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charmandabear · 4 months

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Office Hours - Chapter Three

Summary:

Astarion surprises you by inviting you to his place... for a real date? The evening doesn't go as expected when you uncover the darkness in his past.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 5.4k Tags/Warnings: mentions of Astarion's past, vampire bites, blood drinking, blow job, p in v sex, fluff with a very small side of angst, Shadowheart being a bit of a manic pixie dream best friend

Since y'all are insistent on encouraging my worst tendencies, here, have the longest single thing I've ever written. I think about Professor Astarion at all waking (and sleeping at this point) hours. I have other things planned, I will eventually write something else, I promise. But also... this one is now becoming a full-fledged multi-chapter fic. I'm half-considering rewriting the first few chapters so it's in third-person? I don't know though, let me know what you think.

H1ghVoltage and Zaria were both invaluable betas for this one, I appreciate you both so much. And Zaria for always providing the most perfect screenshots at the drop of a hat. This literally would not exist without you.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“Excuse me? The one you’re always going on about?” Shadowheart’s eyebrows disappear into her platinum bangs as she tucks her feet underneath her, holding up her wine glass so it doesn’t spill. The two of you met while moving into adjacent apartments a few years prior; it turned out you had both just been hired at the university, her at the Divinity School and you at the College of Arts and Sciences. Since then you’ve become fast friends, and you’re finally filling her in on all of the details of the whirlwind that has been the past few days. You hide your chagrin behind a sip of wine.

“Okay, listen, yes, but hear me out. He looks like this.” You hold out your phone and show her the English department faculty page.

“Oh. Oh,” she says in a low tone as her eyes study the screen. “Okay, you didn’t tell me that.”

“I think I was in denial,” you whine as you drop your head onto the couch cushion. “I focused on how much of an asshole he is to distract me from how hot he is.”

“And now? Will you see him again?” She tosses your phone at your feet and you lift your gaze.

“I don’t know? He made a joke about having sex in my office but I don’t think he actually meant it.” You cast a sidelong glance at Shadowheart, trying to gauge her expression.

“Scandalous,” she smiles into the rim of her glass before taking a long sip. You pick up your phone, looking at his portrait. It looks like a candid photo but it’s very clearly composed. He’s sitting pitched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He’s looking off to the side and his brow is furrowed like he’s engaged in vigorous academic debate. It’s wildly pretentious.

You drop your phone again and angrily sip at your wine, letting the dry red flood over your tongue and coat the inside of your mouth. You notice Shadowheart eyeing you suspiciously.

“Do you want to?” she asks, and you put your glass onto the coffee table and curl your knees into your chest further.

“I… I don’t know? Like obviously the sex is good. Really good,” you add under your breath, and Shadowheart looks at you salaciously as your cheeks flush. “But whenever he says more than five words I want to gouge my eyes out.”

“Is that really how you feel, or have you just convinced yourself to feel that way?” she carefully asks. You glare at her, but you can't bring yourself to disagree. You drop your less-than-menacing expression and cover your face in your hands. You let out an exasperated sigh before suddenly gasping and looking up at her with wide eyes.

“Nine hells, did I tell you what else happened? At least one student knows. I saw her coming out of his office and she made some comment about ‘We all see how you look at him.’” You flop onto your side, burying your face in the couch cushion once again.

“Well, I suppose that answers your question, at least,” Shadowheart says reassuringly, and you narrow your eyes at her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean if you like him enough that your students are noticing, then you have to pursue him. The worst that’ll happen is you’ll break up and you can go back to hating him.” She’s awfully nonchalant about having just described a literal nightmare.

“Excuse me, how is that possibly meant to make me feel better?” you gape at her.

“At least you get a good shagging out of the deal, right?” she grins at you, and her teeth are tinged purple from the wine. You kick your foot out at her.

“Man, we need to get you laid, don’t we?” you tease and she groans.

“Listen, you just told me that you got railed twice in three days, it’s not that good out here for most of us.” Now it’s her turn to cover her face and you laugh. You pick up your wine and stretch your legs out to nudge Shadowheart’s calf.

“Who knows, maybe there’s some hot chick in the English department that he can hook you up with.” She pushes your leg back and rolls her eyes.

“Absolutely not, English academics are the worst.”

***

You have no idea what to expect when you inevitably run into Astarion the next day. You're tempted to just work from home since you don’t have any classes, but you have another damn season selection committee meeting that you can't miss, and you'd rather be around for students to drop in if they need to.

You're on your way to the bathroom at the end of the day when you finally see him. You almost don't, at first, since you're looking down at your phone and you stop short of barrelling into him. You lock eyes and smile politely, then step to your left just as he steps to his right. You two share an awkward laugh just as it happens again in the opposite direction. After another few seconds of uncomfortable shuffling, he takes you by your shoulders and moves you to the side. You give him a thankful grin and quickly move past, trying to ignore the burning in your cheeks and the way your arms tingle where he touched you.

You get to the bathroom and close the door behind you, leaning against it to brace yourself. Your stomach is roiling, though whether it was from the embarrassment, the insatiable lust, or something else entirely, you can't quite tell. You turn on the faucet and splash your face with cool water. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, trying to will yourself into stoicism. It's a losing battle as the image of him having you bent over the sink pops into your mind. You shake your head, trying to think of something else, but that only makes it worse.

He’s pressed you up against the bathroom door and he's got your wrists pinned together above your head.

No, stop, you scold yourself. But the second you banish that image another one comes flooding in, your leg draped over his shoulder as he’s lightly sucking your clit with his fingers curled inside you.

You're dizzy with the mental image and you try to wrest it from your mind. You focus on the visual stimuli around you, the white tile, the fluorescent lights, the small blue stain beneath the soap dispenser. Eventually you find yourself back in your body and you massage your temples, trying to focus.

Your head is still reeling slightly as you make your way back to your office. You unlock the door, completely unaware of his presence behind you until you catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. You yelp and in an instant he’s towering over you with your back up against the wall.

“Almighty gods, Astarion,” you swear breathlessly, your heart pounding more from the scare than the proximity for once. The proximity doesn’t help, however, when he tilts your chin with his knuckle and smiles devilishly.

“Come to my place, let me cook you dinner,” he purrs, and your breath quickens. But when his words finally break through the seductive tone, something in your brain stops.

“Wait, cook? Can you- do you even- how-” You still haven’t fully recovered and your mouth struggles to form words. His smile widens and you know he’s enjoying watching you splutter.

“What, do you think in all of my 350 years I've never bedded a mortal? Besides,” he trails his hand down your neck and strokes it gently with his thumb, sending a shiver down your spine, “I have other ways of getting my fill.”

You instinctively tilt your head for him, almost like you’re inviting him to bite right here and now. You manage to recoup your senses just enough to quip, “I’m sure you have plenty of experience luring cute mortals back to your place.”

You think you see his jaw tighten for a fraction of a second, but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“I’ll take it as a yes, then?” He pulls away and adjusts his glasses, his fingers sliding into his hair. You nod, not trusting the words to come out of your mouth. He pulls a slip of paper from his pocket and tucks it into the neckline of your shirt, a move that would have been unbearably corny coming from anyone else.

“See you then… lover.” He winks and glides out of the room as silently as he came in. You take a breath to steady yourself, a voice in the back of your head grumbling because of how much he has you wrapped around his finger. But admittedly, he seemed equally flustered when you almost plowed into him a few minutes ago.

Maybe not the best choice of words.

You pull the piece of paper out to see an address, date, and time. Tomorrow at 7.

Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

Now you just need to occupy yourself for the next 26 hours and not completely lose your nerve.

***

Occupying yourself isn’t terribly difficult with Shadowheart around. She keeps you busy all day with various errands, shopping, anything to keep you from spiraling.

Nevertheless, when it’s finally time to get dressed, you find yourself overthinking every tiny element. You stand frozen in front of your open underwear drawer trying to decide between the black lace or the pink satin.

“Shadowheeeaaaarrrrrtttt,” you call out to her in the other room. She pops her head in and gives you a pitying smile as she sees your anxiety-ridden face.

“Alright, sit, let me help,” she clinks her glass down on your dresser and nudges you until you’re sitting on your bed, fidgeting with the belt of your robe.

“Black lace, it’s sexier,” she says sagely, tossing the panties at you and you slide them on under your robe. She pulls the plaid skirt out of the shopping bag and flings it onto the bed.

“Put that on because we both agreed it’s adorable. It might be warm enough to go without tights?” she muses, then glances at you mischievously. “And since he has a track record of destroying those, maybe go with these instead.” She throws a pair of thigh highs at you and they hit you in the face. You wrinkle your nose.

“Careful,” you warn, but she ignores you. She floats over to your closet and sifts through the hangers. She pulls out a top, shifts her gaze between you and the garment a few times, then drops it on the floor. After another moment of searching, she pulls out a blousy cardigan, throwing it on the bed next to you.

“Don’t put that on yet, I’ll be right back.” She disappears before you can say anything. You’re left sitting on your bed in just your bra and skirt, and you rub your feet together with a restless energy.

Shadowheart returns just a few minutes later holding a lacy top that reads more as lingerie than an actual shirt. She returns your skeptical frown with a giant grin.

“Shade, I'm not wearing that,” you gripe, and she throws it in your face.

“Put it on before you judge,” she chides in response, and you roll your eyes.

“Fine, but it probably won't fit,” you say as you take off your bra and don the sheer v-neck cami. Other than straining around your chest slightly, the fit is fine. You put on the oversized cardigan over it and look at the full effect in your floor length mirror.

“See, told you,” she says smugly as you admire your reflection. And it's true, the underwear-as-outerwear really does bring the look from glorified schoolgirl cosplay into something a bit more refined. You give her a disgruntled sidelong glance but otherwise say nothing.

“Alright, get going. Go put your shoes on and chase that Ph D.” She pushes you out of your bedroom and towards the front door of your apartment. “Don't worry about me, I'll be here drinking your wine and masturbating all by myself while you get fucked through the end of the tenday.”

You slip on your black suede ankle boots and pleadingly look at Shadowheart one more time. You're still not convinced that this whole thing isn’t just a trip into the lion’s den.

“Go! I look forward to hearing all the gory details,” she says and plants a smooch on your cheek. She then smacks your ass as you head out the door, your yelp earning a satisfied smirk.

Sure enough, when you find yourself outside his apartment door, you can feel your cold feet catching up with you. You're about to take out your phone and text Shadowheart that you're going to leave when his door opens.

“Hello, beautiful,” he croons, and the syrup in his voice makes your mouth go dry. The sleeves of his white button down are rolled up and the first few buttons are undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. The black vest tapers in his waist and flows seamlessly into his well-tailored trousers. But the first thing you notice is his glasses.

“Your glasses are different,” you blurt, internally cursing your bluntness. His eyebrows pop up above the thicker plastic frames.

“Is that a problem?” he asks without a hint of malice in his voice. You blush and quickly shake your head.

“No I- I like them. They look good,” you stutter, looking away from the heat of his gaze. He smiles and takes your hand almost like he's leading you in a courtly dance, pulling you inside.

You look around his apartment, noticing the similarities to the hominess of his office. Big overfull bookshelves, warm-lit lamps dotted around the space, papers and other junk littered across every surface. It still surprises you that he doesn’t keep a tidy space, but at the same time you find it oddly charming.

You spot a hairless cat sitting on some mail on a table in the corner, delicately licking its paw.

“Aww, who’s this?” You approach the cat, holding out your hand for it to sniff. It hisses in response and you take a step back.

“That's His Majesty, and you're best to respect his wishes,” Astarion calls from the kitchen.

“You named your cat His Majesty?” you ask, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling in your throat.

“No, he named himself His Majesty,” he replies, returning from the kitchen with a spoonful of risotto. “Taste,” he commands and you obediently open your mouth. The steaming food coats your tongue with a tangy, savory taste. You nod at him, barely trusting yourself to speak. It tastes incredible.

You turn back to His Majesty, and you notice an empty potion of animal speaking tipped on its side near him.

“Well I'll just admire such a handsome creature from a distance, then,” you say and His Majesty preens slightly. You can hear a hum of approval from Astarion as he retreats back into the kitchen.

This man is full of contradictions. Pristine, clean cut outward appearance with a cluttered, disorganized space. Cool and disaffected, but he loves his cat enough to use potions to communicate with him. He doesn't need to eat, but somehow he’s an incredible cook? You frown to yourself; it feels like something doesn't add up.

You start scanning one of the bookshelves, wondering what else you can learn about him. If there was an organizational system, it wasn't clear. 48 Laws of Power, History of Modern Sexuality, On the Genealogy of Morality, Gender Trouble… Ayn Rand sitting next to Octavia Butler?

What the fuck does he like?

“How is my collection of books holding up in your estimation?” Astarion’s sudden presence behind you makes you jump. He presses a wine glass into your hand and ghosts his lips across the crook of your neck, sending a swath of goosebumps down your arms.

“Did I tell you that you look absolutely delicious?” he murmurs into your skin, and you can already feel yourself getting lightheaded.

“You're one to talk,” you say on a dizzied exhale, and the breath from his laugh tickles your shoulder. He puts his hands on your waist, running a finger along the inside of the waistband of your skirt. He gives it a gentle tug and you unconsciously move in the direction he’s pulling.

“Come eat,” he says, guiding you to a table with one place setting. You sit, feeling awkward as he sits across from you, a wine glass in his hand.

“Are you just going to watch me eat?” you laugh nervously. He smiles into the glass, glancing at you above the rectangular frames sliding down his nose.

“Well if you're insistent, I can have my dinner as well.” He's not subtle about leering at your neck, sparking a flicker of heat in your belly. You distract yourself by taking another bite of the risotto, which somehow tastes even better than what he fed you before.

“So what do you experience when you have… food?” you ask, trying to shift his attention off you eating. He looks up as he thinks, and you find your gaze tracing his jawline.

“It’s… sour. Like it’s spoiled. But when something is cooked well, and with high quality ingredients, it’s more bearable.”

You look down at your food, the taste dancing across your palette. It's certainly better than something you could make for yourself. But you know so little about cooking techniques besides the basics that you don’t know what the difference would even be.

“And you're drinking wine. What does that taste like?” You try not to stare at the dark red liquid collecting on his lips, but it’s hard not to when his tongue darts out to lick it up.

“Alcohol has a higher threshold for quality, so it's generally more palatable. It usually means a higher budget for these things, but it's not as though I'm spending much on groceries.” He narrows his eyes at you, but you can't read his expression.

“Well go on,” he continues, and you tilt your head in confusion. “Ask the question that you really want to ask.” Your heart starts beating a little faster and he smirks. Gods, you really hate that he can read you like that. It would be nice to keep at least one emotion private.

“What does blood taste like?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but it's clear that he hears you. His smile widens just enough to show off his fangs.

“It depends on the person,” he replies just as casually as if you had asked him about his taste in music. “Some are sweeter, like a nice rich port, while others have a bit of a burn, like whiskey. However, you?” He places his glass on the table and stands, and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. He crosses behind your chair and sweeps your hair to the side, lasciviously inhaling your scent behind your ear, eliciting a shiver.

“Yours is smooth with a hint of spice, like a fine aged brandy. But the finish has an addictive quality, like absinthe.” He nips lightly at the base of your neck without breaking skin.

“Such pretty words,” you exhale on a breathy moan, reaching a hand up behind you and running your fingers through his hair, pulling him toward you ever so slightly.

“Is that what you want?” he breathes into your ear, and you arch your back in your seat, panting. You can barely get out the “yes” before he sweeps you out of the chair and wraps your legs around his waist. He carries you into the kitchen, placing you on the counter and pressing your knees apart with his torso. You whine and the cool tile pressing into your ass reminds you of his touch. He slides one hand behind your head and the other around your waist, and sinks his teeth into your neck.

The initial pain surprises you every time, and your yelp is followed by his satisfied groan. You grip the back of his neck as he drinks, and you can feel the muscles working with each swallow. The feeling of your blood coursing through both of your bodies gets you high, knowing it's your blood that flushes his lips, cheeks, and ears. It's your blood flowing to his cock. The reminder of it makes you clench instinctively.

He pulls away just as you're teetering on the edge of passing out. He’s always panting after he feeds, his glasses slightly askew and a ravenous look in his eye that makes your mouth water. You pull him into a heated kiss, the metallic tang on his lips becoming a sensory reminder of the post-feeding bliss.

You pull him closer with your feet, aching just to feel him pressed against you. Your hands scramble against his back, tugging at his collared shirt. He’s wearing far too many layers and he hasn’t even blessed you with the sight of his gorgeous sculpted chest yet.

You slide a hand into the back of his collar, desperate for his skin, when your fingers brush over thick raised scar tissue. He pulls back faster than you do and your hands immediately go to cover your mouth.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t–” you begin but the pained look in his eye makes you stop short.

“No it's… it's fine. I've had those for a very long time. I… ah…” he stutters, adjusting his glasses uncomfortably, and you've never seen him so flummoxed.

“What are they from?” The question leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You're about to retract, tell him he doesn't need to answer, when he speaks quietly.

“They're from… the man who turned me. He kept me as a slave for 200 years. It’s something written in infernal, but I never found out what it said. And his death ensured I never would.” He speaks while looking down at the floor, his distant gaze indicating that he's somewhere else entirely.

“Astarion…” you breathe, and you cup his face in your hands. He smirks and snakes his arms around your waist; the mask is back on.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” he says with a composed smile, “it was a very long time ago. I’m more concerned with tonight.” He moves to kiss your neck again but you put your hand against his chest to stop him.

“No- well, I mean yes to tonight, but… let me take care of you,” you say softly, and his careful expression slips again.

“I- well if that’s what you want.” He crinkles his brow, unsure of what to make of your proposal.

“Is it what you want?” You stroke his cheek, and it suddenly feels like this is an entirely different man standing in front of you. Hesitant, vulnerable, his usual swaggering confidence replaced with an uncertain tenderness that makes your heart pound in a way that feels wholly unfamiliar with him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.

“We don’t have to,” you offer quickly, “we can just fuck up against a wall or something.” The joke breaks the tension and he lets out a little giggle.

“What do you have in mind?” He looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and you ease off the counter and gently nudge him backwards toward his bedroom. He follows your lead, his doubtful look shifting into something of excitement and mischief. You guide him until the back of his knees hit the bed, and you push him to sit.

You straddle his lap and run your fingers through his silvery curls. You kiss along his jawline and down his neck, placing a particularly tender kiss on his bite scar. He exhales heavily, sliding his hands up your thighs and resting them on your lower back.

You begin carefully unbuttoning his vest, followed by his shirt, untucking the hem from his pants. You slide it down his shoulders and onto the bed behind him, letting your warm hands run over the cool planes of his skin. His eyes follow your movements carefully and you take your time, tracing over every divet, every freckle and mole. You delight in his gasp when your fingers dance over his navel and down to his belt buckle.

You slip off his lap and drop between his legs, your hands continuing their journey along his hips. You plant increasingly hungry kisses above his waistband as you remove his belt and unzip his pants. He leans back on his hands as his breathing quickens, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You’re struck with the irony that the last time you were between Astarion’s legs like this it was to get revenge, to make him feel flustered and speechless the way he always does to you. Now you have him, flustered and speechless, and all you want is to worship him, make him feel warm and safe.

You slide his pants down under his ass, pulling them all the way off so he’s sitting on his bed fully nude. You run your lips along his inner thigh as you palm his growing erection.

“Ah- wait,” he stammers and you immediately look up and pull back.

“Yes?” you ask, frozen by the fear that you’ve gone too far.

“I want to see you,” he whispers, nudging your cardigan off your shoulder. “All of you.”

It’s hard to believe that someone sitting naked in front of you can make you feel so exposed. You shiver as you drop the cardigan off your back, the sudden exposure to cool air making your nipples poke through the lacy top that Shadowheart gave you. You stand and he watches intently as you unzip your skirt, letting it fall to the floor in a pool at your feet. His expression gives little away, but his cock doesn’t. By the time you’ve removed the black panties, thigh highs, and cami, it stands at full attention. His knees squeeze around your legs and his arms pull you in close to him, pressing his nose against your belly. You card your fingers through his hair and down to his chin, tilting his head upwards.

“Better?” you breathe, and he nods, his eyes round and wide. You bend down to kiss him, slow and languid, before dropping to your knees again. When you pull away his mouth stays open, suspended in the shape of your kiss.

You settle between his knees and lightly kiss the head of his dick. You flick your gaze upward, monitoring his expression as you lazily run your fingers along his shaft. His glasses balance on the tip of his nose as he looks down at you, transfixed by your ministrations. You open your lips slightly, not quite taking him into your mouth yet as you softly cup his balls in your hand. You can hear his breath growing ragged, and he rewards you with an almost inaudible moan when your tongue finally wets his cock.

You wrap your lips around his tip, gently working the underside with your tongue. You run your hands up his thighs, squeezing his hips as they buck into you. You take more of him in, the warmth of your mouth contrasting with the cool, sensitive skin. He groans and tangles his fingers in your hair, a gesture that feels closer to petting than pulling.

You pull your mouth off his cock, wrapping your hand around the now slick shaft. You run your thumb along the slit, and his responding shutter makes you smile.

“Ah- enjoying yourself?” he murmurs, unable to keep his voice steady. You look up at him and drag your tongue along his entire length.

“I am, are you?” you hum, taking him back into your mouth and swirling your tongue around the tip. His leg quivers beside you, his toes curling inward.

“Mmph,” he grunts in assent, his hand twisting into your hair a little more. You slip your hands under his thighs and slide your mouth further down, letting him fill you up. His hips jerk, wanting to thrust into you, and you relax your jaw to let him. His little pants and disjointed moans send a jolt of heat down to your core, and you can feel yourself becoming wet with desire for him.

You reach down and slip your middle finger between your slick folds, your groan vibrating into him. He hisses and pulls you off his cock and into a fierce kiss. The two of you tumble backwards onto the bed, your hair encircling you like a curtain. You press your bodies together, the smoldering heat spreading into a raging wildfire. He lines himself up with your entrance as you continue your desperate assault on his lips. He slides in with ease and your cry into his mouth accompanies him bottoming out.

You push yourself up, bracing yourself on his chest as you grind into him. He plants his hands on your hips, thrusting up into you. Your head falls back in ecstasy, your hair cascading down the length of your back. You increase the pace of your rolling hips, each breath growing more voiced as you approach your peak.

“Oh gods, Astarion,” you babble, his name falling out of your mouth like a prayer. He realizes you’re getting close, he sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him tight. He latches onto your nipple, flicking his tongue and sucking to send your pleasure to staggering heights. You arch your back into him as your arms hook over his shoulders, brushing your hands against those awful scars. Your hands splay across his back as if to say no one will ever hurt you like that again.

You pull his face to yours so that you can taste his lips as you crash over the edge. The kiss is broken up by your cries and you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, his grunts in time with his pulsing seed. You stay still and connected as the waves of pleasure ebb and flow and finally settle. The only noise left in the room is both of your heavy panting, and the telltale sound of just your heart pounding.

His hands slide down your back as you carefully pull yourself off him and you shiver as his now-soft cock falls out of you. You kneel next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, and he reaches over to stroke your jaw.

“Thank you,” he hums softly, and you press another sweet kiss to his neck. His scar.

After a moment you let out a contented sigh, then you say, “Well, I should probably gather my things and go, then.” You begin to stand to dress, but his hand closes around your wrist. You turn to him, unable to hide the surprise on your face.

“Or you could… stay. If you want.” He looks up at you through smudged and sweaty glasses and a smile tugs at your lips.

“What do you want?” you ask, and you watch him shift uncomfortably with a question that he’s not used to answering.

“I want…” he begins, hesitant. “I want to watch last year’s Globe production of Much Ado About Nothing with you. You said you like that one, right?” Your ears grow hot as you realize the extent to which he actually paid attention to you, even before you were sleeping together.

“I do, yeah. One of his best,” you say, your voice cracking slightly as you repeat his words back to him. That interaction feels like it was eons ago, when in fact it was less than a tenday.

He smirks, some of his confident charm seeping back into his demeanor. He scoots back on the bed until he’s resting against the headboard, and then he reaches out to you, inviting you to curl in next to him. You oblige, and he turns on the TV across from the bed, pulling up the pro-shot. You sink in next to him, appreciating how his chest cools your flushed cheek.

A single word gnaws at the back of your mind and you banish it quickly.

No, that’s the oxytocin talking.

It’s just been a long time since you’ve slept with someone more than once.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the gnawing grows more insistent.

…

Fuck.

263 notes · View notes

rosie-writings · 3 months

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Breathe Me Out, Drink You In

Summary: After the wedding, you and Sam find each other alone in the dressing room and again in the bathroom of your wedding night suite.

Warnings: Sam x Reader smut, Unprotected sex, Semi public, Blowjob, Sex in bath, all the fluff during rough sex

Words: 4.5K

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘Telomeres’ by Sleep Token

Sam had the eyes that I would wake up to every morning for the rest of my life.

I could tell; feel it. Somethings people simply know. And I knew. As ridiculous as that sounded, I knew how it sounded, it was true.

The first time I saw him, it took my friend yanking on my arm to get me to look away. After I answered her, I looked back at him, and his eyes, ever blue and unblinking, still held my body.

I went home with him that night, and it wasn't a secret for anyone. He kicked out his roommates who were there at that club and their sparkling eyes and jeering smiles were the last memory I had before I got that blond alone.

He woke up first and brushed my hair and kissed me awake. I didn't leave for two days.

I also don't remember the last time I had sex that much in two days. It was enough to almost ask my therapist if my addictions swapped up for a weekend.

I didn't leave until his sleepy looking roommate—the one with the dark hair and leather jackets—came home not caring what he ran into or heard because he simply wanted to sleep in his own bed. I couldn't blame him. I wondered how much he ripped into Sam, after I left, for having to hear us through their shared walls.

For such a large house, I was caught off guard that their bedrooms shared walls.

Now it made sense. They wanted to be as close as possible to each other without actually sharing a bed at night.

It took fourteen months for Sam to propose to me. Then he told me he spent the past seven trying to convince Colby.

Our lives mended easily. For as big of YouTube channels they both had and shared, I was completely shocked that I didn't know who they were. They didn't know me, but I too made a living making silly videos.

“Out of everyone, though,” Colby eventually pulled me aside at our engagement party two months ago, “I'm not surprised he chose you. I mean; you're both made for each other. In what other world would it feel right for a couple to get engaged seven months after meeting?”

Seven months after meeting.

That was how I knew Colby knew that I was the one for his best friend; he agreed the first time Sam asked, but he didn't want to lose him. He didn't want to lose him to the possibility of being heart broken.

It was clear as day, now, to all of us; our entire friend group.

I was theirs, they were mine.

And Sam and I were one.

“Literally-Literally—no really—I told her that—” Sam broke into laughter as the music drowned his words. I smiled and tried to keep down my own laughs as much as possible from the recognition of the story he told. His arm hung around my neck with a drink in his hand. While he was distracted in conversation, I sipped from it. Tara gave me a look. “So I told her that—I was like ‘Yeah no, no we’re getting married in May, you know,’” Sam’s voice was soft as he remembered the words I listened to him tell that one Hotel manager. God, he was so awkward in that moment I was surprised his face didn’t flare pink.

”And she gave me a look and looked her up and down and tells her that she wasn’t the one girl we’ve brought there.” At that point I burst out laughing. I remembered the hotel; it wasn’t even a hotel that gave us enough substance or evidence so we fucked around during the entire video.

I still get hate for not being serious enough in that video.

”And I look at her, apparently shocked, and before I say anything she goes ‘You see a lot of things working at hotels for as long as I have-‘ I cut her off laughing and she’s just glaring at me, I go ‘Oh you mean that one blonde and brunette? That’s literally Kris and Celina our best friends from Canada.’ And I’m not joking, right at that moment, Colby’s coming back from grabbing shit and doesn’t see her and says ‘Alright babes, ready to find ghost pussy?’” Sam takes a step back, and my best friend who tood across from me burst out laughing; the friend next to her dropped her jaw.

”To be clear,” I laughed. “It was almost three am by that point, we had two energy drinks, and from our first investigation, we knew there wasn’t jack shit there so it was like moral support for us to not start breaking down sobbing.”

”Oh my god!” Our friend cried as she sucked literal tears in. “That’s why she gave us such weird looks when we checked in!” Tears actually fell by now. My best friend and a couple other girls also stayed at the hotel a week after me, Sam and Colby stayed, and they booked the same room under the boys’ names since it was in the middle of a chain of investigations we did together. It was easier for them to book all the rooms under their names, and the girls and I booked all the flights.

”Dude, there is no way I’m going back,” I sobbed. “It was too funny.”

”I’m so embarrassed,” Sam gasped through laughter. “Like what does she think—“

”I know,” my best friend cried.

Our voices were roughened by the alcohol and the sheer decibel we had to shout over the music and other heightened conversations. We were outside; the sun set halfway behind the ocean horizon and shot orange stripes across the once blue sky.

It was the night before our wedding.

Instead of individual bachelor/bachelorette parties, we combined our weddings parties and went out. This was a lounge we went to once before, and we talked about it for months and months after. It was a phenomenal night. Of course we chose this place for this special moment.

Sam didn’t leave my side all night.

I tried my hardest to not look at him because if I did, I would never look away and then it would escalate into things our best friends would be traumatized seeing.

“I love you,” he said later in the night when the strand lights that encompassed the ever large pergola outside the lounge we danced under. “God, I love you so much it scares me.” I nodded. I didn’t move other than the tiny movements we made; we stopped dancing completely regardless of the loud music and other busybodies around us.

“I know,” I hummed. My arms rested around his neck. He caved towards the drag of my thumb on his skin. “Love you too, so much.” My voice fell into a whisper.

The next time I saw him, it was at the altar.

I told him I wanted him to wear white too because he was just as much mine as I was his. We were married in the garden of a hotel downtown; the reception inside opulent but simple and blended with the art deco chandeliers and plush green carpets. Other than the room, there really was no color in our wedding.

Everyone wore white. My bridesmaids’ dresses were a-line slip in champagne and the groomsmen wore off white suits with minimal black accents; the only thing that separated Sam and I. We didn't wear anything other than white.

After, when the adrenaline settled and the taste of Sam's committal kiss still on my lips, we stood upstairs. We took photos outside before we shared a flute of champagne privately.

“Alright, reception is in 10.” I remember Colby telling us as he ushered the rest of the wedding party out. A wave of nervousness hit my stomach when he led them all out. My best friend gave me a look and I swore my face burned.

As the door closed, Sam moved into my vision. He looked at me without saying a word. My ears rang in the silence; I figured that his did too. Then, his hand reached up and held my face. I basked in his gaze as his eyes raced all over me.

He kissed me sweetly. I hummed as I tasted the same champagne in his cool mouth, and I took him deeper and deeper until his body flushed with mine.

”Sam,” I moaned quietly. His mouth raced down my neck and my hand tangled in his hair. I pulled him back since much was on my mind.

“I haven’t been able to-to basically worship you all day. You look unbelievable, you think I’m not going to take this time to touch you?”

“Sam—“ I gasped his name when he rushed me and pinned me against the wall with a kiss. Melted into it, my hands wrapped around his neck, and he pried his hips in between my legs. ”Oh my god,” I gasped when I realized what he wanted; what we were about to do. “We have ten minutes.”

”And you haven’t been wanting me to touch you for the past two hours?” My face heated.

That was what those explicit messages he sent me while I got ready with my bridesmaids were for.

”Hurry,” I whispered, and so he did.

One of my legs was over his elbow as he finished tugging at his pants.

“Oh my fucking god—“ His whisper rushed out fast as his fingers navigated my underwear—the lingerie I planned for him to tear off later, not now—and shoved his fingers into the warmth he created.

”No-No,” I moaned as his fingers filled me over and over. “Just get inside me.”

He didn’t fight it. Something about our precarious situation and lack of time added fire under my skin; I liked when he listened to what I demanded of him. Of course it was only in these situations.

“Fuck me,” I whispered with a tone that was entirely too sweet for the vulgar words. “Holy shit—” He held my neck, thumb hooked under my chin, as his other hand left an imprint in my hip.

“Yeah?” He was so quiet that I hardly heard him, and it left my legs so weak I was grateful he held me up. “I'm going to cum in you and then we're going to party with our friends at the reception and my cum is going to stay there making a mess between your legs and you're not going to clean it up, right?”

“Fuck—Yes,” I gasped so entirely quietly and meekly that I had to close my eyes. I almost passed out. With a louder moan, he leaned against me and placed kisses on my neck.

“Touch yourself-Touch yourself for me, make yourself cum with me,” he whispered in my hair. I shoved a hand in between us and made myself see stars with him. “Yeah,” he laughed when my legs gave out. He fucked into me harder to keep me up against the wall.

“Going to,” I cried.

“Yeah?” He teased; his voice raised in a breathy question and he stood back up again. Our noses almost touched he was so close. “Better cum so hard around me; make me cum, make me fill you.”

He was right there.

My eyes were closed; tears burned my eyes. I wondered if one fell because his thumb wiped under my eye.

“Know you want it, don't you? I know you want me inside you out there. I know you love thinking about my cum dripping down your legs in front of everyone. Love feeling me inside of you all the ti—”

My orgasm grabbed me by the throat and pushed me against the wall.

“Oh shit—” he moaned loudly as his body lurched forward into mine. God, he was right. I loved it. I also loved that my body could demand his orgasm from him at my will.

He moaned my name as he finished our climaxes and held himself against the wall as well.

We caught our breaths; his forehead rested on mine.

“Come on, my love,” he gasped breathlessly. Then he kissed me slowly as he gently pulled out of me and let my leg down. I stumbled into him but did not pull away from his mouth.

I thought about his taste as we walked hand in hand downstairs where we were announced into the reception.

The night was a blur.

Between kisses, dances, tears, and drinks, I forgot most of the night. I knew I was happier than I ever had been, and with Sam’s hand in mine, it was enough for me.

Until we were alone.

I remembered my arms coiled around his. I remembered leaving kisses across his face and neck. It took everything in his power to keep his hands on the wheel as my hands roamed his body.

Finally.

It was like my senses came to me the moment the door closed, and we were alone in our silent hotel suite.

My heart raced as his hands brushed my hair over my shoulder. I looked down at the loose waves as his fingers undid my dress. Every brush of his fingers down the skin of back sent waves of chills across my skin. I swallowed tightly. When my dress was loose enough, I stepped out of it and he lightly tossed it back; draped over the chair for us to deal with later.

Then I turned and faced him. His eyes hazed with need, and I grabbed his neck and kissed him tightly. He hummed into my mouth, and I drank in every noise he made.

I couldn’t resist. My fingers went for the buttons of his clothes, and he sighed a breath of contentment and tipped his head back in pleasure. His hands never left my body as I unbuttoned his jacket and tossed it to my dress. Then I worked on his button up and it slipped to the floor leaving him only in his pants.

He only had an inch on me—at least—with these shoes on, and I had to admit, I liked it. But then he dove down to his knees.

“Sam,” I gasped. My hand tangled in his hair. I didn’t care that his hair was sweaty and warm, and his body even more so. We were both disgusting by now. After the long day we had of covering our bodies with our thick clothes, sweat, kisses, and arousals, of course it wasn’t perfect. Of course we weren’t clean. But what did it matter?

And that was when my heart skipped beats.

I looked down, and Sam stared up at me darkly as his hands moved down my legs to unclamp my shoes. The image of my body standing in front of him—hardly covered in the ivory lingerie—while he kissed my skin and untied my shoes almost took both of my knees out.

When my shoes were with his a few feet away from us, he kissed up my body and paused at my thighs. He still was on his knees, and I was sure I held onto his hair so I wouldn’t fall over.

”Oh my god—“ he gasped.

To be honest, it was disgusting. I felt gross and my lingerie was nasty by now, but heat flooded my body when his fingers trailed the remnants of his cum that had slipped down my skin during the reception.

“Sam,” I repeated his name. What other words did I know? I moaned as his tongue replaced his fingers and finally, he pulled the lace to the side. “Fuck—“ I gasped when his mouth moved up and up until it tasted my arousal. “Please.” I stumbled. “I-I can’t—“

”I know,” he sighed after he selfishly stole a few more seconds of tasting me. Then he stood up. “God, I love you.” He kissed me. “I love you, love you,” and he kissed me again. It took everything in my power to let him go.

My stomach fell from its place when he walked to the bath and ran the hot water.

I walked over to him. My hand raced over his back. He stood up to me, kissed me.

“Okay,” he sighed. “Get in, I’ll get us drinks.”

”I-I mean, okay, but I’m still wearing—“

”Get in,” he gently doubled down. His smile fell slowly, eyes darkened. My thumb popped from the lace around my body I held onto.

I got in.

My hair draped over the back of the tub to keep it from getting wet for now. As the water filled, bubbles brother up around me. I have never sat in a bath with clothes on before; maybe this was just lingerie, but it felt odd. My body heated when I imagined Sam taking off the lace soaking wet lace. I watched as the water covered my body inch by inch.

When Sam came back into the bathroom, he placed the drinks down. My eyes weren’t on anything except him. He turned to me, and before he could do anything else, I rose to my knees. He sucked in a harsh breath when my fingers grabbed him by his belt.

He gasped my name and his hand brushed into my hair. Thankfully he didn’t stop me; I was pushed sick with waiting for him. I pulled his pants and underwear away—just enough for easy access—and looked up at him. He stared down at me with glossy eyes.

I took him in my mouth without looking away from him.

But he looked away from me; eyes closed with pleasure and head tipped back. I moaned around him and he stumbled forward.

”Oh my god, baby, let me in with you.” I hummed again, and this time his fingers yanked on the roots of my hair. I gasped for air when I came off him. He tore his clothes off the rest of the way and got in with me.

Immediately, I moved over to him and straddled him.

I kissed him before he could do anything else. His hands raced up my slick legs and invaded the lace around my hips. Our moans mixed as I grinded down on him; his hands leading my motions. The water was already hot and the heat that ignited under my skin didn’t help.

I was long past aching for him.

I needed him more than I needed to breathe, to see.

With a shaking breath, he moved the lace to the side and I sank down on him. His head tipped back and I kissed down his neck; the vibrations of his moans against my lips made me move my hips faster and faster.

His hand linked under my jaw and our breaths mixed between open mouthed kissed.

”You feel so good,” I whispered. He smiled. “It’s kinda counterintuitive for you to put me in the bath just to make me all dirty again,” I said.

“Then let me clean you,” he said, and I still drank down his words, his breath. He leaned over and unzipped my bag, and from the bag inside of it, he grabbed my bottle of body wash.

He left it on the floor for a moment. He turned back to me.

I gasped when he pushed me back and I was empty again. He sat up and forced me to sit on my knees on either side of his legs. I watched as my fingertips snaked up his arms; the water once hot turned cool under my touch, and chills ran through me at the feeling of his skin under my hands.

Then I noticed the way his eyes ravaged my body. Fingers slipped under the bottom of my lingerie and he took one glance at my eyes before he unclasped the lace behind me. His lips left warmth and kisses and bites on my skin.

My breath was taken from me when the lace slipped off me completely. It hung over the side of the tub.

”Sam,” I gasped, and he moaned as he kissed down my neck and tasted every part of me. My hands tangled in his hair as his lips traveled down and down; he left red and purple bruises over the curves of my chest. I wondered if he tasted the quickened beats of my heart.

He pulled away to grab the soap. I watched as he poured some in his fingers.

I couldn’t help it.

His hands were so incredibly soft and slippery over my skin as they washed me. He washed every part of my body, and after, his hands slipped back over my chest.

I sank down on him again.

”Fuck,” he gasped quietly. I thrusted myself up and down, and I didn’t care if the water moved more, if it splashed where it shouldn’t.

”Oh shit,” I moaned, and my moans increased as his mouth replaced his hands. I knew my skin was bitter with soap, but he still tasted me and sucked on my skin until I was flushed. The electricity of his tongue and mouth over my nipple shot straight down in between us, and it didn’t matter we were submerged under water anymore; I was so wet he nearly slipped out of me.

“Yeah like that, oh my god—“ he moaned when I quickened my pace.

”Need you,” I gasped. My legs were too fatigued for me to do much more; there was no traction in the tub, and I slowly lost strength.

He lifted me up.

“Sam—“ I cried when he forced me around. My eyes met the only light in the room; the orange glow behind the mirror.

Then my hands grabbed on the edge, and I held myself up as his hands raced down my back, my hips.

He yanked off the soaked lingerie and tossed them aimlessly.

There wasn’t a warning; no more hesitation. I knew that I was so far past the point of foreplay and teasing, and from the force he used on me, I knew he must have been in the same position. One of my knees hung on the ledge while another was still in the water. Sam thrusted into me and grabbed onto my waist so I didn’t slip anywhere.

”Holy shit! Please, oh my god—“ My moans fell incoherent as he finally fucked me like I needed. He too gasped a string of moans, and his nails dug into the slick skin of my sides.

“God you’re so perfect,” he groaned. “Always take me so well.”

”Sam, please.”

“Please what?”

”I’ve needed you for so long.”

”You’ve had me all day,” he laughed.

”Then fuck me. I need to feel you so hard for days.” He cursed under his breath again. He stood me up and used clean water from the faucet to make sure we were rinsed clean.

”Out,” he said. I rushed out of the tub and grabbed a towel and dried off to not get water everywhere. He haphazardly did the same, but his eyes never left my body; I saw them in the reflection of the mirror.

And then I was shoved against the counter.

“Sam!” I cried and I watched our reflection as he thrusted into me again. He lifted my leg, and my knee rested on the edge of the freezing granite.

“Watch me,” he demanded and my eyes met his in the reflection. “Watch us; watch me give you want you want.”

“Oh shit,” I cried roughly. His fingers gripped the roots of my hair and he yanked to keep me upright. If my world wasn’t rocked in that moment, I would have blushed from the sounds of our bodies colliding and moans bouncing off the walls.

“Sam,” I cried his name until tears formed in my tired eyes. “I’m so close.”

”Then cum for me, my love,” he said gently. “Want you to cum so hard for me.” I gasped and choked on my breath when he grabbed my arm and shoved my hand in between us to lure me closer and closer to my climax.

My knees nearly gave out when it washed over me. He didn’t slow down; he fucked me harder. His hands held up my hips since I clearly forgot how to, and he didn’t give me space to come down after my high.

”Sam! Fuck—please—please! Oh my god, it’s so much—“

He grabbed my throat and yanked me back. His mouth was so close to my face, I felt the warmth.

“Is it really too much?” His voice was low and sent thick chills across my skin.

”Yes! Need-Need you to cum.”

”Yeah baby? Where do you want me? Inside—“

”In my mouth. Want you to cum down my throat.”

”Fuck,” he gasped and let go of me. “On your knees,” he demanded and I didn’t mind if they were bruised when they met the floor. I looked up at him as he grabbed my hair and thrusted deep into my mouth. The tears finally fell, and as he tried to pull back and lighten his thrusts, I yanked him in and pushed my tongue up against him tighter.

”Holy shit—“ He gasped and his lips parted. I sucked harder, and watched his face twist with pleasure with every movement of my mouth. I knew. I knew him inside and out; I knew what would bring him on my knees for me. So I didn’t go easy.

He moaned my name. I loved that tone; the tone of warning.

”Fuck!” He cried and another moan of my name became sweet music to my ears. “Coming—“

My eyes snapped shut as the first wave of burning tore down my throat. He held onto my hair for dear life as I drank him down, and before his orgasm was even finished, he forced himself out of me. I opened my mouth before I swallowed the rest of his fluid, and as more striped my tongue, the rest slipped out of my mouth and down my cheek.

”Holy shit, holy shit, you fucking—“ Finally, I opened my eyes and he knealt down in front of me. A smile matched with a blush pulled at his face as he wiped his cum from my face with his thumb.

He kissed me regardless of the mess of my face and mouth. I pressed the remnants of his cum into his mouth and he moaned and kissed me deeper, firmer.

He pulled away when air was necessary.

”Come on,” he sighed. “Want to lay down and hold you, love you.”

”So this wasn’t you loving me?” I shot back with a smirk. He rolled his eyes.

”Everything I do with you is out of love, even if it’s fucking you like a slut.”

”Oh, okay that’s good,” I laughed, and he helped me up.

After we cleaned ourselves up, he brought me the forgotten champagne and even if it was lukewarm now, we drank it down and kissed one more time. As he left the bathroom with my hand in his, I stole one last look at myself in the mirror.

Behind me, light drops of water reverberated in the room from my soaked lingerie that hung over the faucet in the tub.

✧˖*°࿐

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pinkslaystation · 2 months

Text

[Part 3] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's Part 1 and Part 2 hehehe enjoy ;> Word Count: 5k trigger warning: drugging. viewer discretion is adviced.

Dating Simon reminded you of the British economy, constant fluctuations.

He would stay over at your flat, shower you with wet kisses, and the next day he'd walk right past you as if you didn't exist.

It felt like at times Simon did really love you. He listened you to, he brushed and plaited your hair post sex, but sometimes it's like his brain would switch and his behaviour would mimic that of a ghost.

Though it been nearly 3 months since he'd popped that question in the car, you often found yourself regretting your decision.

"I do like him...but I mean- it's just, he doesn't like me back you know? Sometimes I wake up and he's just staring at me like I've just told him I've killed his dog. I mean, he doesn't have a dog I don't think, but if he did, he'd prefer the dog over me, y'know.

I don't even know why I said yes that day. I mean, he's the first real guy that's actually shown interest in me. Maybe that's why I crave his attention so much. He makes me actually enjoy being with my family, if that's so hard to believ-"

"With all due disrespect, d'ya know you?" Your neighbour answers finally.

You stare back, blood rushing to your face, "I literally live next door to you. I smile at you before I leave for work every morning-"

"So, there's nothing wrong with your face?

"What? You know me- and I'm talking about Simon, he's next door to me too..."

"What?"

"You know skull face..."

"Who?"

"Tall buff dude, y'know."

"Huh?

"Riley-"

"Oh, the guy with the big dick."

You choke on your saliva, "What- How? Um..."

"Military dude yeah? The fit blonde? Yeah, he's big, if you get what I'm saying, virgin."

You furrow your eyebrows, words trailing off, "No I'm not...I'm sorry, how'd you know..."

"Yeah, he's fucked like everyone in this building, girl. Why d'ya think he doesn't come to the flat meetings? 'Cos then he'd be surrounded by all the people he's stuck his dick in, duh." She states like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Guy comes in, drinks a bit, and runs out."

"...I thought it was because he was nervous to see....me?" At this point, you don't know if you're telling your neighbour or asking her.

"Oh girl don't be delusional, you ain't no Beyonce. Anyway, been a while since I got that dick. Let 'im know next time you see 'im." She winks at you before, hobbling off with her walking stick.

"Yeah...sure...wait- Mrs Brenda, you're like 65... AND MARRIED-"

When the 3rd month anniversary mark finally reached, Simon decided to treat you to an expensive meal at a luxurious restaurant.

And by that I mean, 6 McNuggets at Maccies.

"They're cold, babe." He complains, slouching across you, one leg bent and propped on his seat.

Yes, Simon. Because you spent 15 minutes arguing with the worker for an extra packet of mayo. But you refrained yourself from saying that, in case you'd anger him further.

"So how's the task force?"

You've learnt very little about Simon, one part that stuck out to you was that the people he was closest to was his team in the military, naming his Captain John Price, who seemed to pop up in every conversation the two of you had.

"You got that 'lil mustache on yer face again."

"Excuse me?"

"Nah babe, it's cute. Reminds me of Captain's."

It hurt even more when he showed you a picture of John Price and you're face to face with a middle aged man with a full grown beard, who's being compared to the peach fuzz on your upper lip.

"Team's good." He sighs out of exhaustion. "Soap's engaged now, y'know."

You smile, mind suddenly racing to the thought of Simon proposing to you, but you shake it away, oddly cringing at the thought.

"'Old man's thinking of getting transferred to the States. Finally..."

The thought of Simon being jealous over his Captain was always a hidden theory for you. He'd mention it so frequently, it was as if he was keeping tabs on his superior, bringing it up at every moment at his signs of weakness. And when he'd compare Price to you, it was never in a positive light, rather one where it felt like he was looking down at Price, but through you.

You wondered if Simon had a superiority complex, and maybe that's why he'd chosen a little naive lamb like you, to project all of his insecurities onto you.

I mean, you're not gonna do anything about it are you? Nah, you're gonna take it like the good little girl you are.

I mean you are right now- literally.

His dick is cramped right in your pussy, his rounded tip rapidly kissing at your cervix. His chapped lips crash against yours, but you can't seem to ignore the faint taste of his Big Mac through his mouth.

"Can tell your cunt likes that, 'lil slut." He seethes out, through inconsistent breaths. You can barely hear him, through the sound of your sweaty bodies colliding and the ringing through your head.

You hum uncomfortably. It was gonna be a long night.

The following weekend, you find yourself spending eons getting dolled up for a get together at the base. You decorated your face with a bold smokey eye, paired with a lined red lip, only to be mocked by Simon.

"Red? We're going to base, not the circus."

So you take off the lipstick. And the eye makeup. In fact, even when you changed from a tight black pencil skirt to a matching sweatshirt and joggers combination, you still find yourself being berated by Simon.

"Getting kinda lazy with the clothes huh, love?" He asks, cocking his eyebrows towards you.

Is he for real?

Grunting in response, you look out the window, shoving your headphones in, grateful for the noise cancelling feature so you wouldn't have to sit through Simon's mouth breathing throughout the journey.

The meeting itself was as awkward as imagined. The moment the pair of you entered the room, Simon decided to detach his arm wrapped around your shoulder and immediately brisk walk to the nearest woman possible. If he was trying to fool his team to thinking he was single...boy was he good at it.

Being left out in an unfamiliar space was unfortunately not too foreign for you, and you quickly found solace by the water fountain, sipping on a plastic cup of lukewarm water.

"Bored, eh?"

You jump, having zoned out.

You turn to a man you've seen oh so many times on Simon's phone.

"Captain John Price?" You smile.

"The one and only, lass. My, a pair of sweatpants. Priorising comfort, are we?" He jokes, lightly.

"Were you expecting lingerie?"

"Pretty either way." He chuckles, and you eye the way his eyes squint as he smiles, and the smile lines painting his cheeks. You shouldn't be looking at your boyfriend's competition captain this way.

You're at peace with John. You find yourself opening up about yourself, something you now know you couldn't truly do around Simon. John cared about what you said, reacting to every joke you dropped here and there, unlike Simon, who plays connect the dots with your forehead blemishes as you rant passionately.

John chuckles, "Oh God. Work sounds intense."

You hum, admiring his laughter, which cuts off to the sound of a loud buzzing (buttplug?) coming from his back pocket. He excuses himself from the conversation, but you can't help but eavesdrop.

"John Price speaking. Yes. Uh huh-what? Another soldier? Same substance? Christ's sake...Doctor's got a name? Succiny- Succinylc- what? Okay, okay. I'm coming, gimme 20 minutes-what, now? I'm...busy" He turns to flash you a small smile, "Okay, fine. Dammit."

"You okay, seemed urgent?"

He dramatically sighs, "We both got work problems...There's been a...how do i say this...another one of our soldiers have been getting drugged?" It sounds more of a question than an answer, "We think it's some sort of new drug on the black market, and now that our enemy's have a hold of it, our soldiers...fuck, getting drugged left, right and centr- Sorry, um, unauthorized information..." He trails off, realising he's said too much.

You're ears perk up, "Drugs? What are the um, symptoms?" You can't help but be curious.

John looks around, as if to check if anyone was listening to the conversation, though most people are hammered on hardcore liquor and cigarettes. He lowers his voice, "Starts off with headaches, nausea, then there's seizures...worst case scenario is paralysis. Gotten 4 of our soldiers already, poor men, had to be medically dismissed...."

You hum, silently and unsure of what to reply with. If you were attempting to flirt with John, the mood had definitely dissipated.

"But hey, listen. You ever need a change of pace, a better job, you can call me." He grabs your hand, and messily writes his phone number with a biro, winking before he leaves.

Maybe you will call him.

As the sky becomes darker and the clock strikes past 9 P.M., you find yourself walking outside the building, searching for Simon.

"...annoying."

Huh? You peer over the corner to overhear the conversation. Was that Simon?

"..follows me around a sad 'lil shit."

Was he talking about you?

You catch a quick glance, confirming that it was indeed a drunk Simon, with who you believe was Soap.

"Her mum's hotter, too. All over me." Simon boasts, whipping out his phone, presumably to show them a picture of your mother, as it sparks a 'milf alert' comment from Soap.

"...nothing compared to her. She's like a doormat."

You look at Simon, and for a second, you swear he made deliberate eye contact with you.

"She's fuckin' spineless."

For a moment, time pauses.

...

Spineless.

You're spineless.

I mean, it may be true. But the truth doesn't always have to come out, no?

After doing so much for this man, you'e still...spineless?

Laying at the comfort of your bed, dragging a tipsy Simon out of the car and him rushing to his flat, you find yourself gazing down at the smudged ink on your palm. Maybe it's time to switch your job.

Who knows who you'll run into...

That night, you rest, dreaming about John Price.

You're in an abyss in your dreams, John's pale muscular arms wrap around your frame, with the faint scent of cigars and whisky wafting around your nose. You blink and you see the bottom of his groomed beard, and small smile resting on his tired face.

You blink once more. But this time, you don't see John Price. This time, you're staring into the sullen eyes of a skeleton-masked man, lifelessly staring straight at you with no emotion. You look down the body of Simon.

The lower half of his body was missing.

By the third blink, you jolt awake and look around, but this time you're on the floor wrapped in your quilt and covered in sweat. Very much alone.

What was this dream trying to tell you?

The jump from retail to cyber-operations was large and challenging. You went from serving customers to quite literally serving the country, from scanning items to defending the weapon's system. But 2 weeks into your new career and you feel like you've actually put your degree to some use.

Your family have been ringing you almost weekly, asking about your new position, although it's mainly your mother interrogating you about Simon.

And to say he was upset with your choice of working with the army, was an understatement, in his words, he felt like you were crowding him in all areas of his life. His home, his workplace, and now his mind.

You'd ask him to drop you off, considering he's going the same way, but he'd come up with unjustified excuses.

"Can't. Need to be there early."

"Nah, gonna distract me, love."

"Can't be seen with you." He mutters the last one, but you're not deaf and Simon can't exactly whisper very well. Sometimes you wonder why you haven't broken up with him.

So you've resorted to the next option.

Public transport. Calling John Price.

"You're not a burden, sweetheart. Who's been tellin' you that?"

You subordinate <3 But you can't say that, so you resort to casually laughing at his question. You can't help but think about the reoccurring dream you've been having, they always start the same.

You're in a abyss, and you're in the arms of John Price, you blink and suddenly face to face with the half-corpse of Simon. You're struggling to work out the deeper message of the visio-

"Love, you there? Went to lala-land or something?"

Think about John Price. Focus on him, why are you still bound to that jerk? You think.

"I'm good. So uh, how's the situation with you? And the um...drugs thing?" You look at him, your words surprising yourself, since when did you have an interest in drugs?

"Oh, uh. We're not allowed to disclose that sweetheart...besides, Simon didn't tell you? Kinda big thing here..."

Of course, Simon wouldn't tell me, why would he? You tell me, John.

You give him your best puppy dog eyes, eyebrows knitting together, "Oh..."

He runs his thick fingers through his brunette hair, adjusting himself in his seat, "Succinylcholine. There's a mixture, but that's the main component. Causes paralysis to the legs and spine...seems like that's what they wanted, to paralyse our soldiers, 7th victim this we..."

Paralysis huh. You turn to look at the passing trees outside the windows. Paralysis to the spine and legs...

By the time you reach work, you're at your computer by your desk, typing away at the lines of code on your programme, once again eavesdropping to the conversations in your vicinity.

"...it's the same location they keep getting deployed, why are they getting deployed there again?"

"Captain Price is going this time..."

"...2nd guy's in a coma now..."

The chatter dies down to the loud slam of the door: Your supervisor.

"People. Come on. Chop chop, we have deadlines to meet. Stop the chatter, fucks sake."

You get back to your screen, but you can't help but shake the unsettling feeling off your mind.

Ding!

11:26 A.M. Si:- Come outside on your break. Need to talk.

I guess you're finally breaking up.

"Getting deployed."

Simon's scarred hands caress yours, gently lifting your ring finger and slotting a shiny silver ring, with a skull stuck in the center. You think back to the times where you told Simon that you preferred gold jewelry over silver, since it complimented your skin tone better. To love is to be seen I guess.

A crowd of soldiers begin whistling at the scene, and Simon retracts his hands almost instantaneously.

"Wanted to give this to you for anniversary...but I ordered it a little late."

You hum, immediately twisting the ring around your ring. It's tight and cramped.

"How's work?" He asks, his eyes roaming around the people behind you, his gaze not falling on you once since the conversation had started.

"Oh it's goo-"

"Cool. So um, here's my key if you need something." He hands you his key, more like shoving it into your chest, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and running off towards the crowd of soldiers that were now practicing drills.

Seems like you've gotten promoted from girlfriend to house-keeper.

By 8 P.M., you and a handful of your colleagues began to go home.

With your 4th cup of caffeine in your hand, you check Simon's text once more.

7:52 P.M. Si:- What time u finish Si:- 8? Si:- Too long to wait, going home

He couldn't wait 8 minutes?

As you trudge past the empty hallway, you're met face to face with the door of the lab, which you notice was half open.

You felt like a character in Alice in Wonderland. Trespassing is a crime, is it not?

A normal person would just inform a staff member and go home right? Definitely wouldn't enter the room. And definitely wouldn't head straight towards the counter that held various labelled test tubes.

Definitely wouldn't snatch a test tube labelled danger, and most definitely stuff it in their bag and run out the door, as if they haven't basically committed a crime.

But it's a good thing you wouldn't consider yourself a normal person.

The wind blows against your skin when you finally make it outside, and it feels like natures punishing you for breaking into the army's laboratory. With your bag clutched tightly against your chest, your mind begins racing - what if someone saw you? What about cameras? What if-

"There you are love. Thought I'd have to come 'n get you myself."

John leans against his range rover, wrapping his large military jacket around your shoulders, and you instantly lean into his towering frame.

"John...didn't you go home?"

He shakes his head. "Saw Simon speeding off the moment we finished, thought you needed a ride, especially at this time."

The wind blows against you again, and your smile falters, remembering the contents of your bag.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

A comforting silence accompanied the drive, with John's palm ghosting your thigh ever so slightly and you had to resist every urge in your body to just lock hands with him.

So you do.

His large hand encompassing yours completely. If his grin could widen anymore, they just did, and you swear you could see faint dimples decorating his cheeks.

But they fall just as quickly, jerking his hand back.

"Nice ring."

You're visibly confused, eyes dragging back to the tight skull band wrapped around your ring finger.

Fuck you, Simon.

When you exit John's car at the entrance of the block of flats, your eyes catch another deep brown pair of menacing eyes, standing at the balcony, hiding behind a black balaclava. You can't see the lower portion of the face, but you'd bet your life that there was a smirk hidden behind the cloth.

You grit your teeth, tossing the ring by the nearest bush as the car drives off. The grip around your bag tightens, and you remember the test tube.

If you're going to ruin my chances of love, I'll ruin your chances of life, Simon Riley.

A week later and the test tube lay aimlessly on your bedside time, alongside a small post card gifted yesterday from your truly. John Price, that is, not Simon.

Leaving soon - If I find something you like, I'll bring it for you :-D - J Price

Even the way he drew his little smiley faces warmed you.

On the other hand, Simon had shot you a single text, ignoring all the spelling mistakes.

Si:- bee home ina mont. by.

When he gets home, you're immediately breaking up with him, assigning yourself mental homework.

But for the meanwhile, you have to decide what to do with the test tube...for now you decide it's too risky to keep it at home, who knows if the wrong people get their hands on it.

So you opt to shoving into deep into your purse.

At work, as you walk back to your team's common room, you hear the commotion coming from the...laboratory?

"Doctor, how careless are you?"

"Sir...I-I-I didn't do anything! The lab was locked, I don't know who would have taken it-"

"And how are we sure you haven't stolen it? I mean for all we know, you might have the drug at home. How do we know you're a traitor and working for the other side. I should have you reported."

"Boss, you've known me for the longest! And why don't you stop shouting me and get these cameras fixed already-"

"Captain Price's gonna flip and fire his entire team when he comes back-"

"If he comes back that is-"

"Boy if you don't shut your mout-"

Scurrying to the common room, you shut the door abruptly. You don't why you stole the drug, but you do know you can't let anyone find out about what you did.

Not Simon.

Not John.

A month had nearly gone by, and a train of gifts has began coming, from small affirmation notes to bags of lego flower bouquets and teddy bears. All of course, accompanied by a small note with the signature smiley face :-D.

Considering the notes weren't hand written, you couldn't tell whether it was from Simon or John, though it was quite obvious. Even though you liked John, you couldn't help but feel some sort of sorrow towards Simon. I mean, who else does he have apart from you?

On a dark Friday evening while you and your team were getting ready to leave, the sound of shouting followed by stampede coursed through the hallway. Screams of terror broke from whom you made out to be doctors and nurses.

"What's happening?" You turn to your coworker.

"More people have gotten drugged, like 7 this time..."

You couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt washing over you, considering a sample of the weapon of the crime was quite literally concealed with your belongings.

"Oh -"

"Apparently, Captain Price and Liutentant Riley were involved."

That was enough to strike a nerve. You don't know which name hit you harder, but before your colleague could even stop you, you began sprinting down the hallway towards the hospital rooms.

By the time you reach though, it's already too late, and the doors have shut, the nurse informing you that surgeries have already begun undergoing. But for who, they didn't disclose.

It didn't matter who it was, you just had a reoccurring thought that if maybe you had left the sample alone, maybe a curve could have already been developed.

Oh God, this is your fault isn't it....?

A person's going to die in your hands, and you're not even a soldier.

With discomfort running through your nerves, you sit by the hospital rooms, your hands feeling heavy under the weight of your head, waiting to hear more from the nurses. But as they rush in and out of the room with urgency, your voice gradually drowns out by the monotonous beeping of the machines inside.

4 hours go by, and you can't tell if it from the lack of sleep or not, but the staff around you shoot you looks of pity as if you're in critical condition. Those hours in the waiting room felt like hell, and you couldn't help but notice the lack security in the building. No cameras again, huh?

"Nurse, is John Price in there?" You ask wearily, the strain in your voice was evident.

The nurse shakes her head, "It's Lieutenant Riley."

Your breath hitches, and unfortunately you can't help but a slight feeling of relief.

"Is he okay? Was he...drugged?"

The nurse clenches her jaw, "That information can't be disclos-"

"He's my boyfriend." You urge, standing up to meet the nurse eye to eye.

The palpable tension in the air was uncomfortable and pervasive, hanging over the room like a heavy fog, and the nurse eventually breaks, slowly opening the door to what looked like a corpse.

"No traces of the drugs were found in his body, but there's no way to really say in the early stages...He is displaying some symptoms however..." She reads off a clipboard.

You nod, though her words aren't really getting to your head, "Like...paralysis?" There's no movement from the bed, just the constant ringing from the machines.

The nurse pauses, "No. Headaches, and muscle pain, just the regular. Bullet shot in the shoulder, but that's been taken care off. We're still monitoring him. I'll be outside if you need anything." With that she leaves, shutting the door behind you. And you find yourself alone with Simon's corpse.

Simon's face looks like broken china, like fine art but damaged externally, yet still holding the essence of its beauty within. His features, usually composed and serene, now bore the cracks of strain and worry. His under eyes were now darker than ever, and you couldn't help but press your now tear soaked lips across his rough cheek, until you stopped.

His neck, though scarred, bore scattered red marks, which you know could be confused with a rash. But it wasn't.

They were hickies.

Fresh hickies.

It's been a month since you've last seen Simon, so you immediately rule out yourself, disregarding the fact that you haven't even been intimate with anyone in a while.

As you sit beside the bed, a surge of anger rises within you, fueled by the betrayal and disappointment coursing through your veins. You want nothing more than to confront Simon, to unleash a torrent of accusatory questions upon him, but you know it would be futile.

His chest rises and falls gently, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

The situations looks like that particular scene straight from your dreams. Dark room, alone with Simon, him laying there still.

His body is still intact, you think. Intact and littered with marks.

You try to recall what happens in the dreams after this, but you always wake up at the last second.

And you can't help but inch your hand towards your purse., the outline of the test tube screaming at you to finally use it.

Use it for the reason you had originally stolen it for.

Use me.

Drug him. It screams. It's not like he ever loved you? Francesca, remember her? The other women? Your own mother, your own flesh and blood? Think about the times he forgot your anniversary, your birthday, when he insulted you, in front of you, in front of others, hell, even behind your back! You're spineless remember.

I mean you'd be doing the world a favour, getting rid of this from this world, wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you.

John Price would be proud of you wouldn't he?

He finally be with you.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse and retrieved the test tube, its contents glinting in the dim light of the hospital room. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before steeling yourself and uncapping the tube.

The acrid scent of the drug filled the air, its toxic fumes making you gag slightly. But you pushed past the discomfort, focusing all your attention on the task at hand. With precision, you extracted the entire liquid from the tube and carefully poured it into Simon's IV drip, mentally wincing at how effortlessly you had manipulated the situation.

You have to get rid of the drug somehow, and if it means using it against him, then so be it.

The next morning had come and you're awaken by the phone buzzing by your bedside table, the screen lighting up with John's name. You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before you finally answer, steeling yourself for whatever news awaits you on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Your voice comes out strained, betraying the anxiety churning within you.

"Hey angel, it's me," John's voice crackles through the phone, the urgency in his tone palpable. "You need to come to the hospital. It's Simon."

Without a word, you hang up the phone and hail a cab, the journey to the hospital passing in a blur of anxious thoughts and racing heartbeat. Did they find out you stole the drugs? No...how could they? The empty test tube is in your bin, at home, not at the hospital and there's no cameras at you recall...

Arriving at the hospital, you're met with a scene of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses bustle about, their faces tense with worry. You navigate through the maze of corridors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, you reach Simon's bedside, and what you see makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. Simon manually lies propped up against the pillows, his face pale and drawn, his body racked with violent tremors as he retches into a basin. The sight is enough to make you physically ill, although it slowly dissipates, seeing the now purple marks on his necks darkening.

John appears beside you, and without a word, he takes your hand in his, his grip steady and reassuring, pressing a small kiss at the side of your head. In that fleeting moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

"I'll be outside," he mumbles, leaving with you with Simon.

With a heavy heart, you take a seat beside him. Simon looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion. It takes all your strength to meet his gaze, the truth burning like acid on your tongue.

"Hey." He groans out. He can barely move, as his head painfully cranes to look at you, the effects of the drugs taking effect slowly.

"What happened." But it's more of a demand than a question.

Simon sniffs, "Traces of drugs..."

"No. I meant your neck."

He pauses, like he was trying to carefully choose his words, though he didn't have much of a escape now.

"Don't act like I see you and Price-"

"Don't bring him into this, Simon."

Don't lie to me anymore.

A tear rolls down his cheek, but you can't tell if it's crocodile tears or not.

"They-they... dismissed me."

You hum, a smirk gradually building up on your face.

"Why?"

Simon closes his eyes, "Back. My spine. Can't move it..."

You let out a slow, deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

"I know." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hang heavy in the air between you. "I drugged you."

Simon's eyes wince once again, studying your face silently.

"Excuse me?" He begins.

You stand up, placing your purse back on your shoulder.

"What- what do you mean? You he-heard me? Love. Listen to me-"

You walk towards the door.

"WAIT. Wait. What do you mean you knew? You said you knew. What. What did you do. Sweetheart. Come back. Let's talk. You love me don't you? I love you! Where's that ring I gave you?"

You laugh, twisting the door handle.

"Baby, you better not fuckin' leav- THEY'LL FIND OUT-"

"And who's going to believe a damaged, deluded man, Simon Riley? You were out on a mission, I'll pin the blame on the enemies."

Simon shakes in his bed, unable to control any part of his body now. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME- HOW FUCKIN' DARE YOU- After that life I gave you-"

"Life? You call that living?"

"I LOVED YOU WHEN NO ONE ELSE DID-" His voice is painfully loud now, you're wondering how no one's running to his room already.

"Love? You don't know one thing about love, you fucker."

"I should have never fucked you, you- YOU BITCH-" He shouts, his body flailing violently, globes of tears racing down his clenched jaw and red cheeks.

"Rot in hell Simon Riley, I guess we're both fucking spineless now."

And that's a wrap for this mini seriesss - thank all of you for sticking around ;D IM AWARE IT TOOK SO LONG- I KEPT WRITING IT AND FOR SOME REASON IT DIDN'T AUTOSAVE LIKE TWICE??? SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT- Quick Notes: Let's all be real. We wanted reader to get with ol' john boy. But let's also be for real, if Reader was an object, she'd be a doormat. Although I've implied John Price x You, the bitch really needs to focus on herself and sort her shit out right now 💀 in the near future they're together for sure. ALSO the reference of drugs is highly inaccurate but let's all switch our imaginations on <3 lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyyysho3s

#call of duty #cod #ghost angst #ghost #simon riley #john price #ghost cod #ghost x reader #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon angst #simon ghost riley

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ineffabildaddy · 7 months

Text

i know this may be obvious to a lot of people, but i thought it was worth saying anyway: i love the good omens fandom because it encourages contribution more than any other popular fandom i've been in.

i'm incapable of being a casual fan of anything. it's just not in my nature. i've been in fandom spaces just over a decade - fandoms related to musicians, books, films and tv shows - and yet i've never been in a fandom that captures, creates, analyses, jokes, and just talks more than this one.

in most of the fandoms i've been in, there's a lot of passive consumption of fan content, which is obviously great and we all do it, but in the good omens fandom, that doesn't seem to make up the majority of our behaviour. in fact, when i got back on tumblr for the first time in 7 years after watching season 2, i had a look around at what the fandom was doing for a day or two and my first thought was: oh god, what if i've got nothing to say? what if i've got nothing to add that hasn't already been added? i immediately felt that i wouldn't truly be part of things if i didn't get stuck in.

if i'm fixated on something or particularly enjoying it at one time, i might wake up in the morning or pick up my phone/laptop thinking, i want to see more, hear more, learn more about this thing. that's still the case with good omens, but with the addition of, how can i contribute today? how can i bring something to the fandom, how can i connect with it, how can i consistently encourage and support the people in it? and that's all because of how artistic, analytical, poetic, humorous but above all enthusiastic all of you are.

the truth is, i'm not at all a confident person. i've got a film degree, i've done stand-up comedy and i've written comedy sketches, i was a popular fanfiction writer for years (hi supernatural fans), and i've shared poetry, too. so, i have got experience in things that could make my contributions to fandom spaces worthwhile (not that you need any particular achievements under your belt). yet usually, the fact that people are doing things that i'm doing infinitely better than me puts me off the idea of doing them at all. so, oftentimes i don't do them, or if i do i put them down immediately and keep them private.

i'm still very much experiencing that feeling since becoming active in the good omens fandom, precisely because there's so much talent and dedication here, but i'm trying to ignore it because it feels like everyone who wants to say something is genuinely valued - especially since people who think differently about aspects of the book and show aren't actually fighting with each other or obsessed with proving they're right, which is quite rare in my experiences of fandoms.

it's been really really refreshing to become an active part of this fandom and i do hope it remains that way as more time elapses since season 2 was released. i have a feeling it will because we've all chosen one of the most wonderful stories of our time to engage with, and the fans' love for it was and is taken more seriously by terry, neil, david and michael than we ever could've hoped for.<3

#good omens #good omens 2 #ineffabildaddy

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Note

bestie *grabs you by the face and makes you listen to me* i am obsessed already! there isn't going to be a day where you don't know how to captivate me with your words, it's not fair! so... we're in a wedding dress and we've passed out and joe is wearing the unseen but already infamous olive green vintage suit... now what???

excellent question! here we go (smallest teeny tiny little tw: mention of the thought of someone committing suicide) Wordcount: 2.9K

---

Between Floors and Feelings

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Joe wasn’t exactly sure how this worked, but being put into a position where he had to take charge, where there didn't seem to be any other choice but to take charge, made it really easy to actually do just that. He took charge.

He just... did it. Went with it. Felt he was doing an okay job at managing it, too.

Sure, he was stuck in a tube station lift after midnight with a pretty girl who had panicked, had seemed to entirely forget how to breathe properly and had made herself pass out, but... he felt like he’d been in worse spots.

At least he knew for certain where you were. Had eyes on you. Could see and would know that you didn't... you know, make silly permanent decisions to what likely were temporary problems.

Because all problems were ultimately temporary, weren't they? Joe believed so, at least.

You’d only been out for a few seconds, hadn't gotten hurt in the process, and from his crouched position next to you, Joe had tried to speak to the lady on the other side of the intercom.

That didn’t work. She asked again if their services were needed, clearly not hearing any of what Joe was trying to tell her.

“Hang on!” Joe shouted over his shoulder towards the corner of the lift, and it made you wince at the sudden loud noise.

Waking up after involuntarily blacking out was awful. Disorienting, unsettling and confusing. Embarrassing too. It also took you a second to fully understand where you were and what had happened, and nothing really clicked into place until the strange man that hovered above you shouted.

Pounding heartbeat.

Lingering headache.

So drained.

“Here,” Joe capped the water bottle he was holding, and placed it down where you could see it. “Can you do one thing for me?”

You tried to sit up, tried to engage your muscles to help you move your head up from the floor.

“Two things!” Joe held up both hands, universal sign for stop. It made you lay back down and relax the muscles of your neck. “Two things, can you do two things for me?”

You groaned, knowing it was important to take things slowly, but you couldn’t feel anything down past your knees and as you told your brain to tell your toes to wiggle inside your shoes, you weren’t sure if anything was even happening down there.

“Don’t move,” Joe counted on a finger held over your face so you could see. “And focus on breathing, okay?”

You felt shaky and your face felt cold – wet – and you lifted hands to touch, to wipe, but your arms were too weak and moving them became just a weird trembling hover of clammy palms over white fabric.

Joe saw, took hold of them both and squeezed.

My God, those were possibly the sweetest most expressive eyes you had ever looked into. This guy looked at you like he'd known you all his life, like he knew exactly what had happened to you earlier that evening, like he could feel everything you were feeling right now.

And it helped.

“Just focus on breathing, nothing else. S’all you’ve got to do,”

Behind him, the static of the intercom died, and Joe muttered, “Oh, fuck,” before quickly getting up and moving towards it, pressing the emergency button once again.

“Inhale,” Joe said, bent with an ear close to the speaker, but eyes on you. One of his arms was stuck out to you, which didn't do anything, but it was nice anyway.

You decided that having just one job to do was actually... sort of nice.

You didn’t need to think of anything else for a second. Didn’t need to think about how the entire night had unfolded. How you’d seen you boyfriend – ex, oh my God, ex-boyfriend now, Jesus Christ. How you’d seen him excuse himself to go to the toilets, but then had seen him walk in the opposite direction.

You couldn’t believe you’d actually seen it.

With your own two eyeballs.

“Exhale,” Joe said and demonstrated an excruciatingly slow escape of his breath through his mouth.

“Keep going, take a minute, all right?”

Focussed. Eyes on the weird ceiling light boxes of the lift. Inhale. You could stay focussed. Just one job. One small task. Exhale. You could do this.

Slowly, you noticed that you could actually feel your feet fine. That your headache wasn't that prominent. Just a background sort of thing, probably because you were slightly dehydrated from the crying, and you listened to the intercom lady talk to Joe.

“Emergency services, how can I assist you?”

“Yes, hello!” Joe sounded unusually upbeat seeing the current situation you found yourselves in. “I am– we are stuck in a lift,” Joe waited a second, hoped maybe some form of acknowledgement would come through. However, it stayed silent, so he continued, “It's just me and one other person in one of the Covent Garden tube station lifts, and–”

Joe got cut off right in the middle of his sentence.

“Hello, emergency services. You have pressed the emergency button in one of our lifts, are you in need of any help?”

Joe stared and blinked at the little holes that formed a larger circle.

“Yea, we're stuck,” you tasted a tinge of annoyance in Joe's tone. “The lift stopped moving and the doors–”

“Hello?”

“Hello?!”

Joe looked at you questioningly disturbed, as if to say, am I crazy? What the fuck's happening?

Then the static of the intercom stopped again. Like they'd hung up on you.

“I think it's broken,” you said, voice way too small for your own liking.

Joe tried again, pressed the emergency button, waited for the static to come on, but the same thing happened. A voice asked if you needed assistance, if you needed any help, but it seemed like the microphone on your end wasn't working properly. They weren't receiving any of what you were saying. Of what Joe was trying to articulate slowly, to enunciate distinctly, and he grew more and more irritated each time he had to repeat himself.

Cool time to feel the urgency within your body that came from your bladder that needed emptying.

You needed to piss badly.

Joe pressed the emergency button again. And then again. Checked his own phone to be presented with the difficult truth that he also did not have any service underground, and then, pressed the emergency button yet again.

What else was there to do? How else were you going to get out of there?

“At some point they must understand,” Joe explained, and you agreed. There was going to have to be a point you could reach by just pressing this button over and over for people on the other side to realise that this wasn't kids just pranking them, or an accidental press of a button. Maybe they could somehow see where you were, have someone locate you and get you out... you didn't know how emergency buttons in lifts worked.

You just laid there and listened to Joe pressing a button, to a lady asking the same urgent question that didn't get an answer she could hear until you could no longer feel your heartbeat in your fingertips.

Slowly, the acceptance that this was going to probably last for at least a little while settled within you.

You told your bladder to keep it together.

Shit.

It all made fucking sense, didn't it? Your worst-night-ever bingo card hadn't had "stuck in a lift" crossed off yet, so of course, this had to happen. Almost felt like it was written in the stars a little. Meant to be. One bad fuck up right after the other. Life really knew how to kick you right in the shins when you'd just been knocked over the head.

“I'm going to sit up now,” you announced, because you felt like you couldn't just move without letting him know. Not after the whole can you do two things for me.

Before you could even attempt to slowly pick yourself up off the floor, a tweed-cladded knee pressed into the tulle that felt like it engulfed you entirely, and two hands helped pull you up into a sitting position.

“Here, against the side,” Joe said, hands softly guiding, but persisting you moved to sit with your back leant against a side panel of the lift.

God.

You'd forgotten what it was like for someone to fret over you like this. All worried and distraught. All caring and shit. Attentive, almost doting. T'was cute.

Like, you were fine, but it was kind of nice. Kind of fed your self-pity a little. Made it go, yea, see?! we are sad and we do need taking care of.

“Are you all right?”

A careful second passed where you tried to really feel within your body if you were. And... you were, so you gave a small nod.

Then, the water bottle got kindly pressed into your hands again.

“I won't force you, I know I drank from that, but I promise, you will probably feel better if you just had sip,”

The faintest of little smiles appeared on your face when you finally took the bottle from Joe's hands, and you'd have taken hold of it much sooner had you known the facial expression it would bring about from him.

You still weren't going to take a sip though. Didn't want to fill up your bladder more. It was already painful enough as it was.

Joe got up and went to press the emergency button again.

A silence passed. Just static.

Joe pressed the button over and over, waited for the same question to be asked, waited for the static to stop, and then, he'd just press it again.

This was ridiculous.

Your gaze went from looking up at Joe down towards your hands in your lap. Water bottle immersed in bridal fabric.

You had seen your boyfriend make out with your boss whilst she was pulling off his tie.

You had pissed in her handbag.

You were stuck in a tube station lift with a faulty intercom and a handsome stranger.

Ridiculous.

You huffed a laugh that surprised you a little.

Fuck, this was so fucking ridiculous.

The huff turned into soft giggles, which turned into a louder chuckle, and when you looked back up to make eye-contact with Joe, you squeezed your eyes shut as big belly laughs escaped you.

“This is so ridiculous!” you laughed, and when you looked again, you saw Joe was biting back his laughter until it loudly escaped from his throat through his teeth. “What is even happening right now?!”

You felt delirious, overtaken with giggles that you couldn't stop because you were far too tired to work against them.

You laughed and laughed, drowning out the lady asking if you needed assistance. You had to wipe under your eyes where you found tears in the corners and you didn't mind wiping these away. These were good ones.

Joe ended up throwing his head back, shoulders slack from his giggles, then bending forward, nearly tumbling over which only made you laugh more. He leant against the wall opposite you, laughed and slowly slid down until his bum reached the floor and his trousers had ridden up, bright yellow socks now revealed to you.

You laughed until it slowly fizzled out into smaller giggles. Then a last huff, maybe two. Then silence again.

The atmosphere had gone from strangely tense to stupidly playful. This was nicer. Made you relax into yourself a little more.

“I'm sorry you had to deal with... that,” you said through a stupid smile, vaguely motioning with a heavy arm to the spot in front of you where you'd passed out a little earlier.

“Nah, don't worry about it,” Joe scrunched up his whole face as he shook his head a little. “I hope you didn't have urgent plans,” Joe made a face, tucked in chin, eyebrows raised high, followed by small nod with his eyes trained on the tulle of your skirt. Like a wedding, he meant jokingly.

You snorted. Made Joe laugh again.

“Because, we might be stuck in here for a while.”

It made you frown and groan.

“This is just my luck.”

“You um... you seem like you've had quite the evening,” Joe treaded lightly, sounding like he was just making conversation but was very clearly pointing out the elephant in the lift. The big, poofy, white one.

“This isn't,” you shook your head and winced at yourself. “This isn't what it looks like, sorry,”

You saw confusion strike, and you bit your lips into your mouth as you squinted, contemplating if you should tell him. If you did, it had to be the full story. Just going, “oh I'm not a bride, this isn't my wedding day” would only lead to more confusion, because that's what it looked like, wasn't it?

But lying felt worse.

Joe was right. You might be stuck in there for a little while.

So, you thought it over for maybe three seconds, then stuck out a hand for Joe to shake and you introduced yourself. Said your name, and Joe repeated it back to you.

“Joe,” he then said, reintroducing himself.

“I'm not a bride,” you followed up.

“Cool, neither am I,” Joe said and smirked. Pulled another giggle from you.

Shit.

“This is fancy dress,” you motioned both hands up and down your frame.

“So is this,” Joe did the same, copying your movements.

“No it isn't,” you laughed. That suit looked far too expensive to be fancy dress.

“No, it's not,” Joe agreed and laughed along.

Fuck, it felt good to laugh.

Flirty bastard.

Joe looked up towards the emergency button above him and reached a hand, pressing it again, not even bothering with waiting for the intercom to spring to life. He just needed to press it to press it. To let people know you were still stuck. While the intercom static filled the lift car once again, he turned back to you and continued the conversation.

“Bridezilla?” he questioned.

You slowly inhaled a deep breath. “Well... ex-wife, or so it turns out,”

Oof.

Joking about it felt wrong and made you itch all over. Too soon. Far too soon. Big nope.

Jesus, that nearly made you want to cry again.

Joe saw, read it in your face, and straightened his own.

“If it's of any consolation,” he started, then squeezed is eyes firmly shut as he said, “You look fantastic.”

It burst another laugh from your chest that immediately made you sit up straighter. “Stop, stop,” you pleaded. “I'm going to pee myself,”

“No!” Joe lurched forward, added “Sorry, sorry!” with a joyfully painful face so full of empathy, you didn't really know what to do with all the care they held for you.

You winced through half laughs with tensed shoulders until they died down, then made awkward eye-contact and passed Joe's water bottle back to him.

“Oh, yea,” Joe took it, held it up a little to drive home the point that he understood why you hadn't taken a sip yet.

Your eyes shot back up towards the emergency button. Joe saw, reached a hand up, pressed it once more and said, “They must come soon,”

He just said that to make sure you stayed calm, you understood. But you wanted to be realistic. Needed to at least speak the question that played on your mind into existence.

“What if they don't?”

It made Joe look at you a second before he turned his head and inspected all four corners of the lift.

“If they don't, we'll just... we'll move closer to here,” Joe pointed towards the corner he was closest to. Closest to the intercom. “And we'll use that corner to pee,”

Another snort laugh.

Another wince.

Another, “Sorry,” from Joe who couldn't help the pursed little smile on his face at the fact that he'd made you laugh again.

“They better fucking hurry,” you said mostly to yourself, and Joe leant forward, reached, and somehow knew exactly where to grab to get your knee through the layers of your skirt. He gave it a reassuring squeeze and said, “We'll be out of here in no time. You watch.”

He said it mostly to make sure panic wouldn't get a hold of you again.

Wished he was right so you wouldn't actually need to resort to assigning a certain corner of the box you were trapped in to be the bathroom.

Wished he was wrong because, strangely, this didn't actually seem so bad.

Joe’d been in worse spots. Way worse spots.

He was stuck in a tube station lift with a broken intercom after midnight with a pretty girl who had made herself pass out and who really needed the toilet, but... she laughed at his jokes, giggled at the faces he made and it was now all he wanted to do for the rest of the night.

Make her tear-stained face spill over with joy for however long he was granted the time to do so.

Just your luck? Just Joe's luck.

Yea.

This wasn't so bad.

Joe’d been in far worse spots.

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #between floors and feelings #part 2

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abnerkrill · 5 months

Note

Nik! Did you watch Rebel Moon? How was it?

Yes hello this is my 4 star review of rebel moon on letterboxd.

But first: a professional, somewhat critical review of rebel moon that engages with the film well, especially regarding anti-colonial themes, and isn't just knee-jerk regurgitated Snyder haterism:

And now more of my thoughts: [edit: Oh No, He Went And Talked For 3 Hours About It, Thanks For Coming To My TedTalk:)

No one has a better knack at putting together a cast list SO ATTRACTIVE TO THE BISEXUALS. read it and weep, boys. (Jena Malone is there too but really just for 1 set piece)

...Jena Malone's one (1) scene set piece features her as an alien spider woman with legitimate grievances against the Empire who now wants to kill kids because all her kids were killed. Like, so valid, girl. Also, did I say Jena Malone as an alien spider-woman? And this is just one scene.

Look, if that pitch doesn't hook you, this film may not be for you, and that's okay, but by GOD my people are the people who hear "Jena Malone alien spider woman" and perk up. I love you, freaks.

The cinematography is ace and always will be under Snyder's direction. music by Tom Holkenborg SLAPS. Costuming and design overall is super super strong. (People on this hellsite are always complaining about inadequate, boring as hell sci-fi design and you get RM and you don't appreciate it for what it is. WAKE UP.)

Costume showcase! Second from the right in this photo showing off those sweet sweet sci-fi costume designs is my beloved non-binary they/them revolutionary Milius. CANONICALLY non-binary, let me add. Imagine SW doing that lmaoooooooooooo D*ve Filoni would fuckin keel over and die

Kora! Our tragic female protagonist of color who's over 40, with a dark edgy sexy background. [KIDNAPPED AS A CHILD!! DEAD FAMILY!!! DEAD LOVER!!!!!!! SHE FAILED TO PROTECT HER WARD FROM ASSASSINATION!!!!! SHE IS THE MOST WANTED WOMAN IN THE UNIVERSE!!]

Bitches on tumblr LOVE taking failmen with sad backstories from media and blorbifying them, but the second it's a woman? please. If this was a man people would be writing the filthiest x reader smut you've seen since Mandalorian S1 came out. If this was a man you'd already have seen 20,000 fan drawings of her with her muscles and tits OUT. God where's my Kora fanart.

I personally have no problems with the plot of this movie (part 1 of 2) being "we must collect warriors to fight the evil empire." That's kinda fantasy story 101 and I still love new, varied interpretations of that plot.

If there's not much interconnecting plot because Kora's just gathering fighters, it's kinda like... that's the point, babes, they'll actually get to it in part 2. We're just at the "forming the team" stage. I revel in that part of a fantasy film and I always want it to be longer, so this film is like catnip to me.

Uh, yeah, this is getting long. More under the cut.

Entertainment professional nitpick time! I've seen someone say RM would be better as a TV show to introduce a new character each episode. And I truly don't think that fixes any of the problems this person has with the film, while introducing way more problems. (Who the fuck would go in on an original concept TV show where each episode introduces a new hero. You could not sell that pitch to a studio, ever, and viewers would instantly check out if they didn't like the introduced character of the week, and the same complaints would be made: it’s just a new character intro blah blah blah. This wouldn’t fix anything! It would very much make it worse!)

Me, like every day, through gritted teeth: that's... not... how... tv... works...

Like be realistic for a hot second with me. Television is not "long movie"—it is a different medium with different rules. Yes, the past decade has blurred many lines between TV and film, but they're still different mediums, and when people blur them ("it's a 10-hour movie!") the results often suck ass, because you either lack episodic structure or you lack feature structure. Snyder is a feature filmmaker who has never worked in TV. Whenever features people jump into TV, it's a whole other learning curve! They're usually terrible at it! You want Snyder to have to learn a new medium? You want him to learn 5/6-act TV structure from scratch? You want him to (horrified gasp) lead a writers room? Those are not his strengths, baby. Let him play in his space opera sandbox.

And I'm not done! You want the casting team to have to deal with the headache of getting feature film actors to star in a TV show? (Pay cuts! Longer commitments! TV production timelines!) You want to do that to me, personally, and fuck up the TV landscape some more by going, "Oh, we can basically just make a Longer Feature Film in TV"? Fuck off with that. TV has different production realities and different basic story structures. A [long] film [with two parts] is still a film, in structure and production practicalities.

Truly, Tumblr media studies brains (derogatory) at it again.

To each their own, but again, I think RM's structure is fun because it gives me more of the goodies (badass, varied character intros) for the price of one (2-hour film.) Like... that's the good stuff, that's often the most exhilarating part of a film for me. And contrary to popular belief, it's not intro to intro without rising tension or stakes. It builds tension as it goes because new facets of resistance against the Motherworld are explored in each character's intro scene. New ways they fight back, new worlds on which they fight back. And a ticking time bomb of the King's Gaze (king's gays lol) catching up.

Here, have a trailer bc Tumblr's mad at me for too much text in one block.

youtube

...I like the RM characters. I want to spend time with them and see what other zany shenanigans Snyder will have them do. (Alien bar fights! Taming a space gryphon! Lightsaber battle!) I like the side-quest-y, exploratory, space opera sandbox playground nature. It's fun, and like, again, if you don't perk up at the concept of collecting cool characters like action figures, this film may just not be for you.

To me it's a polycule. Like, the most messed up polycule in the whole galaxy, but it's a polycule.

Speaking of: THE CHARACTERS ROCK. Yeah, we're missing some significant character development because Netflix truncated Snyder's 4-hr, R-rated film into a 2-hr PG-13 version (likely to be able to release the 4-hr cut later, drum up new press, and get more eyeballs on the movie in total in a few months.) That's... not really Snyder's fault [even though he claims he's in on the plan... some part of me thinks it was Netflix's idea and not his. Stinks of studio meddling.] And it's not indicative of the quality of the actual film, which I currently see as more of an abridged version of the R-rated film that's gonna come out and fill up some of these story holes.

If people are judging the film for not being the 4-hour version, and then decide not to see the 4-hour version, that's their call, but it's kinda shitty to act like the 2-hr version is all there is. Like it probably wasn't Snyder's call to do a 2-hr cut! He's said that the 4-hr one is a whole different movie. I betcha the common criticisms (not enough character development, just jumps from character intro to character intro without interconnection, lack of structure) will be helped, if not outright solved, by the longer cut.

I think people are also happy to take a Part 1 of a movie if it's, say, Dune, and the source material has another part, so Part 1 is allowed to be fucking boring, whereas people don't give that kind of allowance to original sci-fi movies, WHICH IS A REASON WE DON'T GET ORIGINAL SCI-FI. If you're painting with as huge and cosmic a palette as space opera Rebel Moon, the 4-8 hours total across the 2 four-hour parts is kinda bare minimum for an epic. So... patience is a virtue? Let part 1 have elements of IT'S KIND OF A PROLOGUE?

What's that saying? If you want the rewards of space opera worldbuilding with an ensemble cast, you must submit to the mortifying ordeal of 2 hours of setup. Geez. Enjoy the wacky exposition or get out of the space opera genre.

Yeah, that leads me to the point of people who don't enjoy space opera are getting mad at RM for fulfilling the promises of the genre. You might truly be happier elsewhere. The whole thing is over-the-top, huge-scale MELODRAMA and I thrive on melodrama. If it's too cheesy for you, don't come to space operas!!!!!!!

On that note, people have said RM is too tropey and too Star Wars-y. But like I said. If you don't love the tropes get out of the genre!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If you aren't here for bloodier/hornier Star Wars get out of RM!!!!

Another big idea I would be remiss to skip over. RM is an explicitly, deliberately anti-colonial, anti-imperial text—far, far more so than any other mainstream sci-fi currently being released. Well-intentioned liberals love to tout Star Trek/Star Wars as progressive media but they really hedge and defang all their political commentary, especially in their 21st century franchise form—think the SW sequels/shows straight up woobifying K*lo Ren in realtime and the Trek shows that (while fun!) are really often just nostalgia bait.

RM is pretty fucking radical. Its theme basically is Kill Nazis—or in expanded form, something along the lines of "The empire will eat up everything of value in the universe unless it is met with unified armed resistance built on solidarity."

And just look at RM's casting. We're not colorblind here; we're very color-conscious. (That's a rant for another day, but I've really started to despise colorblind casting for its extremely well-intentioned-liberal "we're all the same" mentality. It just winds up erasing.) Anyway: RM features the explicitly American-English-Afrikaans empire vs. the Algerian Amazigh protagonist, Black freedom fighters, Japanese revolutionary... and like. Snyder's always gonna be into Vikings so obviously we have Space Vikings too, whatever. Look at me, I can criticize Snyder too! The Poor Sad Space Vikings are not the strongest part of the film!

...Anyway of course the empire vs. revolution is absolutely kind of Star Wars-y since RM is highkey Snyder's Star Wars, but it goes so much further than SW dreamed (or, perhaps, nightmared). SW's rebels/resistance continually get defanged because they're kind of foundationally space magic/singular hero's quest deals, and modern SW with the exception of Rogue One/Andor is just politically, socially stupid. In contrast, RM is about forming a coalition, without something like the Force to help you out. I could write an essay on the ways RM starts in the same place Star Wars starts but takes its politics so much more seriously, so much further.

While I'd argue "good politics" and "artistic quality" rarely correlate, RM is explicitly and doggedly a text about the colonial empire that exploits, enslaves, abuses, and seeks to utterly control marginalized people groups in its quest for domination—and god, I would LOVE to see a resurgence in very fanged, very angry political sci-fi.

One more aside. Snyder has been rightfully criticized for his earlier works basking in fascist-adjacent, hypermasculine aesthetics; 300 is notably super duper racist in how it depicts savage/monstrous Persians vs. Beautifully Good White Spartans Defending Their Culture. (more on "300 Bad" stored up in my brain if anyone wants THAT rant.) To Snyder's credit, none of his films since 300 have really done that—parts of Batman v Superman and his cut of Justice League purposefully poke fun at it. The hypermasculinity is kinda still there, but it's subsumed in the service of melodrama and mythic-flavored cinema, and it's kinda a staple of the action genre anyway, and if you're gonna criticize Snyder without criticizing EVERY ACTION MOVIE EVER, that's just more regurgitated Snyder haterism.

No one is doing mythic action like Snyder these days. No one has the balls and the command of melodrama & operatic visuals. And it comes clearly from Snyder's background in art & art history because all his shots are jam-packed with symbolism and meaning and allusion. So criticize the film for its weaknesses if you like but geez, if I see another post railing about the lack of CRAFT in RM, I will start biting. ALMOST NO BLOCKBUSTER HAS THIS LEVEL OF CRAFT. It's okay that you don't understand visual storytelling, babygirl, but please don't accuse Snyder of lacking craft.

Sorry, you've triggered Cinema Defense Mechanisms in me, I'm gonna have to sit down for a while after this.

I have more takes. Takes hot enough to fuel the King's Gaze (king's gays lol.) But I'll end with a funny observation: I transed my gender (cheers, shouts, hoorays) just about the time I was getting ready to watch Rebel Moon, and in one shocking, epiphanic moment I turned to my partner and went "Of COURSE I'm a man. I like Zack Snyder." So........... do with that what you will.

#rebel moon #dragoninthelibrary #rebel moon spoilers #long post

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clever-and-unique-name · 8 months

Text

Oh. Something in me is snarling and snapping. Okay.

Sorry, most of you aren't going to have a lot of context for this because it would take far too long to explain and these feelings are melting my brain. The short story is I made a discord server 4 years ago for friends with OSDDID and just left it yesterday.

I still have a couple friends there still. So I've been kept abreast of the conversations that happened in the wake of me leaving. Because nothing can ever be discussed openly, to the face of who it's about, right? That's a big part of why I left in the first place.

So, some things, to recap, mostly for my sanity. Sorry, this is going to get extremely long, because I want to say all I need to say.

Initially, I made the server to foster a small, intimate community of people with OSDDID. One of those people is someone who groomed me as a teenager.

Over time, some of the people there helped me realize I was in a toxic relationship with that person. When things finally came to a head and that person left the server (2? years ago?), I was...very not okay. But I had people there supporting me through it, and we got closer through the fallout. I am genuinely thankful for their support through it. It would have been exponentially more rough without them.

Time passed. I went from being unemployed to working full time. I had less time to spend socializing online, partially due to the strict divide between our work-parts and home-parts. I began to neglect my friendships, and though we tried--god, we really did try--we just couldn't figure out how to talk more than maybe once a week, when the right alignment of parts were out to be Home and Social in the way we felt we needed to be. And it just dwindled from there.

At some point around there, I started talking to B. We bonded over our shared love of art and character creation. She was welcoming to all of my parts, insisted on talking to anyone who was present. A novelty for me, to be individually recognized and not have to hide anyone. She got me on my stressful days and rough nights--vulnerable times I didn't feel I could share with people previously. We have talked every day for two years.

Resentment began to grow from the people I'd previously been close to. Obviously...it hurts to be told that someone doesn't have space for you like they used to, while they're clearly engaging in a close and intimate friendship with another person. I tried to reassure that I still cared about people, and tried to reach out when I could, but it kept cropping up with different people in the server: you don't care about me anymore, we're clearly not friends anymore, well you can make room for her so why not me. It was almost like clockwork for a bit, once a month someone new would step forward and I would try to put out the fire again.

(The thing is, every single one of these people expressed that they completely understood and sympathized/empathized with my limited social ability. They insisted that our level of contact was fine, until it apparently wasn't and they confronted me about it. So as I was having a conversation with one person with them saying "No it's totally okay that we don't talk much, I still love and care about you sooo much!", I was fielding a convo from a different person who had said the same thing to me weeks/months ago, talking about how I had actually been horribly neglecting them and that we weren't friends anymore.)

Then around a year ago, that person I mentioned, the one I knew as a teenager, created a new account to bypass my blocks, and reached out to me again. Trying to "apologize" for something, the subject of which had me questioning if someone I knew was tipping them off to things I was processing semi-privately. Right at the crescendo of all the other social issues.

Lit match. Powder keg. Boom.

I withdrew hard. From absolutely everyone but B. I didn't know who to trust with their reassurances of "we're totally okay, love and care about you!" I didn't know who harbored resentments. I knew, from past experiences, that there were people in the server prone to gossiping with each other, and I had stepped on their toes by pulling away from them. I mean. That's how we had bonded in the first place--by us privately talking about the person I knew, among others. You know what they say about bad karma.

I all but disappeared from the server, owner in name only. I fought the urge to delete it, and instead promoted others to mods so I could further remove myself. Every time I attempted to talk there, I was overwhelmed with anxiety to the point of physical illness. I tried to convince myself that it was all in my head, that I was just having attachment trauma, that I could sit with my discomfort and everything would be fine. More and more, it felt like the only person I could truly trust to be emotionally attached to was B. Out of 20-odd people, 6 had heel-turned and told me I hurt them with my distance. I was just waiting on the rest to do the same. And waiting. And waiting.

And suddenly, a couple days ago, another server "friend" (I hesitate to call anyone that because it was impressed upon me, multiple times, that I was not being a friend to people) blocked me. I found out when I went to send them a meme and discovered I couldn't. I thought I was used to it, I thought I couldn't be blindsided anymore. But it had been a while since it had happened; I thought everyone who had a limit with me had reached it.

I checked our convo history. Yet again: us talking about how much we understood each other, how we're both prone to isolation, how we still cared about each other.

Upset, I told B, who was also friends with them. Who immediately found out she was blocked too.

So we both decided to leave the server. We announced it yesterday afternoon, and hung around to talk a bit, wanting to leave as little confusion as possible without outright calling anyone out. We knew there were people there who didn't know about any of this going on (I'm so sorry for all the drama that's been dumped on your feet, guys.) We also knew there were people there who had been talking about all this behind our backs--we just didn't know how many. Again, the suspicion and speculation and "when will it happen again" was really what was eating us alive.

We left amicably. And then as soon as the doors were closed, of course people stepped forward to talk about how I had just stopped caring about them to focus on B instead. As if it was that simple. As if they had stopped at any point to talk to me about it (and the ones who did vehemently denied that it was an issue of comparing our friendship to mine with B.)

Caring was never the issue. I cared about people until they blocked me, or outright told me I wasn't a friend to them anymore. I kept caring about people, against my fears that it would end like that again, because it's just my nature to care. But caring in silence doesn't feel like much of anything, does it? I know that. I'm sorry for the way I've made people feel from that. But connection is a two-way street--where the hell were you? B has talked to me every day for two years. When someone talks, I respond. If you wanted me there, where the hell were you?

#I'm probably dropping this and dipping for a bit #I need to be Less Online here for at least a while #you can still reach me on discord or on my alt account #I'm just. Man I need to touch grass. In a non-deprecating way.

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lowlights · 2 years

Text

What If

W.C. 2.4k (no beta byeee)

Frankie Morales x f! plus size! reader (photos for artistic purposes only)

Warnings: Somnophilia but with SO much consent. Consent is sexy. Masturbation, cumplay (like, a lot), established relationship, language, oral f! receiving, possessive talk, self-doubt, a smidge of titty worship, dirty talk/thoughts, this is for fun don't look at me ok. Let me know if I missed something.

Masterlist | Kinktober schedule | Thanks to @absurdthirst for the prompt!

“What if…you did whatever you wanted to me? Whenever you wanted?”

Frankie drops his fork, choking a bit. “What now?”

You push your food around your plate, cheeks warming immediately. “I read a thing the other day where the guy just…does stuff to the woman when she’s asleep. Whatever he wants. And I don’t know, it seemed…hot?”

Frankie leans back in the rickety dining room chair, arms crossed. “Baby, what kind of smut are you reading these days?” He always likes to tease you about your preferred reading material, but he’s been game more than once to try out something you’ve read. Maybe this is one step too far for him?

The regret must read on your face because Frankie beckons you over, pulling his chair out so that you can straddle his lap. You used to be a little self-conscious about sitting on Frankie, but he has made it abundantly clear that he is more than capable of handling it. More than that- he loves it, evidenced by how he always squeezes your thick thighs when you sit on him.

“Sorry if I made you embarrassed, that’s not what I meant. Just took me by surprise.” He lifts your arms so that you can rest them around his neck, making you smile and let out the breath you were holding. “Tell me more about what happens to the woman when she sleeps?”

You bite your lip and play with the curls at the base of his neck. You need to give him another haircut soon. “Well, the man just started, um, playing with her nipples. And he fingered her a little before he…” you pause, “put his cock in her.” Oh god, your face feels like it’s on fire.

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up. “The woman doesn’t wake up at all?”

You chuckle. “Eventually she does, but it kinda goes on a long time. It’s dumb, I know.”

“Not dumb, “ Frankie reassures you. “Tell me why it was so hot. Tell me why you want me to do it to you.” He leans in and starts kissing softly up the column of your neck.

A shiver crawls up and down your spine. “I like the idea of being…used, I guess. Like you could just do whatever you wanted to me because you couldn’t wait another minute. Like maybe you desire me so much that you just have to h-have me.” He sucks lightly on your ear. “Like you want to claim me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Frankie murmurs against you before pulling back to look you dead in the eyes. “But listen. I want it to be when you want it, too. So how about on the days that you are open to it, you keep this bracelet on,” he offers, fingering the thin gold chain you wear occasionally.

You smile softly at him, and his thoughtful nature. Frankie would never want to do anything that you didn’t want to do, and this is no different. “Yeah, ok!”

You leave the bracelet on all day, and make sure Frankie can see it when you get ready for bed. As obvious as a newly engaged woman trying to get her ring noticed without saying anything. He grins at you while you brush your teeth together, pinching your ass when you leave the tiny bathroom.

Usually, you sleep in just an oversized t-shirt but tonight you put on a cute little pair of lacy boyshorts and a tank top. Frankie comments on how hot you look, and kisses you for a good long while before cuddling up to you and falling asleep. You’re positively vibrating with anticipation and you have to convince yourself to fall asleep so this whole thing can actually begin.

You think about how you might find him when he finally wakes you up. Will it be his mouth on you? Maybe it’ll be him playing with your tits; he loves your big tits. Maybe it will be with him slipping one of those thick fingers into your wet pussy. Maybe he’ll forgo all of that and just slip his cock inside of you and let you stretch out around him. Your thoughts swirl as sleep finally washes over you.

You don’t wake up until the morning. Frankie’s side is empty and cold and you throw off the covers to find your clothing still in place. He definitely didn’t do anything last night.

Damn, that’s disappointing. Did Frankie change his mind about the whole thing?

Walking out into the kitchen you see Frankie in the middle of his Sunday morning routine. Pancakes are made, bacon is frying on the stove, and he’s midway through slicing the strawberries. He looks up when you and smiles when you enter the cozy kitchen. “Ah, she’s here. Smell of bacon finally wake you up?”

You shake your head and shuffle over to him, burrowing into his side to steal some warmth. Frankie chatters away, kissing you on the crown of your head before finishing breakfast. Your tank top and lace panties might be cute, but the morning is cold and you throw a sweater on before sitting down to eat. You guess you weren’t as attractive in them as you felt.

Maybe he’ll be in the mood tonight. You leave the bracelet on.

Frankie was in the mood all right, but he fucked you on the couch while you finished watching a movie that night, long before bed. At first, you thought he was just getting you ready for the evening’s activities so he could take you easier. You doze off a little easier when bedtime comes around this time, but you’re still giddy.

Giddy for nothing, it turns out, as you wake up once again as usual in the morning. Fully clothed.

It happens again the next morning, too. Frankie is still asleep, soft snores escaping his mouth occasionally. He looks so peaceful, so warm and happy.

Annoyance bubbles up in your chest, even though you will it to stay down. You’ve worn the bracelet and he agreed to this! He even seemed like he wanted to do this when you brought it up. Then, nothing but radio silence from your stalwart pilot. You stare at the ceiling and sigh.

“What’s bothering you, babe?” Frankie mumbles, curling around you and nuzzling into your neck. “It’s too early to be mad about something.”

The words tumble out before you can think of a way to stop them. “I wore the bracelet,” you blurt out. Frankie stills next to you, head propped up on his hand so he can look at you fully. “Just tell me if you don’t want to do it now, it’s ok. I just don’t want to feel stupid waiting.”

Frankie’s large hand tilts your face to meet his, kissing you in that warm, slow way that only happens in the early morning. “I saw the bracelet, pretty girl. Saw you get all dressed up before bed in those cute little undies I like. But you said you wanted it to be my call, right?” He runs his finger along the trim of your tank top before circling your nipple with his thumb.

You arch into his touch, mouth dropping open slightly. “Yeah,” you breathe out.

“That’s right. So you’re going to let me have my fun and wait like the good girl I know you are. Every time you put that bracelet on, I want you to think about me taking whatever I want from you. I get every hole. Every moan. Every whimper, OK? And don’t worry; I will always take care of my girl,” Frankie pledges, cupping your sex over the pink lace you wore to bed. His fingers deftly push the lace aside to slide through your wet folds. “Alright?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Frankie growls. “Fuck, I like that,” he mutters before diving under the covers, eager to get a taste.

Three more nights pass, and you settle into your normal routine again. You switch back to your comfy t-shirt for bed and try not to worry too much about when it’ll happen. Frankie told you that it would, and his word is something that he always tried to keep sacred. You trust him; that’s the whole point of this.

Work was draining, dinner involved too many dishes, and you were more than happy to cuddle into a warm bed with Frankie before the clock reads 10. Sleep finds you easy tonight.

Frankie, on the other hand, hasn’t slept a wink. You were already passed out when he got into bed, a heavy sleeper even on days when you weren’t exhausted. He had watched you for a week now, anxious and keyed up and wanting, and finally decided that tonight would be the night. He’s thought about every possibility, every single way he could take you.

He eases himself off the bed and walks around to your side, his heart beating faster than it ever has before. It feels so illicit, what he’s about to do. He lifts the cover off from you gently and his breath catches. Your shirt has ridden up, leaving everything from your belly down completely bare to him. He palms himself through his boxer briefs, cock stirring at the sight of your gorgeous curls between your spread legs.

It feels wrong, filthy, to do this to you while you sleep. Frankie is afraid to breathe, afraid to make any noise that might wake you up too soon. All he can think about is your warm mouth around his growing cock. Maybe he wants you to wake up as he slips it between your lips, letting it rest heavy on your tongue until you gag around it a little. No, that would make the fun end too quickly.

He wants to draw this out as long as possible.

His cock throbs, begging for attention. He dips the waistband of his boxer briefs down and immediately starts stroking his thick length. His shoulders relax as he throws his head back, relieved at how good it feels. Right now it’s not his hand on his aching sex, though - it’s yours. It’s your sweet touch and the way you always get so wet when you jerk him off and ask if you can swallow his cum.

If he wanted to slide himself into your warm cunt right now he could; you told him how badly you want it.

Pre-cum leaks from Frankie’s flushed, angry head and he dips his hips down so that he can brush his tip along your lips. It’s so light that you barely stir, but it’s certainly enough to leave a sticky residue on your pouty mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “So pretty, baby.”

The sight of you all sprawled out in front of him, legs parted and lips wet with his arousal, sends him over the edge. He comes hard, hips bucking as ropes of his cum decorate your lower belly and your mound. Frankie looks at the mess he��s made of you and immediately kneels down between your legs - as gently as he can muster - to clean you up. You’re his, all his. Every bit of you belongs to him at this moment.

Your eyes flutter open and you can see Frankie buried between your thighs, tongue lapping greedily. Your thighs clamp down around him involuntarily, heart pounding in your chest as loud as a drum. “W-what,” you pant. “Oh, fuck.”

He raises his head enough to meet your eye line. “It’s ok, baby. It’s me. You taste so good,” he coos, squeezing your plush thighs in his hands before kissing up into your curls, licking up his own spend.

It’s happening. Oh my god, it’s happening. “Frankie, did you come on me already?” you ask with a moan, core tightening at the thought. Frankie drags his finger through the syrupy wetness that’s gathered on your belly and scoops it up to your mouth. His thick finger does little to stifle the moan that vibrates down your throat.

“Gotta finish cleaning you up, you filthy fucking thing,” he mumbles before settling himself back between your thighs. He’s often said that he would happily die between your ample thighs, but this is the first time you believe him. He’s feral; unbridled. A greedy thing who suckles on your clit like it’s his last meal. “Mine,” he growls. “You’re fucking mine.”

Heat blossoms in your lower back, spreading out in all directions. A storm of electricity and overstimulation hurdles you quickly over the edge and you flood Frankie’s mouth with your slick, so much that it drips down his chin and wets the sheets below. You think you scream out his name, but you aren’t sure if you can even form words. All you know is when you come back down from your high, legs quaking, Frankie is kissing your inner thighs in between his babbling praise.

“God, so good, you did so good. Fuck, babe, that was…oh my fucking god. How was- are you ok? Was that ok?” he asks with concern. Your Frankie, always worried about you even when you’ve had the most earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

“Hey, get up here,” you command, grabbing at his shoulders as best you can without being fully capable of moving your arms. His deep brown eyes are full of a mix of worry and pride when you finally see him, wild curls shot out in every direction. “That was more than alright. Jesus, Morales, I think I saw god for a minute.”

He grins, lopsided, face wet from your juices. “Not god, baby. Just me.”

“Oh, please,” you chide with a smack on his cute little ass. You feel his cock start to harden against your thigh. “Again? Already? Is this your way of telling me you want me to spank you more?”

“You can do whatever you want to me,” Frankie says without a hint of laughter, pushing your shirt up further. “But really I’m just thinking that I didn’t get to give any attention to these gorgeous tits.”

His mouth leaves a wet trail down your heavy breast, and he moans when he seals his mouth around your sensitive nipple. He sucked harder, trying to get more and more of your pillowy flesh into his mouth. Always wanting more.

You comb your fingers through his unruly locks and the glint from your bracelet in the moonlight catches your eye.

You highly doubt you’ll be taking it off very often, and wonder idly if Frankie needs a bracelet of his own one of these days.

Maybe he wants you to use him too.

A/N: Hi. I like that I tried something new and that I had fun with it. I hope you enjoyed it. <3

#frankie x f!reader #plus size reader #kinktober 2022 #frankie morales #feral frankie #my first somno fic!

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brooklynislandgirl · 28 days

Text

Dear Nonnymouse... Who sent me this:

it’s only friendly advice, but you’ll never get far in the star trek rpc with some of the people you keep around. {redacted} is fine. it’s the people close to {redacted}. one of them being the biggest issue. even if {redacted} is the only {muse}, i understand wanting to interact with the canon muses. her {muse} isn’t even bad. she is. it’s unsolicited advise, but it’s trying to warn you about someone in the rpc. you don’t need to be apart of her collection when there are a lot of us who would love to write with your oc. {redacted} only wakes up for popular canons. don’t let yourself be disappointed when she won’t give your oc the time of day.

this really is being sent with a true hope this finds you well and to help you in your future rp journey.

~*~ Howdy. First, let me explain. Normally I don't tend to respond to things like this but I feel there's merit in posting this just so that everyone can understand where I am coming from and we can all get on with out day. Also, I redacted the names and muse of the two people you specifically named in this PSA. Why? Because I do not engage in call out culture and I wish to be respectful to all parties involved in this. Secondly, I can only assume that you are both young and/or maybe wrote this on your phone, but I appreciate punctuation, complete sentences, grammar, the Oxford comma, capitalisation where appropriate, and the like. Call me elderly if you wish but as a librarian and a teacher, I can say that this almost hurt to read, though not as much as other anons I have received in the past. Third, you acknowledge that this is, in fact, unsolicited advice, and on that front you are absolutely correct. I did not ask for it. Where your advice fails is such: I. You assume I need a warning label about the people with whom I interact. I am actually quite capable of choosing with whom I wish to write, when and how according to our schedules and availability, the nature of what that writing entails, and other details that should matter only to my writing partner and myself. Whether canon or oc, whether rookie or veteran a mun, I will give anyone a chance on my blogs and with my muses based on their merit and not the gossip of others. II. You assume I want to 'get far' in the Star Trek rpc. Nonny, darling, understand this; I have a multitude of books, television, film and other mediums to which I have great love and respect, and am ever so happy to create a verse for should the opportunity arise. But I. Do. Not. Participate. In. Any. Specific. RPC. Mostly because they are little incestuous and toxic little echo-chambers that breed mostly only contempt and favouritism. Every single one I've come up against reminds me of high-school with cliques, tropes, petty squabbling, and other behaviour I find absolutely appalling. Really, honestly, y'all can miss me with this mess. III. You don’t need to be apart of her collection when there are a lot of us who would love to write with your oc. {These are your words, not mine}. I'm looking around here. I've seen exactly...none of y'all... following me out of the blue, knocking on my metaphorical door, engaging with me in any way to make this a valid point. The friends I make are mostly organic; if I see a blog where I enjoy the writing, I will read the rules and peruse the muse or muses that are available. I will follow and try talking via DM or discord, and work out what we're going to create. I take people who follow me at face value and offer them welcome, support, and my best efforts. Sometimes we are not compatible as people and that's fine. I feel that maybe this could be put under the first section but here we are. IV. Finally, we come to the most important address of this post. The specific Mun you oh-so-cordially needed to warn me about.

Seriously, it took me almost 4 hours to stop laughing about this. This mun has disappointed me. She has enraged me to the point of contemplating murder. She's also consoled me when my heart was broken. She's eaten at my kitchen table and made my husband laugh so hard I think a little beer came out of his nose. She's made me fall in love with things I vowed to hate, and we've given each other untold worlds and lives and loves over the years. There are things we will harbour grudges into the afterlife and beyond with one another. Even when we reach a point that we're contemplating what we would look like in prison orange, we still have each other's backs. We have also been friends for nearly a quarter century. This is no exaggeration.

We have written together, created communities, talked ad nauseam about via text/messages/on the telephone and in person for longer than a lot of people in these rpcs have been alive. We could fill my library with the amount of things we've ever talked and written about. There is nothing anyone can 'warn' me about that I don't already know. That same is true for people telling her things about me that they feel are valid.

So, in conclusion. Nonnymouse, you are swimming up some deep streams that you know nothing about, about people you've formed an opinion about without any substantial information to go on except for maybe some hurt feelings and jealousy, if I've read between the lines, and let's face it... You're not exactly Willy Wonka so the sugar-coating about being concerned for my emotional welfare and stability and wishing me happiness in my rp journey {which I've been doing just fine in for the last 8 years}, comes across as fake as William Shatner's toupee.

TL;DR version: Well aren't you precious. Bless your heart. <3

~Sincerly, Turtlemun.

PS: I promise if I have to do this again, I will decline being so polite.

#Mahalo Nonnymouse #Seriously doesn't this shit ever get old for y'all?#At least you tried to be polite which is why I am being kind.#Got this at 6.30am...before I even had coffee. Really set the tone of my day.

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chemistryread · 2 years

Text

she is both hellfire and holy water

- part VI

jake seresin

callsign: scorcher

part V

part IV

disclaimers/tags: female!reader!aviator. loverboy jake is vengeful. slowburn and angst.

word count: 5.2k

a/n: sorry again for the late update! i've been in a low mood and it reflects a bit on this chapter and the next, which i'm planning on posting very soon in a .5 type of chapter to make up for how long it took me to post again. anyway, as always please lmk your thoughts :)

tagging: @thedroneranger @shanimallina87 @peakascum @cherrycola27 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @untoldshortsofthefandoms @thecraziestcrayon @lovingperfectionsblog @cornishkat @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @murdermornings @loveforaugust @scoopsr0bin @secretsicanthideanymore @sarcasm-n-insomnia

In the morning, Maverick wakes everyone up even earlier than they had hoped was necessary, for a surprise flight session.

"Where's Lieutenant Seresin?"

"Late, sir. He didn't come back to base last night."

Your eyes fall to the ground at Coyote's sentence.

You had a feeling, when he wasn't in the room being annoyingly good at waking up early. Another mark on the long list of things he excels at. But Rooster had distracted you long enough not to delve into it.

Turns out the idiot slept in his car. Roof down, parked under the bright morning light. His sunburn likening him to a lobster, he looked positively ridiculous.

"He'll pay for that when he gets here. Scorcher." Pete looks sorrowful. Penny must have told him about the kiss. You probably look like you're going to vomit. "You're my backseater today."

This is the best and fastest cure for your moral hangover. Up in the air, with Maverick.

It's more than honorable to sit behind Captain Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell, it's fullfilling. Every time you do, it feels like your life has purpose again.

After your WSO didn't survive an ejection, a lot of things went through your mind. One of which was never piloting another jet. Maverick took the spot in the back of your plane numerous times after the accident just so you could feel comfortable, believe in your own skills again.

It warranted a lot of patience from both of you, but he was right, it is what you're born to do. Actually, you don't know what else you're good at. So you'll forever be grateful for him taking time with a random student still in her academy days to make sure you at least tried to reach your potential.

Being his backseater is no chore, he's the most obvious natural talent you've ever met, which grants you the extraordinary experience of being able to watch your friend Pete do what he loves most without barely having to turn your neck.

The session goes smoothly, except for Phoenix and Bob underperforming. Off the comms, you tell Mav not to worry about it, you'll talk to Trace.

To your displeasure, you're not quite done yet.

"Good morning, everybody. Your entertainment is here, you can all wake up."

"Is that- Oh God."

"Not God, Payback. Just me. You should look up, though, I'm right above you. Wave back."

Your body slumps back on the seat, a helpless reaction to hearing his voice when you were hoping to avoid him for a few more hours, at least.

"Hangman, do not engage!"

That's weird. Your hands squeeze the straps, sitting up to look at the Captain, absorbing the exasperated language of his body.

"Excuse me, sir? I've got a lock!"

In trying to escape his jet, Payback found himself exactly where Jake wanted him.

"That's not the point. You're not a little late, training is nearly over! You get no flying time today, that's an ord-"

"Maverick, I'm here now! If I don't get these hours in-"

"That's it, no air time for two days." The comms are quiet, and you push the small mic away, putting a hand on your pilot's shoulder. Mav. "I repeat, Lieutenant Seresin, you're out."

"Captain, sir. It's eleven-hundred, there's at least-"

"I'm aware, Scorcher." You wince at his lack of composure, retreating when he addresses everyone again. "Everybody else, push harder. I'm not seeing enough out of you today."

The next fifty minutes are grueling, Maverick incessantly chasing every pilot out of their comfort zone. You're happy to sit behind him, speaking only when he asks you to.

No one complains, but you know they're simply holding back in front of their instructor. Sweaty and tense when they return to the ground.

You walk in front of Pete, catching Nat's 'thanks, Bagman' as she goes past the blonde. Jake is obediently waiting for Maverick's scolding, helmet in front of his body, head held high.

He only falters when you send him a sympathetic smile.

Even if he hides it well, you're aware that your old friend is someone Seresin has learned to admire, consequently looking for his approval.

When Rooster was picked for the uranium mission, you were equally proud and apprehensive for your friend. But your smile had dropped once your eyes landed on Hangman. It was a split-second slip up, his shoulders deflating before immediately raising again with a deep inhale, and you caught it.

You were watching him when you should've been looking at your actual friends, who had just been assigned to a major mission. Fascinated by his failure to hide the disappointment in his eyes, regardless of the rest of his body posing as unphased. Wondering how often he has to piece himself together with that same quickness.

Walking with a stupid grin on your face, the memory of the conversation you had hits you like a truck.

"Hey."

Basket of laundry supported by your hips, greeting soft on your lips before they return to the more common and less friendly thin line.

He stood in front of the washing machine in use, absentmindedly eating Oreos, correcting his posture when you come in and it pulls a discreet chuckle from you. Squinting at his furrowed brows and tense facial expressions.

Quietly dropping your clothes into the empty machine, the only sound in the room is that of the cycle starting.

"You know, Phoenix and Bob's chemistry is a huge strike of luck, silly not to take advantage of it. I think any of us could've done a good job as Mav's wingman, but it feels like Rooster's time."

Placating words, hoping they'll smother your anxieties over not being picked as much as his.

"With all due respect, Scorcher, I don't need a pep talk."

You snort.

"Oh, I'm aware, neither do I. Pep talks tend to be super gross and condescending. But I don't think sulking is very helpful, is it?" He raises an eyebrow and motions with the packet to you. You take one, shrugging. "All I'm saying is…it's not our mission. There'll be others."

"Cute way to think, a little too positive though. I can't wait for the next mission every time. And if it never comes?"

"Impossible." You turn and jump up to sit on top of the washing machine. "We're both way too good."

"We?"

Licking the chocolate off your teeth, you take a deep breath, humming as if you're considering it.

"I can admit you're top three."

"Three? Sweetheart, please-"

A groan escapes your lips, exaggeratedly loud and he jumps, but there's a surprised smile on his lips.

"Immediately, I'm taking it back." His brows furrow, still amused, and you nod your head. "Yeah, I was just trying to make you feel better anyway, you're definitely struggling to catch up to Roo and Trace. And I haven't even mentioned myself yet."

He's playing with the stack of cookies in his hand, eventually shoving another one in his mouth, and you take the opportunity to watch him. Slow and close.

"I do like your flying."

"You like it?"

"I respect it."

"Oh, wow. Consider me honored."

Somehow, you found yourselves looking directly into each other's eyes. Yours widen just a little, impatient.

"It's fast but quiet. Sneaks up on you, leaves an impact behind. Impressive. So why didn't Mitchell pick you?"

There it is. The reason he even started to compliment you.

"Maverick doesn't play favorites. If he picked Bradley, it's because he belives his abilities are the ones he needs."

He scoffs. "That's naive of you. C'mon, you've aced all the tests up to now, shouldn't this mission be yours?"

"Thank you, Seresin, for your unmitigated support. I know, apparently as much as you do, that I could've done this mission. But it's not me. There's still a job to do down here, to make sure all of them make it back, that's what I'm thinking about. And that's what you should be thinking about as well." Back on the ground, you turn to him from the doorway. "Let it go. Whining makes you look amateur."

Nose twisting up, remembering how mean you've been to him before. Not undeserved.

"Scorcher," Pete calling for you snaps you back into reality. He's a few steps behind, Jake in between you. "Nice job today."

Your eyes squint at the sun, shy under the praise and in front of Hangman.

"Didn't really do anything, but it was my pleasure."

"Yeah, you did." Blinking at him, he only nods. "I'm down for a repeat, anytime."

"Me too, sir."

Smiling, you refrain from asking Mav to go easy on the aviator watching your interaction, instead averting your eyes to the ground and walking away.

When you woke up this morning, things were much clearer in your mind. Jake's not the problem, you are. There's no reason to be upset with him.

Truth is, as much as it made you cry, you can also acknowledge it was a mess of your own creation. You told him it was a mistake. Sure, you didn't expect him to go straight into another woman's arms, but it would happen eventually. You're just…speedrunning the process.

Until you actually say something, he can do whatever he wants.

But would you dare? And what would be the plan? Explain that, yes, you very much like him but simultaneously you do not want to do anything about it because you're scared he won't tolerate you for long?

Your sober thoughts also led to the conclusion that you're way past the point of worrying whether or not he reciprocates your feelings. That kiss was heavy with meaning, and you got along fine. It's not too much of a leap to assume he could see an angle where he has some fun. Your worries now lie in the unraveling of yourself.

What follows is a brutal shedding of layers you have comfortably hidden under for as long as you can remember, taking your balled fists out of your pocket in the cold and opening them to ask. With no guarantee that you will be invited to a warm home.

He'll be able to see all of the vices that make you squirm and scratch at your skin because of how much you wish you could rid yourself of them. Then he's gonna ask, why don't you change? And you'll resent him for suggesting the obvious, and yourself for not already being better.

Jake is the rare kind that might sincerely make you want to do the work. Adapt. But are you worth sticking through it for? Change is difficult, and you're resistant.

The way it is - alone - works for you. It's not sad and it's not painful. If you did change, it would be for him. And when he saw what a hard time you have taking care of yourself, putting effort, how comfortable it is for you to stick to what you already know, well…He'll want to leave. And you'll see it coming, and you'll lay the ground for it, making sure he does just that.

A guttural experience. Maybe you could spare both of you from it.

It's late afternoon when you finally catch Natasha alone, fixing herself some yogurt in the kitchen.

"That was some dogshit flying you did today."

Near black eyes bore into you with the harsh intensity to shut anyone else down, but you only scoot closer against the counter, reminding her you don't scare easy.

"What do you want?"

"We can talk about your embarrassing performance or the reason why you're off."

"Rooster."

You can't help but cackle when the name slips out of her gritted teeth like a vexed old lady. She's ready to stomp on your foot like a child.

"Sorry, it's just, you said it like Josh from Drake and Josh, when he used to say Megan, have you ever- Ok. Nevermind. Please talk to me."

"Scorcher, I really don't feel like-"

"I already know you two hooked up last night. You just have to tell me what happened after."

Natasha drops everything and pulls you away from the door.

"How do you know that?"

"A secret for a secret?" She nods, and you look around the room, extending your neck to make sure no one is in the hallway either. "Hangman and I saw the two of you but I didn't want to interrupt, so I just shoved him in the bathroom."

A weird sound, something in between laughter and disgust, rumbles from her throat.

"Rooster was right? You were together in there!"

"And you were sucking face in Penny's hallway with her boyfriend's favorite child, so cut down the judgement, Ice Queen."

She ignores you.

"How did you get to that? What were you doing before? Jesus, did something happen between you two?"

"I asked first."

Groaning, Phoenix reaches back for her yogurt, sticking a spoonful inside of her mouth before conceding.

"Okay, so after you saw us, we sneaked out to his car. We were, uhm, in the middle of it, when his phone kept buzzing. I asked who it was and he lied. Said it was Mickey asking where he was."

"Who was it?"

"Some girl. She ended up calling him. We just stared at each other, and eventually, I pushed him off. I don't know why. Cut to us screaming at each other for ten minutes while I waited for my Uber."

"He shouldn't have lied." No shit, she says. "But you two are idiots. I mean, he didn't pick up the phone or call her back. Came straight back to base. No, he only dates those girls because he's too scared to ask you out, and even more afraid of being alone. And you're too scared to ask him if he really likes them more than you, since he always seems to pick them - even though clearly he doesn't. And it's all stupid, because if you did ask that he would tell you that no, he doesn't and you could be together. Boom, happy ending."

Her arms cross in front of her body, eyebrows raising at your audacity.

"Fine, smart-ass. You sound like you've got it all figured out. Why don't you tell me what happened with you? What's your secret?"

"Hangman kissed me."

"What the f-" You shush her and she punches the table, channeling her shock into it and almost knocking spoons and cups to the floor. This would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic. "You didn't…"

"No, of course not. It was just a kiss."

"And?"

Your eyes fall on the counter, zoning out as you force yourself not to crumble at the memory.

"It was…really good. Then, Rooster knocked on the door and I found my perfect excuse to run."

"Right. But he made the move?"

"You know I wouldn't."

If it were necessary, you'd keep these feelings for Seresin forever quiet. If he doesn't know, he can't reject you. Trace knows this, which is why she only nods.

"Wait, where was he this morning? Oh, Scorch."

You still haven't blinked, and it stings. So focused on it, your voice becomes quieter.

"Yeah, the guys had a bet and- It's not important."

"They're assholes." You consider defending at least Rooster, for the sake of whatever they have, but there's no energy in you for it. Nat's hands find yours. "How are you holding up?"

A shrug.

"Just kinda wish it never happened. Don't have to finish something that never started, you know? But, uhm, ultimately I don't see it going any other way."

It always ends, you don't get what you want. Because how dare you ask for anything, how dare you want?

"Scorcher, he kissed you."

"Tasha, Hangman kisses a lot of people. We had been drinking, in a place that feels cozier than The Hard Deck. Who knows, maybe he saw Penny and Mav being so close and he felt lonely. It doesn't mean anything."

"Look, I trust him less than you do, obviously. But Jake is not one to act without thinking. He's methodical, even when he's being a dick. I don't see him as the type of guy to start something and not finish it."

That's a great point. But he is not the problem.

"It can only end in disaster."

"For the record, I think you can do better." If only she knew Seresin thinks the same about her and Rooster. "But you don't know that. Maybe it'll be fine. Or it'll be a disaster and I'll be personally very pleased to see you break his heart."

You scoff.

"Think it'd be the other way around."

"Then I'll have a perfect excuse to kick his ass." You stare at each other without anything to say, and she rolls her eyes, reluctantly supportive. "Jesus, Scorcher, you like him. That ship has sailed, it's pretty obvious. Why not give it a shot?"

"Tasha, I'm a mess. I'm so scared to ruin things that I end up making sure it'll end badly. And it's okay when it's a stranger that I can avoid for the rest of my life, but he is more complicated than a stranger. I don't- I don't want him to know that I'm a catastrophe, and I don't want to bring him down with me. I think we both can do better than that."

She puts down the yogurt and crosses her arms, and you feel uncomfortable with the air of seriousness this conversation has taken.

"I wanna kick you in the crotch right now, I swear. He's a big boy, he can handle it." You start to protest but she cuts you off. "No, Scorch, you'll forgive me for saying this later but you're acting like a coward under the guise of righteousness. Fine, you're a mess. You think Seresin isn't? We're all a little fucked up in here, you just haven't noticed because you're busy putting yourself down. My point is, you seem to respect Seresin but you have no plans of telling him how you feel and letting him decide for himself what he wants to do? It doesn't add up."

You'd be shutting this down if she wasn't so accurately on point. You're overlooking Jake's ability to have a say in the matter, mostly because you know he would have choice words for you and you're too scared to find out which direction they'll take.

Sighing, you look back at her with a defeated expression, leaning your elbows on the counter and your head on your hands.

"I can't just gamble with this, Nat, I don't know how to recover when I'm hurt. I've never- I've never done any healing in my life, I just keep going. But I'm afraid these feelings are too much, and I'll never be the same after. I don't know how many times I can still pick myself up."

Her voice is as serene as the ocean in the earliest hours of the morning.

"Here, you don't tell me much but I know relationships aren't your strongest suit. You never know if you're going to be okay after them. But what a waste to have felt something and not have done anything about it, don't you think? We're human, Scorcher, we are not immune to hurt but we heal. It's what we do. You'll be fine."

Oh, she's good. You smile weakly.

"Why can't we follow our own advice, though?"

"That's also something people do. Be stupidly stubborn."

When the laughing dies down, she speaks again.

"One more thing."

"Hm?"

She leans in with a hand on your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

"You're not alone."

When she punches you in the side, a little too hard, your eyes raise to find Jake entering the kitchen.

"Phoenix."

He nods as she bumps him, saying only "Irresponsible asshole."

Confused eyes look back at you and you can't help but snort, hiding your face even further into your palms.

"Can't catch a break today."

You almost feel sorry for him. What a softened mush he has made of your heart.

"How bad was the talking?"

"Believe it or not, Maverick is not great at expressing himself. Something you two have in common, I believe?"

Feeling the twist of your lips, you squint at him. "Hey, what did I do?"

"Darlin', you're extremely confusing."

"About something specific or just in general?"

"In general."

"Mhm, or your brain has no more space for comprehension skills after you filled it up with thoughts of yourself only?"

"All I heard was skill." He flashes a smile to you, running a hand across your back as he steps behind you to get to the fridge. You watch his arms as he picks up a water bottle. "Anyway, won't be doing any flying tomorrow."

"I hope it was worth it."

It wasn't meant to be said out loud. You can see thin lines in his forehead making a curve into the brigde of his nose, and he looks almost embarrassed.

Recovering, you throw him a faint but well-meaning smile.

Your eyes follow the movement of his Adam's apple as he drinks. You hate his tanned skin, the great way a standard Navy shirt falls over his broad shoulders, his gorgeous neck hugged by the dog tags and a golden chain.

Breaking out of the dangerous slippery slope of desiring Hangman, you tap the counter and start to walk away.

"Wait, where are you going?"

If you didn't know any better, you would say he sounds needy.

"Cyclone's not here today. Maybe I can change Maverick's mind about your hours before the big guy is informed."

Halfway to the door when his voice stops you.

"Geez, that kiss must have been out of this world if you're goin' to bargain to our superiors for me."

With your head thrown back, your laugh bounces off the walls. Turning, you expect him to be standing there in all his glory, smug and smirking. And he is, but he changes his footing once your eyes meet his, an instance of insecurity before his chin is high in the air again.

"It was." Non-chalant, twisting your nose in reluctant concession. "But I think I did most of the work."

Weird when you don't hear the expected chuckle, meeting his green orbs again. An awkward second before you smile and move to the door again.

"Scorch-" Music to your ears. "Are we good?"

He looks unsure, and you tilt your head dramatically.

"Of course."

With a hand around the doorframe, you give him one last smile.

You find Pete in the library, looking over photos of his own Top Gun class.

"Hey, Captain. Mind if I-"

He shuts the book quickly, foot pushing a chair by his side away from the table and asking you to sit.

"Hangman, I assume?"

Still in a mood. You sigh, making a point to scrape the chair against the floor as you sit, inching closer to him.

"I'm not gonna try too hard to defend him, but he was late, Mav. Happened to all of us at some point, and no one had a punishment this bad. What was that about?"

It's not usual for him to let personal things interfere in his judgement.

"I wasn't actually going to scrap his air time tomorrow. I already reported his lateness to Warlock, nothing else. But I saw your face in the reflection of the cockpit when he showed up this morning. He needed a little public ear pulling, that's all."

You smile at him.

"Penny told you?"

"Yes. And I know I shouldn't get involved, it's your life, but sweetheart…You're only gonna get hurt this way."

"Seeing it through could be so much worse."

"Could be. Or-"

"Maverick, what happens when it all burns down in flames?"

His hands are wringing together on top of the table, licking his lips, in deep thought.

"Remember what you told me, years ago? We were flying together, and I asked you what it felt like. You said it was a ceaseless twisting in your stomach. I had to show you that it wasn't fear of another accident. No, it was restraint. You were holding back from being a pilot because you thought you didn't deserve to be one anymore. Deep down, you knew it wasn't true, and that feeling was your body saying you were wrong. Take the plunge. You know you want to. You know it's right. Sweetheart, no matter how persistently you've been made to believe otherwise due to circumstance or bad luck, you do deserve good things. Your instinct is one of the best the Dagger Squad has to offer. If it's dependable enough to make you a decorated Lieutenant, why shouldn't you listen to it now?"

Pete's words coddle your heart in a way you haven't felt in many years. To be seen and thoroughly understood by someone you admire, and are lucky enough to call a friend, is something you never thought would happen to you. Too damn sheltered to let others appreciate anything about you.

Biting your lip to distract you from the tears pooling in your eyes, you ask him quietly, "Can I give you a hug?"

He laughs, looking around the empty library before opening his arms.

His hold is strong, and he smells like rain on hot asphalt and worn leather, comforting.

The twisting deep inside that Maverick had magically guessed you were feeling returns, and you lean back.

"I already told him the kiss was a mistake."

"Take it back, tell him the truth. Life's too short."

Both of you glance at the decaying photo album on top of the table.

"If I do, you'll go easy on him tomorrow?"

"No promises."

On your way back to your dorm, you spot Javy in the rec room, reading a book.

"Hey, Coyote, is Jake in his room?"

"Pretty sure, yes."

"Right, thank you."

Your heart is racing, worried it might come out of your mouth and drop to the floor this far away from the medical bay.

Knocking on the door, you hope it's the right one, and that no one else comes out of their rooms for a few minutes.

Jake opens it fully dressed in fancy clothes, hair done a little differently. Less gel, more hangy. Funny. It suits him too well.

"Scorch?"

And you're back.

"Hey, sorry to bother, ran into Javy and he said you were here."

He leans on the frame, sweet perfume no cheaper than- More than you could know.

"It's our room, so."

"'Course." You know you're staring, but your mouth is too dry for you to speak yet. The pressure from clear green eyes might just force you. "Uh, right, I talked to Mav. You're flying tomorrow, like usual. Well, maybe not like usual, he might ride you a little harder but it won't last. You know it never does."

"Thanks, you didn't have to."

"I didn't do anything. All he reported was your late arrival, he was never going to jeopardize your flying time." He hums, letting his gaze finally turn away, watching his hand shake the doorknob absentmindedly. It's a huge relief, more oxygen flowing to your brain now. "Might need to avoid being late again, though."

He tsks, pearly white teeth shining in the dimly lit hallway.

"That'll be hard. This girl is a partier, she keeps me up late."

The twist in your stomach turns the opposite direction, sinking.

"Oh. From last night? You're going out again?"

Idiot. That's why he looks and smells this good. It's for her.

"No such thing as too much fun, right?"

"I wouldn't know."

You snort at your own melancholy. He's about to enjoy a night out and you sound like the biggest downer in the Navy. Smooth.

"Maybe she has a friend. We could go on a double date and show you a good time."

A smile, teasing and borderline mean. Well, to you. In his mind, it's probably the nicest thing he could do.

Tell him not to go. That's all you have to do. Take it back, tell him the truth.

"Jake-"

His Apple Watch pings, eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. Must be her.

"Hm?"

He moves around the room to grab his wallet and a jacket. It feels like you have no air in your lungs.

"C-Can we talk about the kiss?"

Your eyes are screwed shut, the defeaning silence almost too much to handle.

"Now?"

Risking a look, you find him frozen in the center of the room, head turned but hands still holding the closet door halfway open. It's been a while since you felt this stupid around a man.

Your mouth opens and you stutter. "You're right. Terrible timing."

"The worst." It's barely humorous, both of you chuckling awkwardly but when your eyes meet it's uncomfortable. "You said we were good."

"No, we are-" Fingertips come up to pinch the bridge of your nose, and you shake your head. "We are. I just thought we should- You know what? We don't have to do this now, go on your date first."

You want to scream.

"Are you sure?"

No. I want to ask you to stay but those words have never not bitten me back, so I can't do it, I'm sorry.

Lip trapped in between your teeth, you nod. "Yeah. She's probably already waiting for you, right? See, there you go. It's not that big of a deal, really."

He thinks for a second, before another ping comes from the watch and he seems to wake up, quickly moving around the room again.

With a light teasing tone, but still awkward, he makes the offer again. "I can still ask her if she has a friend."

Nausea strikes and you roll your eyes, the only defense you have left.

"Hard pass."

"Your loss."

"Different perspectives. Do yourself a favor and don't be late tomorrow, alright?" You're turning back the way you came, before popping your head inside the room again. "And take the Apple Watch off, you look stupid."

You leave an annoyed Hangman alone with fast and determined steps. God, you wish you didn't take self-preservation so seriously.

If they're seeing each other again, the next day, he must've liked something about her. So, what, you're just gonna hand him over? Steps halting, you consider turning back until you realize you're already in the rec room.

Javy still reading his book, Tasha and Bob eating grapes on the couch, all eyes on your distressed self.

Throwing yourself in between the duo, you delight in the seedless, sweet fruit. Probably too much, because the man to your left is staring.

"I'm sorry, Floyd, are you jealous of the grapes? Did I breach your monogamous relationship with them? No? So quit looking."

Phoenix stifles a giggle, very poorly, and leans closer.

"Wanna talk ab-"

"Nope."

"Alright."

One minute later, Jake runs through the room, grabbing a Redbull from the fridge.

"How's the hair?"

"She saw it worse than that in the morning - speaking from experience - so it's fine."

Trace lifts her head from your shoulder, glancing up at Hangman and Coyote, then you.

"See you when I see you!"

"Don't be late!"

Javy yells but he's already out the door.

The warm hands around your bicep curl tighter, and you lean your head on top of hers.

Maybe some things need to change. If you can't take it back to the way it was, and you can't deal with the silly little suffering from watching Jake run off to a date, you might have to do something about it.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #tgm x reader #tgm fanfic

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v7n5 · 2 months

Note

PLS TELL ME UR NACHOJESSE HCS

HI OMG hello there, so I love nachojesse but I don't really have any noteworthy hcs for them atm. I did talk about a few on my old account though, and they were mostly about how Nacho would always watch over Jesse and how Jesse would open Nacho's mind and actually get him to engage in a casual conversation. They would go on cute little dates around ABQ in their spare time (those fics of them visiting an art museum and carpooling warm my heart) and Walt would get so annoyed at them being gradually smitten with each other. Something that has been on my mind is the way they would feel So. Safe. in each other’s presence. It’s that sense of security washing over them the moment they get to see/talk to each other that would have both of them relax instantly, sometimes they wouldn’t be able to contain their smiles too (perhaps it’s because they wouldn’t see any hidden motive behind their words/actions respectively, and in my head they're actually closer in age than what the wiki pages tell us so their ways of thinking are more similar than we think, like I know they are different people but that scene where Nacho was elaborating on his plan to assassinate Tuco to Mike gives me a lot of Jesse vibes)

Another thing that’s been embedded in my brain since forever is the image of them in bed, Jesse with his head on Nacho’s chest as he listens to his heartbeat/breathing while Nacho strokes his crown, nose buried in Jesse’s hair and he breathes him in, eyes closed with contentment. The thought of Jesse being the first and only person whom Nacho actually wants to indulge in aftercare with drives me crazy. They’re so so boyfriends it’s insane.

Oh yeah they're very t4t coded, and they’d most definitely steal each other’s clothes and accessories. Nacho would wake up to his chain missing and only finding it around Jesse’s neck when he arrives at the lab (Jesse’s like: “I look so much cooler with it than you >:)) And on some days, one of their peers would knock on Jesse’s door just to have Nacho greet them in Jesse’s oversized tee that has unhinged graphics all over it with a grouchy attitude like “🤨 Can I help you?”. Like they'd bring the most unexpected things out of one another, they're just so fun.

#nachojesse #my first ask! and its nachojesse related. didnt see it coming but im not complaining #thank you anon #jesse pinkman #nacho varga #breaking bad #better call saul #asks

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jennyandvastraflint · 2 months

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20 Questions for Writers

Thank you @capybaraonabicycle for tagging me in this!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Hehe... 161. Well, it happens?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

727,396 (holy shit when did THAT happen.)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Predominantly Doctor Who, especially the Paternoster Gang. 133 of my fics are about Doctor Who, and out of those, 85 are Paternoster Gang. (also technically one of my fics is tagged Torchwood, but it was a fic focusing on Victorian Torchwood and the Paternosters)

Other than that, we have:

Avatar: Legend of Korra (17)

Guild Wars 2 (Video Game) (12)

Star Trek: Voyager (7)

The Dragon Prince (Cartoon) (4)

The Owl House (Cartoon) (3)

The Worst Witch - All Media Types (3)

The Worst Witch (TV 2017) (3)

Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (2)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I will say, the top 2 were subjected to some bot spamming me (I had issues with like. a dozen spam comments on each of them as well), so I'm going to add seven in total here.

Pure (Amaya/Janai, The Dragon Prince): After the Judgement of Light, Amaya gets to stay in Janai's quarters. While there she thinks about the Judgement, and when Janai comes in, she can't resist a little flirting and teasing.

Support (Annika/Neha, The Dragon Prince): Annika is to be crowned in two weeks. Not feeling up to the challenges of becoming a queen (alone), she asks Neha for support.

Songs of Love and Death (Jenny Flint/Madame Vastra, The Paternoster Gang, Doctor Who): [...] Amidst the looming threat of their families for the both of them, a connection grows between [Jenny and Vastra], and they are tested by the very worst the world has to offer, causing them to lose each other for a time. As they find back to each other, they are both changed and have to battle old demons while trying to carve out a living for themselves together.

I feel your magic every time I'm with you (Hardbroom/Pentangle, The Worst Witch (2017)): After the love potion wears off, Hecate is shaken. She had to observe everything she had done under its control without being able to stop it. When she transfers to her room and breaks down, she doesn't expect Pippa being there.

Spider Lin (Lin Beifong/Kya II, Avatar: Legend of Korra): Lin patrolling the city at night, saving someone… A very specific someone… :D

Shirt (Or: Lilith coming out) (Eda Clawthorne & Lilith Clawthorne, The Owl House): Lilith asks Eda to sit down with her; she wants to tell her something she discovered about herself.

Face Paint (Amaya/Janai, The Dragon Prince): Janai wakes up to find Amaya already awake and eating the breakfast that was meant for her. Amaya notices Janai's face paint is smudged since she went to bed without taking it off. Janai goes to fix it.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Always! I love hearing thoughts of my readers and I love engaging with them because isn't that what fandom is about, community. If poked I will absolutely tell you all of my thoughts, and if you become friends with me you will receive snippets and sneak peeks of fics before I post them <3 I love you, readers! (shoutout to @capybaraonabicycle for always leaving me incredibly detailed comments, I am eating them for lunch every day <3)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

This made me pause for a moment because I don't write many fics that STAY angsty, I mostly write happy endings despite the angst, but I think Until the dance ends would have to be my answer! It's a fic in which Vastra dances with Jenny, but it has a sad twist to it.

Runner-ups would probably be They say when your soul dies (oh god this fic is screaming for an edit actually) which is set during the final few minutes of The Ghost Writers audio, and The Girl of Silver which has a surprisingly sad ending I think? It's essentially about a young girl asking the Paternoster Gang to come save her.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write a lot of fluff or hurt/comfort, and since you, dear tagger already know Butterfly Queen, I'll go with something you are not yet familiar with! (I have enough to choose from, soooo...)

I love the happy, soft ending to Like Leaves Falling especially after the initial angst in the fic...

Jenny lay back down, pulling the heavy blanket over her body. As Vastra left, Jenny whispered, “Thank you” after her. Vastra stopped, turned to her, and smiled. “Always, Jenny.”

I think you would also enjoy A Lonely Place which is a sort of fantasy AU for the Gang, and it has such a sweet ending, I was crying from joy at it while writing <3 It's especially something for you if you'd like a slightly longer fic that isn't just a OneShot of a few thousand words

Strax cleared his throat. "If…" He seemed all shy, all of a sudden. "If Vastra goes there tomorrow, then… maybe I could too? As… emotional support for Vastra, of course!" Jenny gave him a wide grin. "Sure, emotional support. But yeah, the more the merrier!" Slowly, Strax inched his chair closer until he sat to Vastra’s right. Then, very carefully, he placed his big arms around the two of them and lightly squeezed. Jenny and Vastra did the same. With a kiss to the top of Jenny’s head, Vastra murmured, "Sounds perfect."

yellowing like old photographs also has a really sweet and joyful ending (which I do not want to spoil via a snippet here, though!)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not as of yet, except for some Christian spam shit that was like "Omg that's disgusting you need jesus" on some of my non-archive locked fics,

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, not as of yet. I'm tempted to try it just for shits and giggles, but it doesn't do anything for me. I've written a few makeout scenes tho <3

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really, I've only written one between the Victorian Torchwood sapphics who appeared for like five minutes in the show in S2, and the Paternoster Gang (because honestly? Why not).

Here it is: Meeting Torchwood (not on the best of terms).

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of...

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I've actually translated two of my works into German myself! Die Ritterin und die Drachin is a translation of The Knight and the Dragon, a Paternoster Gang fairytale AU (I originally wrote the German one for a course at uni, without naming names of course XD) The second one is a Thasmin fic with background Osgate called Das Licht hinter deinen Augen (or The light behind your eyes), set post-PotD and it has Yaz living together with Hologram!Thirteen who is made into a solidogram thanks to Osgood's help.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not that I can think of, but I'd love to! (So, if anyone is interested, hit me up!)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Do I, really, have to say that hjdjgsjkfg It's OBVIOUSLY T*nrose :D /sarcasm.

No, it's Jenny/Vastra, of course. It's like my entire thing.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

In terms of WIPs and ideas I haven't published yet, too many to count, but from the published ones probably "Dear Kate" or: Osgood's Unsent Letters. It's essentially meant to be Osgood writing letters she'll never let anyone see addressed to Kate during the years she was gone from like 2017 to 2021...

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think dialogue and character voices, as well as introspection. Correct me if I'm misguided, but I'd consider my fics to be written very true to the characters' voices, capturing what makes them out while exploring aspects that canon often likes to leave unexplored (for instance, loneliness, trauma, loss, and what that does to a person). I'd also like to think I write quite fun and comedic scenes at times.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Definitely descriptions of surroundings, and I know I can get too carried away in introspection. While this (hopefully) doesn't hold true as much anymore, I struggled following a red thread throughout my work without getting side-tracked.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think it's pretty cool, though if you don't speak the language you could consult someone who does to make sure it's correct. I used German dialogue in one of my fic chapters for a rather comedic scene where Vastra's translator stops working on a holiday!

“As I was saying, madame, these- Bausteine sind erst seit kurzem auf dem Markt. Sie sind aus Deutschland gekommen und haben auch hier schnell Beliebtheit gefunden. Wir verkaufen sie als Sets, die in vielen Kombinationen aufgebaut werden können,“ the shop keeper said, in a language neither of them understood. „Um,“ Vastra made, staring at the man. She staggered a step back. Jenny was by her side immediately and steadied her. “Hey, no need to be scared. Ev’rythin’s fine,” she whispered, not sure what was happening herself. “Oh! Madam, Ihr Kleid raucht,“ he stumbled, agitatedly pointing at Vastra’s dress. They both followed his pointing with their eyes to Vastra’s pocket. Clouds of smoke quelled out of it, and Vastra reached in to produce her smoking and spitting translator. “By the goddess,” she cursed under her breath. Jenny’s brain was churning. She had attempted to read some fairy tales without the translator in the library as Vastra had been using it. Clearing her throat, she stepped forth and pointed at the set to their right. “Wir… das haben?,” she stumbled over the syllables. Her pronunciation sounded nothing like the man’s German, and she cringed. “Äh, ja, gerne. Soll ich es einpacken?“ Before Jenny could continue her terrible German, a wheezing noise sounded in the distance. She hardly took a note of it at first until Vastra’s head perked up. The shop keeper sighed and repeated his question, “Soll ich- wrap it?” English. That Jenny understood.

(Songs of Love and Death: Chapter 94)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sailor Moon with Haruka/Michiru back when I was 13! Or well, it was the first I published for. I wrote for Professor Layton a few years before that, being obsessed with Descole and writing funky adventures XD

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Well, the Turn Loose the Mermaids series is definitely among them! It has Pirate!Jenny and Mermaid!Vastra falling in love and having a lovely crew <3

I love so many of my fics, but here's a few that I adore and that I think you'd love as well!

Unspoken words spoken

A whirring noise announces the arrival of a TARDIS, and out of it stumbles the Flux TARDIS team. The Paternoster Gang wasn't quite prepared for a visit, but welcome them even with initial misunderstanding between Dan and Strax. During an infestation brought about by a certain Time Lord, Jenny and Vastra each try and encourage the Doctor and Yaz to communicate with each other. In all the chaos, Dan happens to build an unlikely kind-of-friendship with a certain Sontaran, and confessions between the Doctor and Yaz are made, and words both left unspoken, are finally spoken.

Your beauty never ever scared me

In a forest stood a castle, hidden away from human eyes. When Jenny gets lost during a storm, a kind woman offers her refuge in the castle. What Jenny didn't know when she came there, all the inhabitants were cursed once, living with their curses as best as they can. Now Jenny must choose one person to take with her, one person whose curse she can lift. If she manages to make out whose curse was the first, all others will unravel. A Jenny/Vastra Fairytale AU

a kindest heart made me believe the world as i wish it to be

Late at night, Vastra offers to help Jenny get ready for bed by brushing and braiding her hair. Jenny accepts the offer.

Crimson

Bloodlust. Rage. Hurt. That was what Vastra felt when she heard a young woman weakly cry for help, when she rushed to round the corner, when she saw a human surrounded by men, all grinning wickedly and pressing a knife to the young human’s throat. Vastra kills to save Jenny on their first meeting.

This was loads of fun! I hope you (and any other Paternoster fan honestly) finds themselves some fic to read here!

I'm tagging @casualscribbler @jennyvastraflint @ellenripley08 @theglasscat @pookachuka @marvellouspinecone @heathtrash and quite frankly anyone else who would like to participate!!

#writers on tumblr #doctor who #madame vastra #jenny flint #jenny x vastra #jenny and vastra #the paternoster gang #vastra x jenny #vastra and jenny #ao3 #tag game

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lssugaluv · 1 year

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“Welcome Home”

• Chapter 9 of “My First.”

See "My First" Chapter list here: My First Masterlist.

• See My Masterlist here: Lssugaluv's Masterlist.

• Chapter 8 link: "From Closures to New Beginnings."

Contains: Family fluff, worries, feelings, family time.

After the what seemed like a long car drive, you finally arrive to Atsumu’s place. He knew you felt a bit uncomfortable and offered you to stay in the guest room. He asked if it was okay if he can sleep with Benji for the night which you agreed on. You asked to shower and he let you borrow one of his t-shirts to sleep. He got Benji ready for bed, and changed him into his Pjs that you had for him in your bag.

The next morning, you woke up to Atsumu on the phone. "So you're telling me that I have to do a press conference?!" Said the man in a frustrated tone. Minutes later, he knocks on your door and asks to speak with you. "I spoke to my representative and he told me that Akira already broke the news about calling the engagement off. She's going off saying I cheated on her. And she already mentioned the press about you and Benjiro."

Atsumu rests his head on the bed stressed out. He continues with, "now I have to go out and explain the situation. But I don't know if I want too." You grab his hand and try to encourage him. "Obviously you don't have to say everything but I do suggest you to go out there. You don't want to seem like a cheater either." You both smiled at one another. Benji gets up from bed and comes to you and Sumu. "Mama, Papa, I hungry." He says as he rubs his tummy. "Let's make pancakes?" Suggests Atsumu.

You guys all entered the dark kitchen and fix up some pancakes. Atsumu couldn't get enough of how adorable Benji is. He also couldn’t get enough of you in his oversized t-shirt. “If I can wake up every morning to this, it'll be amazing." Atsumu quietly says and you simply smiled.

"Hey so I want to know if you aren't busy today?" You asked as you guys were cleaning up. "No, I have practice today at 4 though." You nod your head and as he asks why. "I have to visit the school board today at 12, to see where I will be placed. And then I have a couple of apartment complexes to view." Atsumu eyes shot up bright. "You want me to go with you?" He asks just like an excited little Benji. You giggled and told him no. "I will like for you to watch Benji. Maybe spend more time with him." He liked your suggestion and agreed.

"If I don't come back by 3 to pick him up, please drop him off at my mom's. I'll let her know since I'm going over to change anyways." He agrees and takes both you and Benji back to your parents. He waited for you to freshen Benji up and get his stuff ready. You handed Sumu the bags of supplies and told him everything he needed to know. "Please if you need anything or have any questions call me Atsumu." He laughed hard at you. "Y/n, I'm not some type of babysitter, I'm his dad. Don't worry, everything will be okay." He tried to help your worries go away. "Oh, do not forget to give him his pain medicine for his arm okay."

You gave Benji plenty of hugs and kisses up until he became annoyed. "Y/n it's okay. He will be in good hands." You look at Atsumu with a worried expression. "It's just. I never leave him alone. I only did but with my sister. This is hard." He gave you a hug and laughed at you. "Look at you being all mama bear. At least I know he has always been in good hands." You smile and wave your good byes.

Okay l/n sama, you will be placed in Inarizaki and work as a counselor there." You were so excited, you right away called Maya to tell her the news. "We need to celebrate!" Says Maya. You girls hang up and you meet up with the realtor. He took you to three different apartments. The first one was nice but it was a bit far from work. You needed something close to work, your parents home, and to a day care. You noticed the realtor on a phone call.

"I actually have another place to show you," you go to a very similar apartment complex building. You guys went to the fourth floor. "What do you think of this?" You did like it but you weren't sure. "It has the city view, it's close to your parents home and work. The day care is about a 10 min drive however." You looked around at the rooms. "It does have great space for my baby and I but it may be too much just for the both of us."

The realtor kept trying to convince you. "Well this place does have a play house where you can take your son. There's a spa, a pool, a gym, and they even have food courts!" You then asked for the pricing. That was when your realtor told you that someone was offering this to you. You heard a knock on the door and saw Atsumu and Benji walk in. "So, what do you think?" Says Atsumu with an amused tone. "I had a feeling you were behind this." You say as you lay a hand on your forehead.

"I'll allow you two to talk." And the realtor steps out. "It's nice but it may be expensive." He smiled at you. "I'll take care of the payments." You obviously refused. "Well, it's mine." And you sat there in confusion. " I bought it yesterday, so I owe mine and this one. Mine is on the 6th floor which is the top flooring here." You simply smiled.

"Look, I wanted you to live with me. But with all this commotion I'm having, I knew it was not a good idea. Plus, I already know you will reject my offer. But please, I want you and Benji to stay close to me." You took his offer and spoke to the realtor. "Sell all of your things in America, you will start fresh here." You thanked him by giving him a hug. Your arms were around his waist while your head rested by his chest. "Welcome home!!"

After thought:

Y/n finally settles in. So far everything is going well for her and Atsumu. They both have been focusing all of their attention on Benji. But what about them two? How far will their relationship go?

See you on the next chapter. 🥹

#haikyu fanfiction #msby atsumu #dilfatsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu miya #atsumuseries #haikyuu!!#adult atsumu #dad atsumu #baby daddy #mom and dad #fluff #love #atsumu fluff #haikyuu boys #haikyuu fluff

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understandableparadox · 14 days

Text

Bottom of the barrel isekai review!

hey

hey buddy

if you think im going to spell that, you can go Fuck yourself.

hey sweet peas, it's time to indulge in my favorite self masochistic pass time of reading horrid isekais and then explaining why they are bad to you.

anyways we have (read above). What's it about? let's present ourselves onto the steps of christ and ready some self flagellation devices~!

meet our wannabe hero Kurei yuugo, they are a god damn sentai nerd who dreams of being a boot licking fucking pig or a fire fighter in their never ending quest to be the hero they admire ever so dearly. he goes out and buys himself a brand new power ranger figure when some dude pops out with a knife and decides today is the day to snap. he tries to snap but with the dreams of every boot not yet licked kurai jumps to action, beating the shit out of this guy! only to realize he has been shanked with a one way express ticket to isekai land!

oh fuck, did i say his name was kurai? it's actually yuugo clay now and he wakes up about to get shanked again by some random blonde twink that is stealing his apparent girlfriend. That's right folks, your favorite kaman rider nerd reincarnated into an otome game right at the annulment event!

This world is a game luminous history, a dating game with a rpg magic system, how do we know this? Because Aryan wet dream with a sword that we saw sticking up yuugo is also not a native here, he popped into this world with a slightly better spawn spot as one of the game's romanceable targets. we also get to know that their are multiple chuckle fucks out there. anyways his plan is just to have a harem so please remember to have a foam hand out whenever something bad happens to him.

anyways that's not the meat and potatoes of this, we haven't even gotten to the god damn Gimmick of this series! Yuugos gets disinherited because Yuugo is a bitch prior to getting soul snatched and has to be homeless. his younger brother phil helps him out and gives him a apparent weak magic item, a bracelet that can transform into a full set of armor that looks suspiciously like a kaman rider suit, which is great because some random asshole decides to spawn kill the moment school starts, forcing him into a duel by... vaguely threatening his new lil brother, i'll be real, they aren't exactly clear what they are going to do to him but its props physical harm.

turns out the rider suit is pretty strong for him as he one shots random asshole, earning yuugo his first duel!

anyways, this makes blonde twink go fucking insane because now the script is off, but again asserts that its all gucchi and he is still going to have a bunch of girlfriends because in a world of endless magic the one constent is someone is looking to get their dick wet. fuck learning how to be a fucking wizard i guess, or looking for bad ass magic sword, Dick must have its moisture level elevated. Damn.

oh, also, yuugo is still homeless, that never stops being a thing. I'm going to stop regenerating the plot and actually start talking about its themes and such.

Again we are met with the idea that someone is taking over for someone. the implications of which are somewhat horrifying if we choose to dwell on it but we got school politics to deal with so we don't. The main character is mostly a blank slate uploaded with the bog standard lawful good personality of your average shounen protagonist. A welcome change of pace even though it creates a somewhat boring lead whose main point of attraction is “they did/said something nice to me and now i'm going to be their super bestie fore-ever and root for them.” which we see with the characters brother and the first introduced female love interest melt.

But we do see another plot theme erupt in the main antagonist within the story. That being engaging with the world in earnest vs attempting to interact with the world with prior knowledge in effort to enrich yourself through that knowledge. Yuugo does not care that he is in another world, he already died a hero's death so at this point he is just playing a new game plus. The antagonist on the other hand was a Hardcore gamer, the horror, who had memorized the routes throughout the game and was meticulously taking actions in order to take over as the protagonist and rich the “poly for me but not for thee” ending.

To me this makes the thesis of the manga that you should really not be like the antagonist. I know, truly bold readings here at the bottom of the barral, I'll take my reward for it later.

Ok ok but what makes it bad? It's because isekai is an inherent colonizer trope. You, the one from the enlightened land, come to some fantasy world, notably behind in technology and become its god. You are perfect at everything, you are able to emasculate the lands men and make the lands women soon with every wayward cape swish. Of course yuugo is still participating in it but to a lesser extent. They understand that this is a fantasy world but they are coming at it from someone who wants to earnestly learn about the world and participate within it as the native populace would. The antagonist has no interest in that and wants to exploit what they know of it as much as possible to reach their desired end point.

I will admit that i'm reading a lot of this manga that may not be there. To be clear, the point of this manga is that a jock kaman rider fan beats up a bunch of shitty nerds while in cool armor. That's the if and and but of it all and there is not much that can change that. Though i do think it's interesting that even if by accident the author created a really interesting point about something inherent within the genre that they write in.

Do you have to worry about copious sex stuff?

The main antagonist keeps yapping about wanting a harem and there are some lucky pervert moments with melt but that's about it.

Is the author heavily invested in the use of troupes to aid the story?

Kinda

Is it worth reading?

Again, Kinda. If you like kaman rider stuff, this is like a dinner mint, fine but if you got it at a restaurant alone you would want to kill someone.

#isekai #manga #manga review #review #kamen rider #power rangers

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ohgodmyeyes · 9 months

Note

Hello love, I got someone else hooked to disassembly and we both can’t wait for updates to resume when possible ❤️

hey! i'd been meaning to do this for a couple of days, because you've been so unimaginably kind and patient.

i didn't anticipate ever needing such a long break from a creative project; but then, i've also never poured quite this much of myself into that kind of endeavour before. (*not sure whether i'm talking about disassembly by itself, or my anakin stuff in all its entirety, not that it especially matters in-context.)

anyway, because you trusted me enough to recommend it to someone new after watching it go so long without an update, i feel like i owe it to you to show you what i've written for it over the past couple of days. it's unedited, so there might be typos or notes or continuity problems or (most likely) egregious word repetition; despite that, i hope it measures up conceptually to the rest of the story.

i also hope it reassures anyone who's been in doubt that this fic means more to me than ever, and isn't far from being updated. i've loved working on it again, and i hope a few of the people who engaged with it before will enjoy coming back to it too.

i'm not going to shoot myself in the foot by deigning to offer a timeline, but i will say that there are approximately 700 words worth of SPOILERS for Disassembly behind the cut — including the baby's name!

if you would rather wait until the chapter is completed to read it, DO NOT LOOK BEHIND THE CUT.

for any/everyone else... well, i hope i'm off to a good start. (and for god's sake, pls be gentle if i'm not lol.)

...

"Liam. Do you like it?"

"Sure. I mean, I don't not like it. But I thought you said you wanted to pick something to make my dad happy, since Leia already used 'Ben'."

"...I thought I did. Didn't he ever tell you about his mom's old fiancé? They were going to get married; he treated your dad like he was his own kid, but he died before the wedding ever happened."

"...Oh. Right. I— I'm sure he must have mentioned him, at least once or twice."

...

Even now, you had no idea whether Luke had been feigning his familiarity with the name you'd chosen for your son. Maybe Anakin had told him; maybe he hadn't: Both possibilities seemed equally likely to you. All you really knew was that Anakin had disclosed the information to you while you'd been sitting on his couch with him, late one evening back at his old house. You'd been drinking that night, just passing a bottle back-and-forth while you watched the news scroll by together— not that you ever planned on revealing to Luke that particular bit of the story.

All Luke needed to know was the name itself, and the barest explanation as to why you'd picked it.

"I barely remember telling you about that," Anakin murmured from his seat next to your hospital bed, glancing up from the tiny bundle in your arms through a few stray strands of his own hair. His eyes were tired, but he looked happy anyway— happier, even, than you'd seen him since that last time he'd smiled at you in the car, after seeing his cardiologist. That hadn't been so long ago; now, though, it felt like another lifetime.

In more than one way, you supposed it sort of was.

Liam squirmed, prompting you to look down at him, too, but he didn't wake up. It had only been (maybe) an hour since he'd been pulled out of you; you'd placed him on your breast as soon as the nurse managing the ward had locked your bed into position and handed him off to you, but he hadn't suckled for very long before falling into what appeared to be a fairly restful sleep.

You hoped you'd fed him correctly: The next time he did wake up, you thought, you would have to ask someone for help.

"We'd both had a lot to drink that night," you said to Anakin, with as quiet a laugh as you could muster. "I'm actually almost surprised I remember— but something about it must have stuck with me."

Anakin chuckled back, but didn't appear to have anything else to say just then— evidently too wrapped up in the baby to give anything else very much of his attention. You recalled what you'd learned from Luke about how he and Leia had come into the world; by the time their dad had seen them with his own eyes, they were already more than a week old: Having been greeted, fed, changed, held, and dressed for days and days by people who weren't him.

Liam, in contrast, had almost certainly seen more of Anakin's face in his first sixty minutes of life than he had of yours— and it was Anakin who'd held him first, and taken photos of him first, too— not to mention given you the most helpful advice you'd received so far concerning diaper changes.

Fortunately for you, not knowing quite how to feel about any of that made it a lot easier to remember to try not to feel too much of anything about it at all.

"Have you heard anything from Luke yet?" you asked Anakin, not necessarily wanting to hear the answer.

"No, but I wouldn't expect him to call me. You should probably check your phone."

It had probably taken you the better part of an hour to shower and dress following your 'encounter' with Luke in the hallway, you thought; after that, you'd spent perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes in transit in the back of the taxi, and then another hour or so being evaluated before your c-section. Then there had been the operation itself, followed by your time in the recovery room, not to mention the time you and Anakin had already spent fawning over Liam—

"...You're right," you admitted, thinking about the way Luke tended to wake up early when he'd been drinking. "I probably should."

Your phone had been wrapped up in the clothes you'd come in wearing, and placed on the table next to the bed: Maybe by Anakin, or maybe by a nurse; you couldn't know. After gently depositing Liam into the bassinet on the opposite side of the bed (lifting your arms to do so precipitated a distinct stabbing sensation in the muscles close to where you'd been cut open, which you expertly ignored), you untangled it from your leggings and lit up the screen.

"Shit," you said— out loud, without meaning to.

"What?" asked Anakin, seeming almost to come out of a trance.

"...Luke thinks something happened to you. I— well, I think he might be on his way here soon." The prospect of Luke showing up at the hospital (maybe even still half-drunk) shouldn't have filled you with dread, but it did. By some miracle, your brain didn't even chastise you for your lack of enthusiasm; maybe, you thought, even it couldn't blame you.

Anakin paused, as if to think. He'd been doing a lot more of that recently, and so it wasn't difficult (for you, anyway) to remember to wait. It wasn't that his brain 'didn't work', as he seemed to have taken to characterizing it; rather, it was that it didn't work as quickly as he or anyone around him was accustomed to it working.

He was still himself, and he could even still act like it, too— just so long as you gave him enough time.

"...How does he know where we are?" he finally asked, all of a sudden making you regret your own patience, at least that time.

"What?" you asked back, this time intending to buy a few seconds for yourself instead.

"How does Luke know we're here, at the hospital? If he'd called, they would have told us."

Great job. Are you going to tell him about the dog tracker you put in his leg, now?

...No. No, fuck you.

"He must have told the computer at home that I lost my phone," you lied.

"Oh," said Anakin, followed by another long and thoughtful pause. "...Are you sure you're okay with that?"

You laughed, and laughed bitterly; you didn't mean to, exactly, but you also supposed that if anyone was liable to understand, it was almost certainly Anakin. "It doesn't matter whether or not I'm okay with it," you told him, stealing a guilty glance in Liam's direction as it occurred to you that you should probably start trying to be a bit more quiet for his sake.

"I think it matters," said Anakin. "If you don't feel like seeing him right now, then—"

"Then I'll see him anyway," you finished decidedly, looking down to offer a poke to your own still-tingling legs because you didn't want to look up at Anakin just then. Something like a cramp seemed to run through one of them; right up into where you'd been cut open, but it didn't hurt so much as it felt foreign: Enough to bother you, but not in a way that was liable to make you say 'ow'. "If I start treating him differently now, it's only going to make things worse for all of us."

"Before tonight I probably would have said the same thing, but—"

"But nothing. Did you forget what we talked about before— when I was still in the shower?"

Anakin shot you a look. "No. No, I didn't 'forget'— actually, I'm starting to think I remember it better than you do; I'm not the one who's been making excuses for him this whole time."

"I'm not 'making excuses'," you said, all of a sudden too tired to bother to mask the hurt in your voice. "I'm trying to hold all of this together long enough to give Liam the kind of life he deserves. He's only a baby; he can't grow up with Luke and I hating each other."

"He doesn't have to." Anakin looked past you, and over at the little hospital bassinet instead. "...I really wasn't joking when I said I thought you should call someone. If you leave now, Luke will—"

"Luke will dump you in the veteran's home, and none of us will ever see each other again," you hissed, cutting him off as sharply and deliberately as you could without shouting at him. "You say you haven't forgotten, but we've been over this more than once, and—"

"And every single time we do 'go over it', it gets worse! I didn't agree to move in because I thought it was a good idea; I did it to make you happy— because you thought we could keep flying under the radar, and I wanted to trust you. We're not anymore, though, whether we like it or not, and Luke—"

"Luke is going to be a great dad! You might not have been able to give him the tools to be a husband, but I know he's going to be a good father; all you have to do is let him try. Anyway, I need him as much as I need you... especially now," you added, with yet another glance in the direction of Liam's tiny, sleeping form.

"You don't need either of us," said Anakin, shaking his head. "You could do it alone, and I think you probably should."

You winced at his bluntness, not that you hadn't expected it. He'd said the same thing about Leia and her boyfriend, after all: Projecting his own fears around intimacy onto the people he cared about; pretending it was hard-earned wisdom instead. You supposed he could very well have been both 'correct' and 'projecting' at the same time, but...

...

AND THAT'S IT FOR NOW. i was tired last night and whatever else i wrote after that is still gibberish. back to it tonight, though, i hope. i would be lying if i said i didn't feel anxious and rusty, but it's okay to feel that way once in a while.

anyway... 'Liam' is a deliberate reference to Liam Neeson, because of course 'Qui-Gon' doesn't exactly fit into the AU. I wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to shoehorn a brand-new character into anakin's past for the sole purpose of justifying the name, but at the end of the day, it's not the clumsiest thing i've ever done as a writer (even within this story).

there's a chance i might go back and add a scene to an earlier chapter so that it isn't too jarring to new readers, but part of me also thinks it's fine the way it is. they've had lots of time to talk, frankly, and we were never going to hear all of the conversations, were we...?

anyway, i'm obviously not going to tag the ships or let people reblog this... but if you happen to know of someone who might appreciate it, you're more than welcome to link them. hopefully i'll see you again soon.

thank you, @lilahelynora — and everyone/anyone else who's been in any way patient with me recently (i'd tag a few other special people too, but frankly i don't want to bother them). it all means more than you know.

#thank you #disassembly #spoilers #this answers a couple of asks i hope #unedited writing #i kind of hope no one notices this buuuttt

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