#its angst/comfort so it counts idc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

idyllic-affections · 8 months

Text

achilles heel.

summary. the ninth harbinger takes on an... unexpected responsibility.

trigger & content warnings. references to poverty, [name] is a thief (at first), slightly ooc pantalone in some parts.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort. pantalone & child/young teen!reader, arlecchino & child/young teen!reader. 3.4k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this fic is divided into six drabble-like sections.

author's thoughts. inspired by a silly conversation @aroacenezha and i had. i dad-ify this man a little too much but you know what? i will keep doing it idc he's so dad-able. this post is structured differently than my usual content but i think it's kind of cool!!!

i. an unexpected guest ♡

Of all the possible unexpected things that could await the Regrator in his Snezhnaya residence—one of them, at least; the amount of properties he owned was certainly more than what one could count on both hands—this was... most definitely among one of the more shocking.

He was speechless, really.

"Please do humor me. How did you manage to get in?"

Of all the unexpected things that could await the Regrator in his his home, in his office of all places... thievery in and of itself wasn't unexpected; rather, it was the fact that standing in front of him was undoubtedly a child no older than fourteen. Not only that, but additionally the fact that they were actually standing in his office. They had not been caught. A child, no older than fourteen, possessed more skill than all of the others in the past who had made poor attempts to steal from him.

"You need better security"—they shrugged, making him somewhat annoyed at their nonchalance—"I really thought it would be hard to rob the richest man on Teyvat. It was harder to rob Lady Ningguang. I actually had to abandon that job, you know? Couldn't get to the Jade Chamber."

Again, he was left absolutely speechless.

Being compared to Ningguang made a bitter taste settle in his mouth. He made a mental note to drastically improve the quality of his security.

"You..."

"What? It's not my fault all of your agents are incompetent."

They weren't wrong, he supposed. His agents surely could do better at their jobs. Their smugness still irritated him, though. "Do you routinely rob the wealthy?"

They scoffed. "You all are hoarding wealth that should never have been yours in the first place. Archons forbid I steal from wicked people who couldn't possibly care less about anyone but themselves... Get over yourself. Seriously."

He genuinely couldn't tell if they had no sense of danger or if they simply had that sheer amount of audacity by nature. Though, admittedly, he did have to respect the fact that they managed to sneak in completely undetected. If not for his sudden appearance, they most likely would have gotten away with it. Their audacity did irk him a little, but... that was also something he had to respect. It was impressive in its own right. No average Snezhnayan child would so much as dream of talking to a Harbinger the way they did oh-so effortlessly

It did occur to him, however, that they did not look well-off; they were not the average Snezhnayan child.

Their hair looked as if it had been haphazardly and unevenly chopped off so that it was too short to become tangled (he did recall doing such a thing himself—at the lowest point in his life, taking care of his hair was a useless endeavor, solely because it did not help better his chances of survival). They were clothed decently enough in layers adequately thick to keep themselves from freezing which, indeed, was also something he understood on a nauseously personal level.

Most of the mora he managed to earn in his unfortunate youth was invested in... not freezing to death. Through them, he was forced to once again acknowledge his past, a past he endeavored to forget about because it made him feel pathetic.

...Or maybe it made him feel like an impostor in his wealth?

What kind of sick twist of fate had the Archons cursed him with, forcing him to think about such trivial things?

He should punish them. He should arrest them. He should send them off to Dottore and never spare them another thought ever again, even, but... somehow, he didn't want to. Much as he may have acted as if he couldn't possibly know why, he did.

The brat reminded him sickeningly of himself.

"Where do you think you're going?"

They were half out of his window when he called out to them, having taken advantage of his pondering.

"To sell what I've taken?"

He almost rolled his eyes. Almost, but didn't. That would have been immature and inelegant of him. "Come here."

They would have just left, but truthfully, it would not have been a smart move on their behalf. The only reason they had not yet been caught and apprehended was simply because no-one had spotted them in the first place. Not a single one of their 'victims' had managed to catch a glimpse of them. Now that a Harbinger had seen them...

They figured it was in their best interests to avoid being pursued by anyone with that much power, especially by someone like Pantalone. A man with that much political influence was dangerous.

"Show me what it is that you've taken."

They did.

A letter opener, a few picture frames... Nothing significant or extremely expensive (though, to them, anything at all from his office would likely be of high value), which is what left Pantalone completely perplexed. He honestly hadn't even noticed that anything was missing from his office when he had first entered.

Perhaps that was what made them so skilled, combined with their capacity to avoid being seen.

"Out of everything you could have taken," he mused, "you chose... these inconsequential items?"

"They're inconsequential to you, maybe. To me and to my buyers, things like this are worth a ton. Whether I'll actually be given what is owed is... uh. More or less likely. I don't know, I just— can I leave yet?"

"Not so fast, dear." He smiled, tilting his head slightly. They thought he somewhat resembled a fox.

"...What? Are you seriously going to arrest me for something so little?"

"Nothing of the sort. In fact... I have a proposal of sorts for you."

ii. the proposal in question. ♡

"You know, when someone says something ominous like 'I have a proposal for you'," they began, twirling a defiant strand of their now neat hair—which the Harbinger had... shockingly, taken upon himself to cut properly rather than paying someone else to do it—around their finger, "they generally don't mean... all this."

"Don't be difficult." He pinched their cheek like a scolding (or affectionate, but the nature of his gesture was debatable, given the fact that he tended to hide his thoughts behind a skilled mask of eerie calmness that they could only imagine took years to perfect) grandparent might. "Let the tailor take your measurements."

"Ugh... fine. I don't even see why I'm doing this," they murmured, gingerly raising their arms when the tailor politely prompted them to.

"Oh? Did I not say? My apologies. I intend for you to become a permanent resident of my household."

Silence.

"...So you're adopting me."

"That is one way to look at it, yes."

"Oh. I was... um." They paused, blinking a few times as if in an attempt to dispel the bewilderment they felt. "I was kidding. I didn't expect that response."

He only smiled.

They wondered if they would ever learn to understand that ambiguous smile.

iii. another unexpected guest ♡

Between teaching the newest member of his house noble etiquette, conversational skills, and other important skills they would need to master, Pantalone had grown unexpectedly fond of the little orphan he took in.

He should have been annoyed by how often they questioned his authority, by how unruly they were...

Of course, he wasn't. It was endearing and even refreshing in its own way—when was the last time anyone had dared to speak so freely and honestly and daringly to him? The respect rooted in fear that his status as a Harbinger gave him became dull after a while.

It really shouldn't have surprised him that he had become so fond of the little one who did not fear speaking in the most unfiltered way to him.

However... he did wonder if his fondness was causing him to spoil them just a little too much.

"...What is that?"

They grinned brightly. In their arms, a small arctic fox sat contentedly, strangely unbothered by the fact that a random child decided to pick it up and bring it home. It seemed to snuggle further into them and their warmth, in fact.

"It's an arctic fox!"

"My dear, that is a wild animal."

"And?"

Silence. Pantalone was the first to break it:

"I have the ability to acquire any animal you so desire of only the highest pedigree," he began, "the best available on the market—of course, assuming it could survive in an extreme climate such as this one—and yet, you chose to bring home a little street fox?"

They pouted, lower lip jutting out in an exceedingly childish way that he would have chided them for had it not just been himself, them, and the various Fatui guards stationed around (who all knew far better than to say anything about whatever they saw or heard within their Lord's residence) present. "Don't be mean. I came from the street too, you know... look at her! Look at this little creature! Say hi."

If it had been anyone else demanding such childish things of him, he would be appalled... but he supposed since it was them, he could tolerate it. He leaned down slightly.

"Hello."

Much to his apparent surprise, the fox barked back at him, to which they giggled.

"Soo, can I keep her?"

The silence returned for a brief second. Then, the Harbinger sighed deeply—it was undoubtedly comparable to the kind of sigh an exasperated parent might let out. As if he wasn't already going grey enough without this child around...

He caved to their whims regardless.

He was encouraging a bad habit, yes, but they looked so happy with that little fox. He could only hope that, in the future, they would not bring home any other wild animals.

"Very well, but I expect you to learn how to take care of her properly, otherwise I will be forced to let her go."

iv. old habits die hard.

The first event they ever had to attend with the Regrator was an annual event hosted by the Tsaritsa herself.

Much as they weren't exactly... keen on going, Pantalone insisted—he had claimed it was for publicity's sake. The public would favor him more if he was seen as the caretaker of a child. They supposed they couldn't really argue with that, but the thought of being used as a device to build public rapport was uncomfortable at best and nauseating at worst.

(He was very adamant on reassuring them that he didn't take them in solely for such a shallow reason. Though... he still did not tell them why exactly it was that he chose to take them in, which admittedly did make them doubt the sincerity of his words.

They decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, given how kind he tended to be with them.)

They absolutely hated being surrounded by so many pompous rich people who only ever turned a blind eye to the struggling of every low-income family in Snezhnaya. How these people could live with themselves, hoarding the majority of the wealth of an entire nation, they would never know nor understand.

(What made Pantalone any different, they sometimes wondered?)

However...

They were all viable targets, even including the other Harbingers present.

Columbina... there was nothing they could steal off of her without getting caught, and the idea of making a scene, especially one involving the third Harbinger herself, made their stomach churn anxiously. She was not an option.

Dottore... stealing off of him was unwise. They wondered if Pantalone would lose favor in them if they did. The Doctor, like the Damselette, was not an option, despite the many things they could take off his person without him ever knowing that something was missing (probably; they weren't truly sure if they'd like to test that theory).

Arlecchino... her silver hairclip was awfully pretty. Surely she wouldn't miss it? She didn't like the Regrator much anyways, so—

"Dear."

"Oh. Um." They cleared their throat, embarrassedly looking anywhere but at him. They tried their best not to pick at the threads of their sleeves. "Sorry. Force of habit."

He hummed, gloved hand raising up to rub reassuring circles on their back. The bubbling anxiety and discomfort in their chest subsided slightly.

"Come along. There is nothing to be afraid of, and please... do not take anything off of anyone. Leave the Knave and the other Harbingers be."

Of course, upon passing Arlecchino, they did end up stealing her hairclip regardless.

Though annoyed, she said nothing of it, because even though their audacity to steal something from a Harbinger at an event such as that one agitated her beyond belief...

It seemed to make them happy, and she didn't see them take anything from anyone else the entire night. She decided that she would let it slide just this one time.

(She also took it upon herself to secure it in their hair—which had grown longer and healthier ever since the Ninth took them in—after the event, claiming that it was a gift from her...

...And that, if they knew what was good for them, they would not dare to pull another foolish stunt like that ever again.)

v. achilles heel.

"What is it that plagues your mind?"

"Huh?" They blinked, sitting up a little straighter in their place on one of the soft sofas in the Ninth's personal library. Most of their time was spent in there, absorbing all the knowledge that they didn't have access to earlier on in their life. "What do you mean?"

"You've been withdrawn lately," Pantalone said, approaching them slowly as if they were some kind of skittish animal. He tenderly caressed their cheek upon seeing no signs of discomfort. "Have I done something to drive you away?"

"...No," they admitted quietly, looking outside of the large window and watching the snow fall. It looked... peaceful, but they knew from experience what it was really like out there. They gnawed on their lower lip, searching for a way to word their concerns without sounding ungrateful. "I just... ugh, it's nothing. I don't know. I don't know how to say it without it sounding... bad."

He raised an eyebrow. His hand moved away from their face, now stroking their hair calmingly. "You speak to me so freely all the time. Why the sudden change of heart, hm?"

He did have a point there. They never once thought twice about the way they spoke to him up until that point.

A sigh left their lips, and they shifted their gaze to meet his.

The way their eyes glistened with the sheen of unshed, frustrated tears made Pantalone feel a sort of fatherly protectiveness that he wasn't sure he should have been able to feel, and yet... their expression flipped some kind of switch in him.

"Why did you take me in?"

"I—"

"Wait, I'm not done," they interrupted. He went quiet. "What benefit do I provide to you? What kind of rich guy sees a random orphaned thief and decides to take them in? Who does that? No rich person I've met before you, that's for sure. People like you don't care about those of us barely scraping by in poor conditions, so why—"

If it were anyone else Pantalone was speaking to, his tone would have been harsh and commanding, but... that was how it always had been with them. They could get away with things that others could not. They were always shown a side of him that others were not. Perhaps that made them the Regrator's one single Achilles heel, and if that were the case? So be it.

"Stop. Listen."

His tone came out very gently. It was more akin to a comforting hush than a demand. He kneeled down to their height—never once had they seen him voluntarily get so close to the ground. Most nobles didn't, and yet, here he was. With his ungloved knuckles, he wiped away the tears that they hadn't even noticed were beginning to fall.

"I was you once, little one."

"I don't believe you," they sniffled.

"You should. I was not born into this life. My bloodline is not noble and my birth name holds no significance," he mused, tucking a stray strand of hair behind their ear. "I also used to steal from people, you know."

Their hair fell over their shoulders, to which they quickly raised a hand to the back of their head. The clip—once belonging to Arlecchino—was gone, now settled in their caretaker's open palm.

"H— huh?!"

"Admittedly, I haven't done so in quite some time, so what you saw just then was moreso the skills I've learned as a Harbinger than my thievery skills."

He kindly secured their hair back once again.

"Ah... I never would have guessed."

"That is the point." He nodded, going on to tease: "You do very much remind me of the younger version of myself... you have quite the awful amount of attitude, though. I was never so difficult."

They huffed, patting their face dry with their palms, to which he chuckled.

"Hmph, I doubt that. I'll bet you were worse than I am."

"Whatever you say, dearest."

He was, but he had no plans of telling them that, of course.

vi. enrollment.

"My orphans seem to like you, [Name]."

They smiled up at Arlecchino from their place on the ground, one of the much younger children sleeping against their thigh. Their hand absently toyed with the child's hair in a manner that seemed akin to that of a loving older sibling. "I like to think they do. They're lucky, then, because I happen to quite like them, too!"

The ghost of a smile graced her lips at that.

"You know," she mused calmly, placing a firm hand on their head. They squeaked slightly at the force behind her display of affection. "You are publicly viewed as the Regrator's child."

"What?!" they gasped, a mix between shocked and embarrassed. That wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but... "Wait, people are saying that? Actually?"

"They are," she confirmed, "but I mention this for one very particular reason: do you know how to defend yourself, [Name]?"

"Somewhat, but not entirely," they admitted. "I learned a lot in my time... um, wandering, shall we call it..? Anyway. I can defend myself, but not really well. Not at all well enough for the place I've found myself in, I think."

She nodded in understanding at that.

"Have you considered enrolling in the House of Hearth?"

"I've thought about it. Would I even qualify, though..? I'm technically not an orphan..."

"No, but consider it a favor from me. You would get an education of equal rigor to Snezhnayan private schools, as well as learning how to protect yourself."

"...You would do that for me, Arle?"

Her cheeks tinted red at that, and she groaned, lightly pushing them away by the head. They giggled at her annoyance.

"Don't call me that"—she coughed into her fist, trying her best to mask the good-natured embarrassment such a nickname caused her—"but... I would. You need to learn how to handle yourself."

She then got on one knee, meeting their gaze with intensity that made them a bit nervous. Both her hands sat firmly on their shoulders.

"What you need to understand, however, is that you will automatically be drafted into the Fatui at your graduation. I do not believe that the Regrator would let you out of his sight at your young age, so you needn't worry about being separated from him, but... you will be exposed to wicked things."

"...But I need to do this for my safety, right?"

"You don't 'need' to do anything," she clarified. "I would advise it, though. You are an annoying little brat, but I—as well as the Ninth—would loathe to see anything happen to you."

"Well... I don't mind enrolling."

"Oh?"

"I really don't mind," they repeated, offering her a pensive smile. "I've already seen pretty rough things, and, I mean... I know what you all do for a living. I'm not oblivious, Arlecchino. Any kid born and raised in Snezhnaya would know."

"I didn't think so," she assured. "No, I never once believed you to be oblivious... that much, I agree with. Childhood innocence does not thrive in this nation."

"You're right. It doesn't."

A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Arlecchino's battle-hardened hands were a calming force upon their shoulders.

"...Soo, how exactly are we planning on convincing Pantalone to let this happen?"

"Ah." She went quiet. "...That is the question."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot! taglist: @m1shapanda, @kaichuuu, @zeldadou, @aroacenezha (aka the beloved moot who inspired this fic. say "thank you maji" everyone 🫶🫶🫶🫶 /hj /lh)

#aphelion writes 🌸#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #pantalone x reader #arlecchino x reader #platonic fatui harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers x reader

570 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.

Word Count: 15.2k

Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited

A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.

Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.

Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.

It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.

If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.

You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.

“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act.

You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.

You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.

“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful.

It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?

Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.

“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I’m going to Soap’s position.”

Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind.

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.

There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.

“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.”

“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”

But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?

You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.

“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”

When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.

And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.

In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?”

You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often.

But he had never met you before.

His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts.

You quite liked him looking surprised.

“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”

“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, “Laswell told me that this group was promising.”

Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”

He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own.

You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon.

And you would have it no other way.

“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?”

Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.

You can’t leave him behind.

“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”

Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.

“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”

Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris.

“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.

“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.

“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”

“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”

A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.

“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”

“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”

A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?

“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh.

Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt.

It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.

“Little Lady, I–”

“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.

But for John, you’d do anything.

The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you.

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…”

Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step.

But you can’t stop seeing red.

“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.”

But all you do is stare.

“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”

But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here

“He’s not dead.”

Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails.

Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.

He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.

The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.

Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.

…And we can’t stay here.

With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression.

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it.

Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.

“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight.

Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead.

The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would.

So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.

“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat.

This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong.

Akin to betrayal.

The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.

—

Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.

“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”

“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.”

The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.

“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”

“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.

“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”

“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”

“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg.

In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths.

Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.

Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.

God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.

There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.

That was all that mattered.

Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.

“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”

Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”

“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”

Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you.

“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”

“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”

Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are.

“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”

“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”

“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”

You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.

“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”

“Copy, Ma’am.”

Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.”

The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think.

Johnny.

He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers.

“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”

“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”

The comment warms your heart.

“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.

“Never, Ma’am.”

“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?”

He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.

“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”

There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension.

“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”

Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”

Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”

“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”

There he was.

—

“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.

“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”

“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!”

“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.”

It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.

Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another?

Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.

“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.

“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”

“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”

“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”

John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”

While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues.

The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence.

“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.

“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”

In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.

Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.

“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.

“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”

“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.

—

He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.

Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear.

The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply.

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more.

The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.

Muppet, he should have just run.

But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back.

And then he woke up in the room.

It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.

His whole body hurts.

Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him.

Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.

But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?

Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply.

Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.

Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow.

“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection.

Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later.

There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.

“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?”

Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.

While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.

Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around.

Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.

John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing.

“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”

Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.

But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight.

The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth.

“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”

John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air.

A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.

Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.

“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”

His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.

“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!”

Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable.

How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!

Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar.

“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.”

Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head.

“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”

A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.

“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”

—

Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.

“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”

“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”

“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists.

Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation.

You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more.

And if he was already dead…

Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.

Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.

“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”

“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.

“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even.

There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you.

Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.

When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath.

There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high.

Or so illegal.

When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings.

“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.

“Earpiece.”

“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”

“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.

“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”

Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.”

“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”

“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk.

With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion.

Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength.

Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me.

Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.

Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers.

And you could play that part quintessentially.

“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”

The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears.

“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”

“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.”

Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later.

“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”

“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”

“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line.

“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”

“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”

Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”

All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together.

Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.

“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.

“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”

“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.”

“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs.

Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.

“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”

—

“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.

Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.

“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”

“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”

“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.

Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.

Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.

He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.

“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him.

Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.

The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.

But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions.

You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained.

There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you.

—

“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.

“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step.

Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.

How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.

“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later.

His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.

“Well…what?”

You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself.

“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”

“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.

‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?

“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.

“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.

“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.

“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”

“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”

“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”

Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.

“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.”

The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them.

“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!”

Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.

“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.

You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree.

Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else.

What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through.

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!”

The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow.

What?!

A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.

“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”

Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred.

What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard.

Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.

“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own.

His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead.

Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances.

Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle.

“Ma’am–!”

“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”

“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…

The both of you would be going home in body bags.

If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition.

You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.

Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.

Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.

The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…

“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”

Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him.

“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure.

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”

There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.

Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage.

Please be okay, Love.

You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.

Did they even feed him?

“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”

When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you.

John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm?

“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.”

His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed.

It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats.

She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?

Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was.

“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold.

Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find.

“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.”

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion.

John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.

“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.

“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”

“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Take it.”

“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision.

Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out.

The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”

Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.

“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.

The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair.

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.

John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered.

Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.

Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely.

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago.

“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”

“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.”

Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…

Would he have died in your arms?

You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut.

He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.

You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass.

Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here.

It was the least you could do.

Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world.

If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds.

But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool.

All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together.

Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.

I really must be tired.

“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering”

Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.”

You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls.

Gaz, well…

“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.

“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”

If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.

“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”

A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.

“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”

“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”

An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.

“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”

He sighs but nods his head.

“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own.

You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.

“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.

“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense.

At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”

“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open.

You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John.

He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth.

“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.”

Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts.

He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.

“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”

“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.”

You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely.

He was there. He was right there.

Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high.

He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”

Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could.

“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s.

One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.

“I had a dream.”

“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.

“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”

“That, my love, could mean many things.”

“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more.

It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.

But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.

John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal.

He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved.

How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.

“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”

“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”

In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.

Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.

TAGLIST SIGN-UP || Here

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @antigonusyuki, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @lora21, @330bpm-whiplash, @michirulol, @john-pricee, @cl0wncxre, @jade-jax, @anna-banana27, @lothiriel9, @halfmoth-halfman

2K notes · View notes

scekrex · 2 months

Note

I saw some of your Adam x readers and really enjoyed them! I was wondering if you could do an Adam x reader where the reader is a trans man but still likes to wear dresses, skirts, and has like either medium length or long hair, but is also insecure about the fact that they won't be seen as a real guy. Have a wonderful day/night!

Omg as a trans guy myself writing this was some sort of healing I swear, I adore you for requesting trans reader! Also I hope you like it!

What it takes to be a man

pairing: Adam x transmale!angel!reader

warnings: a lil angst maybe? It's mainly fluff

note: not beta read bc idc

Things were rough up here in heaven, you thought that once you had died things would get easier but they didn't. Your body was still the same, still wrong. Everything was wrong, to be honest. Your voice was still too high for a guy's voice, your chest was still… well, too big for a man's chest and your curves weren't really helpful either. Waist too small, hip bones too pronounced.

When Adam entered the room you flinched for a moment, but only for a moment because as soon as the man entered the room he took his helmet off and greeted you with a cocky smile, “How’s my babe doing?”

You sent a small smile his way, then looked down to your hands. Yeah, how were you doing? That was actually a pretty good question. Not fine, that much you knew. So you said just that, there was no reason for you to lie to Adam after all, “Y’know I thought things would be different here.”

Adam's smile dropped almost immediately, a serious expression took its place. He put down the helmet on the bedside table and sat down next to you. “Yeah? In which way?”

You inhaled loudly, you tried to find the words, tried to explain how you felt, but it was just so hard to find the correct words to express your feelings. “In a ‘my body is still not it's way,” you then chose to say. “I’ve been struggling with that back on earth and I thought that here it might be different, that I'd get here with the body I feel like I should have been born in, you know?”

Well to be completely honest, Adam didn't know, nor did he fully understand the entire concept of body dysmorphia, but he didn't need to understand it, he was trying his best to keep you happy and that was what counted in the end. “Babes, why does it matter what other people think huh? You feel comfortable in dresses and skirts and those slutty crop tops, fuck, you look so fucking hot wearing them too,” his hand came to rest on your knee. He knew that being seen as a guy by others was a big deal to you, he didn't understand why though.

“No but that's the point, I wanna feel comfortable and confident but then people come up to me and tell me ‘what a pretty lady I am’ and I'm so sick and tired of being seen as a lady when I'm really not. I'm a fucking dude just like you're a dude, why can't people just see that?” It was exhausting, really. Because even when you corrected people they would try to take your identity from you, they usually said things like ‘men don't have long hair the way you do’ or ‘you wanna be a man? Then stop dressing like a woman'.

You weren't trying to be a man, you were a man.

“I see it,” Adam said and shot you a small smirk. Your head snapped sideways to look him in the eyes, “You do?” Adam made a hand gesture that was meant to say ‘Isn’t it obvious?’. “When I look at you I see my handsome boyfriend, you don't give two shits, you dress in what you feel comfortable, you wear your hair in ways that make you feel good and hands down, that's the hottest thing you can do, doesn't make you any less of a man.” His wing wrapped around your back softly, the tips of his feathers wrapped over your shoulder to gently pet your cheek. “You’re the most interesting angel I ever got to meet, babes. Don't let these assholes bring you down just because they can't see the most obvious thing.”

You tilted your head slightly, curiously looking up at your boyfriend, “N that is?” “That you're a motherfucking dude, babes,” he spoke like it was the most obvious thing, and to him personally it was. You've always been you, always been a man, nothing could ever change that. His hand slid smoothly through your hair, pushing the long silky strands out of your face. “And if some fuckface ever tries to claim anything else, you're gonna head straight up to me and I'll handle it, got it?” You knew he meant it and it warmed your heart that he cared so much. You leaned against his arm, your head was resting against his shoulder as you whispered a quiet “Thank you”.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #adam x male reader #adam x y/n #adam x you #male reader #adam x reader #trans reader

73 notes · View notes

dimepdf · 2 years

Note

Jonathan Byers x amab reader Harrington? Maybe Steve has a twin brother who comes home from another state and sees Jonathan in the school one day and finds him attractive? So he starts hanging out with him more, and they get really close, way too close even, and they start going out in private, and then one day Jonathan just rails him in his car?

WORTH YOU. + JONATHAN BYERS

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. you'd spent a lot of time with Jonathan, and before you knew it, your feelings for him had surfaced. you tried to hide the uneasy feeling that surrounded you whenever you two hung out alone. author's note. the kissing scene is inspired by my favorite book “Perks of being a Wallflower”. I was literally reading it before writing it and went….wait. also sorry that its kinda long i got so into the show that i'm watching and just mashed together ideas.

[ ❥ ] pairing. jonathan byers x reader

[ ❥ ] word count. 7.4k

[ ❥ ] genre & warnings. 18+, male reader, twin reader, black sheep, top!jonathan, bottom!reader, heavy angst at the start, mentions of mental illness, outcasts, internalized homophobia, messy confessions, pining, first kiss, first time, not show canon cause idc, oral (m), jonathan giving that gawk gawk 9000, kind of discrete sex, fuckin in a car, fingering, unprotected sex, biting, grammaly is my beta reader sorry for the mistakes

You never considered Hawkins, Indiana to be a fucked up place; moreover, you just thought the town was pretty washed up, lacking adventure and difference.

It seemed like there would always be people in your business, no matter the situation at hand, always judging you for some gossip that had slipped from your personal life.

That had been the main reason you had to move away for almost an entire year, resting in the guest room of your grandparent's barn house across the states.

Your father made up his mind that sending you away to live with your grandparents would be better than you continuing to stay with them and being rumored to be a "tainted" child in the Harrington family. You weren't tainted, or at least you didn't believe you were.

You found yourself to just be mentally ill in terms of your lack of happiness declining all because of your parent's lack of affection growing up.

Another trait that you had gained during your very confusing journey of rocky puberty was the weird gut feeling you would get for the other boys in your class. You knew it was odd to see boys the same way your brother would see girls.

So you suppressed the feelings all the way until you wouldn't feel anything. But of course, people in Hawkins would talk.

They would talk until it would lead to the solitude of your home, the one place that you had thought to feel safe. But that was a lie as long as your father lived there.

People took notice of the way you would hang back, how you would rather be alone in your head instead of being a social butterfly like your other half, Steve.

People could purely take you apart just from one glance. Steve cares a lot about his self-image as well as the public opinion of perfection screwed into his perfect little brain.

You, on the other hand, were more carefree, wearing clothes that just felt comfortable and speaking in the same flat tone to everyone only whenever you had something to say.

You truly were the Harrington family black sheep, which didn't fit your family's perfect image, so your father did what any parent would do with their mentally ill child in the 80s: send you away to be someone else's problem.

That someone else being your kind and caring grandparents out in the sticks, their farm becoming your home for a nice handful of years, all the way until your grandparents decided that they couldn't financially care for you anymore.

You didn't blame them as they sent you back home to Hawkins, having already returned to the years of grown trauma. You were less than happy to be back home.

Along with seeing how much your twin brother had changed dramatically appearance-wise. Steve having gotten more toned from being on the basketball team.

You were visibly more scrawny, your hair longer just chin-length, not even enough care to trim it, along with your lack of pale skin from spending most of your time on the farm outside with the animals.

Steve just seemed like the more sheltered version of you, like everything that could have gone right.

You tried blending in with everyone; you tried. It seemed like people would instantly recognize you from middle school.

The rumored "other brother." eyes would be on you everywhere the moment you stepped foot through the Hawkins school hallways with your head held high and music blaring from your headphones.

You were the mystery child that everyone wanted to know. You rejected the social cue, stomped on it, and kicked it out of your way. You didn't care for the social cliches or the weird "king Steve" title your brother had earned from being Mr. Popular.

Unknowingly, you had tipped the scale that had held your high school from tumbling apart. You were off the hinges, not following any of the "rules" that Steve passed on as advice. You saw it all as just silly things that silly people follow.

Which was why you had taken a liking towards Jonathan Byers.

You hadn't known the boy earlier in your childhood, not really recognizing him as any of the kids that you would play with down the street until you realized that when you were younger, your parents practically handpicked the children that you were allowed to be friends with.

You guessed that was the main reason you attached to Jonathan so quickly; his outcast and shy demeanor just clicked with your personality.

You just being polar opposites, him just wanting to keep his head down, although out of high school, you just wanted to stand up for yourself and have fun.

The more you hung with the dark brunette, the more you realized how angry Steve would become with you, almost throwing a tantrum, seeing you sneak out only to find the Byers boy waiting in your driveway waiting to pick you up.

You didn't understand why Steve had been so pissed about Jonathan, not really caring much to listen to the whole thing with his new fling, Nancy Wheeler.

You chose to stay out of any relationships he had in hopes that he would catch the idea and follow suit.

It seemed like you had spent a lot of your time hanging out with Jonathan. If you weren't at school, you were at his place, and if you weren't at his place, you were chilling behind the counter keeping him company at his part-time job.

You two had become attached at the hip, spending so much time together that even Joyce would be surprised if she hadn’t bumped into you during the afternoons that she had been returning home from her job.

And before you know it, something clicks. Your suppressed emotions are now finally coming to the surface like a shaken can of soda.

When you realized that the feelings you had towards Jonathan were more than just wanting to be friends, you found yourself thinking of more.

You were degrading yourself by thinking of your best friend in such inappropriate ways. But you were good at pretending, masking the uncomfortable feeling that shook around you every time you two would hang out alone.

Jonathan had to pretend like he hadn't noticed, pretend like he didn't notice you slipping away from him. Getting into a heated argument with Steve, your own brother, calls you a freak.

The one person that you had grown up with being the number one reason you felt so out of place in the world, you had to run to the only person that you knew would listen.

Jonathan woke at you climbing through his widow the moon outlining your stumbling figure as you asked him if he wanted to go somewhere to talk with tears brimming your eyes.

Jonathan tiredly agrees to drive you to the Quarry. There you two sat on the hood of his car and just talked. You vented until you couldn't anymore, telling Jonathan how out of sorts you felt with your family falling into shambles. It was nice to get things off your chest.

A peaceful moment of silence falls between you two. You can hear the sound of your heart lightly thumping against your chest just as you were about to call it a night. Before you know it, you turn your head and kiss the boy next to you.

You kiss Jonathan Byers, not on the cheek, not a peck, but a full-on kiss on the mouth.

A real kiss. The full-fledged kiss happens so quickly that Jonathan sort of freezes, his hands resting along your arm as he just lets your mouth attack.

His not being able to process that your lips were moving against his mouth, the kiss doesn't last that long. You lean away and just sort of sit there, processing what the hell just happened.

"I’m sorry." Your voice whispers as you look past Jonathan, your eyes unfocused as you try to make sense of all the sudden emotions washing over you.

"No, that's okay." Jonathan replies, his tone laced with sincerity.

"Really, Jonathan, I’m so sorry."

"No, really. It's okay Y/N." There was another beat of silence as you two just took it all in. You could feel your chest rising with every deep breath you took.

You hated it.

You hated feeling everything all at once. You didn't know what to do. You just wanted it all to stop. Before you know it, Jonathan is pulling you into a hug.

It's not a crappy side hug thing that you give your relatives when you're visiting them during the holidays; it's a real hug, one that feels like he was single-handedly trying to pull you down from that gray thundering cloud you had mounted yourself on.

When you pull away from the hug, Jothan doesn't say anything. You both don't speak much after following his lead as he ducks back into the car and starts the engine, his headlights beaming awake as Jonathan halts once more, his hands hovering over his steering wheel.

Before you could ask what's wrong, he moves in to kiss you again.

And you just let him. You don't know why it felt so good or why he had done it.

You don't do much but kiss for a while, at least until your lips feel like they are starting to swell.

It seemed like Jonathan had got the same idea. He pulled away with a sort of dazed look, shaking his head before returning his attention back to the wheel.

He drives in comforting silence, your head resting against the glass of the window as your fingers grace the skin of your lips, almost like you could still detect traces of him left on them.

When Jonathan pulls into your driveway, reality hits you like thrown bricks. You don't know what to say to him, so you don't say anything. You just unbuckle your seatbelt and exit his car without saying a word.

That night you sleep staring out your window, looking at the stars as you place a pillow over your head, muffling out the bed springs from Steve’s room. You fall asleep thinking about Jonathan and how he kissed you.

You don't say much to anyone during the morning, spending most of your day just focusing on your school work as the school day passes in the blink of an eye.

The only hard part was ignoring Jonathan during the lunch period you had together. Your stomach was turning and you had met eyes from across the cafeteria.

You spin on your heels and dunk your tray of untouched food into the trash, deciding to spend your lunch period in a back hallway with music blaring through your headphones, waiting for the hour to pass.

That was how you spent the rest of the day, hiding. It wasn't until the moon was up that you found your fingers ghosting over your lips, thinking about the kiss again.

You don't know what changed in your mind, but you decided that at that moment you needed to see Jonathan again, so you rushed down your stairs and passed the group of people that Steve had invited over.

Getting the old bike you haven't ridden since middle school out of the garage and onto the road, you biked the way to the main road that led to Jonathan's house.

Your lungs felt like they were going to burst at every pedal, leaving you breathless as you just realized you were in your pajamas and socks pedaling fast enough to keep you warm from the nipping late spring weather.

Finally, skidding into Jonathan's driveway, tossing the bike into the grass.

You don’t really have a plan on what to do once you have gotten to the porch of the home.

Your mind is racing as you sort of just scratch the back of your neck before turning around and tiptoeing to the side of the house.

You approached Jonathan's bedroom window, tapping slowly on the glass with your knuckle, flinching as the curtains parted. Jonathan glances down at you with a surprised look on his face. He was shirtless.

That was the second thing you noticed. You now knew that Jonathan had slept shirtless, along with the trail of hair that ran down his chest. You were gawking at him, eyeing him like meat.

You don't say anything as he yanks open his window. You can't keep your eyes away from his chest, "Y/N? Dude, do you know what time it is?"

"I'm sorry." You've got to stop apologizing. You need to learn other words than those two phrases, but it's all you can think of when Jonathan stands shirtless in front of you.

Your eyes glisten in their wide state, Jonathan gesturing for you to come in as you struggle to climb inside through the window.

His house is silent. You tumble onto the ground, falling flat on your ass when Jonathan sighs, leaning over you to close his curtains.

"I'm sorry." You apologize again, standing up when Jonathan glances at you. As you take a step forward, your legs move on their own, closing the gap between you and him and pressing another kiss onto his lips.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you try to ground yourself to anything. When his hands trail around your waist, grabbing you closer to him as his head tilts to the side, deepening the kiss.

Jonathan is the first to pull away for the kiss. His brow resting on yours, his breath fanning against the skin of your cheek.

"Stop apologizing all the time." was all that he had said before kissing you again.

With him taking the lead, you were starting to feel light-headed just like how you felt the day you had kissed him on the hood of his car.

The neediness in the way he had wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him like he was afraid you would slip away again.

Your heart is hammering against your chest, feeling his tongue glide into your mouth.

A moan coaxes from your throat as your hand rests against the broad middle of his chest.

The feeling of his cool skin against yours almost sent you into an orbit. Let him guide you backward until you sit against his bed.

"My mom’s in the living room, but Will’s sleeping in the other room, so we can't be loud," Jonathan whispered just inches away from your mouth. You didn't dare to speak, only nodding your head in acknowledgment, your eyes glued onto his mouth as you had craved them.

It was strange feeling so suddenly needy for him, so open with your emotions.

Jonathan smiles, almost like he had known that power he had over you, pushing you down to lie with your back against his mattress, kissing a trail down your neck before crawling on top of you.

His hands adventuring alongside the exposed part of your shirt, getting rid of the cotton shirt as you both make quick work of your pants.

Removing each other's clothes at a very frantic pace, you were both horny teenagers undressing each other for the first time, hands lingering against hot skin and lips swollen from kissing.

You don't know how to feel when Jonathan slides his hands down your body, your hips twitching off of the mattress.

Feeling his wet lips softly drag along the skin just below your belly button, eyeing your boxers as his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It was truly a sight to behold watching Jonathan eye the outline of your growing erection, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"Do you want to?" He asked, glancing up at you through his lashes. You swore you had just remembered how to breathe.

How to open your mouth and exhale normally, while watching yourself twitch just from the question.

You knew Jonathan felt it too; his eyes pointed down at your groin. He glances at your throbbing issues before returning his attention to you.

"P—please." You were too preoccupied with the growing need you felt in the pit of your stomach to take notice of how needy your voice sounded.

You were desperate for his touch, as you felt dizzy watching Jonathan’s fingers duck under the elastic of your underwear. Your hips arched in response to his cold fingers against your hot length.

You know you have to be quiet, your arm slung over your mouth to muffle the lewd noises that have leaked from it. Your eyes close as your hips move independently, thrusting into his touch.

Jonathan begins to stroke your cock at an almost slow and agonizing pace, cursing under your breath as precum spilled from your tip and coated his hand.

The sounds of your labored breathing and his fingers slickly jerking off your girth ripple outward throughout the dark bedroom.

You couldn’t even look at him without feeling dizzy. The brunette averted his gaze shyly, his face flushed pink as his mouth parted.

"It makes me feel…weird when you watch." What the fuck, what the fuck? Your mind was an orbit of howling, intense hormones.

You were almost convinced you had died and this was your heaven, getting a handjob from the most adorable guy that you had laid your eyes on.

With no one around to see the sinful act that was unfolding, something about how flushed Jonathan looked with him holding your cock made you feel so...discombobulated.

Jonathan just focused on making quick work with his hands, feeling you finally relax against the mattress, your legs hanging off of the edge as he sat on top of your thighs.

The weight was driving your body insane. It hadn’t helped when Jonathan surged forward. His guiding your tip passed through his lips and sat flat against his tongue, rushing all the blood to your dick.

"H–holy fuck." You stifled a grunt, your hips bucking against his mouth, his hands resting down on your hips to stop you from fidgeting.

"Be quiet." Jonathan chuckled like your dick wasn’t in his mouth at the moment, the brunette wrapping his lips over the hilt of your cock.

His tongue poked out of his mouth, inexperienced on how to take your entire length inside without gagging.

You never expected getting sucked off to feel so…good.

Sure, you masturbated like any other old teenager your age, but it was always just you and your hand going at it to the poster on your wall of Arnold Schwarzenegger and his bare muscular chest as the Terminator.

You have the poster taped up just above your headboard along with a row of other movies that you considered to be the pinnacle of film history.

It was a nice cover-up from your family, having posters of male eye candy in the room for other pleasures.

You watched as his lips, glistening spit-covered lips, took you into his mouth deeper, allowing more of your length in his mouth until his nose tickled the bush of your pubic hair.

The feeling of his tongue swirling around the trace of your vein threatened your stability; the feeling of hitting the back of his throat made your toes curl against the carpet and your head leans back.

The sound of his little gag makes you want to live there, having your dick down his throat for the rest of your life.

Your thighs twitched under him, feeling Jonathan grab your balls with his other hand.

He twisted his fingers, unsure what to do with them, before simply fondling them in his hands. It was enough for you, more than enough. Honestly, you have never felt so turned on in your life.

His head bobbing up and down your cock, you didn't know how long you went last at the sight of his puffed-out cheeks and wet lips, just drinking in the sight as time went on, not wanting the moment to end from the overwhelming experience.

Your fingers were threading through his tough, short brunette hair, trying to ground yourself onto anything that you could reach, feeling the heat from your building orgasm creep towards your boiling point.

You haven’t been so turned on in your entire life. The pleasure of having your dick sucked for the first time almost tortures you.

You wondered if Jonathan had felt the same way, wondering if he too was hard under his briefs.

So turned on from sucking your dick that there would be a dark stain of precum along with the material of his underwear.

You weren't able to tell, but the thought alone did something to you, your fingers digging into his scalp, fisting around his hair tighter.

"F—fuck." you whimpered pathetically, Jonathan’s mouth parting from your cock with a string of spit connected to his mouth, your chest caving at the sudden loss of warmth.

"If you’re gonna…do it. Can you do it in my m—mouth?" You could only nod at the lewd request, your body settling once he had engulfed your cock once more, assuming that he just didn't get cum stains all over his bedsheets as he sucked at the head of your tip.

Your teeth sink into your arm to stop yourself from moaning at the top of your lungs as you cum down his throat.

Jonathan manages to swallow everything the second it hits his tongue. you were impressed and, honestly, just more turned on.

Wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. You sat up, realizing that he had been straddling the entire time.

Your hands were reaching for his hips, and you hesitated before deciding to lean in to kiss him.

"Jonathan?" It was a record-breaking time how fast Jonathan had shot up from your lap, crawling under his blankets as you leaned down to throw yourself to the floor, tumbling under his bed the moment your face had hit the carpet.

The door just opened minutes later as you watched the dim light from the hallway leak into the bedroom, only being able to see Joyce’s shoes as she stood stock still at the doorway.

Jonathan’s soft breathing coaxes his mother into believing that the boy is truly asleep. humming to herself before shutting the bedroom door, making you exhale a held breath.

As quickly as the door shut you and Jonathan had snuck out of the bedroom window, your feet pattering against the dirt as you run for your bike.

Your head turned towards the house, afraid that Joyce would catch you sneaking out of her home at an unruly hour.

Though your worries were settled, you got to the main road and back to your home in one piece.

You'd think you’d be able to cut the kid some slack after giving you the most jaw-dropping, sheet-clenching head that you’ve ever experienced in life, but nope.

It seemed like after the blowjob accident, you were becoming even more distant with Jonathan, continually dodging him in the halls and skipping lunch for a full week.

You didn't know how long you could keep the streak going, biking to and from school every day as an amazing form of exercise, but Hawkin's weather was unpredictable.

Like today, the mornings were high and dry, the sun beaming out enough that you swore you would melt the moment you had stepped foot outside, and then the gray clouds tumbled in, rain soaking your entire outfit as you hurled your bike up the road.

Huffing as your chain had popped the moment you had barreled over a deep puddle that had sent you flying from your bike. The injuries were minor, but your ego had taken a hit.

And it was like your day was planned to get worse. Jonathan spotted you stranded on the side of the road.

Just the sight of his car pulling in next to you made your blood run even colder than the freezing temperature it already was from your clothes being soaked.

You prayed that your face masked the obvious uncomfortableness you felt as your clothes stuck tightly against your skin, a shiver running down your spine as you watched Jonathan’s eyes trace down your figure.

"You wanna ride?" He smirked, his tone hinting at a playful reference to something more sexual.

You popped the trunk of his car, stuffing your bike into his trunk and sliding into the passenger's side, your face flushed as you buckled in.

The car ride continued in uncomfortable silence. Every time Jonathan would gesture, his mouth would open just to close, not really knowing how to break the ice.

A handful of minutes passed before you realized Jonathan was driving in the total opposite direction of your home. Turning into the woods, you recognized the road instantly. He was driving to the quarry.

The moment he had shifted the car into park, Jonathan gripped the wheel with both hands, his head leaning down, a low grunt erupting suddenly as you grimaced from the cold.

Your head turning, you noticed his head tilted, his gaze fixed on you.

"What?" you asked, your tone flat.

Jonathan smirked, not hiding the fact that he was gawking at your mouth. Maybe it was because your face had flushed, making you look so fucking…attractive to him.

"Huh?" he hummed, making a scene of tearing his eyes from the trance your mouth had seemed to put him in.

"You're staring." He didn't even seem to bother with an apology like he wanted you to know that he wanted to kiss you.

"I know, I can't help it." His hands reach out to comb through your wet hair, letting his fingers scrape through your scalp, involuntarily leaning farther into his touch.

It was the type of touch that made you realize how much of an asshole you were for ignoring the only person that seemed to care about your well-being in this shit town, the only person that you were too scared to care about.

The last couple of days, you felt empty, following some pointless routine, turning corners and taking the longer route just to avoid the obvious feelings you had for the boy.

You missed listening to his confusing music talk about bands that you didn't even know existed till then, or the small "concerts" of songs you would play air guitar to as Jonathan belted in his pitchy voice to Will as you drove the younger Byers kid to school.

If your feelings were obvious to you, it didn't take rocket science to know that Jonatan knew that you liked him.

Even when your dick was in his mouth, you were afraid that it was all just some stupid prank, like he was going to pull away at any moment and degrade you for having such feelings for another male.

You just wanted to go back in time and stay, stay in the infinite where you could just be together with Jonathan without all the emotional stuff involved.

You just wanted to be able to kiss him whenever you wanted, do the things you would see Steve do to the hopelessly romantic girls that had fallen for his suave charm. You wanted to be with Jonathan like Steve was with Nancy.

It was like Jonathan had known you were thinking too hard about something, tugging at the collar of your shirt and suddenly leaning you in closer to him.

Your lips parted by reflex as he locked eyes with you, his head slightly tilting like he was waiting for you to run away, waiting for any sign of hesitation.

You couldn't handle it anymore. Your heart was not built strong enough to handle the chase. You decided to make the first move, surging forward and finally breaking the distance between you two.

You never knew Jonathan could be so touchy. The feeling of his fingers combing through your hair and settling a fist into the nape of your neck. The feeling of his palm gliding against your cheek like his fingers were guiding your face into his lips.

It all just felt so good, deepening the kiss, feeling the wet front of your shirt press against his more dry, warm chest.

A low moan vibrated against your mouth as your tongue slid into his mouth.

As if you couldn't be any more turned on, the feeling of his hand wrapping around your neck made your adam's apple bob against his grasp.

You thought it was insane how quickly your body went from freezing cold to smoothing hot in minutes, how quickly Jonathan could turn you into a human heat torch with his simple touch.

Jonathan just knew how to make you feel so relaxed like he knew your body better than you knew yourself.

The way he would coax small whimpers from your mouth, how good his fingers felt trailing under your shirt, how desperate he made you feel leaning as close as you could get without the gear shift digging painfully into your ribs.

You couldn't recall how long you were making out with Jonathan, and honestly couldn't think about anything other than the feeling of his mouth against yours, so time yourself.

The moment he pulled away, there was a damp, wet stain every place you touched him.

He was nearly as wet in your sweater as you were, and his fingers were pruned from playing with your hair. Despite having an advantage in body heat, he was now shivering from the cold.

You were both panting like you had just learned how to breathe for the first time, the sound of his harsh breathing being washed out by the loud thumping drum of rain hitting against the small car.

He looked just like a mess as you were, lips red and swollen from your sloppy excuse for kissing, pupils dilated so wide he almost reminded you of a cat, the way his face was almost a perfect shade of pink, like all the heat from his body had rushed to his face.

"Okay so," He sighed, with a shy smile on his face, his tongue tracing over the bottom of his lip.

"So we’re on kissing terms again, but not talking. I like kissing you… a lot. But I think I would prefer you to actually talk to me a bit more."His hand was stretched out in confusion, yet his smile never flattened.

You felt stuck, your mind trying to regain enough sense to find words and scramble them around to form an actual response.

“I—I don’t, well I don't know what you like, want from me I guess? Like does this make us like…official or what?”

"official," you repeat the words like they had tasted funny? Did you want to be official with Jonathan? The title was so vague in meaning that you didn't even know what it meant.

Did it mean that Jonathan wanted to have a title for whatever you two were doing? Were you even gay?

"...Boyfriends?" You answered, watching him grin over at you while playing with the cuffs of his shirt, and an eyebrow was raised.

"Boyfriends?" Jonathan repeated with a questioning tone, as if he wanted to hear you say it again.

"I want you to be my boyfriend." You spoke softly, afraid that anything could go wrong—

"I kinda want to fuck you really badly right now." oh.

He seemed to enjoy watching you squirm as if he could hear the bolts and springs banging around in your head as your lashes fluttered, your gaze blank, and your mouth hung open agape.

It only took you a few seconds to follow him to the back seat and perch in his lap at an awkward slouching angle.

It was like Jonathan could read you like an open book, kissing you along your neck as you struggled to ruin your wet jeans.

The feeling of his thumbs gently rubbing against the bare skin of your hips as you sat up to straddle him was soothing.

"I don't really know what I'm doing, but I just want you to feel good, okay?" It was a comforting warning, before the pain of his two fingers thrust into your asshole, coating it in a thin layer of his own spit, the burning sensation leaving you whimpering into the curve of his neck.

His other hand helps you hold yourself in the air, lifting your thighs for enough room for his arm to slip under and touch you, his fingers thrusting inside of you at a slow pace, Jonathan listening to the hitch in your breath to control himself as his fingers twist gently fucking your hole.

Your whining and fidgeting made him chuckle. It was weird how quickly the pain had subsided. Your eyes were squeezing shut tight one moment, then you were rocking against his hand the next.

Just getting used to the feeling that was taken away, Jonathan removed his fingers and shifted his hips up to slide down his pants, his cock springing from his briefs, neglected and leaking.

Your forehead rested against his as you slowly lowered yourself onto his tip, not bothering to muffle the slutty whimpers that passed from your mouth and echoed in the car.

Jonathan felt his dick twitch, the ache in his thighs to thrust farther inside of you, the burning need to sink himself deeper inside of you.

But he was a gentleman and let you set your own pace, your arm hooked onto his shoulder, the other fisted against the leather of the backseats.

You slowly sank yourself down onto his erected cock, a content grunt shared between the two of you as your arms wrapped around his neck.

Your thighs shifted up before slamming down a shock of pleasure, leaving you whimpering and mumbling nonsense into his ear.

Jonathan grunted, letting you use his body wholeheartedly.

The position he sat in was comfortable enough for him to chase your thrusts with his hips, having to use most of his strength to help you squat into position.

His hips slammed against yours greedily, the car rocking from the moving weight taking him as far as you could handle inside of your body.

Jonathan fucks his hip into you hard and fast. The hot feeling of his thick girth spreading you open as he fucked into you.

While his fingers wrapped eagerly around your cock, his wrist twisting messily against your cock, struggling to find a rhythm with both things occupying his hands.

You felt everything all at once, your orgasm striking you over the edge. As you spilled all over his hand, your hand fisted into his hair as the other held you upright, gripping onto the back seat.

Your muscles clench around him, your climax rippling against his cock.

"That was really, really hot," Jonathan said with a smirk. You leaned up to place a kiss against your collarbone and another just on your chin.

"But I'm not done." He was kind enough to take a moment for your orgasm to subside.

He allows you to relax once more before moving to lie down with your back against the seats, squeezing himself between your legs, giving you one more kind smile, resting his forehead against yours.

His hand hooked under the bend of your knee and pressed himself against your puckering hole. The moment he started moving inside of you again, you felt so sensitive everywhere, moaning his name like it was a prayer.

Jonathan's sucking hickeys into your neck didn't help one bit. You were moaning under his lips as you leaned your head back, accepting your fate.

Screwing your eyes and grabbing onto his shoulders, Jonathan could barely contain himself from the sight of your scrunched up, pleased face.

Thrusting in roughly, hitting the spot that made your body want to melt against him every time.

"Oh, fu—shit." With his legs trembling and fingers digging into the plush of your hairy thigh, you were suddenly aware of how hot it was in the car, sweat rolling from the hairline and making the skin on your back stick to the leather of the seats.

You had no choice but to ignore it at the moment, getting your guts literally arranged, biting your lip and curling against the cramp forming in your thigh.

The slight discomfort was just the price you were willing to pay. It was already forgotten the moment Jonathan had gripped your length that had been slapping against his chest.

stroking you through his thrust, your back arching up into him as his muscles tensed, his entire weight suddenly shifting to lie on top of you as he was quick with his hands, pulling out of you and climaxing loudly against your chest. You didn't know how much you had in you, or if it was humanly possible to cum so much.

Your orgasm is unrolling before you can even realize what's happening. Your second orgasm is already in full swing.

His long, slender fingers were trembling as he pressed soft kisses against your lips, the moment becoming more intimate as you wrapped your arms around him and held him close while you felt his cock softened and pressed against your stomach.

You rested in each other's arms for a calm moment, the sound of rain painting chorusing together with the sounds of each other breathing.

"Kinda disappointed I couldn't make you my personal twinkie." Jonathan teased, pressing his face into your chest, enjoying being wrapped around so close to you, even being covered in each other's sweat and cum. It was a loving moment that you too enjoyed.

Humming in agreement, not to the twinkie part, but to the fact that you two were content with the sex, closing your eyes and taking in the moment.

As much as you wished to fall asleep with Jonathan in your arms, you knew Joyce would freak out not seeing her son home after school without a word, warning to spare the single mother's heart attack of thinking her child went missing.

"Come on, we gotta get dressed." You whispered, your thighs wrapping around his torso and squeezing around him in a playful manner, which only made him whine and curl closer against your chest.

"No, I wanna die here, just like this."

"What if I told you we could go to my place and shower together if no one's home?" The bribe was enough for him to lift his head up and look at you. His face was still flushed as he smiled dreamily.

"Well, how am I supposed to say no to that?"

Bonus: Steve finds out.

It was a mistake to ever invite Jonathan over to your place. You had almost been dating the guy for a year and every single second he had alone with you left you sore in places that you couldn't even explain with your face flushing.

Being a gay couple during the 90s didn't help, and neither did living in a small rural town full of close-minded people afraid of change.

Any moment that was away from the public was a break away from everyone else's eyes. Being openly affectionate wasn't something you could do around Hawkins.

It was just the risk you two lovers took, and with your parents out of town most of the time, it wasn't a problem.

Being able to make out in the room in the house whenever Steve was away without being bothered.

It was all good, until the times that you wanted to hang out with Jonathan. Sometimes having to beat the boy away with a stick (metaphorically).

"I r—really have to finish, ah." You struggled against Jonathan's lips, his mouth latched onto your collarbones, nuzzling his head into your neck.

The brunette hummed against your skin, his fingers trailing up your thigh and squeezing your already growing erection.

It was like he had a bullseye target telling him the status of your dick at any given time.

"You're doing a lot of complaining for someone that's about to get their dick sucked." He mumbled, trailing soft kisses along your shoulder, a hiss escaping your mouth the second his teeth teasingly sank into your skin.

Jonathan apologized with his tongue dragging along the abused spot, sucking splotchy red marks into your skin until he was satisfied.

You knew it would be a mistake to invite your boyfriend over to study, with your household empty, your parents on a work trip, and Steve was gone hanging out with friends after school.

You were supposed to have your nose tucked away in the study packet you had for your science test, hoping that with the passing grade Jonathan had he would help you, but instead he was crawling into your lap, marking bruises all over your body.

You sighed, dropping your pencil when Jonathan took your face in his hands, tilting your chin up to peck you on the lips.

"Is this what it's like to have a boyfriend? I’m just your personal sex toy every day of the week until you suck me dry?" Your hands are grabbing at his loose hips, halting him from grinding against you but not putting much of a fight against the sudden display of neediness from your partner.

"Maybe!" Jonathan hummed, latching his mouth against the skin of your neck once more.

You exhaled a chuckle, your hands swirling alongside his hips, your thoughts starting to blank in the way Jonathan's hips rubbed against your own, the boy having so much control over you it was starting to be concerning.

"Jonathan," you moan, tilting your head back as one of his hands wraps around your neck. His hips grind down on you with even more pressure.

Just as you reached down to undo his belt, a shout of surprise broke your two apart. "What the fuck!" Steve screamed, his brows furrowed as he stood stock-still in the doorway of the family living room.

The room fell silent, only the sound of your heart hammering against your chest as Steve stared at the two of you with wide eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Jonathan asked, his tone careful as he peeled himself away from your touch, still sitting in your lap, feeling your erection pressing into his thigh. He knew that the last thing you wanted was for your brother to see your boner.

"What? What am I doing here? What are you doing here? On top of my brother?"

"Oh God, were you two about to have sex? What the fuck, what if dad came home early or if mom saw you?" You grimaced at the thought, your head leaning into Jonathan's chest to cover your face from the embarrassing situation, wanting nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there at least until your erection went away.

"I mean, what the hell, when did you two even start hooking up? When did you become…gay?" Steve asked, his voice just laced with confusion, raising an octave with every question.

Jonathan sighed, crawling out of your lap and replacing his presence with a couch pillow. While you lift your head, fingers interlaced with his, knowing that the tender look that Jonathan gave you was meant for comfort.

You struggled to find your voice, not even wanting to share this part of your life with your family. You never expected it to come out this way. "So, we've been dating—"

"Wait, you're dating? Like, this is a whole… thing?" gesturing towards you two, you flinched as Jonathan grunted in annoyance at his tempting already running thin, seeing how uncomfortable you were.

He knew that it had to happen one day, the day that your family, his family, his friends, and all of Hawkins knew about the relationship that you two had.

"Steve," Jonathan barged in, firmly squeezing your hand. "Yes, we’re dating. We've been dating for almost a year now, and honestly, it's been a pretty good fucking year. I'm sure Y/N was going to tell you at some point. It's just that we love each other and want to do anything to keep our relationship that way. "

"You’re in love?" Steve mumbled, staring at his twin brother with a tinge of jealousy passing through his emotions before he settled with just being happy for you.

"Well...then I'm happy for you."

[ ❥ ] taglist. @weasleytwinscumslut @lluvin @bucky-daddy-barnes @sh3lov3dyou @loveshineslikethesky @willowwonka @vxid42 @spenglerslime @imahoforthings @eichenhouseproperty @bbymochi1 @ang3l1te @andineverwould @jonathansmalewife @wooooweee

tap here to be added to taglist.

1K notes · View notes

angelllcakes · 9 months

Note

hiiii~

i was wondering if you could write an angst imagine of jeonghan where he cheats on y/n, but in the end he begs for her back? some sad backstory maybe 🤭

i’m so sorry idk why stories like these are my favorite i just love being hurt i guess 😓😩 but take your time please and be safe!!

no worries at all! i can handle a little angst 😌

just need to tell myself that this ISNT self indulgent and i’m not trying to hurt my own heart by writing angst ab my ult hehe

numbful void, ft. jeonghan

pairings: idol!jeonghan x gn!reader

warnings: angst, suggestive content, lots of crying, mentions of cheating smooching 😱😱

word count: 1.2k

There’s a distance between the two of you lately.

Maybe not in the ways one would expect, for your boyfriend still greets you sweet good mornings’ and goodbyes’ each day. It’s the same as it’s always been, yet you sense a separation only felt behind the thoughts of curiosity and mistrust.

In the last few months you’ve seen less and less of jeonghan, naively trusting his claims that his comeback requires extensive preparations. It’s difficult to understand being in a position such as his, for a demanding, best-selling group of artists require more rehearsals and more attention in order to remain at the very top. You couldn’t imagine the stress he endured, so you never minded when he’d call you late at night, sleepily letting you know of his whereabouts with the other members. You’d always give in, letting him have his freedom if it meant seeing him smile. Though his honesty began to twist from that point on, for less than a month later his colleagues would kindly message you, about him.

Joshua Hong, 12:48am - Sry to bother you, just wanted to make sure Jeonghan got back home safe~

You, 12:50am - He isn’t with you?

Sooner or later, incoming calls from the others would appear, leaving you distraught at the hundreds of thoughts peddling through your mind about your boyfriend’s location.

“We finished rehearsing about an hour ago, like we have for the last five weeks. He told me he was going straight home to you?”

“He isn’t here, but thank you for being honest with me ‘Kwan.”

you bite your lip tensely, bouncing one leg up and down as you sit by your bedroom window. Just the idea of him being in an unsafe situation triggers your mind, though for some reason you can’t let yourself believe this has all been happening unintentionally.

You, 1:12am - Hannie?

You, Imy, are you almost home?

You, 1:15am - idc where you are just tell me you’re ok

By morning, your eyes blink open to whisps of hair tickling your shoulder, and an arm tightly clung to your waist. In the moment you want to shake him startled and interrogate him with questions that have kept you up all night. But you wouldn’t dare, instead nudging closer to him in the comfort of his warmth.

But this always happens, by the next morning he finds his way back to you, and you let him off without question. Sooner or later will he even return anymore?

He bids you a gentle farewell for another day of work as you twirl a strand from his perm back into place, softly pecking his cheek before returning to your office. When he shuts the door back into its position, you make a sharp turn for the bathroom, digging through the hamper for any evidence of his travels. Part of you is seeping with noisiness, begging to discover what kind of truths he’s been hiding. Another side of you can’t believe you’d let yourself lose this much trust in him, someone you’ve spent years of memories with.

You pull out his attire from last night, slightly damp from sweating through never-ending dance practices. As you shake off his sweat pants a natural, floral-scented fragrance fills your senses, which has never been your go-to aroma.

Pondering further on your thoughts you place his clothing back into the dirty pile feeling more distressed than before. A small, dark object slips out of his pocket, catching your eye by the sink, and only until after it’s swatted away in a scream do you realize it had only been a false eyelash. Your eyes widen, crouching over its place on the tile floor as your hand covers your gasping mouth.

Never in your life had you touched a pair of false lashes, and your just about positive his members haven’t either.

That evening you sit yourself comfortably at the kitchen table, only hiding your growing anxieties from the situation jeonghans brought to your attention.

He enters through the door, lazily kicking off his shoes before making his way over to the leftovers you’d left for him. Sometimes. when he found himself too exhausted, he’ll resist the urge to give you a sign of affection, not wanting to throw his hangriness onto you.

“Do we have any glue, hannie?” you mention.

His eyebrows furrow, doe eyes widening as he turns to you with a chuckle.

“And what would you need glue for sweetheart?”

“How else am I supposed to stick these falsies on?” You question half ignorantly, and watch as all the color drains from his face in an instant.

He rushes to your side, kneeling beside the chair you angrily perched on.

“S-Sweeheart you need to listen to me-“

“What is there to listen to Jeonghan!” You rise from the table, hands fisting around the now-dry pair of lashes before they’re throw towards his face.

In the time you’ve loved Jeonghan, you’ve never seen your boyfriend break down this quickly. He’s already tearing up, explaining in muffled sobs how apologetic he is, how big of a mistake he’s been making.

“This comebacks’ preparation has been so draining, baby. I needed a breath of fresh air from my life!” His eyes grow swollen at the sight of you, tearing up with nothing but a stone-cold gaze from above him.

He couldn’t force you into complying to his pleasures. The idea of using you for his own wishes made him sick. A few months ago he’d stumbled upon a lesser-known bar with his close friend, who encouraged him inside in order to free his mind.

“I only spent a few nights at that club, was only there because he thought it’d get rid of my stress. I wouldn’t have to think about my career, or be burdened by the responsibilities I have to maintain each day.”

“What, like your responsibilities of being a truthful boyfriend? Your clothes smell like another woman’s perfume Jeonghan.”

The possibilities of where his hands have been, whom his lips might have touched is something that would haunt you for who knows how long, but that sliver of hope in your heart couldn’t help but appreciate his care for you, refraining from using you in any immature way. He’s never thought of you lowly, and never will. It’s why arguments with him are so hard to communicate through. His reasons jumble inside your head until you can’t decide whether to ridicule him, or kiss him senseless. No matter what he’s done, he always manages to make it up to you. A part of you wants to believe that this time he’ll do it again too.

You reach out your hand to him, as he poorly attempts to wipe his tears.

“You’ve have no idea how grateful I am for you, love. Thank you, Thank you with every bone in my body for giving me your hand again.”

You chuckle, extending your fingers out further.

“No, no. Give me your pair of keys back.”

142 notes · View notes

whatstruthgottodowithit · 1 year

Text

The Girl He Left Behind [Part Thirteen]

Fandom: American Actor, RPF, Elvis Presley, Elvis Movie 2022

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Addison Goodwin, Gladys Presley, Vernon Presley, Minnie May ‘Dodger’ Presley, Red West, Sonny West, Gene Smith, Billy Smith, Original Female Characters, Colonel Tom Parker, Billy Smith, Marci Cunningham, Steve Cunningham, Jerry Schilling, Mary Jenkins, Alan Fortas, Marty Lacker, Original Male Characters, Mona Goodwin, Joe Goodwin

Word Count: 5325 // Rating: Mature

Summary: When Elvis returns home to Graceland from the Army he’s followed by the headlines ‘The Girl He Left Behind’ but what the media don’t know is that Priscilla wasn’t the first. No, that title belongs to someone Elvis will never forget.

Tags/ Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Graceland, Poverty, Friends to Lovers, 1950s Elvis, Bad Parenting, Surprise Surprise the Colonel Is a Colossal Prick, Parental Loss, Grief, Fun Fairs, Kissing, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Movie Nights, Arguing, Tension, Denial of Feelings, Age Gap Romance, Underage, Addison is 17 Elvis is 22, Guilt, Betrayal, Extortion, Blackmail, Jealous, Army Elvis, American Draft, US Army, Lying, Time Shift with Elvis moving to Memphis, Flashbacks, Caught

Notes: In my head the woman artist is dolly parton. its not accurate but idc

LINK TO ALL PARTS // AO3 LINK // PINTEREST LINK

TAGS - @girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics @notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892

Show days were full on. Addison had only been to one and somehow she felt as though she had lived through a full tour though she supposed that could have something to do with the whirlwind her mother had put her through over the past couple of weeks. They woke late the morning after and by the time they got to Atlanta they barely had time to do anything but prepare for the show that night. Addison spent most of her time with Dodger by the heated pool in their hotel whilst periodically checking in on Gladys who had informed her once Elvis was out of worrying distance that she wasn’t feeling well. She imagined it was different for Elvis and his team as they had things to do and ways to keep busy, but for her touring was a little boring. She longed to go out and explore the city. To find something that Memphis didn’t have but without her best friend to go with her she didn’t really see the point.

So after finishing her book she escorted Dodger to her room, checked in on Gladys and then headed to get ready. She was once again sharing a room with Elvis though she wasn’t sure how that had come around since she figured that someone would have gotten around to jumbling the plan back into place, but it hadn’t been done, not that she minded. Once showered she inspected her small bag of toiletries and her dress as if willing them to change into new and more exciting items. The last time she had worn her dress had been at her party and she’d had Marci on hand to make her look beautiful. Now she was left to her own devices it didn’t seem as feasible. Not to mention everyone had already seen her dress so the wow factor would be well and truly gone. Still with no other options she got dressed watching herself closely in the mirror once she was finished. She didn’t look bad, no, if anything she looked pretty but she still felt out of place. It didn’t help that she was going to have to put her cardigan and cumbersome winter coat over the top of it which didn’t exactly spell chic but rather comfort and warmth.

Once she was ready she spritzed some perfume on herself, grabbed her purse and then headed out into the long hallway where all their rooms were located. As she came out of her door Sonny came out of his grabbing her attention as he offered her a whistle.

‘Wow,’ he said, taking her in, 'you look good.’ ‘Thanks,’ she said meekly as a blush crept along her face. ‘I mean it,’ he said with a small smile which Addison returned as they started walking down the hall together. ‘Where is everyone?’ she asked. ‘EP’s got interviews downstairs so him, Red, Vernon and the Colonel are in some conference room. Everyone else is waiting to go in the lobby.’ ‘Shit, am I the last one down?’ she asked, cursing herself for having spent so long faffing over what to wear. ‘Well that depends,’ Sonny said. ‘On what?’ she asked, confused. ‘Whether you beat me through the door when we get down there,’ he said as the elevator they had been waiting for pinged open. They stepped inside and whilst Sonny pressed the button making it whir to life Addison took a moment to watch him. He was dressed more formally than she’d seen him before in a dinner jacket and slacks though his collar was open giving that hint of casualness. He looked handsome. ‘Well I’ll try not to elbow you too hard when I push you out of the way,’ she smiled. Sonny chuckled. ‘Nah you don’t have to worry about me,’ he said before adding, 'I always let the pretty ones go first.’

Before Addison could respond the door pinged open once more and Sonny gestured for her to head out which she did though she could feel her cheeks on fire. Was he flirting with her? She shook that thought from her mind as he led her to a small room off the lobby where there were several couches that everyone was lounging around on waiting to go. The boys were clustered in one corner, only missing Red, whilst Gladys and Dodger were sitting on a couch together chatting quietly. Addison made a beeline for them. Though she didn’t feel any malice about being left out of the festivities last night she still didn’t want to have her nose rubbed in it and she could hear the boys laughing and joking about the goings on at the bar they had gone to after the show.

‘Don’t you look spiffy?’ Dodger said as she perched on the edge of an armchair close by. ‘Thanks,’ Addison said with a polite smile, feeling that same old blush reappear, ‘you two look nice too.’ ‘Thanks darlin’,’ Gladys said with a soft smile though it didn’t quite meet her eyes. She looked worn out, the bags under her eyes were heavier today and though she had spent most of the day in bed she still looked tired. Addison frowned. ‘I said that dress would look just right on her, didn’t I?’ Dodger said gesturing to Gladys’ deep blue number. ‘You must have a knack,’ Addison giggled. ‘Shame it don’t feel right,’ Gladys said, rejigging the ruffled detailing on the front of her dress further down as if it was strangling her. ‘That’s just because you’re under the weather,’ Dodger said placing a hand on her daughter in laws knee. ‘Do you still not feel any better?’ Addison asked as her frown deepened. ‘I’m fine,’ Gladys said though her face wasn’t very convincing. ‘Are you sure?’ Addison asked. ‘I’m just a little tired,’ she said. ‘You could do with a pick me up,’ Dodger stated. ‘Want me to get you a coffee?’ Addison asked, Gladys nodded with a smile. Addison rose out of her chair smoothing her dress out as she stood but as she went to walk away she felt Gladys’ hand on her wrist and she turned to see what she wanted. ‘Actually, make it a vodka soda,’ she said with a soft smile.

Addison nodded dutifully though she didn’t want to. Elvis had expressed to her how much he didn’t like his mother’s drinking and Addison had noticed it was a lot more present in their house now than she remembered. Besides it didn’t make sense for her to be drinking especially if she didn’t feel well but she wasn’t about to tell a grown woman what to do. So she headed out into the lobby and to the adjoining bar. It wasn’t too crowded but there were a few people milling around seemingly along for the press interview Elvis was giving in the neighbouring function room. She sidled up to the bar and waited. It was deserted until a boy not much older than her came rushing towards it and slipped behind the counter quickly.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘It’s okay,’ Addison said kindly, ‘busy day?’ ‘Yeah feels like I’ve not stopped,’ he said resting both his hands on the bar. ‘Well thanks for slotting me into your busy schedule,’ Addison joked which made him smirk. ‘Oh I can always find time for a pretty face,’ he said leaning in towards her, ‘so what can I get you?’ ‘Um, vodka soda,’ Addison said awkwardly. She was unaccustomed to being complimented especially not twice in less than an hour. As he dutifully poured her drink out he watched her making her blush. His chocolate brown eyes sparkled a little in the ambient lighting and Addison couldn’t help but think that he was cute, in a boyish sort of way.

‘So, what brings you to Georgia?’ he asked. ‘Family trip,’ she said which was technically not a lie. ‘Oh,’ he replied. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Nothing, I just figured you’d be here to see Elvis,’ he said with a shrug as he placed the glass down on the bar in front of her, ‘everyone else is.’ ‘Is that why it’s so busy?’ she asked feigning ignorance. ‘Yeah, some benefit concert or something. I mean other people are in it too but the hotels been crawling with chicks-’ he said correcting himself as she raised an eyebrow, ‘I mean girls like you. So I figured.’ ‘Oh yeah and what are girls like me like?’ she asked cockily enjoying watching him squirm though it didn’t last long as he leaned in towards her, resting his elbows on the bar so they were face to face. ‘Young,’ he said before looking at her flirtatiously and adding, ‘and very, very pretty.’ ‘Is that right?’ she said. ‘Yeah, why else do you think I rushed over here to serve you,’ he said. ‘Great customer service?’ she asked. ‘Nah,’ he chuckled, ‘though I’m willing to go the extra mile if you want to.’ ‘Yeah?’ Addison replied. ‘I mean if you’re interested I might be able to sneak you into the back of the press conference,’ he said, ‘it’s pretty exclusive but I’m sure I could get you in.’ ‘What makes you think I’m an Elvis fan?’ she asked. She was enjoying herself. She had seen people fawning over Elvis. She had seen the way fans went insane trying to get a piece of him and how strange it felt for her as she never saw him as anything other than himself. So seeing this boy trip over himself to win favour by using a glimpse of her best friend as bait was funny to watch. ‘Isn’t everyone?’ he asked ‘And I’m sure that’s just out of the goodness of your heart, right?’ Addison snorted making him smile. ‘Maybe,’ he shrugged, ‘but there is something you could do.’ ‘Oh yeah, what’s that?’ Addison asked. ‘Give me your number,’ he said. ‘512,’ she said quickly grabbing the glass out from in front of him as he watched her confused, ‘my room number. Add it to the tab.’

And before he could say anything she waltzed back to the room where everyone was waiting.

Meanwhile, Elvis was bored, like he always was at interviews. It was always the same questions, reporters who thought they could catch him out and use whatever he said as their shocking new headline. He was lucky today though because at his side were half a dozen or so other artists all of which were participating in the same concert. It meant he didn’t have to pay as much attention and that meant his mind had wandered back to last night. He had loved performing for Addison though he had been bummed out when she hadn’t wanted to continue the night with him. In fact, he didn’t want to continue the night either, he would have much rather gone home with her but he couldn’t exactly say no to the boys. So when he’d accidentally awoke her when he came in he had been happy that she wanted to stay up and talk with him. Even if it had left him wracking his brains into the early hours about what her favourite song of his was.

And it had been nice to have her in his bed, even if it was innocent. He’d lay there after she’d fallen asleep just listening to her peaceful breathing contently until she’d rolled over and nuzzled into his side, her arm slung across his stomach lazily though it felt so warm against his bare skin he thought it may cause burns. He’d fallen asleep like that and even awoke the same way though he cursed himself for having to get up so she wouldn’t know. His eyes closed a tad, a smile dancing across his lips, as he recalled the way she had mumbled against him, protesting the loss of his touch when he’d moved. When he opened them the crowd of reporters was staring at him as were the Colonel’s beady eyes from the back of the room.

‘Well?’ a reporter on the front row said. He was about Elvis’ age though he looked older. His features were pinched in the middle of his face and it wasn’t relieved by the smirk that seemed to be plastered across his face at Elvis’ loss for words. ‘I’m sorry,’ Elvis said flashing the most charming smile he could muster, ‘could you repeat that?’ ‘I said it’s no secret your style of dancing has been wildly criticised. Do you have any animosity to these critics?’ he said, his smug smile never wavering. Elvis rubbed his brow and smiled. ‘Well not really. Those people have a job to do and they do it,’ Elvis shrugged. ‘And do you think you’ve learned anything from the criticism?’ he continued. ‘No I haven’t,’ Elvis said. ‘You haven’t?’ the reporter said dubiously. ‘No, well I don’t feel I’m doing anything wrong,’ Elvis said. ‘So you wouldn’t change what you’re doing?’ he asked. Elvis shook his head, ‘is that fair? I mean this concert is going to be televised. It could impact the ratings meaning less money for charity no?’ ‘With all due respect Sir,’ Elvis said leaning in a little closer to the microphone, ‘I’m sure my fans could give the critics a run for their money.’ ‘And who says they’re all tuning in to watch him,’ an elegant southern voice said a few microphones down. Elvis turned to glance at a female artist. She was petite and pretty and her comment was enough to get the reporters to lose focus on him as they rapidly fired questions at her. The reporter who had been questioning him though didn’t follow suit. He looked at Elvis with a sneer jotting something down in his notepad. Elvis smiled back smugly.

It wrapped up quickly after that and soon enough his Daddy, Red, the Colonel and him were being shepherded to a long car which was idling outside the hotel doors. As Red got into the front passenger side he climbed in one side along with the Colonel whilst his Daddy took to the other. As the Colonel took a seat beside his mother and Dodger, Elvis and Vernon slid in either side of Addison.

‘Hey,’ she said with a smile as she looked at him, ‘good interview?’ ‘Eh, it was alright,’ Elvis shrugged. ‘Would’ve been better if those reporters could learn some manners,’ Vernon said as he closed the door with a thunk. Gladys frowned. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘Nuthin’ just some fool reporter thinking he could intimidate me with his stupid questioning. Talking about my dancing again,’ Elvis said. ‘This again,’ Gladys sighed, ‘your talent is God-given baby! How can they not see that?’ ‘They wouldn’t know talent if it bit them on the ass,’ Dodger said rolling her eyes. Addison giggled. ‘Well he got told anyway,’ Vernon said, ‘seems our boy has another fan in one of the other acts.’ ‘Yeah she was a right feisty thing,’ Elvis chuckled. Addison kept a smile on her face though she felt it tighten just a tad at the mention of another woman. ‘Who’s that?’ she said making Elvis glance towards her. ‘One of the other artists on tonight. I don’t know her name she’s new apparently,’ Elvis shrugged making Addison’s smile become a little more genuine. ‘Well, I’m glad she’s in your corner baby. You just do like you always do tonight. They can’t complain about that,’ Gladys said. The Colonel huffed what sounded like a tight scoff from his lips which caused Elvis’ gaze to go straight to him as the pair locked eyes for a moment. He was watching his client closely as if taunting him to challenge him though hadn’t actually uttered a word yet.

‘You don’t agree?’ Elvis asked angrily looking at the Colonel who shrugged. ‘These reporters may have a point,’ the Colonel said. ‘Oh yeah and what’s that?’ Elvis replied. ‘That gigs like this aren’t your average run-of-the-mill show. Your fans come because they want to see you. The people coming tonight may be here to see you they may not but should you provoke them you may only add soldiers to their cause.’ ‘Yeah well they can think what they want,’ Elvis said, ‘everyone just needs to let me do my job.’

The car fell silent for a moment before the Colonel started talking to Vernon about a new line of Christmas merchandise as if nothing had happened. The women of the car however didn’t move on quite so quickly. Elvis could feel three pairs of eyes on him. The motherly affection of his mother and Dodger and the concern from Addison. He offered them a half-hearted smile which he was sure didn’t reassure them much and then looked out the window. He was always nervous before shows and the Colonel wasn’t helping matters. He wanted to be himself out there and more to the point his fans liked the way he acted. He just didn’t know why the Colonel cared so much about him being the way he was. He couldn’t dwell on it too long as he was distracted by Addison’s hand on his thigh. She smiled at him when he glanced at her before looking away, delving into the conversation his mother and Dodger had gotten in to, but it was enough to pull him out of his mood.

✵✵✵

The show was going great. Addison had enjoyed all of the other acts that had been on so far but she couldn’t deny that she was looking forward to Elvis’ slot. She could feel the excitement mounting as they announced him to the stage and though the other acts had been well received this was something different. The crowd broke into whoops and cheers with several girls screaming no matter what part of the song he was singing he was up to. He really could work a crowd well and he always knew just when to move a certain way or how to talk to them. And she was sure that she could see a smirk on his face just before he did anything that drove the crowd insane like he knew how he was going to affect them.

‘Uh ladies and gentlemen we, my band and I, wanna thank you all for coming out tonight. Now I know that you’re not here for us but rather for a good cause,’ he said chuckling as there were protestations from the crowd about their reason for attending, ‘but even so we appreciate it. And we’re gonna round off with one we love but first I ask you to indulge me just a little.’

As he walked over to the piano and sat down there were claps and cheers. Addison didn’t take part, instead, she was craning her neck behind Gene who was sitting in her view so she could watch Elvis closely. The crowd broke into low whispers as he started to make the piano emit the first few notes of the song as they were wondered what he was going to play but she didn’t need to. It was I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now. Her favourite song. Just as she remembered him playing it years before.

‘Elvis,’ she said in a sickeningly sweet voice that sounded entirely unlike her as she leant on the side of their church piano. There was a potluck going on outside but the pair of them had lost interest and decided to sneak back inside, Elvis longing to practice on the piano whilst Addison was just content at being his shadow. ‘Addison,’ he said with a coy smile as she turned to lean on it with her elbows. ‘Play me a song,’ she said. ‘What song?’ he asked as if he didn’t already know. It was one she loved to hear. One she had made him play fifty times before though he was enjoying pretending as if he didn’t know what she was referring to.

‘Oh come on,’ she said. ‘Amazing grace?’ he said smirking as her little face scrunched up with annoyance. ‘No,’ she said elongating the word. ‘His hand in mine?’ Elvis said continuing to act clueless. ‘No!’ she giggled. ‘Swing low sweet chariot?’ Elvis said. ‘Elvis!’ she said coming around to push him up on the piano stool and placing her tiny hand on his. ‘Oh this one,’ he said as his fingers started to tinkle along the ivory keys. Addison smiled up at him as he cleared his throat ready to sing. Addison enjoyed hearing him play and at that moment she needed it. She liked the song which was a good job as she had heard it countless times over the past couple of weeks since her father had taken to listening to it on a loop. Actually, he had spent most nights in the past week drinking whiskey with Vernon and listening to heartbreak records. The pain and sorrow of which he related to. Now he was outside, laughing and joking as if everything was okay when in reality she had spent the night listening to him sob about her mother leaving once again. He’d thought she couldn’t hear him, the record player covering his cries but he was wrong. So when Elvis had wanted to duck inside the church she had insisted on following him inside, knowing that he would be able to take her mind off of it and even rewrite the pain of that memory with a new one. She loved Elvis’ voice. It was soft and gravelly, especially since he had gotten a little bit older, nevertheless it was always the same comforting feeling.

That comforting feeling was there again but with it had come a surprise sorrow, one that had made tears prick her eyes threatening to spill over any moment though fortunately no one noticed her. They were too focused on watching the boys but even so she felt embarrassed and suddenly needed to get out of there. So, without a word, she stumbled past Sonny and Red and pushed her way out of the row until she was outside the concert hall in a long cool corridor. The lights were harsh against her eyes making them sting as tears began to fall over her cheeks. She closed her eyes and rested back against the cool painted brick, willing them to subside, which they did, disappearing quickly as she heard the click of a metal door opening and closing and looked up to find Sonny coming out of the hall squinting as he looked around due to the harsh white lights. As he spotted her he smiled, coming towards her as she straightened up.

‘You alright?’ he asked. Addison nodded trying to breeze past the slight sniffle that emitted out of her as she said, ‘yep.’ ‘You sure?’ Sonny asked sceptically, ‘you kinda bolted from there pretty quick-’ ‘It was a little stuffy in there,’ she lied, ‘just needed some air. I can go back in now.’ ‘There’s not much point,’ Sonny said, ‘they’re nearly done.’ ‘Right,’ she said. Sonny smiled as he slung an arm over her shoulders. ‘Come on let’s head backstage,’ he said. Addison nodded and kept by his side as they headed down the corridor to a guarded door. Sonny flashed a pass at them and they let them through without incident just in time for them to meet Elvis and the band as they came rushing off stage amped up on adrenaline and the cheers they could hear from the auditorium.

Elvis spotted her immediately causing a tidal wave of emotions to hit him. She was once again in that pretty black dress of hers, something he had not seen on the way over due to her winter coat, looking like a vision and making his blood rush southward. It was stopped though as he noted Sonny’s arm slung around her shoulders and though it looked casual enough he still didn’t like it. Without thinking he rushed toward her, his arms sweeping around her causing Sonny to take an awkward step back as he hugged her. She hugged him back watching him with a smile as she pulled back.

‘What did you think?’ he asked. ‘I loved it,’ she said, ‘thank you.’ ‘Well, it’s been a while since we changed up the setlist. I figured now was as good of a time as any,’ he said with a grin. ‘Yeah well you didn’t need to,’ she said. ‘I wanted to,’ he replied, she could feel his thumb brushing along her back in small circles which sent a shiver down her spine. ‘I know,’ she giggled, ‘but you didn’t need to because you already played my favourite.’ ‘What?’ he asked perplexed. He had wracked his brains for hours, even gone out of his way to get the boys on board with a new song and he had missed the obvious. ‘I mean it wasn’t my favourite rendition,’ she smirked, ‘I prefer acapella myself.’ ‘Acapella? Oh. Damn how can I be so dense!’ he said with a hearty laugh as he clicked on what she had meant. The set list had covered his singles but they had thrown a nod to some of the B-sides including her only request, First in Line. As she threw her head back in a laugh he couldn’t even feel angry at being so stupid. Instead, he watched her with a smile. People were coming into the room thick and fast now but neither of them seemed to care. Though they had to let one another go so Elvis could be thanked for his performance by various event managers they never strayed far from one another. Addison remained by his side, navigated wherever they went by Elvis’s hand on her waist.

✵✵✵

Addison was lost in sleep and though she could hear a gentle thunking just outside in the realm of consciousness she couldn’t pull herself out until she heard Elvis’ voice. When she opened her eyes she found herself in bed alone though she could hear running water nearby and the bathroom door was closed signalling Elvis was up and showering. As the knocking came back she heard him call once more, ‘Addie can you get that? It’s room service.’ ‘Okay,’ she called though it was punctured by a yawn.

As she climbed out of bed she shivered, her thin night dress not fending off the morning chill in the air now that she was out from under the covers. She looked around the room for something to cover up with but found nothing, immediately cursing herself for not dressing more warmly. Last night she had been a different person. Since the diner she had felt the shift in her and Elvis’ relationship but that night it seemed to have gone even further. After the concert, they headed to a bar to celebrate. His family and management had headed back to the hotel whilst him, Addison and the boys had found a place to enjoy themselves. They spent the night by one another’s side, talking in hushed whispers and giggles, their touches lingering a little longer than normal. It had been wonderful. And then when they’d come back to the room they’d spent most of the wee hours talking in bed. Addison had opted to wear a skimpy night dress, the alcohol in her brain suggesting teasing him might be a good way to get him to kiss her, but it had never come. Now she was cursing her drunk self for not wrapping up as she walked to the door and pulled it open.

‘Hi 512,’ the boy said with a smile, the bartender from yesterday. He was standing with a trolley in front of him, plates covered over with silver dishes though they didn’t protect the smell of French toast from wafting into her nostrils. ‘Hi,’ she said feeling a little self-conscious as his eyes travelled down her body, lingering on her cleavage before they came back up to her face. ‘Can I come in?’ he asked and she nodded, holding onto the door as he walked the trolley in and set it up. ‘I thought you were a bartender,’ she said as he turned around, flashing her a pearly white smile. ‘Jack of all trades,’ he said, ‘especially when I hear there’s an order for 512.’ ‘Ah so this is you going the extra mile?’ she said. ‘Well you left without tipping yesterday,’ he said coming towards her and standing by the door frame. He was looking down on her though she didn’t feel intimidated. In fact, she didn’t feel anything. She could hear the shower cut off and sounds of movement in the bathroom and she was acutely aware that she wanted him gone before Elvis came out.

‘Well this is on the tab as well I’m afraid,’ she said, ‘and I don’t carry cash with me.’ ‘I suppose your number will just have to do,’ he said just as Elvis stepped out of the bathroom. ‘Hey we get-’ he started though he stopped as he noted the other man in the room. He was wearing just a towel, drips from his head trailing down his torso but Addison couldn’t look instead she dropped her gaze to the door handle her hand was resting on, ‘there a problem?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘foods here.’ ‘Yeah I can see that,’ he said tersely. ‘I just need a tip,’ she said. ‘My wallet is on the dresser,’ Elvis said moving into the room to grab some clothes. Addison flitted from the door and grabbed his wallet pulling a couple of bills out of it before she headed back to where the man was standing watching them both curiously. ‘Here,’ she said thrusting them into his hand. She could feel Elvis’ eyes on her as he leant in, dangerously close and said with derision, ‘I thought you weren’t a fan.’

Before she could say anything in response he headed out closing the door a little rougher than expected and when she turned around Elvis had his pants on, having slipped them on under his towel, and was now buttoning up a light blue shirt watching her closely.

‘Who was he?’ he asked as Addison diverted her gaze and started moving the plates to the small dining table they had on the other side of the room. ‘Just a bartender,’ she said. ‘Who does room visits?’ Elvis said, fiddling with his shirt cuffs. ‘Who knows how they work,’ she shrugged as she placed two plates out on the table. Elvis moved to come and sit in the chair opposite her, leaning back against the chair casually, his arm on the table. He wanted to ask her what was going on – how he knew that boy. But he couldn’t. He knew how jealous he would sound if he did and he had to be careful.

Because last night he had lost himself. He hadn’t cared about how anything looked and for a moment he had forgotten they weren’t a couple. He didn’t know why he had gone so full-on though he suspected it was the fact that seeing Sonny with his arm around her had made his blood boil. Seeing her with that nobody had done the same thing. Yet he had to reassure himself. Though they weren’t together neither of those men had her as he did. After all she wasn’t sitting eating breakfast with them, sleep in her eyes but a smile on her face as she caught him watching her scoff down French toast. They hadn’t spent the night talking with her or had her pressed up against them their fingers dancing under the chiffon that barely covered her thighs as she allowed them to hold her. No that had been him.

He was being dangerous he knew that, but he didn’t have the heart in him to care. He was going to enjoy it.

#my writing #elvis #elvis fic #elvis presley #elvis presley fic #elvis presley x oc #the girl he left behind #Colonel Tom Parker #Gladys Presley #vernon presley #dodger presley

31 notes · View notes

sylvies-chen · 1 year

Text

tagged by @its-a-state-of-angst omg thank uuu <3

nickname(s): I’ve only ever had one nickname, given to me by my friend, who calls me Bee. sometimes she’ll just type in the bee emoji 🐝 when referring to me over text and I love it

sign: aries

height: 5’7 and three quarters, like I’m *just* under 5’8

last thing I googled: princess diana eagles jacket bc I wanted to see if there was one just like it available

song stuck in my head: you should be dancing by the bee gees

number of followers: 1,374

lucky number: 8

amount of sleep: honestly a wildcard at this point

movies and books that summarize you: for movies it’s the sound of music, that thing you do, pride & prejudice, before sunrise, enchanted, etc. for books I will also pick pride & prejudice and literally anything jane austen, but also tuesdays with morrie and mrs. dalloway and normal people. honestly, my book taste is very diverse but I would say my taste in movies (and maybe books too?) definitely sums me up as, like, cutesy, but classic.

favourite song: this makes my skin crawl because I hate having to pick just one song from the entire history of music but right now, I’d say my favourite song is all my ghosts by lizzy mcalpine

aesthetic: cute, comfy, but also pretty 70’s and groovy— and I’ve got the roller skates to prove it too lol. I like a lot of colour, and bellbottoms and big fun earrings. I think playful more than anything really

favourite authors: austen, woolf, bell hooks (non fiction but idc it still counts), and sally rooney

favourite animal noise: the noise my dog makes when she’s trying to bitch and moan her way into getting my french fries lmaoo it’s so cute but such a performance I’m like nice try

random: I cried at pictures of baby polar bears the other day and it was really odd lmao I’ve never gotten so emotional so quickly

tagging: @morganupstead @escapism-through-imagination @pattysfics @crockettmarcel @stedebonnets or anyone who’s comfortable doing this so no pressure folks <3

#tag game #about me

6 notes · View notes

chadillacboseman · 2 years

Text

Dignity PT 1

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x F!Reader

Summary: A conflicted sheriff on a tragically close-minded island finds comfort in a ferry worker from the mainland.

Warning: Angst, hints at racism and xenophobia (par the course for the series), mentions of death, just kissin' like a couple of teenagers.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Uh oh, we're in deep in the Midnight Mass love here, folks. By the way, Rahul Kohli has stated that Hassan is the Sheriff's first name, his last name is El-Shabazz, in homage to Malcom X. This is SLOOOOW moving and boring but idc.

The Belle was never this late.

Hassan let out a frustrated sigh and watched as his breath billowed in white clouds through the chilled air. He checked his watch again-

6:47

The sheriff glanced at the horizon, his dark eyes scanning the frothing water for any sign of the ferry. He squinted as his gaze fell on a white speck in the distance and the faint drone of the Belle's horn echoed through the salt-laden air.

"Mornin', sheriff!" Sturge's voice called up from the docks at the waterside, "New ferry crew I imagine- the Belle never runs this late."

"They better get it together-" Hassan jammed his frigid hands into his jacket pockets as he spoke, "If Sarah has to wait for her lab supplies again, she'll be a one-woman riot."

Sturge chuckled and tossed a length of thick rope around one of the wooden pier supports to anchor the Belle as the sheriff jogged down the steps to greet the crew.

"Mornin'!" a large man with a graying beard emerged from the cabin with a woman in tow, "Forgive the delay, sheriff- we got a late start from the mainland."

Hassan didn't hear a word the man said- his eyes were transfixed on you. You grinned sheepishly and adjusted your knitted hat to cover your quickly reddening ears.

"Sheriff?" the captain cleared his throat and Hassan shook out of his trance with a start.

"Sorry- maintenance issues or port issues?" the sheriff shifted his weight uncomfortably as he tried to keep his gaze away from you.

"Neither-" the captain shook his head and glanced down at you, "I've got a new tag-along as you may have noticed. A trainee."

You grinned up at Hassan and he felt his chest tighten; your eyes shone like gemstones as the rising sun cast its bloody rays across your face, and they crinkled at the corners with your smile.

"Care to give her the tour?" the captain clapped a large hand on your shoulder and Hassan swallowed, hard, "She's never been to Crockett before. I figure you might be better than some of the other, more opinionated, folks."

The sheriff knew what he meant, of course- some of Crockett's residents were a little zealous. Bev Keane, in particular, took a very intense approach to religion. A stranger on the island would be the ideal recruit for her and the local church- Hassan had to spare you that fate.

o.--

"Your office is in the general store?" you bit back a laugh and Hassan grinned as he held the door open.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Small town problems."

You glanced around at the modest space- the shiplap walls were covered in maps of the island, fliers, and photographs. Your eyes landed on a photo in a wooden frame on the sheriff's desk. In it, a young boy with dark hair stood on the porch of the general store, eyes bright and teeth bared in an excited grin.

"My son, Ali," Hassan's eyes were on you as you examined the photo, "before this island bored him to tears."

"He looks like you."

The sheriff smiled, "He's got his mom's eyes, though."

The mention of a wife made your heart sink ever-so-slightly. You opened your mouth to speak, but Hassan beat you to it.

"It's the only part of her I have left-" he paused to fiddle with the silver ring on his hand, "besides this, of course."

"What happened?" the question tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and Hassan's eyes found the floor, "I'm sorry- if it's too personal-"

"Cancer," he said simply, "Stage four by the time they found it. She's been gone for six years."

"I'm sorry," the words seemed shallow, like a band-aid on a gunshot wound.

"Don't be-" he shrugged and his eyes met yours, "Come on, let's get this tour started."

"So, what exactly are you tagging along on the ferry for?" Hassan fell into stride next to you as the two of you ventured down Main Street.

"Training to take the wheel," your breath rose in the chilly air around you as you spoke, "Cap is getting old, needs a protege."

"Really?" The sheriff cocked an eyebrow, "Hope you're not gonna be late every morning."

You laughed and he felt his heart race at the sound of it- like music against the droning, deafening silence of Crockett.

"Are you going to arrest me if I am?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Getting to spend the night in my luxurious jail cell at the back of the General Store?" Hassan teased and you laughed again.

What a sound.

"Morning, Sheriff!" Leeza Scarborough called from her front porch with a wave that Hassan returned.

"That's Leeza," he leaned his head down so only you could hear him speak, "Joe Collie, the town soak, accidentally shot her a few years back. Paralyzed her from the waist down."

"Good lord-" you glanced up at the bright-faced teenager and smiled, "Doesn't seem to get her down at all."

"Nah, the Scarboroughs are a different breed- intensely Catholic, like the rest of this island," Hassan paused for a beat, "Except for me and Ali, of course."

"That must be hard," you glanced up at his face- his expression was pensive, as if he was lost in thought.

"Sometimes."

You left it at that.

The two of you were almost to the rec center when Hassan grabbed your arm with surprising urgency and pulled you behind a rundown house.

"Sheriff what-"

He pressed a finger to his lips and peered around the corner; Bev Keane was on the prowl outside the church, examining the sign that Sturge had set for Sunday mass.

Hassan gestured for you to look and you glanced around the wall.

"Who is that?" you whispered as you ducked your head back into hiding.

"Bev. She helps Monsignor Pruitt around the church- real piece of work. If she sees you, she'll be on you like a shark."

Hassan glanced down at you and felt his heart leap into his throat- you were so close to him that he could see your chest move with every quiet breath. He could smell you- the light hint of the fragrance you wore and the lingering scent of your shampoo.

The sheriff waited until Bev retreated back into St Patrick's before ushering you out from behind the house and continuing the tour toward the rec center.

"Hey, sheriff-" Sturge's voice crackled to life over Hassan's radio, "We got a Nor'easter coming in- NWS just sent out an alert. Cap wants to get the Belle back to the mainland before it hits."

"Copy," Hassan released the button on his radio and turned to you with a sigh, "Better get back before Cap leaves you behind."

"Thanks for the tour, Sheriff," You smiled and extended a hand, which he took and shook firmly, "See you tomorrow?"

"Count on it."

The storm hammered Crockett for hours that night, taking out the power grid and half the town's shingles in its wrath. Twice, Hassan awoke to winds that shook the house so hard he feared it would be ripped from its foundation.

But when he did sleep, he dreamed of you.

Hassan dreamed of your smile, of your infectious laugh that made his heart hammer in his chest. The smell of you, the warmth that radiated from you, all of it haunted his dreams.

"You okay, dad?" Ali looked up from his breakfast as the sheriff stumbled into the kitchen and made his way to the fridge.

"Fine," Hassan grabbed a glass of water and gestured vaguely, "Storm kept me up last night, though."

Hassan grabbed his jacket and glanced at the clock- 6:29am. He wondered if Sturge and the others at the dock would find it odd that the sheriff showed up to greet the ferry two days in a row.

He decided he didn't care.

The storm had ravaged Crockett during the night, leaving trees uprooted and shingles strewn across front lawns all over the island. Hassan meandered through the streets toward the docks, watching as the other residents cleaned up the chaos.

The Belle's horn blared across the salty air and the sheriff felt his heart leap into his throat.

"Morning, sheriff!" your voice was like a song as you waved from the cabin of the ferry. You were grinning, hair billowing in the wind as you made your way toward the dock.

"Did you make it back to the mainland before the storm hit?" Hassan held out a hand to help you across the small gap.

"Sure did-" you hopped across the gap and held onto his hand for a moment, "Looks like you guys got hit hard."

Hassan swallowed and glanced down at your hand, still wrapped in his; you smiled and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

"So, what sort of wonderful attractions can one expect on Crockett while waiting for the ferry departure?" you jogged up the steps next to the sheriff and he laughed.

"Well, I have to head out to the upperds to investigate some dead cats-" He stopped midsentence as he realized what he had just said, "But, uh, obviously that's not very-"

"I'll go with you!" you interrupted him and he blinked in surprise.

"You sure?"

"Kind of a bummer of a date, I'll admit," you smiled as you fell into stride beside him.

Hassan nearly missed a step and desperately hoped you didn't notice.

The upperds were barren, having taken the brunt of the oil spill that rocked the island a few years prior. Local kids used it as a party spot and beer cans and discarded cigarettes could be found strewn about the area after particularly rambunctious weekends.

Hassan knelt in the sand and tossed a pile of seaweed to the side to reveal a mangled cat carcass. It looked as if it had been torn to shreds by an animal of some sort, left barely recognizable as a cat.

"What do you think did it?" you knelt beside him in the sand and he shrugged as he shifted the disfigured corpse with a branch.

"Dunno- sometimes owls will grab a cat but-" he shuddered at the sight of the skull, crushed like paper, "but this...this is much worse than that."

The sheriff jotted a few notes down on a pad of paper and snapped a photo on his phone before slipping it back into his jacket pocket.

"Are all of your days so glamorous, sheriff?" you cast him a wry smile and he grinned.

"Sometimes I even get to give a pretty ferry worker a tour of the island if I'm lucky."

Your face grew warm as Hassan rose to his feet and you followed suit, pausing to dust off the front of your jeans.

"Still got a few hours before the Belle hits the water again- there's a decent diner on Main Street if you wanna grab a bite."

"Are you buying?"

"So how did you end up with this gig?" you gestured with a ketchup-dipped french fry as you sat across from the sheriff in the small diner.

"Thought it would be a quiet assignment for Ali and I- get away from the mainland," Hassan stabbed his fork rather forcefully into the pile of greens on his plate as he spoke, "Didn't realize the place was so religious until I was already here."

You sipped your water and stared at Hassan- he was handsome, god was he fucking handsome. All dark hair with flecks of gray and sharp features. His eyes met yours and he cocked an eyebrow.

All you could do was smile back.

"Want me to walk you back to the docks?" Hassan slipped a $20 bill onto the ticket, "It's already getting dark out."

You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, savoring the gentle pull on your muscles. The sheriff bit his lip as he watched your shirt lift slightly to reveal a sliver of flesh above the waistband of your jeans.

The two of you made your way onto the streets in the darkness as the first of the street lights flickered to life.

"Do you always make a point to greet the ferry every morning, sheriff?" your question was pointed and out of the blue- it caught him off guard and he stopped in his tracks.

"No..." he paused to chew his words for a moment, "Not usually."

"Oh," you moved closer to him and his heart hammered in his chest so furiously he was sure you could hear it, "So why today?"

The orange glow of the street lights made your eyes shine as you looked up at him and he felt like his brain was on fire. Before Hassan could stop himself he had your face cupped in his hand and his mouth was on yours.

You leaned into his kiss and he palmed the small of your back, pulling you in close as his lips traveled over yours, committing every inch of them to memory.

When he pulled away he was breathless, panting in the darkness on the sidewalk as the street lights shone above you.

The sound of the Belle's horn snapped you out of your trance and you let out a panicked gasp, "Oh shit- Cap is gonna leave me!"

You turned to head for the ferry, but Hassan grabbed your arm and pulled you into another hurried kiss before releasing you.

You jogged down the hill toward the docks and the sheriff stood beneath the light in the middle of the street, his brain still sparking like a live wire.

"Same time tomorrow?" he called, and the faint sound of your laugh echoed back through the night.

"Count on it, Johnny Law!"

#sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass #sfw #sheriff hassan #rahul kohli #this is a rambling fucking fic boys #midnight mass fic

133 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 2 years

Text

Orange

Prompts: Lmao idk if your taking prompts but I got the funniest idea (at least to my 6am brain) the orange side. Is annoyed that people keep portraying him as a carrot (shhh its an au type thing we love our citrus boy) when he is an orange. That's it. That's the fic. Go wild. - anon

Hey! I love your writing so much and you are amazing! The comfort and angst is soooo good and has really nice messages. Anyway, I kinda had a idea, so I struggle with a lot of mental crap (anxiety, depression, derealism, emotional numbness, trust issues) and my family has a fair few of them too. But of course instead of being smart human beings we all just misunderstan and only focus on ourselves. And that kinda reminds me of sander sides relationships with each other, cause they all are falling and just breaking everyone else on the way down.

So if your still taking requests, maybe a sandersides with everyone struggling through mental breakdowns and having to face their family/friend/whatever relationship dysfunctionallity. And a nice happy ending, with understanding and cuddles. Maybe not everything is better but a few sides start to understand each other and make up (like anaroceit finally talking, or anxcietmus understanding, or Logince communicating feelings, or creativetwins forgiveness, idc)

Anyway, no pressure! Just an idea, your a wonderful writer and I hope you have a wonderful day to match! :) - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: none, all platonic

Word Count: 2251

They called me a carrot. They compared me to a vegetable. They dare insinuate that I am borne of lies that I will make your eyesight better? 

Well, you’ll Vitamin See what I’m really capable of.

Patton digs through yet another cupboard and groans in frustration.

“Where is it,” he mutters under his breath, scanning for the good spatula. The good one with the wide flat bit and the good wooden handle. “I swear I put it away!”

But no spatula looks back at him.

He shuts the door and it bangs against the wall. He winces at the noise and puts his hands on his hips, staring around. He’s checked every single cupboard and it’s nowhere to be found. He takes a deep breath and resigns himself to checking the drawers.

Frustration continues to bubble in his gut as he opens drawer after drawer, finding silverware, wooden spoons, spices, potholders, even toothpicks but no spatula.

“Where is it?”

“What’re you looking for, Pat?”

Patton looks up with a growl, startling Virgil who lingers on the edge of the stairs. “Where is it?”

“Uh, where is what?”

“The good spatula,” Patton says forcefully, “it’s missing and I want it because I’m baking.”

Virgil holds his hands up in a placating manner. “Whoa, easy. Okay, uh, where have you looked?”

“Everywhere!” Patton throws his hands up. “I’ve looked everywhere!”

“Okay, uh, cupboards?”

Why doesn’t he believe me?

“Pat?”

“Yes, I’ve checked the cupboards.”

“Drawers?” Patton just gestures around at the still-open drawers. “Okay, uh, dishwasher?”

“Where do you think I looked first?”

“You know what,” Virgil says, backing away, “I’m just gonna—good luck.”

Oh. Well, his gut twists a little as he watches Virgil run back up the stairs. He bites his lip and makes to go after him, to apologize, when he notices something.

The good spatula. Sitting on the counter.

He blinks and picks it up. Did he…already take it out? He glances up the stairs. His apology is probably going to go over better if he apologizes with cookies.

He puts the orange on the counter back in the fridge.

Logan grits his teeth as he tries again to write the formula on the whiteboard. The pen squeaks at a truly irritating volume as he works, smearing until he can’t tell whether it’s supposed to be an ‘a’ or an ‘o.’ He slams the pen down on the desk and closes his eyes.

In. And out.

Breathe.

He opens his eyes and grabs the eraser, getting rid of the mistake and picking up the pen to try again. Before he can, he fumbles and it spills ink all over his shirt.

“Ah!” He quickly reaches for a tissue but every time he tries to blot out the stain, it gets bigger. “Shit.”

He didn’t want to have to do laundry today. Sighing, he undoes his tie and sets about getting the shirt off before it stains him too. As he pulls it over his head, his glasses catch and jam into his forehead.

“Ow!”

“Uh, Specs?”

“What,” he says irritably, yanking the shirt back down and turning toward the voice behind the door.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Yes, it is,” he grumbles, going over to yank the door open anyway, “what do you want?”

Roman stares at him, obviously taken aback by how curt he’s being. He blinks, looking down, only for his eyes to narrow in on Logan’s shirt and tie.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking dare say it.

“Um, Logan, I think you—“

“I am aware,” Logan says through gritted teeth, “now did you need something or are you just intent on disturbing me?”

Roman opens his mouth to say something but quickly closes his mouth and shakes his head. “No, sorry, Logan, I’ll leave you be.”

A bit of regret sours the taste in Logan’s mouth as Roman dips his head and turns to head back down the hallway. He glances down, trying to find the words to apologize when he catches sight of the ink stain again. He sighs, taking off his glasses and going to change. He can go apologize to Roman in a moment.

He leaves the orange on his desk to eat for later.

“God fucking damnit,” Virgil mutters, yanking his phone out of his pocket and jabbing his finger into the ‘skip’ button, “stop playing this song!”

The song, which shall not be named, obediently stops, skipping to the next track. Virgil shuts his eyes and throws himself back down onto the bed, crossing his arms and trying to relax. By the end of the song, he finds himself moving his head absentmindedly to the beat.

Then the next song starts playing.

His eyes fly open.

“How,” he whispers, “the fuck is this happening?”

Every time a new song starts playing, it’s the one he really fucking doesn’t want to hear.

He rips his phone out of his pocket and checks the queue. After the song, it has the rest of his music library. No repeats, no nothing. He should be safe. Just to be sure, he keeps his eye on the ‘Up Next’ list as he presses ‘skip.’

The playlist jumps to the next song and he can’t see anything other than the other songs in his library that he actually wants to hear. Good. That’s good. Let’s keep it that way.

He sets his phone on the bed next to him and closes his eyes again.

Guess what happens when the song ends.

Guess what fucking happens.

No?

Virgil will tell you.

“Nope,” he yells, “you don’t get playing privileges no more!”

He rips his headphones out of his ears and stabs his fingers at the phone to get it to unlock. He finds the bitch of a song in his library and swipes insistently at the screen.

Delete song from Library?

“You bet your fucking ass,” Virgil grumbles, pressing the delete button.

And again.

“What the fuck?” Is the screen frozen? What’s happening? Why can’t he delete the song? “What the fuck, begone bitch.”

In a desperate effort to get rid of it, he presses several places on the phone at once, hoping one of them will make the delete button finally get with the program.

Instead, the Bluetooth icon appears and selects one of the speakers outside his room.

“No!”

Before more than a second of the song can play, Virgil has turned off his phone. Nope. No playing. Not for you. He strides to his computer and opens his music library, taking a sick sense of satisfaction from dragging the song out of his playlists.

“And stay out.”

Warily, he turns his phone back on and sighs in relief when the song is nowhere to be found. He puts on another playlist and settles back into relax, only to lie on something round.

“Remus, stop leaving shit in my bed!”

“If you insist!”

“And anything else as well!”

“Spoilsport!”

Virgil rolls his eyes as he chucks the orange into a garbage can.

Janus grits his teeth as he reaches for the basket of bath salts. “I swear, I won’t upend this whole thing into the bath.”

The wrappers crinkle as he grabs one packet after another, peering at their contents. Instead of the bath crystals that should sparkle slightly in the warm light, hunks of partially congealed mess lie inside each and every one.

Janus grits his teeth and checks the seals. There’s no way. There’s no way someone else has opened these. They would have to sink straight into his bathroom to get at them and putting aside the fact that none of them can do anything straight, he knows that’s a boundary they wouldn’t dare cross. Not even Remus, who’d said in a rare moment of complete and total seriousness that he would never violate Janus’s privacy like that.

And sure enough, none of the seals on any of the bags are broken.

Janus just resists the urge to hurl his hat at the wall, instead checking around for what in the world could’ve happened to completely ruin his things.

His eyes land on the humidifier that is still running.

Muffling another curse, he lunges across the bathroom and shuts it off, wincing at how slick the button is and how hot the air is right around the spout. He shakes his hand a few times and realizes with horror that the hot water—why is it hot?—has gotten onto his gloves.

He yanks them off and chucks them out of the bathroom. They land on the floor with a disappointed thwap.

Janus turns back to the humidifier and glares at it. “You did this. You ruined my bath salts.”

The humidifier just stares at him.

Resisting the urge to take it to Remus to be destroyed in a truly horrifying manner, he reaches out to put it away when his hand brushes the heat controls.

He frowns.

He doesn’t put the humidifier in front of the heat controls for a reason, so why…

Oh. The heat is on high. He quickly moves the slider back to ‘off’ and glances over his shoulder. He picks up the humidifier and tucks it under his arm with a sigh.

So he won’t get to use the rest of those ones. That’s alright, he has more in his closet. Where they will be untouched by the perils of heat and humidity.

He takes the orange from the bathroom counter and throws it in the trash.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’m telling you,” Roman says as he sticks his head up from under the table, “that I don’t know!”

“But you were the one who was supposed to hold onto it!” Remus throws himself into the air and hangs from the chandelier. “How the fuck did you lose it?”

“I don’t know, maybe because I was preoccupied with having a time wrangling the eight feral kittens into their cage?”

“It was only six, Roman.”

“It sure didn’t feel like it!”

Remus snarls and launches himself at his brother. “I thought I told you you could only help if you didn’t fuck everything up!”

“Hey!” Roman pushes him off. “I didn’t fuck everything up!”

“We’re missing the six-liter bottle of Coke, Roman, that means that the Mentos will have nowhere to fall and the dominos won’t get knocked over! That’s what starts the whole thing!”

Roman bristles. “And who was it that almost broke the umbrella balancing the gate on top of it? Because it wasn’t me!”

“I know what I’m doing, Roman, I’ve done this before!”

“Well, then why did you invite me?”

“Because you looked so lonely I thought I was going to have to rip your eyes out!”

Roman gasps. Remus’s eyes widen and he quickly reaches for his brother only for their weight to stagger into the nearest table and—

The dominos start falling. The table tips over onto its side and the cards fall. The bell is rung and the ball is flung up over the gate and into the bucket. The bucket falls down and sand spills everywhere. The monkey slips and pulls the string on the line of books. The books fall onto the oven and—

The oven opens, revealing a cake.

The brothers stand there for a moment, just watching.

“…whoa.”

“That was…”

“…yeah.”

“…that was awesome.”

“You were right, the monkey was a great touch.”

“Thanks.”

Remus stands there for another moment after Roman thanks him and gently knocks their shoulders together. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. It worked anyway.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at the table with the rest of their supplies on it. “Guess we can start planning the next one, yeah?”

“Sure. Just let me grab this first.”

“Oh, is that what started it?”

“Looks like it.”

Roman sets the orange on the table and joins Remus at the whiteboard.

+1.

They called me a carrot. They compared me to a vegetable. They dare insinuate that I am borne of lies that I will make your eyesight better?

Well, you’ll Vitamin See what I’m really capable of.

Hang on to your insecurities and self-esteem issues, boys, things are about to get…

…zesty.

“Oh, there’s my snack! How’d you get here?”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori @mavenmush @justablah65

If you want to be added/taken off the tallest, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #logan sanders #fic

36 notes · View notes

lvlyhao · 3 years

Text

『127′s ideal type』

headcanons, NCT 127

A/N: je suis back~ in these headcanons i talk about the type of person i imagine each member with, along with some of the traits i think they wouldn’t be too fond of. i did NOT include physical traits (ex: “would like a short/tall/blonde s/o”) because i really don’t know them??? lmao also that kind of thing could be a bit damaging to someone’s self esteem, and i want yall to know ur perfect & beautiful so

mark and hyuck will be included in dream’s version of this, and sicheng will be in wayv’s :)

today’s gif theme is just random gifs i like bc idc, there’s no aesthetic

as always, this is gender-neutral

IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG IT AS WELL AS LIKING IT T^T

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: fluff (♡) and if you squint really hard angst (❆) bc of some REALLY small things that for me are not actual angst but oh well

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: i think none?? if you read this and find something you think should be here let me know please!!!

word count: 1.5K

pairing: nct 127 members x reader (includes taeil, taeyong, johnny, yuta, doyoung, jaehyun, jungwoo)

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Taeil

I see Taeil getting with someone who’s not only mature (personality-wise, actual age doesn’t matter) but also very determined and decisive. He’d like a person that doesn’t change their mind about things too often, learns well from their mistakes and is just all-around balanced. Other traits that I think he’d look for: politeness, a MUST; grounded; good at giving advice. Pretty much a twin-flame of his.

I think he’d find it cute if they think in a detail-oriented way and appreciate the small things in life. A positive, grateful mentality would be SO attractive to him, I swear.

One of his deal breakers would most likely be excessive jealousy and possessiveness. He trusts you and your love for him, and I think he’d feel distraught if you were constantly questioning the relationships he has with other people (friends, co-workers, fans, etc.)

Last important thing: needs a person that can take a hit. He’s probably looking for someone he can spend the rest of his days with, so a quitter just isn’t good for that. There will be difficult moments in the future and he needs to know they won’t give up on him and on the life he chose.

Taeyong

I think Taeyong would like a calm person that knows how to take control of the relationship. He probably feels tired sometimes from leading a group of 23 people, so I can imagine he’d be thrilled if he was able to not worry at all when he’s around his partner. He trusts they’re capable of dealing with any problems that may arise and keep their feet on the ground. Bonus points if they have a good relationship with themselves.

By that I mean: you know how people say you can’t truly love others until you love yourself? Yeah, that. He’s a person like any other, and there are times when he struggles with self-love, but he needs someone that doesn’t hate themselves, or he’ll simply go crazy. With his career come so many rumours and moments that tear at his confidence… he just doesn’t need a person that has to be convinced every single day that they’re worthy of the good things in life.

I’d say, in general, all he asks for is someone that can watch out for themselves. He’d take care of them too, but he’d like it SO much if just for once in his life he’s the one being cared for. Would just melt on the spot if you have that caring, almost parental instinct in you. Gods, yes. That’s all I can say.

Johnny

I can see him being with a very bright, smart person. He’d like someone that comes from a different background so he could learn more about their life—whether that means the country they were born in or their field of work. I think he would appreciate a very laid back person that doesn’t get stressed too often and won’t make fun of him for his bad jokes. Also, doesn’t like people that try to play him. Honesty above all.

He’d like it if they are super curious and creative, too. Picking up new hobbies and interests is something he’d be up to anytime, and it doesn’t matter what it is either. He’d give anything a try—from knitting to marine biology, no questions asked.

Something he’d dislike is if the person is too materialistic. It’s not like he’s a completely spiritual being and lives with 0 detachments to objects but he’s a firm believer in what Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said: what is essential is invisible to the eye. And, you know, what you truly find essential is up to you; it can mean family, friends, love, hope, all of that… he just wants you to love life itself as much as he does.

Yuta

He’d probably like one of the two drastic variants: a very gentle, sweet person or someone who’s on his level of flirtatiousness and boldness. Wouldn’t mind any, but he needs a strong personality, either way, you know? No blandness here.

Something very attractive to him is being involved in social issues and caring for the world around you. Very sexc, yes, and also likes people that make others smile.

Something that would make him quite literally give up on someone is the excessive fear of change, or just the will to remain in their comfort zone at all costs. He earns for a person that wants to live life to its fullest. If not they’re not ride-or-die to that level, then he hopes they at least accompany and support him in all of the things he wants to do.

One thing that is very tied to that is his dislike for know-it-alls. He lives in such a diverse scenario that it’s just dumb for him to think someone would ever be capable of knowing every piece of information on everything that’s out there. He’s fine with people making mistakes, but if they can’t admit to that or admit they don’t know something he just gets pissed off. So, yeah, he’d avoid stuck-ups.

Doyoung

He’d like someone very loyal and fair, who treats people with respect but calls them out if they ever have to. I think he’d prefer a person that is naturally a deep thinker and wouldn’t lose their mind over small disagreements.

Much like Johnny, he likes that intellectual side of yours, and when I say that I don’t mean like “ah, he’d want to date a math genius” or something. No, no. I’m referring to all types of intellectuality and intelligence. The thing for him is simply using your brain and being proud of it. He would just dislike a person that kind of lives life on autopilot, you know?

He’d like it if they’re interested or professionally involved with music somehow and would consider their opinions in his career. He wouldn’t mind if their taste is hugely different from his, though. It’s alright if pop music is not your favourite or if you have no idea who EXO is (lol). All he wants is to see the world through your eyes too, in all aspects of life including this one.

Will also love you forever if you side with him when he’s being teased by the others, because, c’mon, it’s always 22 people against poor, defenceless Doyoung. Please don’t join them, he’s begging you—

Jaehyun

This is very, very clear to me but he needs to be with an independent person. He’s quite sentimental and he has his more romantic moments, sure, but he wants someone that can give him the space he needs when he needs it. A person that’s constantly begging him for attention would be way more of a burden than anything else.

Also, he’s 100% alright with someone that has a very explicit and loud love language (like saying “I love you” 300 times a day) but he’s not like that, and he needs them to see that. Jaehyun could NOT be with a person that doesn’t appreciate the love he shows in the little things, like making coffee in the morning, and if they ever question the way he feels… yeah, not good. He’d feel misunderstood and that’s a big no-no.

He’d find it cute if they’re bubbly or just very youthful but is also capable of falling for an old soul that shares his interests in things like classical music and vinyls. I don’t think he’d ever get with someone that's kind of a tech addict, though, idk why but that’s quite clear to me. Always being on your phone or caring too much about social media would probably make him feel like you’re not grateful for the things you have around you, in real life. So, yeah, not attractive, bestie.

Jungwoo

Jungwoo is a very, very, very sweet person and he needs someone who’s also like that. He wouldn’t care if that’s there for everyone to see, in the sense that they’re not shy about it, or if it’s a part of them that only a couple of close people know. As long as it’s there, he’s happy.

Aside from that, I think he’s fully capable of falling in love with quite literally anyone. He can see the beauty in all types of people, from all places, backgrounds, races, and just—anyone. He’s just so full of love for people, ah I can’t even. He’s too good for this world.

Some things that could, however, push him away from getting to know someone: a negative way of thinking, being too traditionalistic, and too much scepticism. He’s fine with people that like to honour the past and their roots but like, you’ve gotta keep up with the world you live in and accept that things change. I think that’s very tied to how much he likes defying masculine standards, too.

The scepticism thing is quite simple: he can handle teasing just fine but if they’re constantly making fun of him for wearing his heart on his sleeve or being a bit goofy, he’d feel kind of betrayed.

---

final notes: this is the 3rd nct work i’m posting here and i’m already writing more, so i think it’s time i set up a masterlist, a fic rec blog and a tag list. if you want to be tagged in my future fics, let me know (dm, comments, anything) :)

140 notes · View notes

mono-dot-jpeg · 3 years

Text

only a knight - aether

summary; you should've seen this coming... you're always being used by everyone. you're merely a knight to him, nothing more, nothing less.

genre; angst, modern royalty au, visions still exist, prince! aether, knight! reader, hurt/no comfort, reader gets close to death but not yet

[cw/tw: mentions of death, violence, blood, insecure thoughts]

[lowercase intended] [gender neutral reader!]

word count; 1.03k

a/n; another vent one shot, pogchamp :D anyways, aether is gonna be like the prince of mondstat pretty much and more will be said in the story

all the archons are essentially kings/queens in this

if this pops off or if someone requests something like this with another character, I'll probably do it

ngl tho this isn't really my best work, im not totally satisfied with this but whatever posting it anyways pog

OH YEAH AND I GOT ALBEDO, I GOT MY ELEVATOR BOY IDC WHAT SLANDER IS SAID ABT HIM I LOVE HIM AND IM GONNA WRITE A ONE SHOT ABT HIM SOON

you were only a knight.

it was something you told yourself the moment you were chosen to work under king venti as a knight. you were not meant to have much of an outside life. your only duty was to protect the high class.

you didn't expect to get close to the prince. you thought he would merely walk past you like it was nothing. but he talked to you. albeit it was about showing you around the royal grounds and having you introduce yourself to him. but he talked to you.

you both were young when you met, you both were bound to bond together quickly. jean and many other royals/knights saw it coming. you two were like best friends.

but you were only a knight.

aether stood in the backlines, safe and away from danger while you risked your life daily to protect him. you do not regret your job, but it was hard to keep yourself at a distance with your friend.

neither of you were meant to be seen in public together then neighboring kingdoms would see it as a weakness, you would be leverage for a deal.

you couldn't help the flutter in your chest every time aether smiled your way, or when he greeted you happily. there were rising feelings and you hated it. this was not supposed to happen.

you knew enemies would use it to their advantage if they found out about your liking to the prince. so, you trapped yourself in your own web. you were merely a pawn to keep the kingdom safe, you were only a death fodder to keep enemies away from aether, you were gonna die, you didn't need feelings.

you're a knight. not a lover.

you had death written on your hands in red blood. you were a murderer. you did not deserve love. feelings were irrelevant when your time ticks faster than the rest. you were only to be used and never kept for long. you were a ticking time bomb, ready to lose yourself at any given moment.

you cannot fall in love with someone you can't even get.

sometimes you wished that you were a royal in another life. maybe then you would have a chance but you knew this would be the best chance, even if you were to sacrifice your life for his.

time continues to tick and you're often someone the other knights go to for help but you never seem to get at least a thanks out of them. this pattern seems to go on, you get them what you need and then they leave.

you start to wonder, is this how maid noelle feels? but they thank her... why don't they thank you? are you not worth a thank you at least? you shake off the thoughts, refocusing on your training. but unluckily, the knights are called for a meeting.

you arrive and it seems like everyone is going miles a minute with how much buzz there is in the room. eventually, kaeya, the captain, quiets the room down and informs everyone that there's a kingdom that has called war on the kingdom of anemo. this was your time.

you're a knight, a pawn ready to be thrown away after its use.

the sounds of screams and crackling fire echoes in your ears as you slash your sword in a quick manner, finishing off an enemy. there's a slight ringing in your ear as you weren't prepared to experience any explosions. it's mind numbingly horrifying to see the amounts of lives that were stolen from this war. traces of elemental visions lined the fields and yet you still stood your ground against the enemies.

but of course, you had injuries littered all over your body. you lacked a vision which made you an easy target but your years of training never went to waste.

you were truly a self sacrificial person. maybe too much self sacrificial. you learned that you would put your life on the line even if it was just a thin thread you couldn't see. you would rather see the prince alive and healthy than you alive and healthy. you figured that certainly wasn't a healthy mindset and yet you were too blinded by your buried emotions to even stop the cycle.

thoughts were running at top speed as you continued to fight. you could feel your stamina drain with every enemy you finish off. you don't know how much longer you can continue. your vision is spotted with darkness before you have time to realize...you're gonna die. your breathing is shallow and shaky, your body feels numb. you can't see or feel anything, your body is done and yet your mind still runs. if this is how you die, you would not mind.

you're only a knight and nothing more.

you're awake...?

but how? your thoughts gather slowly as you attempt to move your body. everything is still numb. you manage to open your eyes, the lights in the room were dim which helped you adjust quicker.

just out of your peripheral vision, you can see a small tuft of blonde hair. your heart just beats a little faster, was it aether? did he wait for you?

"you're awake." his voice was firm and almost blunt. was this really the aether you grew up with? "i don't know if you can hear me well but you're lucky that someone else had came to save you. we couldn't let one of our stronger knights die like that. i'll be going now." and just like that he left. why did you expect him to say something else?

you were only a knight. nothing more, nothing less.

he's not supposed to care for you. he doesn't need to care for you. you had that sliver of hope that maybe...just maybe, his heart would beat for you just like how yours beats for him. but now you remember,

you're only a knight. you're only a pawn. you're below him. you're not worthy of a prince's love.

tears well up in your eyes as the thoughts begin to settle and ruminate in your mind. why did you fight so hard for someone who never loved you back?

#anime #anime x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin aether #genshin impact aether #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact oneshot #aether #aether genshin impact #aether x reader #genshin impact aether x reader #genshin aether x reader

173 notes · View notes

aloera · 3 years

Note

The ask prompt is too long to fit into an ask TT_TT but here's the doc for it docs(.)google(.)com/document/d/1yDI7iFRhOJ8ENv_IwZAo3rDSUqj80EiJROS10RzRbj4/edit

the lengths u are going for this,,, much appreciated you're very sweet!!!

prompts + answers under the cut!!

INTRODUCTION

Name: aloera

AO3 account: aloera

Fandoms you write for: bnha

How many stories have you written so far: 19

FANFICTION PROFILE

What's your favorite fandom to write for? hmm,,, used to do pjo and eah (ever after high) and eah was fun as fuck i will say!!! i think bnha is my fav mostly bc i made the most friends in this fandom :D

What's your favorite character/person to write for? bkg and kirishima!! cannot choose do not make me <3

Fic you'd want to improve? probably what we deserve? i rushed the beginning and the confession is a bit stilted imo

Hardest fic you've written? between lion and men -_- bc there is so much canon compliant stuff i've gotta write out before i get to the divergence and its HARD

Easiest fic you've written? come home to me!!! it happened so easily,,, no second guessing no writers block just vibes <33 was lovely i miss it

What would you say is the most "famous" fic you've ever written? also probably come home to me? its got the most interaction

first line of the first fic you've ever written and published. [not including my 2014 ffnet fics] "The bell rings, class starts, and Katsuki and Midoriya are inexplicably absent." from come home to me

Have you ever done a collab with another writer? yes!!!!! on two separate occasions and its so fucking fun i highly recommend trying it out its the best

Do you beta? if asked but honestly im a shit beta lmao

Do you like joining fic fests/exchanges? depends on what i have going on irl but in general yeah!!

FANFICTION PREFERENCES

Fluff or angst? definitely fluff

"OCs" or "Reader" inserts? reader inserts!! have been going ham on them recently

Blurbs or drabbles? blurbs!!

One thing you love about fanfiction i just. i really love slice of life romance?? and most media doesn't give you that bc its dedicated to plot and action and that's valid!! but fanfiction fills in the gap which is really nice

One thing you don't like about fanfiction most of the stuff i don't like is less about actual fanfiction and more about how people behave about it

What is/are your favorite fandom author/authors? IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

bnha: hiuythn, rae_tnub, Moniix, Ata_Lanta, wrunic, chezka, PurplePersnickety, surveycorpsejean, mahadevi, arxaris, deviance, Oceanbreeze7, MikeWritesThings, bonnia, wonhaebunny, dinosuns

voltron: hiuythn, Oceanbreeze7, DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee, arahir, dinosuns,

and honorable mention to loveclouds im not even in the haikyuu fandom i just love their fics So Much

these are just the ones off the top of my head i have so many favourites idc if i'm only supposed 2 have one!! die mad about it!!!

What is your favorite trope? secret relationship + relationship reveal til the day i die babie <3 <3

Least favorite trope? hm,,, probably just like. angst lmao i cannot stand 90% of it

A fanfiction cliché that you can't help but love? coffeeshop aus,,,, so good

Do you have a type when it comes to pairings? the otp where its like. piece of shit + himbo = love. ex. krbk, catradora, jade/beck

Favorite setting/au? hm,,, truly i cannot pick one KGKSJNHKj but i really like college aus!! and modern aus!! and roommate aus!!

Explain the meaning of your favorite line of dialogue you've written as if someone hasn't read it in context. “He doesn’t know,” Katsuki says, softly. “My timer stopped and nothing happened. He’s not mine.”

the line is from what we deserve!! it's a soulmate au where your timer counts down to the moment that you meet your soulmate!! bakugou's timer ends at USJ when he and kirishima attack kurogiri at the same time (impulsive kings <33) but kirishima's timer doesn't end until kamino because that's when he accepts himself as bakugous soulmate!! unfortunately, when bakugous timer has reached 0, he turned to see that kirishima's was still ticking and therefore believes that kirishima isn't his soulmate.

this line just,, idk. it's really sad. bakugou is such an action-driven character? if something doesn't go his way he Makes it go his way. he's got this insanely volatile quirk and he's got impeccable control of it!! but his love for kirishima isn't something that he can change and he's not going to ruin kirishima's chance of finding his own soulmate because he loves him and wants him to be happy. i really wanted to focus on how resigned he is? and how unusual that is for a character like him.

Favorite trope/genre to write? again, secret relationship with relationship reveals <33 fluff in general is my wheelhouse!!!

A trope/genre you haven't written but think would be a fun challenge? idk if this counts?? have been working on some dead dove concepts!! its super different from what i normally write so its a cool challenge

The one trope/concept you'll never touch and why probably cheating/infidelity?? it just looks,,, super difficult to write well and i don't have enough of an interest in it to try it out

Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics? shorter!! low attention span gang <3

Ideal length to read? 5-10k?

Ideal length to write? 4-8k!!

How long was the longest fic you've ever written? control fraek is around 28k i think?

Have you ever written an AU? yeah!! i've done restaurant au's, soulmate au's, pro hero aus, and fantasy aus (general, not the bnha fantasy ending)

What's your favorite AU trope? hm,, probably when two people in authority are in a secret relationship? ceo's/uni professors/etc etc

Have you ever written smut? yeah!! was. difficult tho

What's your comfort genre? (the one you fall on most in writing/reading) fluff,,, hurt/comfort,,, fix-it fics with happy endings <3

If you were to start writing in other fandoms, which would they be? maybe jjk?? the characters are really cool!!!! fr i might go back to my ever after high roots i love the characters and setting so Much its so fun!!! idec if no ones into it anymore!!!!!

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? i've had people say they saw the mention of buff hagakure and recognized it was me so. probably that skdjhnksjd

WRITING STYLE

How would you describe your style? i tend to use shorter sentences and pretty simple words i think? and i gravitate towards lighthearted concepts that allow for ensemble casts and humour!!

Describe your style in three words romcom but fanfic

Favorite words to use when writing? the word reverent!! fuckin love including it!!

Dialogue tags or no dialogue tags? (she said, he said, they said, etc) dialogue tags!!!

Favorite dialogue tag (other than said, if you use them) again idk if this counts but "they said softly" is unmatched

Long sentences vs short vs a mix short <33

What colors would you use to describe your writing? hm,,, depends on the fic i would say?? control fraek is dark green to me?? kinda like a forest at night yk?? scary but there's still life there. sugar cookies is yellow like early morning sunlight, when it rains is yellowy-orange like a caution sign. not gonna list all of them cause theres a lot its just. do u get it? the colours change based on the vibe of the fic.

What song or music genre would you use to describe your writing? think. i am constantly trying to emulate that moment at the end of wasteland baby when hozier goes "im in love/im in love with you."

What kind of metaphors do you rely on? religious metaphors my beloved <33 they're just so pretty!!! i also love comparing stuff to water for some reason?? like that ocean vuong quote thats like "what are you now?/water." it goes hard!!!

What's something you'd say is experimental in your writing at this time? definitely action!! i have,,, no idea how to write it so anything i do is really just me playing around and seeing what works and what doesn't

Do you prefer to write by hand or to type? i've tried both!! personally i prefer typing because it goes way faster but i will say that writing by hand lets me get words down when i'm going through writer's block

What is your preferred place to write (notebook, laptop, cellphone, etc.)? laptop!!

What app/apps do you use to write (word, notepad, etc.)? google docs skjdnkjh its fine on desktop but mobile is,,,,, disgusting

Do you keep a notebook or file/notes page in your phone/device for notes on your writing? ngl i just have everything organized in my drive?? one folder per fandom and then sub folders for ideas+hcs, unfinished wips, and finished fics. multichaps get sub sub folders so i can organize outlines and drafts

Do you listen to music to help you write? yeah!! playlists organized by fic vibe :D

Where do you usually go to write (bedroom, living room, etc.)? mostly in my bedroom??? but moving around to different stops helps too i think!!

How long does it usually take for you to write? again this depends on what i have going on irl, how attached i am to the idea, my mindset at the time, etc!! i am,, the least consistent person skjnhdkjh.

What's your favorite font to use when writing? times new roman my beloved

Other writing habits? sometimes i'll write in the dark?? bad for my eyes but for some reason it gets the words flowing

CONCEPTUALIZATION

How do you conceptualize your ideas? (See specific moments like they're a movie, writing specific lines in your head, don't know until you put the words on paper, etc.) i tend to get inspiration from movies, books, poems, or other fics!!! sometimes one line just makes me go oh,, i want to write something like that,,, and then it helps me create an idea that makes me feel the same way?? i did this with control fraek!!!! i wanted a scenario where bakugou was cold and calculating and i was like hm. to do that he’d have to be focusing on something important. and from there i was able to flesh out the rest of the idea.

Which comes first: the pairing or the plot? with krbk its always always the pairing,, i'll be sitting there like wow <33 i love them <33 what if one of them had amnesia <33 (which, yes, wip!!) otherwise it's usually the plot!! and i slot in characters that i feel make sense

Have you ever used a prompt? yeah!! used a prompt for wlw week 2020 and it was fun as hell

Do you write around the story around a specific scene you want to get to or do you start from a plot idea definitely the first!!!! i almost always write like,,, a super messy scene thats 90% dialogue, keep it in my head, and then write the entire fic around that one moment

Do you find that you include a projection of some part of yourself in the way you write a character? a lot of the time when i write love confessions or love in general i'll have one of the characters think or say that the other person makes their head quiet? and it's because that's what i feel whenever i'm in love?? a quiet mind. i project on characters yeah but i think most of the projection actually goes to the way that i write love

Do you research some of the things you write deeply, partially and kind of wing the rest, or play entirely by ear (in this case, go with whatever base knowledge of the subject you have)? most of the time if i do research it'll be about the setting (ex. the izakaya in to have and to hold) or if i'm having the characters interact with an object that they like. need to know how to use (me, in control fraek: google. hey google. does someone die if they get shot in the foot??? no???? awesome thank u <3)

Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it? lmaoo yeah all the time i'll find like 500-2k words of concepts in my gdocs like i do. not remember this at all

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? probably krbk secret relationship lmao

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out better than expected? yeah!! i fully thought the action in control fraek would be awful but it turned out not bad??? which im happy with

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out worse than you expected? again, what we deserve, i personally think it would have worked out better if i'd paced it slower and drawn out the pining but i. do not feel like going back to fix it so its staying the way that it is. pining is so fucking hard to do AHHHH i get so tired with it!!! im like just date already!!!!

PROCESS

How do you come up with titles? in rare occasions (literally. all my multichaps for some reason) the title comes after writing like .5 words of the first chapter im like YES this is it!!!!! sometimes i write the whole thing and pick out one line that fits (what i did with come home to me) a lot of the time i just. steal from songs or poems that i like

What's your favorite emotion to cause on your readers? i like making people happy!!!! love when people comment saying they're cheered up

What's your favorite emotion to write? lovelovelovelovelovelove

Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you've written? never cried?? but sometimes i'll rereading my hurt/comfort fics 4. yk. comfort

Do you write in order or whatever comes to you? in order!! unless i have a scene that i Need to write and i'll quickly jot it down so that i don't forget

Usual way you procrastinate while writing? ...doing asks like this, making playlists, discord, watching netflix. what don't i do smh

Do you outline or free write? i am. so shit at outlines. i mostly free write and write lil notes for stuff that i wanna add later

Do you set word goals or scene goals (scenes you want to include)? yes!! like i said i'll write loose notes for scenes that i want to add later!! it gives me something to write towards :D

What do you consider when writing your scenes? what goes into making the atmosphere and mood you want? to set a scene i do two things? the first is like,, the five senses bc that always sets the scene really well and makes it feel Real. i'll visualize stuff in my head like its a movie and write out what i would want to tell the set designer?? if the lights are low, if the space is busy, if it's supposed to exude comfort or not.

for putting forward the character's mood one thing i've found that makes a difference is sentence length!! long sentences are good for making a character seem flustered and nervous or not really in control of their emotions? good for love confessions. short sentences are good for when the character is focused on something or short on time. good for fights!!

What's something you never considered to include in your writing that you can't leave out now? def buff hagakure,,,, once i thought of it i was like. if i don't include this at least once in every single fic how could i look at myself in the mirror!!!!!! how could i face anyone!!!!

How do you start a story? establishing a fact about the character or describing the setting! option a is one single thread of gold, option b is between lion and men

How do you end a story? either by tying it back to the beginning or doing like a funny kind of closing??? option a is sugar cookies, option b is a godless society

How do you get out of writer's block? change something!! move something!! i go from typing to handwriting, moving from my bedroom to my living room, switching wips to work on something else!! i do sprints as well?? give myself like fifteen minutes to write something and sometimes 200 words opens up the way for another 2k. sometimes i'll just delete like 500 words and start fresh

Do you edit? or do you toss your writing out there? i edit!!! i'll go over it myself then send it to one or two betas (bee my beloved <33)

How do you edit? do you use spellcheck, grammar checkers, etc? bee is my grammar checker bc he is So Good with grammar. i use grammarly as well for spellcheck stuff mostly?? sometimes my edit process is just like "am i tired of looking at this!! yes <3" and then i post it

PROGRESS

Do you usually like what you write? yeah!!! i post stuff that makes me happy and that i'm fine with rereading!!! i write stuff for self-indulgence reasons first and foremost and i think my writing reflects that sjhnksj

Have you ever written something you didn't like but posted anyways? nope!! even what we deserve i LIKED even if i see a lot of room 4 improvement!! if i don't like smth it's not getting posted

Do you find yourself rereading your writing often? yeah!! the reason i wrote so much krbk secret relationship is because i loved it but i'd read all that there was so i just,, wrote more,, ngl its kinda nice being in a place where i actually like my writing bc i can write stuff that i want to see and really enjoy it!!

Can you tell us anything about your current WIP? sure!! i'm currently working on when it rains which is a fic where bakugou gets hit by a crying quirk!! i'm gonna be using it to explore So Much of all might's character and his relationships with bakugou and aizawa (and i think some people from his past!!)

Can you give us a sneak peek on your current WIP? “You did something. What the hell did you do?” Kirishima sounds pissed off. It would amuse Katsuki if he wasn’t fighting just to stay standing.

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” Shinsou replies.

“K’ri… shima,” Katsuki croaks out. “‘S fine. Not him.”

His chest collapses back into the familiar dry heaving after that but Kirishima shuts up. He doesn’t apologize to Shinsou.

Kirishima’s a good friend, stubborn and loyal. He stands by Katsuki’s side like an attack dog, blocking him from the view of anyone ogling at his tears.

The last line you've written Ochako knows more than she'd realized. She knows enough to keep her guard up.

It’s not enough.

Open a wip. what’s the first line?

Katsuki wakes up feeling like absolute fucking shit.

INSIGHT

What's your favorite thing about writing? touched on this before but it's mainly just being able to write the things that i want to see and actually enjoy them!!! actually reread them!!!! i thought "wouldn't it be cool if bkg and kirishima owned a restaurant together" and then i wrote it and i like it enough to reread it!!!! being able to create content for myself makes me. so happy

How do you keep yourself inspired? this is gonna sound narcissistic maybe but honestly i'm just really excited about my ideas and where i'm gonna take them and the idea of "i'm gonna get to That scene" keeps me going through the entire thing. also my friends!!!! i'll talk to them about fics and their reactions keep me hyped up enough to finish!!!!

What is your favorite thing to write? just,, slice of life romance,,, stuff thats silly and makes people laugh!!

What do you think your strengths are in writing? i'm good with dialogue!! i do lil voice acting sessions with myself to make sure everything sounds natural and like it's coming from that character skhjnskj

i'm comfortable with my portrayal of love as well??? i spend a lot of time thinking about what it is exactly that i'm trying to get across and i think it turns out well!!

What are things you wish you could practice more? on one hand i wanna get better at writing angst on the other hand i dislike writing angst. do you see my issue

One way you've improved your writing since you began? characterization!! i think i've gotten better at writing characters that are all Different and bring different things to the table!!! i used to project a lot more and it would compromise the characterization because the character was like 70% me and 30% them? not to say that projection is bad but if you do it too much it just,, doesn't read like the character and from a reader's standpoint the narrative can become less compelling

One aspect of writing you're still working on? writing action!!! i. literally hate writing it but i write for a fandom about superheroes so. Unfortunately i gotta learn.

A piece of writing advice you've learned while writing saw this on another tumblr post but they said sometimes if you're struggling with a scene, the problem is five lines back. i've found that to be true!!!! sometimes u gotta delete a chunk and start a little ways back!! i did this with too busy being yours because i was stuck for Weeks and i deleted like 25% of what i had but it helped me actually finish it :D

A bit of writing advice you can't stand when people shit on show don't tell for being overrated lmao bc when u read their writing you can Tell

Something you wish you knew when you first started writing? ,,,,honestly i kind of wish i could know some of the stuff that i used to when i first started writing?? technically i'm better now but creatively i was must better when i wasn't stressing about whether anyone would like what i was writing. so i guess i wish i knew that i should keep that confidence? i kinda wish that i wasn't as insecure about other people's writing styles because i never used to be!!

Something you've learned in life that you apply in writing there's no point in feeling inferior?? writing one genre isn't better than the other. being in one fandom isn't better than being in another. the kind of language you use or the length of your paragraphs- none of that stuff like. matters. what matters is that you're having fun and happy with what you're creating!!!! enjoy other peoples writing but don't let it make you feel worse about yours :D

#AHH ive wanted to answer these for so long...... bro fr i was so happy when u sent these!!! like wow!! finally got sent one!!!#sorry for how long the responses are idk how to be concise #asks #anon #a(lore)a

4 notes · View notes

benhardyisdaddy · 5 years

Text

Just Between Us - Part 1

MASTERLIST

(hello this is the story from the ask i was sent!!! im actually really excited bc ANGST ANGST and ANGST sksks this is just the first part and im excited for the second cuz i have so much planned. its not gonna be a slow burn i promise lmao i hope u all like this ily ALSO i DO NOT condone cheating whatsoever idc, im only writing about it for the sole purpose of the story idea that was given to me)

Word Count: 2,302

“What do you mean you’re going on tour?”

Your best friend Freddie was sat in front of you at a small cafe he invited you to. The biggest smile ever filled his face as explains to you that his band, Queen, was taking off and fast too. He leans in closer and his eyes are wide with excitement.

“I mean exactly just that! Our management got a tour set for us! We’re going everywhere I always dreamed of going to, which is why I’m inviting, no, demanding you to come with us.”

Your eyes open wide as you laugh at his silly statement. You suddenly realize that he’s not joking and you stop. You shake your head and lean forward as well.

“Fred,” you start. “I can’t drop everything and leave. Besides, you have Mary. She should be the one going.”

“She can’t go. I was going to ask the both of you, because you’re the only person that can keep my feet on the ground. If you don’t go, I might actually go mad.”

He looks almost scared as he speaks to you. It breaks your heart knowing that you’re the only source of realism for this man. The way he clings to you as if you’re the very air he breathes. He needed comfort and you, his bestest friend in the whole world, were exactly just that. Like a security blanket he can hold onto when he gets scared. He watches you and looks down at his intertwined hands that are sat on the table. You think for a moment before slowly reaching forward and placing yours on top of his. He looks up fast as a gleam of hope washes over him. You softly smile at him.

“You better get ready to support me when I tell my job I’m leaving.”

Freddie’s once anxious look turns into another huge grin as he nods his head fast and stands up quickly, scooting his chair back. You stand as well as he rushes around the table and engulfs you into a tight hug.

“You’re my best friend. I’ll give you everything your heart desires.”

He pulls away as the two of you look at each other. You bring your hand up and stroke his cheek as he leans into it.

“And you’re my best friend, which is why I’m giving up literally everything for you.” you half tease, causing him to giggle.

“I promise you won’t regret this.” he whispers.

You smile and cup his face gently with both of your hands.

“I know.”

But sometimes promises just couldn’t be kept.

***

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You stir around in your bed, now being awaken from a deep sleep you were enjoying. Today was the day the band would set off for their very first world tour. You had spent the last few weeks preparing yourself for the long adventure ahead. Mary had helped you pack four suitcases full of clothes and items you would need for the months ahead. And, of course, Freddie helped pay for all of it. When he makes a promise to you, he always keeps it. Or at least tries to.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You roll over to your side and finally open up your eyes. That was most definitely knocking at your front door. You glance over at your bedside clock and squint your blurry eyes to make out 5:23 AM. You exhale and rub your eyes with your hands, trying to get rid of this fogginess in your head. Your nerves were insane at the moment too. Yeah, you were traveling with your best friend whom you’ve known since you were 5, but you were also traveling with a band who you have still have yet to meet. Ever since Fred joined this band, he’s been so busy with recording and writing new material. You’ve been so busy with your job as a receptionist and trying to make your failed relationship work, which wasn’t going well. You were terrible with goodbyes, so your soon to be ex would be greeted with a harsh slap in the face when he realizes you’ve left for a different country with another man. Men. Four men to be precise. You were eager to meet them and make a good impression.

“They’ll love you just like I do. They’ll see exactly what I see.” says Fred, helping you pack away some clothes.

“Fred, you make it sound like I’m something special.” you laugh as you tease.

He stops packing and looks up to you fast, his smile falling from his face as he suddenly gets serious. You pause as well and look to him.

“Because you are something special, y/n. Don’t you dare ever think less.”

You sleepily smile to yourself as you remember that conversation when suddenly another loud knock is at your door. You had completely forgotten about it and jump up from bed. You scurry around your dark room and try to find your robe. You eventually find it and slip it on, tying the string around your waist. You rush out of your room and attempt to fix your bed head.

“Who is it?” you yell out.

“It’s the one and only, darling! Now will you open the door, please?”

You smile to yourself as you turn the lock and open the door wide open. You freeze in your tracks and your eyes open wide. You were thinking you’d be greeted by one man at your door, not four. They all stare you up and down as they smile. Fred looks quite pleased with himself as he makes his way into your tiny apartment. Your tiny apartment that was not visitor friendly. You had been so busy with getting ready for the trip, you sort of put aside your clean up duties. As Fred walks inside, you move over allowing the others to follow behind him. Curly one, quiet one and blonde one, you think to yourself as they walk by. The blonde one glances over to you and smirks, causing you to look away fast and search for Fred.

“Freddie, it’s five in the morning. Why in bloody hell are you raiding my apartment?” you ask, walking up to him.

He’s just emerged from your kitchen holding a few glasses and a champagne bottle. He holds them up and smiles.

“Today’s the day we leave for the tour. Celebrating needs to start as early as possible!” he exclaims.

“I’m so sorry for intruding.” says the curly haired one.

“Yes, we tried to tell him not to bother you, but you know Fred…” says the quiet one.

You softly smile to them as the curly haired one holds out his hand for you to take.

“I’m Brian by the way. Nice to meet you.” he says sweetly.

You shake his hand and blush.

“And this is John,” he says as John holds his hand out for you. “And this is-”

“Roger.” says the blonde one walking up to you.

He holds his hand out as well and you take it. You can feel the hard calluses on his hands and instantly recognize him as the drummer.

“Nice to meet you.” you say, your eyes never leaving his.

You realize you were staring as you suddenly pull your hand back and look to the others.

“Nice to finally meet all of you.” you say fast.

Freddie walks up to you and hands you a glass of champagne as he sips on his.

“Fred,” you start. “I don’t think I should be drinking at almost six in the morning.”

He laughs and chugs the rest of his drink down fast.

“Darling, we’re rockstars now. This is a glimpse of your new life.”

All of the boys shake their heads and laugh as you smile at him. Roger walks up to you and looks around.

“Where’s your loo?” he asks.

“Oh, it’s in my bedroom on the right. Door should be open.”

He smiles and winks to you as he makes his way to it. Your stomach flips as you turn back to Fred.

“Alright, rockstar, at least let me change before you get me drunk before noon.” you tease as you walk to your bedroom and straight to a suitcase.

You unzip it and pull out the outfit you had planned for that day. You place it on your bed and turn around to grab some undergarments as your bathroom door opens up. Roger walks out and spots you, your back facing him. He smiles and watches you for a moment before speaking.

“So, you’re going on tour with us, huh?” he asks, making you jump and spin around.

You had almost forgotten he was in the bathroom. You nervously smile and nod.

“Freddie has a way of making me do what he wants.” you jokingly say.

Roger lifts a brow and laughs as he watches you grab your clothes from the bed.

“Lucky man.” he says before exiting your room.

You’re stood there by yourself as you stare at your door speechless. You come back to reality as you walk to your bathroom and take a quick shower and change. You finish getting around as you pack up the rest of your essentials that you will need for tomorrow. You place them in your luggage and walk back in the living room. Brian and John are sat on your tiny couch as Fred and Rog are stood by your kitchen counter, sipping on their drinks. They all go quiet as you walk out and you can feel your cheeks heat up. You walk up to Fred and take the glass from his hand and quickly chug it down. All of their faces turn into a mixture of shocked and impressed.

“Now she’s getting with it!” shouts Fred, making you laugh.

“If I’m gonna be stuck with you for months, I think I’ll need it.” you say winking at him.

“Smart girl.” calls out Brian.

Fred rolls his eyes then claps his hands together loudly, causing you all to jump.

“Well, we should get going.” he states as he walks in the living room.

“I thought we didn’t fly out until noon?” you ask, confused.

“Plans might’ve changed.” he says, spinning to face you. “The boys will help carry your bags to the van. Right?” he asks, looking at all of them.

They all nod and murmur yes as they stand up and look at you. You smile to them and show them all of the luggage you were taking. They oblige and begin rolling them out to the van.

“Are you ready?” asks Fred with a smile plastered to his face.

You take in a deep breath and smile back.

“As much as I can be.”

***

“Fred.” you say sternly.

You’re standing in front of the tiniest airplane you’ve ever seen in your life. It’s thin and short and you didn’t trust it one bit.

“I thought we were taking a regular plane.” you say, looking at him.

“This is a plane, darling. A jet actually.”

“A death machine.” states Roger, walking past you two and up the stairs of the jet.

“I hate flying, let alone on a plane this small.” you whine.

“Well like I said, we’re rock-”

“Rockstars. I get it.” you say, finishing his sentence.

He smiles to you and begins walking towards the plane. You follow behind him as you walk up the stairs and enter inside. It was tiny. A lady dressed in a white dress and her hair pinned up greets you with a warm smile.

“Would you like me to take your coat?” she asks sweetly.

You smile and thank her as you shrug it off and she takes it. You look around and watch as all of the boys admire the features of the inside. They go through the mini bar and mess around with everything they could touch. You shakily make your way to a two person seat and look out the window. A man who you assume is the pilot walks out of the cockpit and smiles to you all.

“Are we all ready?” he asks.

Suddenly, you hear a shout and look towards the opening of the plane. A man rushes up the steps all out of breath and holds up a hand.

“Sorry I’m late. Nobody bothered to tell me about the time change.” he says, looking at Fred.

Freddie just smiles and walks up to you.

“Y/n, this is our lawyer Miami. Miami, this is the most amazing human I know, y/n.”

You blush at his compliment as Miami reaches his hand out for you to shake.

“Miami?” you ask, confused at such an odd name.

He playfully rolls his eyes which makes the boys all laugh.

“Don’t ask.” he murmurs.

Everyone takes their seats as someone sits beside you. You turn thinking it would be Fred, but it’s not. It’s Roger. You’re a bit surprised as you turn around to spot Fred watching you. He shrugs confused as he sits next to John. Roger smiles to you and you return one. You look forward and make sure your seat belt is buckled. The intercom pops on and the pilot speaks.

“Our flight is about to take off, so please make sure you’re seated and buckled in just like how the stewardess showed you. Our destination from London to Tokyo, Japan will be approximately eleven hours and forty minutes. I’ll let you all know when it’s safe to unbuckle and roam around. Have a good flight.”

You look to Roger quickly and your face falls.

“Japan!?” you ask.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. You look behind at Fred as he notices your nervous expression.

“Japan!?” you ask again even louder.

He awkwardly smiles and raises his shoulders a bit.

“Surprise?”

Tag List: @jennyggggrrr @caborhapch @moonlightloverr @rogahmtaylah @vee-ndetta @ilovetacos1267 @benders-diamond-earring

Perm Tag List: @loudxxstar @iambuckyrogers @babebenhardy @ramimalekrp-roleplayerpage @mautand @rogertayolr@mothermercuryy @basics-andthesimplelife @caterinaborgia @discodeakyjazzyjoe @sheridans-dynamos @bethany-cc @onexlittlespark @idontbelievethiss @having-a-freddie-time @denimmay@bensrhapsody @manuosorioh @writing-in-hell @cupcakehardy @toms-irish-girl @a-kind-of-magik @thesecondlastjedi @dianamarie-has-a-blog @ezmina98

#benhardyisdaddy #roger taylor #ben!roger x reader #Roger Taylor imagine #rogertaylor #rogertaylorxy/n #ben!rogertaylor #fic #series #angst #queen #borhap #freddiemercury #johndeacon #brian may

221 notes · View notes

chittapornswife · 5 years

Text

A Merry Missed Flight

Wrote this after I missed my flight on the 21st & thought “what if-?” while sitting in the baggage claim area with my family lol. Plus no other man was suitable besides the #1 idiot in my life, mr. tenny tenten. Hope you enjoy!!! (Also besides the meeting ten part, some of this was from my own real life lol) also i know its been rlly dead but idc cause eh as long as 1 person likes it I'm fine:) Mood!

Genre: fluffers ft. idk tiny bits of angst Word Count: 3.3K Type: ten x reader (gender-neutral!)

summary: the perks of missing your flight happen to be: bumping into a really cute guy, thinking about him the whole day, then seeing him on your flight!

It’s a couple days before Christmas Eve

And whaddya know?

You & your family just missed your morning flight back home because of the crappy weather conditions

Like great, out of all of the things that could happen to you, this had to be it

And out of all of the days, it had to be today.

And now you guys have to wait around 10 hours for the next flight that’ll fit all of you in

Plus y’all can’t even check in baggage that early so you decide to just sit on the lower level and sleep

But you’re just not havin it being near them & their bitter arguing over who’s fault it was for missing the flight

Because what can y’all do now?

Absolutely nothing.

Except wait for the next flight and that’s what you’re doing now

So you decide to just roam around and find somewhere else to sit, away from the grumpiness & the overbearing Christmas decorations everywhere

The only place that’s free is near the baggage claim plus it isn’t too bright with lights so you just find a bench and lay down there

Using your jacket as a pillow with your headphones on and just going on your phone

Knowing fully well that you look like a weirdo since you’re super tired, taking up a whole bench and need to wash your hair

Overall not looking your best

But you value comfort over appearance so to hell with the people staring 😎

And a couple of hours pass by, letting you have some time to yourself to rest

Scrolling through Instagram or tumblr, just looking at random things to make you happy and not have to dwell on the 6 more hours of waiting

But finally,

You get a msg from your family that you can check in your baggage

So you drag your ass back to where they are

Not looking where you’re headed at all, with your eyes on your phone to change the song,

You bump into someone

Dropping your jacket and phone,

With your earphones being snatched out your ears as your phone tumbles on the carpet

Another phone falling with it as well as some flight info papers

And you’re like well shit.

Immediately you blurt out a string of sorry’s and go down to grab your stuff as well as the other person’s

“That’s okay!! It’s alright!”

A higher pitched male voice says from beside you with a peculiar accent

Meanwhile you’re thinking about how you’re such an idiot and scrambling to pick up the other persons items

Not noticing that he’s looking at you and smiling at your disheveled self

So when you push your hair to the side and hold up the papers that seem to be for a flight that you briefly see is a night flight to ur home country

You come face to face with an extremely attractive and casually but impeccably dressed guy

He’s just got a purple shirt with a fleece jacket and black loose pants on, with classic black converse

But with a fresh haircut and several silver hoops & gold studs adorning his ears

He looks like he belongs in a modelling agency

Or a beauty/fashionista vlogger

Especially with that friendly, sparkling smile, elf-sloped nose and those just as shining eyes looking right at you behind a pair of thick rimmed stylish glasses

And that’s when you’re like

Oh shit.

Because you literally look and feel like poop.

Which is definitely not the best way to crash into a good looking stranger

“Oh uh- h-here you go“

His smile widens as you pass him the papers

While in return he passes you your jacket saying,

“That’s a really nice jacket!”

But you’re so embarrassed you lowkey wanna escape and just mumble a thank you avoiding eye contact

Before picking up your other stuff as he does the same

Your hands bumping a couple of times in the process making him laugh; the sound as lively and contagious as Christmas bells

He’s just so unbelievably cute and like right in front of you with that cuteness that you get up quickly overwhelmed by his presence,

Saying another sorry before walking away

Since you realize your family might get angrier if you’re stalling more time for them to check in baggage

And a couple steps away you hear a loud,

“Thank you!!!”

Making you turn around to find the cute guy waving his arms wildly with a bigger smile on his face

And you’re like ????

Cause he’s so cute and way out of your league

But he’s smiling at you???? And your ratty self?????

Like is this real???? Or maybe that huge milkshake you drank before is finally hitting your head

Nevertheless, you still wave timidly back at him before turning back

Heart beating too fast and a small smile appearing on your face at the image of his bright face

The contrast of his dark hair and his creamy lightly tanned skin

And how you got somewhat lucky during this whole day

For some reason when you get back to your family whomst are collecting their suitcases and bags

All you can think about is the dark-haired purple shirt smiley boy

Even after customs and security, he just stays stuck in your head

The “thank you!” in that distinct unrecognizable accent ringing in your head

Like you don’t even know the dude at all besides his physical features

Yet here you are, munching on a burger with fries & thinkin of him and wondering what to do with the next couple of hours as you wait

Plus he’s nowhere to be seen throughout the airport

As you lowkey may or may not have “roamed” around to see if you could get another glimpse of him

Part of you scared you may seriously find him, then not know what to do next

And the other part excited, wanting to conjure up a dream that maybe he’ll fall in love with you at second sight

(If this part hits too hard for some folks,,, I apologize but the truth,,,, stays the truth my friends...... I know we all have thought this at one point or another)

But as hours pass by

Night falls

And y’all make your way to the line up at the gates that have opened up already

You realize that you have the same flight as the one listed in his papers that he dropped,

At least,,, you think,,,,,

Anyways,,,,

You get on the plane

In a window seat with no one else sitting beside you

Since your family got new tickets

Most of y’all are sitting separately

Leaving you to pray that you’re not beside someone creepy or unfriendly for this flight

And tbh,

You’re ready to take off and just go back home to your warm bed

And get all comfortable under your covers while watching your favourite shows

Your headphones are perched behind your ears and your seatbelt’s on as you peer out at the dark sky

The runway lights providing some light for the flat lands and the street lights shining quite a bit far away

Making you feel a bit sleepy even tho you slept so much before LOL

So you close your eyes momentarily, waiting for the annoying safety procedure announcements to happen

And just wanting this whole trip thing to be done with

With all the negative energy and grumpiness still in the air with your family

As you’re lowkey praying for things to go right and for no other delayed/missed flights or random weather conditions to pop up

You hear a,

“Oh! Hey! It’s you again!”

Your eyes shoot right open because

It’s that same accent,

That same uniquely high voice

That you’ve been thinking about all day

And as you turn to the side, the plane’s fluorescent lights making you squint a bit,

Sure enough, it is him

Attractive purple shirt boy

All smiles just like when he waved at you back at the airport

Except just with his bag, no luggage, that he seems to place on the seat beside you....

Huh?

Does that mean-

“Funny that we bumped into each other before and now we’re sitting beside each other hahaha”

God no.

This is all happening too fast for you to process properly in your head

That the guy you had dreamy thoughts about the whole day

Is now sitting beside you

Beside your STILL if not more raggedy tired self

Like @ god, out of all the days,,

Why today,,,,,,??????

You don’t even know what to say to him so you just try to smile even though it feels really crusty

Attractive boy picks up his bag and stows it below the seat in front of him before plopping down beside you

Now you’re so close to him that you can see the finest of details as he puts on his seatbelt and adjusts his belongings

Like that cute slope of of his nose

The small upturned corners of his thin lips that make him look friendly

Dark lashes fluttering about gently behind the glasses

Small scars on his cheeks probably from acne or minor accidents

His dark smoothly brushed hair that looks so tempting to you to pet

Just the tiny natural things about him you didn’t get to see in the rush from before

But all of these things make you seem to like him more

Wait, like?

You scrunch your nose and turn around to look through the little window to distract yourself

Cause you can’t possibly like someone who you don’t even know at all

Yeah he’s cute and supposedly a very happy person

But there’s a clear difference between being friendly and showing interest

And this guy just seems like someone who’s like this with everyone with that bubbly social personality

“I didn’t get to say this earlier but,” you hear him speak to you once again so you turn to face him,

Leaning back a bit so he can’t see how nervous you are

“I really do like your hoodie! If you don’t mind me asking... Where did you get it from? :)”

You blink a couple of times because this hoodie?

The one that’s a plain black (now fading black) and super old?

“Oh um...... I think..... either Target or maybe H&M? I’m not too sure but I’m pretty sure you can get it from many other stores too.”

You mentally smack yourself since you sounded a bit harsh near the end of your words

But it doesn’t seem like purple shirt boy has noticed as he’s like

“Ahhhhh!!! I should try and go there then! ^_^”

His brown eyes becoming like thin crescent moons as he smiles

And as the plane starts and is making its way down the runway

You both have some small talk just to fill up the silence

Letting you learn that he’s from Thailand and going to your country for the holidays and meeting up with his friends who are already there

Plus one of his friends is getting married next month so he’s going to stay for his wedding and all the preparations

Overall, attractive purple shirt boy is really kind you find

Your assumptions about his social personality being correct in that he’s just a people’s man

Which isn’t bad except a small nagging voice in your head keeps reminding you that he’s just being nice & friendly like you

That he's not interested in you in the way you want him to be

And as the plane takes off,

Both of you stop the small convos and you put in earphones to listen to music

While he chews on some gum and goes on his phone

You look out at the city below, the lights becoming smaller and smaller looking like stars on the ground all bunched up together

The sight being so beautiful at night that you don’t realize the boy beside you is just as mesmerized trying to get a good look too

So when you turn around, you come face to face with him

His eyes that are on the view behind you slowly shift their gaze to you

And now that the plane fluorescent lights have turned off, you’re both staring at each other with just the soft glow from other passenger’s lights being on

He looks more ethereal

As if he fits too well in this world; maybe better

Like he could wear or do whatever but with that shining personality that makes you feel comfortable but also nervous and sweat,

He just seems to be too good to be true to be beside you

Like this all could be some dream you made up after passing out in the baggage claim area

And right at that moment,

It’s so clear

He’s so clear and his brown eyes staring into yours

That you open your mouth to ask his name

Until the plane’s turbulence causes you to smack your nose with his

A stinging pain eliciting making you clutch your now throbbing nose

And as you close your eyes you hear a small laugh from your side

You open them to see him laughing and say with a sparkle in his eyes,

“I was just tryna enjoy both views but it seems the plane got too jealous of that.”

You swear your heart stops for a moment

Both views?

Did he just-

Did he just indirectly mention that you’re pretty? And that the plane got jealous that he could look both at you and the city below???

You don’t acknowledge the stinging of your nose as his words keep replaying in your head over and over

Nor do you know how to respond to that because well it left you super flustered

But what you don't know is that underneath the soft glow, the boy beside you has sweaty palms and pink cheeks after realizing what he said himself

After that, you both don't talk much and simply stay in your own spots just trying to get some sleep

And as you feel yourself drifting off to catch some Z’s

Both earphones in and listening to soothing RnB music,

You wonder if you could erase this whole day from your mind

So that when you come back you don't have to think about it constantly during Christmas

That during this whole day,

You had so many chances to ask his name or number

But didn’t because you were afraid of rejection and coming off too strong

That he may not reciprocate the same feelings as you

And with your head tilted to the side, you succumb to the comfortable dream world where you can be free from this stress

And tbh when it’s a night flight with pretty low turbulence,

That’s the best time to get some actual sleep since it’s fairly dark in the plane

Plus it isn’t cold either as they turn on the heat

So even if you’re sitting in a uncomfortable position

You still have some benefits going for you to have a nice sleep

Except,,

What you don't expect,,,

Is waking up because of the fluorescent lights on a soft but cushiony shoulder,

With your arm clutching onto another lean arm

Practically snuggling with this person

This person,,,

You groggily think that’s your mom or someone from your family

Until you remember,,,

That this person is,

Oh godno

You look up to find the person who you realize is your plane buddy, purple shirt boy

With his eyes closed

Not even troubled by your sleeping on his shoulder and holding his arm

Just peacefully softly snoring, hands in his lap and head tilted towards you

You notice that many people in the front have already left the plane and the people in your area are packing up

No doubt since the plane has landed

Yet here you both were passed out

Looking like a romantic couple or something

But you know that you have to wake him somehow and wriggle your arm out of his, shaking his shoulder lightly

The glasses perched on his nose shaking a bit

“We’re here, um wake up please.” You whisper to him

His eyes only fluttering open after probably the twentieth time you shake him

And he looks tired but confused, slowly looking around to see where he is

Until he sees you

And lazily smiles, stretching his arms

“Ah did we land?” He mumbles in a raspy voice

You nod, your cheeks warming up as his eyes seem to stay on your face with that same smile

“We um need to get our stuff and get out of the plane.”

“Mhmm”

His eyes are still on you as he softly mumbles,

“Uh if it doesn’t sound too creepy, could I possibly get your name? You’re just too beautiful of a person to not know....”

You freeze,

Your mind racing a mile a minute at trying to think about what to do or say

Because is it okay if you'll him? A stranger?

“Um if it helps, my name is Ten..... Like the number. Odd and sounds unreal but it’s too long of a story to explain.”

His brown eyes curiously yet nervously look at your own, waiting for your reply after revealing his own name

“I’m (y/n)”

He rubs his eyes and smiles saying,

“A beautiful name for a beautiful person.”

Is he trying to make you heart go into overdrive?

Because its working,,,

“T-thank you..” You mumble as you reach for your bag

And now as the people have all cleared up, he gets up with his bag in hand and also grabs your carry on luggage from up top

Making you smile at the kind & thoughtful action

Then as you both start to walk down the aisle,

You begin to think about if you could see him again and it dawns on you, that you want to see him again

So out of complete boldness and just impulsivity,

You grab a pen from your pocket

And tap Ten on the shoulder making him stop walking and turn back to face you

Then grabbing his hand gently, you write down your number on the palm

Knowing that he could easily wash it off and or even that it could get rubbed off by him holding his luggage

But still you go for it cause why the heck not

You don't have much to lose at this point

He looks curiously at you after you finish

“Um this is my number. I uh just thought that uh I didn’t want to lose contact with you because you seem really funny and cool and kind and I’ve never done this but I would like to talk to you again because I mean-“

Ten puts his hand over your shaking one holding the pen

With that same kind and calming smile on his face

His eyes sparkling and his hair a little messy after sleeping

“I’m glad I'm not the only one who feels that way (y/n).”

He then takes the pen out of your hands and grabs your shaking hand with his warm one saying while writing,

“This is my number. Please do contact me whenever you’d like because even if I may not be from here, I’d like to see you again before I go back home.”

You smile at him, feeling your cheeks heat up

“I would love that too.”

And as you both walk out, saying a good night and happy holidays to the flight attendants

You realize that at least one good thing came out of this missed flight mishap

Ten

A casually well-dressed Thai boy, interested in you and wanting to keep in touch with you just as much you would love to keep in touch with him

And as you meet up with your family outside the gates

You look down at your hand that has Ten’s scribbly writing of his number and a little smiley face with a heart that has a 10 inside of it

And think maybe

Just maybe,

You might have a chance with love this christmas :) 🎄❤️

97 notes · View notes