite places to . . . " He purrs as a knuckle of a finger drags along my collarbone.

Love biting, Dutch likes to love bite me there. Not always in a romantic context but when he's in a playful mood, when he thinks I'm not paying attention enough to me or him to me. Normally I actually enjoy it but there's a bruise there from a few nights ago when he got a bit too hard. He felt terrible, as did I; I . . . Hit him as an involuntary response and we just held each other.

"I'm not mad at ya anymore . . . " I reassure warmly as he avoids touching the bruise and I lightly touch him on his wrist. "Wasn't really after five minutes. You felt you were neglecting me and got a bit enthusiastic. Truth be told you never neglect me. Never."

I give him eye contact, which tells him I speak only the truth. His affection is nearly suffocating.

It's no secret that Dutch has large hands, and I love them. They cover so much ground over my smaller and slightly delicate frame (which makes me being the one in charge a bit amusing) frame but he takes his time. He moves his focus right over to my heart.

"Forever my favourite part of yours."

I tease. "My hands might get jealous."

Dutch grins a playful grin, a sparkle in his eyes. He likes those hands so much he'll do anything to 'accidentally' touch them or be touched by them. "Oh, I think I may have a way to derail their jealousy."

"Don't I know it!"

I let out a hearty laugh, and let out a long, happy sigh as he 'draws' hearts over my heart. I almost cry again; damn him for making me feel emotional again. It's a sweet little gesture that started in our early dating scene and sort of went the wayside of other affectionate gestures, but seems it's making its way back again, apparently!

"Been a bit since we've done that eh?" Dutch reminisces, now tracing an H and a D over my heart, as if he were carving our initials on a tree.

Just as he had done with me, I place my hand on top of his as he 'draws' on me, as if guiding him, though there wasn't any need for such. He knows my body as well as his own. He purrs again as he 'draws' a star over my heart.

"Because you are my guiding star."

It should be illegal for Dutch to be as cute as he is. I should have every right to handcuff that man, put him on the back of my horse and take him to jail for that crime of stealing my heart and making me feel what I do.

"And you say you aren't a softy." I know better.

Dutch's cheeks flush at realizing what he's said, though it was very sweet. He has long had moments over the years where he had caught himself off guard and I help with the catching. He has a big smile as he cradles my head in those paws of his that could light up the entire of West Elizabeth, where we're camped at right now, and maybe beyond. His eyes look at once filled with love, with a bit of playfulness.

"Okay, you win."

I nuzzle my face against his belly again, taking pleasure in hearing those little un-Dutchlike sounds of happiness as he shifts slightly, helping me move up closer against him a little more. He doesn't make a bad human headrest. He's gone soft in all the right places and I love him more for it.

"Hmmm where should we go now, hmm . . . " Dutch murmured, walking his fingers slowly down my form.

I feel as if I'm ready to purr. He hasn't lost his edge in making me feel good; if anything, he's better at it. Just so he doesn't get any ideas, I gently tease him. "Not that kind of story, Dutch, the rating isn't high enough."

He blushes a bit again. "Aw, where's the fun in that?"

"You'll get your un later, Duchess." I smile, tapping his arm, one of my love taps that I reserve for those I especially hold dear to me.

For the most part, Dutch loves it when I tease him. Sometimes I get a bit harsh and it cuts deeper than it should, but he never gets upset for long and of course, he'll tease me at any opportunity. Another thing that people might take wrong with us -- particularly me, is the teasing, the assertion that it hurts the confidence of those that I love and nothing could be further from the truth. I call this fellow an idiot and he still struts about like a peacock when he's well-dressed and I come into town with him. Truthfully I only tease those I love in this manner, sometimes I go a bit hard, we both can, but it's out of pure affection.

I sigh as Dutch traces his hand trace along my belly. His fingers *dance* on my form, as if exploring the vast range, as we do from time to time. Instead, he's patrolling the range on the smaller man with the head on his lap, who is using his softening and warm torso as a pillow.

"Vulnerability . . . " Dutch purrs, his touches moving in slow, rhythmic touches that he knows that I love. "Vulnerability as well as trust, and with that trust, a willingness to show vulnerability to each other."

And he is right. Even in the way I'm lying, I'm in a vulnerable position; I'm the top dog so to speak and yet my lower form is open and available to him, but willingly so. I hitch my breath for a moment as he finds his way down to the 'v' in my groin.

"Are you going where I think you're going?" I ask in a playful tone.

Dutch tilts his head, looking innocent but I know better, and he knows too. His voice takes on a playful lit, that Southern drawl of his coming out to play. "Just travellin' down south a little for our next destination."

"Be careful you don't start something you can't finish!" I wink, but let out a sharp breath as he is now using both hands to explore each side of the 'v'; from his touch, he is being more playful than trying to be seductive (the term playfully seductive might apply here), but well, my body reacts all the same.

"Passion . . . " Dutch murmurs, slowing his touch some. "After all these years, we still have it, 'Sea."

My voice takes on a rougher tone as I feel my heartbeat start to pick up a pace. "That we do. . . . "

We might reserve our most intimate moments of passion and fury for Fridays, lovingly termed 'Hosea Fucks Friday', minus the odd time our multi-hat-wearing lifestyle allows it and decide that Friday is far too long to wait. Those times when Cripps puts us up in a hotel to give us some more privacy (and for him to get a bit of peace when he grows weary of hearing us get a bit excited), those times when I wake up first and take in the gorgeous sight of this man pre hair pomade and looking at once gorgeous and ridiculous as he wakes at the same time, and nothing could be held back.

Dutch takes a gentle hold of my hand and eases me up when he feels, and sees me shifting. "I still have the magic spell on you, don't I?" He's practically beaming, even puffing his chest out just a touch.

"Oh, you . . . " I can't get frustrated at that, anything but.

Dutch holds me close against him with his strong arms; our hearts up against each other. I almost posessively wrap a leg around that waist, silently minding him who he belongs to.

"Who belongs to me?" I almost growl.

Dutch's eyes are soft, and I let out a soft sigh as he rubs my back and rests his head against mine. He got me worked up and now he's trying to get me to relax? This silly man! It's a wonder I haven't ripped my hair out by now.

"I do."

I was that soft 'I do' that softened me back again. I gently pull away just a moment, just so that I could frame his head in my hands. Our foreheads touch when he gently brings his forehead against mine. There's been a few times when I've seen stars when his head smacked against mine in an attempt at a forehead 'boop', but he was careful this time.

"That's right!" I smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

Dutch's mustache twists into a lopsided smile. "I think I'm in love with you, Hosea."

Our lips meet, a kiss is made, and a kiss is returned, and I find myself pushing Dutch onto his back again on that single-person bed.

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #vandermatthews #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #rdr2 fanfiction

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

Text

sunshine | part 12.

Summary: Y/N Riddle. Not much more has to be said. Life at Hogwarts when your dad is Lord Voldemort is an interesting experience. And four particular people at school make it even more interesting.

Warnings for the Series: THIS IS THE DARKER VERSION! IF YOU WANT THE LESS DARK MORE ANGSTY VERSION CHECK OUT PRINCESSE DE MORT

Pairing: Marauders x black!reader, eventual Remus Lupin x black!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

You felt two hands on your waist and a large chest against your back. Remus bent down to rest his chin on your forehead, looking at the cookbook in front of you. You still weren’t comfortable with your magic abilities and tended to do things the muggle way. Slowly but surely, you were getting there. You practiced magic every single day, finally giving up and purchasing a Magic for Babies book. The book was a disgrace to you. For the first few days, you had hid it from Remus and Sirius until Sirius had walked in on you asleep on the couch and the book in hand. They knew better than to mention the book in front of you.

“Can I kiss you?” Remus asked, still with his chin on your head.

You turned around, abandoning the recipe for a moment. Remus’ fingers drummed against your waist. You gave him a nod. With a smile, the man bent down and pressed his lips to yours. His mustache tickled just a bit but you didn’t mind. The sweet kisses were different and better than anything you had received in the past.

Sirius rubbed his eyes as he left his room. For someone who constantly shivered, you sure did leave the house cold at night. He complained internally that he didn’t get a Remus to keep him warm as he started to move towards the heating. Vaguely aware of other people’s presence, he turned to say good morning before pausing. Eyes widened at seeing your lips intertwined with Remus’. Sirius watched his best friend run his hand up and down your back before settling on your waist as he smiled into the kiss.

“When the fuck did this happen?”

You and Remus pulled apart abruptly. His hands didn’t leave your waist as he gave Sirius a crooked smile while you gave the shark-like one. Don’t get him wrong, Sirius was happy. He was just confused. He had been spending his entire time trying to set the two of you up only to be met with resistance from Moony at every turn. All of a sudden, he walked in to see the two of you kissing.

“Last night,” you told him. “I wanted Remmy to kiss me.”

The other man snorted. “Remmy.”

Sirius gave an approving head nod and continued on his original path to turn on the heat. You went back to reading the recipe, wrapping Remus’ arms tighter around you. The man was more than happy to stand behind you and be forced to walk awkwardly around the kitchen. He got to hold you in a way that was past platonic. He was on cloud nine and it wasn’t going anywhere. In a little bit, Harry would be back for Christmas and then their little family would be complete. You, Remus, Sirius, and Harry. The man was satisfied in a way that he hadn’t found himself satisfied with in a long time.

Remus broke from his trance when he heard your grunt of protest. He looked down to realize that you had finished breakfast and he was currently a nuisance as he prevented you from taking the dishes to the table. Grabbing the other plate, Remus reluctantly left you and set the table. You weren’t out of his hold for very long. He pulled you into his lap to eat.

“Someone’s touchy,” Sirius commented as he sat down.

“Can’t help it. I have eighteen years to make up for.”

You swallowed your bite of food. “I was only in Azkaban for fourteen. Five thousand—”

“One hundred and ten tallies,” Remus finished. “I know. But I’ve loved you since sixth year so that’s… six thousand five hundred and seventy tallies.”

“You forgot leap years and was it all of sixth year or—”

“Sunshine.”

“Yes?” You tilted your head back to look up at him.

Sirius laughed. “I think he’s trying to be romantic.”

“Oh.” You turned to kiss Remus’ cheek. “I didn’t understand.”

You went back to eating while Remus and Sirius looked at each other. Without meaning to, you made the air a bit uncomfortable. Remus went stiff as he grabbed his drink. You had described what you thought felt like love to you last night but did you really understand it? Did you understand if you couldn’t even register his rather cheesy attempt at being romantic? He decided then that he should take it slow with you, even slower than he planned. He had already waited eighteen years. This was going to be easy because at least now he could call you his.

When Christmas came around, the only good part about it was that you and Remus were still together. Everyone had gone back to Grimmauld after Harry’s vision of Arthur getting hurt came true. Sirius’ house was closest to St. Mungo’s and no one wanted to transport Arthur very far.

It only got worse after dropping the kids back to school— you didn’t want them going alone. On the way home, Sirius pointed out the posters of Bellatrix on a notice board. The Daily Prophet that had been dropped off at your doorstep let you know that there was a mass breakout from Azkaban and she was one of the people that escaped. If she was out then your father was going to be moving soon. You were sure of it. He was strong enough now to do so.

Every day had you on edge. You were pleasantly surprised to not hear about killings of random civilians or any attacks. Even though it meant that your father had a bigger plan, it meant that people were relatively safe. The Order was working fast. You were kept in the loop even though you weren’t a spy anymore.

Unfortunately, more nights were spent without Remus and Sirius than with them. Your cat, Turnip, became the primary cuddler once again. They often found you asleep on the couch, waiting for one of them to return home but ultimately falling asleep in the process. So when Sirius was sent on a mission to the Department of Mysteries without Remus, you took the opportunity to cuddle with your boyfriend before he was sent away again.

“Remmy?” you asked with a cheek pressed against him.

“Yes, Sunshine?”

Remus looked down when you opened your mouth but didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure how to approach what you wanted. Or what you thought you wanted. You could only remember rough sex, only knew what you didn’t like. But you still wanted to try.

“I want to do more than kiss you,” you said, hoping he’d understand even vaguely.

“Are you sure?” Remus asked, almost frozen in place.

He desperately wanted to touch you but just like snogging, took everything slow. Between what they did at Hogwarts and Azkaban, Remus expected to move at a snail’s pace. He was still waiting for the day that you woke up, kicked him out, and said you never wanted to see him again. He was surprised the two of you had lasted this long.

“I’m sure,” you told him, lifting your head to look at him. “I want to know what it’s like when it feels good.”

You weren’t sure what you said that caused a flash of pain in Remus’ eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came. He petted your face and pressed a kiss to your lips. You listened as he held the sides of your face and suggested a safe word. That was one thing that he would never do again. He would never make you feel like you didn’t have an out. You both decided on the word flower. It was simple and easy to remember.

“Alright. Can you lay down for me, Sunshine?” Remus asked as he helped take off your clothes.

You watched him take his own clothes off before he leaned over you. Remus took his sweet time kissing and caressing your body. Slowly, he lowered himself until he was face level with one of your most intimate parts. You gasped as he made contact with his mouth. Gently, Remus licked up your folds. Your fingers danced over the sheets as he gave you pleasure.

The moans that escaped your mouth were heavenly to Remus’ ears. This was how it should’ve been. All those times that they had you in the past, this should’ve been how they did it. Remus was determined to make you feel as good as possible. One hand moved back up your body to pull and tug at your breasts. Your fingers wrapped in the sheets as he poked his tongue in your hole.

“Remus, can I—”

He briefly came up. “You can cum all you want, you never have to ask me again.”

You nodded as you let go. Remus lapped up all that you had to give him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you kissed him, tasting yourself in the process. Blindly— because he refused to stop kissing— Remus guided himself into you. He only broke the kiss to look at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered as he fully pushed in.

It felt different to you as your boyfriend began to move. He wasn’t fast or rough. His hips didn’t snap but rolled. Remus was insistent on watching your face. He wanted to see your pretty face and know that he was making you feel good.

The pleasure was a bit overwhelming but in the best way. You hadn’t felt emotions or anything so intensely since Azkaban. You were close to your second orgasm, breathing going a bit shallow. Remus’ hands added to the sensation of feeling him everywhere. A squeak left your mouth as your hands left Remus’ biceps to curl up the sheets once more.

“Flower,” Remus said suddenly as he pulled out.

You watched his face morph into a mix of uncomfortableness and anger. Grabbing his clothes, you handed the bottoms to him and kept the shirt for yourself. Remus slipped on the pants before clutching at them like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry, I can’t… can I hold you, Sunshine? Just hold you.”

You quickly clambered over to him.

“I can’t do it. Not now,” Remus whispered.

“Is it because of before?”

He nodded. Guilt still haunted him and as much as Remus wanted you, he couldn’t move past it easily. He couldn’t even return to his more dominant side. The thought made him uncomfortable nowadays even though it was a dynamic that he genuinely enjoyed. He just couldn’t. Not right now anyway. It felt wrong pushing himself into you. Like a violation of sorts. There were no deals, safe words were established. This was full consent and he still felt wrong. He felt like he didn’t deserve it. You settled your head on Remus’ chest. Your lips rested in a pout as you tried to think of ways to comfort your boyfriend.

“I like when you kiss me,” you started. “And hug me. I like when we cuddle up and you hold me.”

“You do?”

“Mmm hmm. I feel safe with you, nothing will ever get me again. Dementors can’t beat Moony.”

He gave a dry chuckle at your statement. You felt Remus relax underneath you. His hand began to rub up and down your arm. You snuggled deeper into him.

“I don’t feel scared with you around, Azkaban can’t reach me.”

“I’ll always protect you.”

“I think I love you.”

That was what he needed to hear. You wiped at the tear rolling down Remus’ cheek. It meant a lot to him when you still struggled to process emotions. Just before Christmas you were saying that being with Remus was better than being outside on a warm day— you had to add the warm because you realized that you considered time with Harry and Sirius as better than outside as well. Last month, you upgraded to saying that Remus’ love was like butterbeer. He remembered feeling his chest swell with pride because he was the only one who got the butterbeer comparison. Everyone else was better than outside while he was butterbeer.

But now, you were saying you loved him. You thought you could understand romantic love with him and that was what he needed to hear. Remus pressed a kiss to the top of your head, no longer uncomfortable or mad at himself. You were about to ask if he wanted to start dinner when Kreacher appeared.

“Master Potter says something’s happened to Master Black. Couldn’t say more, was stopped by Umbridge, sent Kreacher to get help.”

“Padfoot’s in trouble?” Remus asked as he sprung out of bed to get a shirt. “Kreacher, tell the Order.”

After Harry’s vision of Arthur getting hurt at Christmas, this wasn’t time to move slowly. Something felt weird to you about the entire situation. Last time, Harry’s vision led to them getting Arthur and someone saying they saw a glimpse of a snake slither away. You knew Nagini as well as you knew your father. That snake should have kept attacking but slithered away the minute some people showed up.

Your eyes squinted as you thought. Nagini would only leave because she was given instructions to leave— Nagini was supposed to be dead. The Order told you that they had killed Nagini. You were the only horcrux left because Moody killed the snake himself with the Killing Curse. Moody never missed and was never wrong. But you also knew your father and he wasn’t getting another pet. Not one to carry out his bidding in the way that snake did. So it had to be Nagini somehow.

You didn’t have time to dwell on that as you went back to your original problem. If Nagini didn’t attack the people who went to retrieve Arthur it was because she was supposed to attack someone and they didn’t show.

You jumped up with a quickness as you realized what your father wanted. He wanted Harry at the Department. Harry was supposed to be the one to find Arthur last time and it didn’t work exactly as planned. This time, you were sure that your brave yet idiotic godson was on his way. Remus looked over when you slipped on some pants and tightened the belt as tight as possible. Your hands shook as you grabbed your wand.

“I’m coming with you. He’s going to be there and so is Harry.”

“Harry?!”

“And probably his friends.”

Remus’ face hardened. “Death Eaters aren’t touching a single one of those kids. Let’s go.”

The rest of the Order was right outside the Ministry when you and Remus showed up. You all looked over in surprise at seeing Sirius hurriedly scramble out of a window, looking behind him. He only breathed out a sigh of relief as he held up a silver orb.

“Piece of cake,” he said, tossing the orb up and catching it. “Replaced the real one with a fake. Not a problem… why are you all here?”

Your jaw ticked. “It’s a trap. We need to find the kids.”

“Kids?” Sirius immediately looked back at the building.

You all raced inside. From a distance, spells and glass breaking could be heard. Order members split up and tried the many doors down the infinite amount of hallways, trying to find the source before someone got seriously injured. Tonks threw open a door and at her shouts you came running. You heard the shout of a familiar shrill voice say Crucio. In a blind rage, Remus was first out the door to fire a spell at Bellatrix.

“Not my godson!”

Order members began pouring out of the doorway to take on the Death Eaters that had the kids cornered. Even if they got away and told Voldemort that you had been with the other side, you didn’t care. Your first priority was getting the children out. You ushered over Harry’s friends and practically shoved them behind you. They didn’t listen when you said to keep walking until they were outside but chose to watch the action from behind you.

You tried to grab Harry who caught a glimpse of Voldemort in one of the fireplaces. You saw it too. Your father was staying out of the immediate action, jumping around the fireplaces set up all around the room. He was only interested in killing Harry. He figured his servants could handle the Order so he could get ready for his big show.

Your head snapped back to the action when you saw Remus dodge a killing curse. The Death Eaters were getting bold— Bellatrix in particular. You weren’t going to let anyone die. Taking in deep breaths, you prepared yourself to join in the action. It was a conclusion that you had to accept anyway. It was part of the reason that you accepted the Dementor’s Kiss despite being terrified of it. As long as you were alive then so was your father. You were an unintentional horcrux for Voldemort and you had to be destroyed so his soul would be destroyed.

You always knew an early death was in your future the moment you figured out what happened when you picked baby Harry up from Godric’s Hollow. But you were less scared than before because the image of Nagini still appeared in your mind. She was alive. She had been killed by Mad-Eye but was alive. There was a tiny sliver of hope that maybe you could come back. Maybe a certain type of death only killed the horcrux inside of you.

So with that hope, you jumped in front of Sirius when you saw his head had turned to fight Lucius but Bellatrix had shouted the Killing Curse. The man’s eyes went wide as he watched you drop. Red flew out of multiple wands until the Death Eaters were destroyed. Gritting his teeth, Harry raced to where he saw Voldemort disappear to. The split second of your death shook your father and gave the boy enough time to trace his movements. Remus threw himself to the ground, tapping your face to try and wake you up.

“Sunshine, Sunsh— (Y/N). No, no, you’re not dead.”

Sirius sunk to the ground right next to you. His hand simply rested on your shoulder as he stared intensely at your chest and waited for it to rise or fall with a breath. A sobbed wracked through Remus’ entire body.

“(Y/N), no. Come on, love, get up. Get…”

He wasn’t sure who pulled him away from you. He wasn’t even sure when it happened until he noticed that Sirius had been forced into the same sitting position away from your body. Tears rolled down his face. He had promised to protect you. He said that he would never let anything bad happen to you again. Remus felt heavy because he never seemed able to deliver on that promise to you. And now he was staring at the consequences of that. He grabbed Sirius’ hand, squeezing it tightly. They both felt numb as they stared at your body on the ground.

(end)

#remus lupin x black!reader #remus lupin x reader

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maguro13-2 · 2 months

Text

Demons Unleashed ~ Origins of the Ink Demon Gaiden Pt.2 ~

[Shadow Army - Masamichi Amano]

Dimentio : Seven Lights...Eight hearts...and thirteen Darknesses. Oh what a fine discovery that this world and the others had to split the spoils from that bamboozling Count Bleck, the Will of Shinra Kusakabe had made every human or witch as a pawn to destroy the other. I despise that mustache man in red for ruining my plans. Perhaps, the boy who saved the world in the Ohkuboverse 1000 years ago, was somehow this world's creator and spread his influence into the Real World. Ah, yes the boy who was one of the eight pillars that are same as the same of the Eight Pure hearts, were uses sacrifices as keys to the door to darkness, this entity has been using the hearts of Shinra and his people in order to create a new planet for all heartlesses shrouded within the darkness. That entity is Demon Vibe. But after Shinra manifested and created a new world, the evangelist that he and everyone in his world fought was nothing more than an astral puppet from that manipulated his entire world to be destroyed with the simple meaning of spontaneous human combustion caused by Firaga, a technique that was used by the Black Mages.

Man in Hazmat Suit : My lord, the vessels of the eight pure hearts have finally awakened.

Dimentio : Good. Shall we greet them into this "Real world" of ours?

Man in Hazmat Suit : That's correct, sir. But just assure that there are only four of them, they're female vessels of the eight pure hearts, we don't why the Evangelist wanted to use his people's hearts keys to opening the Darkness.

Dimentio : That's exactly what I need to hear. Wake up, Eight vessels of the Pure hearts, or I say Eight Pillars from Shinra's World. Awaken yourselves from your 1000 years of death.

Amaterasu : Where...Where are we?

Haumea : What's going on? Who are you?

Inca Kasugatani : I can't even remember a thing.

Sumire : What on earth is this place?

Inca Kasugatani : How long have we've died?

Dimentio : It's simple. This is the Real World that you all have woken up, ever since Demon Vibe used your hearts as keys to open the door to darkness, the one who manipulated into destroying Shinra's world and the Ohkuboverse was the One Winged Angel Sephiroth. The evangelist you've been under working with was just a only a mere puppet.

Inca Kasugatani : You mean...

Amaterasu : We've been puppets to Demon Vibe's will?

Sumire : Oh, I've been a miserable nun. If it wasn't for that Sephiroth person, we would've soaked in Shinra's blood after the Time Eater annihilated us for being under the will of Demon Vibe right before Shinra spreaded his influence.

*images flashing*

Haumea : I remember, that was the day when we were lost to the Time Eater! We all died and it's all of Sephiroth's fault for using me as a tool! I felt so ashamed for what I've done to everything and for ruining Shinra's life! I should've apologized to him! Onegai...let us forgive Shinra-kun.

Inca Kasugatani : Please, we wanted to forgive Shinra for what we have done.

Amaterasu : You gotta believe us, it's women that is the ohkuboverse's problem and not men! I'm sorry for how we treated each other like pawns in a corrupt game!

Inca Kasugatani : If only that...that we could love shinra back, the same thing that he wanted to give us something that isn't hate.

Dimentio : Fair words, mother of witchkind, since I brought you back to life after the 1000 years of Shinra's death, I decided to give you all to earn your freedom like a good wild creature. There's nothing wrong with the fear of shaming yourself with those bodies of bare skin. If you want to apologize for ruining the devil's life, then forgiveness is what you needed after that. Forgiveness and kindness is the option to forget the sins or crimes that humanity grudges against. You there, put them in the cultivated storage tanks for transportation. I got a pair of two mustache losers in overalls to give them a fair greeting.

Inca, Amterasu, Haumea : [together] Shinra-kun...Onegai...Yurushite.

"Meanwhile..."

Erazor Djinn : The World is mine! I cannot be denied by that filthy rat. WHYYYYYYY!?!

Dream Sonic : I told you I'm not a rat! (traps Erazor in his light) I'm a hedgehog! (blows out fire) Phew! I knew it! I felt good for saying but for one thing for you, Shahra. Just grant me wish, I wish for a mountain of handkerchiefs.

[Worth a Chance - Steve Conte, Fumie Kumatani]

(a rain of handkerchiefs falls down) Now, just let yourself cry. As much as you need to. You'll have plenty of handkerchiefs to help you through it.

Dream Shahra : Oh thank you, Sonic. I would use plenty of them to help me through it.

Dream Sonic : Oh yes, thank you indeed.

*BELL DING*

Sonic : Hold on I'll go check with the Piano. Composer, have you been messing with the Piano lately?

Fumie Kumatani : No that wasn't me.

Sonic : Then what's the...(clock ringing) Hey, that sounded like a clock ringing. Why is there son

Fumie Kumatani : That's because you need to wake yourself up, Sonic.

Sonic : Uhh, what was that?

Fumie Kumatani : I said...(with Tails' voice) Sonic, wake up!

[Party Dress - Fumie Kumatani]

Sonic : (wakes up from dream) Huh? Ah man, it was only a dream? Way to go for having this thing ruining my perfect dream. (stops clock) Alright, Tails. I'm up. Now that it is the year 2007 I finally get a chance to meet with Shahra and saved the Arabian Nights from that mean Erazor Djinn.

Tails : Good, Well I guess the 06 was seriously not having the greatest time, I mean a girl saved a world from one-eyed star entity who took body of her ancestor that ruled the galaxy before the birth of humanity. But it's a good thing that Sonic Rivals is canon thanks to the to Sony's greatest handheld console, the Playstation Portable.

Sonic : Otherwise know as PSP, since Sonci 06 was retconned by failures, Silver managed to come back from the future he finds out that Blaze was another dimension or something, I guess it's probably her world since sealed away that fire demon that burned down mobius 200 years ago. All of this Sonic 06 nonesense was only just a retcon of retcons, of course that was the time that I got a kiss from a human princess and It was so embarrassing.

Tails : Like what?

Sonic : Well...

(cuts to Sonic getting suck faced by elise)

Sonic : [muffled yelling]

Tails : Oh this did not go well.

Elise : AHH!!! I GOT RABIES!!!

[Super Sonic theme plays]

Amy : GET OFF OUR MAN, BEEYOTCH! (the girls starts beating up elise)

Sonic : (to the viewers) I don't know what's creepier, the fact she made out with an animal or a corpse.

*flashback ends*

Sonic : Oh yeah, that's right. Some recolored doofus shot me down in the back and got away with a second-degree manslaughter, thankfully I never died, also that kiss from a human princess in my mouth is not what expected, so I decided to use some mouthwash. Anyways, what's happening in 2007 now after I defeated that Genie who was using Shaula Gorgon's heartless?

Tails : Well, I heard the news that they're saying the Chao were kidnapped by Dr. Eggman Nega, don't you know who Eggman Nega is, he's not also clone from Blaze's World, but a descendant from future that is Silver's World. He kidnapped all of them.

Sonic : Who knew that he would make a great comeback, I knew something like that would easily thought of a Chao-napping, that's right. Chao-napping by Dr. Eggman Nega! And what did you find about. Is it something from before and after the arabian nights.

Tails : Yep. I found a book about a demon made out of fire called the Ifrit, it's not the one that Erazor summoned, it's the name of a fire demon that is a relative to the Flames of disaster during the 06 story, the story that you retconned it. Although, The Ifrit and the Flames of disaster aren't related by Blaze's powers, but it also can gain more power by finding something edible to eat. Food of course.

Sonic : I hope it's not it's brunch, but what could be more devasting we gotta go find Eggman Nega, he's running wild of stealing chao. Let's get ourselves ready!

Tails : Right away!

[Race to Win ~ Title ver. ~ - Ted Poley, Jun Senoue]

Sonic : So once we find Eggman Nega, we will put that world-destroying ifrit a taste of medicine! I'm sure the eggman we know is not behind all of this! But it's gotta be the same man we encountered since the Black Arms invasion. Luckily, everyone is involved of finding this Eggman Nega fella that is stealing chao! I wonder who could it be this time? And I heard that he wants a rematch with Blaze from her as well!

Tails : True that! Let's get going! A new adventure! (the two runs off)

Sonic : 2007, let's start a new year, and this time it will be good!

~ Stage 1 : The New Adventures ~

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