#this is the only explanation because if you ask anyone in real life to name 5 lawyers
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between franziska saying that phoenix's defeat would be broadcast on the news and dahlia saying that mia's defeat would be all over the news i'm a firm believer that watching trials is a commonplace pastime and lawyers are culturally very relevant in the aa universe
#star says#ace attorney#this is the only explanation because if you ask anyone in real life to name 5 lawyers#(unless they are a law student) chances are. they will not be able to
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—ᴇʟᴇᴠᴀᴛᴏʀ.
Dark! Mike Shmidt x fem! family friend! Reader
♡ Content warning . mentions of a custody battle, enemies to lovers with no real explanation, stuck in an elevator trope — hard dom! Mike, oral (m recieving), pnv, doggy, , degradation, rough hate sex, creampie, breeding
“…And that is why, Mr… Shmidt. That is why, as of right now, we are placing Abby in this young lady’s care.”
Mike’s jaw clenches as he watches his own personal hell unfold before him. He watches you sign the custody form for Abby, watches the pink fur hat on top of your head and your dumb revealing sweater and your short skirt and wonders why in the hell the court would ever choose a slut like you over him to care for a child. You have a good job and experience in childcare, sure, but Mike knows you. You don’t know your right from your left (literally). What makes anyone think that you can take care of his little sister?
He clenches his fists at his sides. You have a smug look on your face, as if you’ve won the Cold War. You have a tendency to challenge Mike, but he never thought you’d take it this far. Keeping family out of your quarrels was always an unspoken agreement. Mike clears his throat, shoving down the anger blooming in his chest.
“Understood.” He mutters. “I’ll bring some of her stuff over as soon as possible.”
Smiling, you get up from your seat (one you had asked for after the first one was too hard, or some dumb shit).
“Great! I’m glad we have the matter settled.” And then, with an amused, despicable glint in your eye, “No hard feelings, Mikey.”
Mikey. A name he hasn’t heard from your lips in such a long, long time. He’s so close to doing the same thing that he did to that guy in the fountain to you. Never in his life has he ever been so provoked to hit someone. But he holds back, let’s out a breath of air, and says nothing. The lawyers around the both of you pack up, sensing the tension but not wanting to deal with it. You gather up your purse and pull out a tube of lipstick, reapplying it onto your lips through a compact mirror. Shutting it, you see that Mike is the only one in the room.
“Walk with me?” You ask, and Mike’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“What?”
“This whole building is filled with only men,” you infer, frowning. “I don’t like it. You’re the only one I trust.”
His eyes, enraged, look at you as he clenches his jaw.
“I wouldn’t.”
Rolling your eyes, you begin to walk out of the room. Mike trails behind you, ignoring the swaying of your curves as you open the glass door. He catches up to you in an instant, as you head for the elevator.
“This is low, you know. Even for you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t about me and you, Mike. It’s about Abby.”
He scoffs, as you both approach the big metal elevator at the end of the hallway. “Yeah, right. Because you’ve always had such a desire to be a mother.”
Turning to him as you press the down button in front of the elevator, your gaze is harsh.
“You don’t know me, Mike.”
Mike smiles, not a hint of amusement on his face.
“I know enough.”
And turning towards the elevator, he steps in. You follow him afterwards, rolling your eyes as the door slides shut.
After a few seconds, however, a groaning sound escapes from the confines of the small box. Eyebrows furrowing, your heart beginning to pound, you watch with horror as the emergency light flashes on the elevator wall. The contraption stops completely, and now you’ve come to terms with your worst nightmare.
Your stuck in this fucking elevator.
And as if God is punishing you, he also decides to stick you in this enclosed space with Mike fucking Schmidt.
You want to die.
Anxiety begins to plague you; not necessarily from being alone with Mike. More so of being stuck in a small room such as this. The claustrophobia is really not helping you right now.
“What the fuck?” Mike curses loudly. “Why the hell isn’t it working?”
“How the fuck should I know?” You snap, putting your head in your hands. You lean back against the nearest wall and slide down against it. Your bottom lip wobbles, your foot tapping anxiously, but you refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
Mike looks closely at you, his mouth forming into a frown.
“Are you crying?”
You quickly shake your head, embarrassment dripping off of you in waves as you conceal yourself. After a moment, you can hear the sound of Mike pulling out his cell phone. He researches the name of the building and types in their number.
“Hey,” he says to the person on the other line. “Yeah, we’re trapped in one of your elevators, man. It just stopped. I don’t know—“
He pauses, listening to the other person reply.
“Oh. Is there anyway that you can get it fixed… quicker? … of course, of course. I understand. Thank you.”
Hanging up the call, he groans, and slides down to the floor across from you.
“They said it’s done this before and it’ll be an hour before they can get it up and running again.”
A few stray tears fall from your face, and you sniffle. “Okay.”
Mike sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
“Stop.” He mutters. “Stop crying. It’s pathetic.”
Your face crinkles up in anger and you wipe your eyes with your hands.
“Fuck you.”
Mike scoffs, turning his head to the side with a smirk on his face.
“Again?”
You growl, angrily typing on your phone on twitter as a way to ignore him.
Mike watches you with contempt. His eyes trail over your legs, thick thighs wrapped up in fishnet stockings. You’ve changed your hair color since you last saw him.
“Your hair looks nice,” he states, and you’re confused as to why he’s being nice for a moment. Until his mouth is dripping with malice and he says, “Abby likes that color.”
You scoff, flicking your acrylics as you attempt to wipe off the mascara that had run down your face.
“Whatever.” You say snarkily, and Mike’s head snaps towards you, his jaw clenching once again.
“Why are you such a bitch?” He seethes, as if he hasn’t been a complete dickhead for the past ten minutes. You shrug, slipping your coat off your shoulders. It’s become unbearably hot in here.
“Why are you so stupid?” You reply, then smirk. “Your iq must be as low as your height.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Mike growls, throwing his phone down next to him. “You’re so petty. You insult people like a child.”
“Maybe if you weren’t so full of it I wouldn’t have to.”
Mike’s fists clench at his sides, but he says nothing. But of course, you can’t keep your mouth shut.
“How have you been sleeping, by the way? Are you still…” You motion your hands as if you’re popping a pill into your mouth.
Mike’s jaw clenches tightly as he glares at you.
“That’s none of your business.”
“It kind of is, actually,” you press. “A pillhead taking care of a child is definitely a scandal.”
He doesn’t say anything. His fingers tap against the metal floor of the elevator.
“Don’t worry, though.” Smiling, you tilt your head. “Even if you hate me, Abby is going to be so much happier with me then she is with you.”
And with a head that whips around faster than lightening, Mike snaps.
He pushes himself up to his feet and gets down on his knees in front of you to grab your throat with his strong hand. Shaking you, gripping the sides of your neck like he intends to kill, he sneers.
“Say one more thing about it, you fucking slut. I dare you.”
You should be scared. But you’ve always loved a challenge, and right now seems to be a big one. You just smirk at him and peer through hooded lashes.
“Or what?” You mumble out. It’s hard to talk, or even breathe, but it doesn’t matter. Because as fucked up as it is, this is lowkey turning you on— but you aren’t going to admit that.
Leaning in closer to you so he can pierce through your eyes with his burning gaze, Mike chuckles dryly. A dangerous glint flashes through his eyes.
“Or I’ll fucking kill you.”
Something clenches in your stomach, and you can’t tell if it’s fear or arousal. Your vision is starting to blur, and with teary eyes you shake your head against his grip. He looks down to your chest before finally releasing you of his grasp. Your doe eyes look up at him with something Mike can’t quite place as you gasp for air and your nimble fingers begin to massage your throat.
And something switches in him, as he looks down at you. Watching you sit on the floor with your skirt riding up, your makeup all messy and smeared, your tits hanging out. He wants to make you hurt.
“Get on your knees.”
It’s less of a suggestion and more of a demand, and you’re taken aback.
“What?” You say, exasperated.
“Did I fucking stutter?” He reaches down, hands wrapping around your hair as he yanks you towards his handsome face. “Get. On. Your. Knees.”
Gulping, you look at the now prominent tent in his jeans, and back up to him. You move up onto your knees, just like he asked. He begins unbuckling his belt. Soon he slides it out of the belt loops and wraps it around your throat. You squeak when he ties the leather around your neck, and Mike gives it a tug as a way to check the sustainability. It doesn’t budge.
“Just like you need,” he grunts, letting go of the leather and beginning to unbutton his fly. “A leash. Some fucking discipline, for once.”
Watching with your mouth agape, Mike unzips his fly and reveals his underwear.
“Mike—“ you start, but he shuts you up when he hooks his thumbs around the waist of his briefs.
“Shut up.” He snaps. He pulls the fabric down, his thick cock slapping against his lower stomach. Everything is happening so quickly and it has your head spinning. He grabs the leather around your neck and tugs, practically shoving your face against his cock. His precum smears on your cheek and your pussy clenches.
“Suck it.” He says harshly. Your mouth, still open in an O, catches on Mike’s aching tip and he lets out a low hiss. He harshly presses his cockhead deeper into your mouth, grinding his hips as a way to push himself further into you. “I said suck it, bitch.”
You cry against him, but all the while your wetness is beginning to seep down your thighs. Your tongue lolls out against your own will, tasting a sliver of the cock you used to know so well.
“Fuck,” Mike grunts. His tip hits the back of your throat and you gag loudly. “Missed this slut mouth…”
His fingers wrap around the belt again, and he pulls forward. Your throat is already starting to feel sore from his harsh fucking. Your hands land on his thick hairy thighs, gripping the skin as you try your best to take him.
Even when you hate him, you can’t help but do your best to please.
“Always running that fuckin’ mouth,” Mike rants. “Always needing something to shut it the fuck up.”
You mewl around his cock, working your lips up and down against his awaiting thrusts. Tears fall freely down your cheeks, your neck and face incredibly hot. His heavy sack slaps against your chin with each hit. When you make a small, pained sound around him, the pressure on your throat causing a lot of pain, Mike just chuckles.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?”
Your head is fuzzy, your mind already fucked out. And like god answers your prayers, Mike finally, finally pulls you off of his length. You fall to the floor with a heaving cough as you try to gain oxygen back to your lungs. He grabs your limp body and flips you onto your stomach, his large hands taking hold of your thighs and pulling you up so your ass is in the air. He flips your skirt up, exposing you to the small space of the elevator and snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin.
“Such a little cocktease,” mike rants, his thumb rubbing over one of your asscheeks. “Always tryna’ rile me up. Aching for my attention.”
You whimper when he pulls down your lace underwear in one go, not even bothering to fully take it off and instead keeping it wrapped around your knees. He spreads your asscheeks in his hands, watching your asshole clench and your pussy drip with need.
“Been real quiet since I fucked your throat,” he continues, and you hear rusting behind you. “Guess I finally figured out a way to shut you up.”
And when his pants are down to his thighs and his bare cock presses against your entrance, you drool onto the dirty floor below you. Mike’s cock stretches your tight walls ruthlessly, and he doesn’t hesitate to push fast into you so he can fuck you sooner. His big hand splays across the back of your head and pushes you down onto the floor tiles, your cheek cold from the material touching your skin. His grip is mean, cold, and he begins to pound you with no remorse, no mercy, no sympathy. You cry as his hips slap against your backside, mutters of “Mikey, please, Mikey,” spilling from your cockdrunk lips. His hands wrap around his belt, the one around your neck, and he pulls it taut against your throat. You choke, gasping for breath, and your vision blurs. His breath is hot against your ear as he utters out another set of words.
“Such a good little fuckhole…I missed it, shit.”
Your hand wraps around the belt to loosen his hold. He lets up, but his thrusts do not. Your knees ache and will probably bruise later, but’s it’s worth it. You can feel he’s close by the way he keeps slurring his filthy words, the way his thrusts begin to stutter. Your eyes widen as his cum shoots deep into your womb, filling you up and spilling over the rim of your pussy. He collapses against you, and you yourself have already collapsed against the floor with your body arching at an almost impossible angle. Mike slips out of you, watching the way his cum drips down your thighs, and lets out a chuckle.
“Guess you’ll have another kid to take care of now.”
notes: this is absolutely terrible, take it as u will
#Mike Schmidt#mike schmidt x reader#dark! Mike Schmidt#Mike Schmidt x fem! reader#Mike Schmidt smut#mike shmidt fanfic#Fnaf#Fnaf movie#five nights at Freddy’s#five nights at Freddy’s movie#five nights at Freddy’s fanfic#Fnaf fanfic#josh hutcherson
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Okay hear me out, but maybe a little bit of enemies to lovers, little bit of smutty goodness between witch hunter!yoongi and witch!reader?? Idk why this popped in my head but I’m kind of desperate to see a little something now lol.
Also, I love you ❤️
❀ Pairing: Witch hunter!Yoongi x f. witch!reader
❀ Summary: For years, you and Yoongi have played cat and mouse. It’s his duty to rid the world of witches, but he always finds a new excuse to let you slip through his fingers. When you find yourself at his mercy, you wonder if the great witch hunter will finally end your game of chase, or if there’s something that will stay his hand.
❀ Word Count: 4188
❀ Genre: Urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, a hint of angst, smut
❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
❀ Warnings: On screen character death (not permanent though), depictions of blood and intense action sequences, scary demon thing, depiction of weapons, hints at violence between two groups of people, mild world building, a bit of angst, explicit language, explicit sexual content featuring light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, emotional sex, a lot of spit, UNEDITED.
❀ Published: August 3, 2023
❀ A/N: I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to control myself with some of these ideas because god dammit Sarah, I want to turn this into more than ~4k of a work. Like this idea inspired me so much, you have no idea how insane I wanted to go on this but I had to CONTROL MYSELF because I promised that this year I would keep it tame. I love you so much and I’m so sorry that this is like 90% plot and 10% smut but I kept inching toward 5k and I was like I HAVE GOT TO STOP MYSELF JESUS CHRIST and dkfgjdiogjfoigjg I am telling you right now, I want to come back and revisit this fic and makie it like a four chapter thing or something because GOD I LOVED THIS IDEA AND YOU KNEW JUST WHAT TO REQUEST. Also this is unedited!!!!
❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust | Song Inspiration |
Most nights, Yoongi dreams of you. He knows better, and yet he can’t help himself. It’s like you’re living under his skin, a virus that has taken root in the marrow of his bones. He doesn’t know how he would dig you out if he tried.
If he tried.
If anyone from the Conclave knew the dangerous game that Yoongi is playing, he would be ousted or killed. Killing would be the mercy, but he’s garnered enough hate within the elite members of the Conclave to know they’d rather him suffer cut off from his resources. His friends. His family.
Still, Yoongi walks a dangerous line. He knows it’s wrong, letting a witch infect him like a sickness. He is sure that he’s under your spell. There’s no other explanation for the way he always lets you slip away. For the way he closes his eyes and imagines the flutter of your heart against his, the sound of your gasps, the warmth of your hands.
Stars explode behind Yoongi’s eyes as he presses the heels of his hands into them. He’s exhausted, limbs heavy and sore from a day of bloody work. The activity downtown has only worsened the last few months, making Yoongi hunt multiple times a day and return home banged up.
The pain he can handle. Witches and their demons are nothing new to him. But he knows there’s something he’s missing, something lurking beneath the surface of the increased activity and the strong demonic presence in the city.
Yoongi knows he could ask you. He’s thought about it a few times over the last few weeks but he’s talked himself out of it each time. The curiosity has always lingered there, waiting for him to ask in those moments where you cross his path, coy and sharp as ever. In the minutes you linger, shooting him insults he thinks you don’t mean and playing little word games.
He doesn’t ask, though. And you never offer, despite the fact that your sharp eyes and knowing smirk lead him to believe you know he wants to ask.
Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t. Not giving you what you want is part of the fun. He likes the way it makes you bristle, magic crackling at your fingertips. He loves the way it makes you narrow your eyes at him, lobbing empty threats that make him want to purr.
Whatever this effect you have on him is potent. He can’t shake you off, can’t outrun you.
And worse, he doesn’t want to.
Rain begins to beat on the bedroom window outside. Though his limbs are heavy from slogging through the sewer system downtown after a witch and her ivax demon, he’s a little too keyed up to sleep. Yoongi senses something staticy in the air, an energy that he can’t name.
Opening up his phone, he flips through his text threads with members of the Conclave. It seems everyone is in it tonight, the demonic activity buzzing and the monsters worse than usual. He frowns when he sees Seokjin mention a prowler crawling through the warehouse district. Yoongi knows that’s where you live and an unexpected sense of unease slivers down his spine.
He locks his phone and tosses it on the bed. He doesn’t need to worry about you. You’re one of the most skilled witches in the city and you’ve killed scores of demons and others alike. He should remove your head for the number of hunters you’ve put in the ground, but you’ve killed triple that in witches.
Which is why you’re alone. It’s not lost on Yoongi that you’re a witch without a coven and with unusual alliances living in a warehouse all alone with a prowler on the loose. If you know it’s there - you have to know it’s there, being you - he knows you’ll go after it.
“Fuck,” he sighs at the ceiling.
Grabbing his phone, Yoongi sends off a quick text.
Yoongi: Anyone dispatching to take care of the prowler?
Councilman Haer: Negative. The Conclave will not be dispatching. The Warehouse District is not critical and it’ll go back down after it’s satiated. Prowlers aren’t controlled by witches, it might even take a few out for us.
Yoongi stomach flips as he squeezes his phone tight before getting up. He’s tired of the Conclave’s inaction. He knows he’ll get in trouble for going after something so dangerous without backup, but he can’t ask Seokjin and Hoseok to back him up on this one. Not unauthorized, and not for something so dangerous.
Unsanctioned hunts is exactly how Yoongi has ended up at the bottom of the pool among Conclave members, but he doesn’t care. Politics can’t erase the fact that he’s the best fucking hunter in the city, and no councilman who won’t get their hands dirty can give him grief for doing what needs to be done.
This isn’t about the Conclave, though. Yoongi knows it. Seokjin would know it, if Yoongi told him what he was doing. But the thought of a prowler tearing through the low-income streets in the Warehouse District doesn’t resonate with him. Neither does knowing that you are one of the witches in the line of fire.
Yoongi dresses and arms himself with military proficiency. A black, long-sleeved shirt with a form-fitted leather vest over it to prevent most stabs and cuts, knives sheathed along the ribbing of the vest, breathable pants with a tactical belt and pockets full of hunting necessities, and his necklace with the Conclave helix.
At the last second, he grabs a jacket and pulls the hood up to keep the beating rain from soaking him through. While he has some talent with magic to help him heal faster and make his blows stronger and faster, he’s not skilled in the way of weather or anything advanced enough to keep him dry and comfortable.
Nervousness settles into him as he takes the subway to the Warehouse District. It’s not far, but the train is empty and filled with dirty puddles left behind from passengers. Lights flicker above as the subway rockets unevening on the tracks, making him dizzy.
When he steps off the train and into the wet underground of the station entrance, he knows something is amiss. His fingers twitch as he jogs up the steps, boots splashing loudly as the rain comes down. Wind whips at him here and when he hears a crack of thunder too loud and rumbling to be human, his instincts kick in.
Yoongi takes off running. He knows where your warehouse-turned-loft is. He’d originally scouted it out to eliminate you. Now, it’s something he’s always kept an eye on, steering other hunters away from your home. It’s silly, he knows. You’d call him weak if you knew, probably. And yet he does it, diverting danger coming your way when he can.
Now, danger is already there.
The storm rages harder as he heads your direction. Wind pushes at him, making Yoongi lock his muscles as he fights the freezing cold rain and the debris that blows down the street with the force of the storm. He hopes that it keeps people indoors and away from the prowler.
But Yoongi sees the purple lighting lance out of the sky, an explosion of radiant beauty for a moment before it strikes nearby, blowing transforms into white sparks and he realizes what is so uncanny about this storm.
It’s you. You’re the storm.
A roar of rage shakes the air as he comes around the corner to your street. The warehouse you live in is at the end of the road right up against the bay. The wind is mixed with salt spray, stinging his eyes as he runs towards the shadowy outline of your building, nearly impossible to see in the rain and night.
Yoongi manages to roll one of the heavy doors open to your loft, muscles screaming with effort. Stepping inside, chaos greets him. The ceiling is blown out above your home, rain pouring in from the sky. It tastes like lightning and blood. No doubt your storm is what ripped the ceiling apart, but when he sees the prowler, he doesn’t blame you.
A massive creature stands ten feet tall, rippling with leathered hide and spikes on its back. Long, gangly limbs drag on the floor with black, sharpened talons on the end of each of its three fingers. The prowler walks awkwardly and Yoongi notes the scorch mark in its left shoulder, making it lean as it drags itself toward its intended target.
Which is you, laying on the ground bloody and rain soaked. Yoongi doesn’t even think. He has no idea if you’re conscious or not, but he’s moving across the room, putting power into his step as he pulls out two of his daggers and jumps high up into the air.
Yoongi’s intent is to land on the back of the prowler and sink each blade in as he falls. He doesn’t anticipate the demon to turn away from bloodied prey, but it does, swinging its arm wildly to bat him away. He’s lucky that the forearm catches him in the stomach and sends him flying and not the flaws.
Closing his eyes and bracing for impact, Yoongi is surprised when he doesn’t slam into a wall. He opens his eyes to see himself floating toward the floor, suspended briefly before the phantom energy drops him gently. He lands with shock, looking up to where you’re sitting up, one hand extended toward him.
At least you weren’t out cold or dead. Yoongi is really happy that you’re not dead, but it’s cut short as the prowler charges him.
This time, Yoongi’s ready. He runs at the beast, waiting until he’s right outside of the window of its swiping claws before he dives to his knees, sliding under the creature and between its legs. He twists his hands, cutting the inside of the creature’s thighs as he goes.
It shrieks, shaking the building and scattering Yoongi’s thoughts. He feels fizzy and confused for a moment, the mind breaking scream of the prowler enough to make him vulnerable. He feels a hand on his face and he looks up, momentarily stricken with the thought that he sees an angel.
“Thank you,” you breathe, and he recognizes your voice. Usually it cracks like a whip, but this is soft. Strange. It terrifies him. “I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me. Just know that I liked our game, Hunter.”
“What are you doing, Witch?”
Your smile is like the sun. He doesn’t think he’s seen anything more beautiful. Your face is covered in blood and rain, turning your neck scarlet as it runs. There’s a gash above your brow and he sees a blackened wound in your stomach.
It is amazing, how a creature like you, bred to be an evil, wicked thing can look radiant. Holy. Wonderful. Your hand is cradling his face and it feels warm, despite the rain and blood on your hands. Your thumb is soft as it sweeps across his cheek, a touch more reverent than he’s ever known.
“Witch,” Yoongi starts, unsure what you’re doing.
“I’ll miss that. Take this.”
Before Yoongi can react, your hand falls from his face. You move past him with absolute confidence, lifting your chin. You have a limp as you do, and Yoongi reaches after you but you’re already out of his grip.
Something stirs in the air. He’s only felt power rippling like that once before when he was a child, and the entire Conclave worked together to slaughter an Eldritch Witch that had attacked them and taken out more than half of their hunters.
Now, Yoongi feels that dark presence again, energy buzzing against his ears as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. The prowler senses the power disturbance too, backing away from you as dark particles begin to gather around your hands.
Above you, the rain hovers, disrupted by the frequency of your magic. The buzz in Yoongi’s ears gets louder as he climbs to his feet, clapping his hands firmly over his ears, wincing as it gets higher and louder. He thinks it might burst his ear drums or crack his skull open.
Disks of dark particles circle you as you approach the demon, which is now roaring once more, trying to disrupt your thoughts. It doesn’t work, the air vibrating with dark matter. You’re at the center of the swirling darkness, the rings rotating around you like an access.
The sound stops suddenly, and for a moment, Yoongi thinks he’s deaf. Black matter pulses from you, exploding outward. Yoongi hits the floor, realizing if he gets hit with your magic, he’ll die. Never before has he witnessed the Eldritch Blast of a witch, but he knows that it's only used as a final stand.
I’m going to do something that is probably going to kill me.
The finality of your words shreds him open as the shockwave of your magic barrels at him. He thinks he’s going to die as it expands toward him, but instead, it arches over him, battling down against a magical barrier.
Take this. Yoongi realizes you’ve warded him from your destruction, keeping him safe as your blast levels the world around you. He feels the magic beating down on your ward like raging fits, vibrating and shrieking under the pressure of the magic.
It even keeps him from being injured by the collapsing debris.
Yoongi looks at you as the world falls to pieces. You go down to one knee, then the other, swaying as the darkness cascades around you in a final flutter of power. Then you fall over, heavy and unmoving as the rest of the building comes down.
All he can do is scream.
-
Most nights, you dream of Yoongi. You don’t know when it started - perhaps that first night after you met him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that at some point, the hunter poisoned you from the inside out, a disease taking root and rotting you all the way through to your core.
You always knew that dreaming of him would get you killed one day. But Yoongi was different. Wiser than the rest of his wretched Conclave. Smart enough to question his way of life and his faction’s merciless killings. You think he’ll start asking the right questions soon, that maybe he’ll start seeing the signs that who he has sworn loyalty to isn’t who they say they are.
But Yoongi never asks questions.
It’s easy to tell he wants to. There’s always that little pause at the end of your meetings. You used to think it was perhaps he was trying to decide whether or not to kill you. Perhaps it was that at first, but now it’s something a little different. A little more. Like he is on the edge of finally asking you what exactly is going on in the city that he protects from monsters.
Yoongi is simple, though. He likes his little life tucked away in the Art District and he likes the wash, rinse, repeat of killing demons and corrupted witches nightly. You think he likes your little run-ins.
Now, you’ve finally paid the price of letting him live these last two years. Had someone told you before you’d met Yoongi that you’d sacrifice yourself for him and the rest of a small neighborhood, you’d have laughed in their face. You weren’t a hero, though some might think slaying your own kind and their creatures was worth praise.
Penance and praise are not the same, though.
Dying seems like a good way of paying off your list of wrongs. Especially to save Yoongi. If only to save Yoongi, if you were being honest.
Witches have a lot of lore about death and where one goes in the afterlife. You’re not sure where you are, if you exist, or if you’re even really a thought. It feels like nothingness and everything all at once, a void of floating consciousness. There’s no pain, but you remember the warehouse. Remember the prowler ripping down the door and coming for you specifically.
And him. You remember Yoongi coming in, looking like a fucking angel of old as he leapt through the skies. Together you might have taken on the beast. But prowlers are notoriously difficult to destroy, and you were in no shape to protect Yoongi, much less fight by his side as a reliable partner.
That left you with one option, and though you knew it would end you, you’d done it anyway.
Yoongi’s face swims in your mind. Soft and round, eyes like the bottom of the ocean, a single pink scar carved through his right eye. Mouth soft and petal pink, hair silky and dark, reaching to his shoulders. He’s small for a hunter but he’s strong and broad, his mind his best weapon.
Witch, Yoongi had said. The last words you’d hear from him, spoken with a softness that you’ve never heard from him before. Rain-soaked and wide eyed Yoongi, looking at you like you held the flame of life, like you were something more than a creature on the other side of the trench.
The best thing you could do for him was die.
So you summoned your magic from deep within you, that ancient, sleeping thing. You try not to think about what Yoongi’s last memory of you will be, an eldritch horror that will remind him of the creature that slaughtered his family as a child.
Yoongi will never get to ask his questions. You’ll never get to tell him why you haunt the streets killing your own kind. Yoongi will never know the softness of your kiss. You’ll never know the gentle press of his hands.
Something brushes across your forehead. You feel now and you frown. Or can you frown, in whatever plane of death this is? You’re not sure, but you feel… the weight of your own body. The beating of your own heart. The rush of air through your lungs as you breathe.
Awareness prickles at the back of your neck like a needle. Slowly, you begin to feel solid. Your fingers twist in soft sheets, and when you turn your head, you feel the plushness of a pillow. Smell petrichor and cedar.
It smells like… Yoongi.
“Hmmm?” you feel the vibration in your throat at your unspoken question, nothing but a rumble of noise and confusion. Something cradles your face. “Hunnn..?”
A deep, throaty laugh. “Mmm, I take care of you for a week straight and we’ve moved on to endearments?”
Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy. The world swims into view, a little blurry as your eyes try to focus in the dimly lit room, taking in the bed you’re in and the face hovering above yours.
“Yoongi,” you breathe, your heart expanding with unfettered joy.
“That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.”
“What?”
“Say it more often.” He leans forward and you watch as his dark eyes drink you in. “And never do that to me again.”
Before you can ask him what that is, Yoongi’s mouth is pressing against yours. You melt immediately, going boneless in a bed you’re unfamiliar with, lost in the citrusy taste of his mouth and the gentle press of his lips. His kiss is soft soft soft, blurring reality as he pulls at your bottom lip teasingly before pulling away.
Eyes fluttering open, you stare at him in wonder. He hovers above your face, haloed by inky-black hair. “Yoongi.”
He smiles. “It sounds much better than hunter. Hun can stay, though.”
“You’re not calling the shots.”
“You’re in no condition to fight me.”
“I killed a prowler, I think you’re no problem.”
His eyes glow. “I think perhaps you’re right. But for now, you’re at my mercy.”
“Kiss me again.” You lift your hands and bring them toward his face, brushing a finger over the bottom of his scar. “And don’t stop this time. I’ll ask my questions later.”
“Of course, witch.”
Yoongi’s kiss is hungrier now. Desperate. Full of all the questions he never asked and you meet him with equal fire. You don’t care that you’ve beat the odds and lived. You don’t care about anything else but the weight of Yoongi straddling your waist and the feel of his velvet soft skin beneath your hands.
Every inch of him is warm, filled with the heat of the hunter’s fire that burns through every member of the Conclave. This hunter burns brighter than the rest, though. Warmth blooms where your fingers press over his stomach and chest, ridding him of his shirt. Fire burns where you grab his arms, arching into him as his teeth skim your throat.
You’ve never felt this in sync with someone, bodies twining together like you were made for one another. Yoongi’s hand is scorching as his touch ghosts down your body, his touch light and teasing as he lowers his mouth to your hardened nipple, catching it and giving a gentle suck.
Honey-dipped moans slip from your mouth. Yoongi’s mouth is wet-hot against your skin, tongue laving hungrily as his hand seeks the heat between your legs. Your thighs open for him easily, giving Yoongi access to the dripping mess of your folds. He curses when his fingers slide between your slit, gathering slick to circle his digits around your clit.
“Fuck,” you hiss, hips twitching. “Don’t bother. I can take you now. Want you now.”
“I told you that you were at my mercy.” You summon your magic, rattling his shelves. Yoongi leans over to your neglected nipple and plucks it with his teeth, making you squeal and shiver, pleasure rattling you. “Fine,” he agrees. “Greedy witch. Should have known.”
“Not greedy,” you shoot back as Yoongi sits up and sheds his pants. Your hands follow him, tracing the faint scars on his stomach, pressing against the muscle of his tapered hips. “I’ve waited for months for you to do something. To say something.”
“I’m not good at that.”
You hum. “It takes me dying for you to take initiative?”
“A lesson hard-learned and never to be repeated.”
Yoongi’s cock is hard, bobbing heavily as he shuffles you under him and presses your thighs open for him. The brown tip is sticky with precum, his shaft long and thick enough to make your cunt ache for him more.
“Nice cock,” you tease as he pumps himself, hand gliding and spreading his precum down his shaft.
He grunts. “Can’t wait to feel this fucking pussy,” he mutters, leaning forward and pressing the tip to your entrance. You make a breathy sound, eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure-pained stretch. “Think you can take it, witch?”
“Yes.”
Yoongi sinks in and you second-guess your statement for a second, but the stretch of his cock pressing you open feels good. Deliriously so, your back arching as he bottoms out. You feel him in your gut, deeper than anything ever before and you whine as he draws his hips back before snapping them forward, punching the breath from your lungs.
He sets a deep, hard pace. You grip his biceps, feeling the muscle flex in his arms. Every part of you is on fire, lit up from the closeness of your bodies as Yoongi leans down and melds your mouths together, continuing to fuck you so deep you know you’ll never forget what it feels like.
Every brush of his cock against your g-spot drives you mad. Every whisper of your name - your name, not witch - makes you shudder. His tongue is hungrily as it brushes against yours, his moans deep and throaty as your pussy grips him tight.
“Fuck,” he pants, sliding a hand down your body to grab your thigh and hoist your leg higher. It changes the angle, making his stroke somehow deeper. Your eyes roll back and your head digs into the mattress as you fist at the sheets. “You can fucking take it.”
“Keep going.”
“As if i could fucking stop.”
You never want him to stop. Fucking you, kisses you, teasing you, shadowing you as you take on the world. You want every part of your life colored with Yoongi. You want him to be a part of your mornings, your fights, your weaknesses, your strengths. You want to rile him up, needle him with little insults that get him going. Tease him to make him laugh and share that secret smile.
Every moment has led to this. You don’t know how you never saw this outcome, here with him, crying out his name as your orgasm crests into an unstoppable force. When you come around him, it’s with his name in your mouth and so much need for him in your heart that you think you might explode with energy for a second time.
After, when you’re wrapped in Yoongi and you feel his hunter’s skin blaze against you, sweat-slick skin pressed close, you think that finally, he’ll ask those questions. You’ll give him answers.
“Don’t do that ever again, witch,” Yoongi warns. “I will follow you into death.”
#yoongi smut#suga smut#min yoongi smut#yoongi fanfic#yoongi x reader#bts suga#bts fanfic#minors do not interact#minors dni#bts suga smut#yoongi angst#halis happy agust
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Sleep With Me, Anytime
Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (with hints of: Marc Spector x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)
Summary: You and Steven live opposite each other and have been dating for a couple of weeks. One night you sleep at Steven’s during a storm. You get to meet Marc and Jake.
This is the 3rd and final part to the Suited and Booted series. Part 1 is here, and part 2 is here!
Warnings/Tags: No warnings. Fluff, forehead kisses, sleeping in the same bed, mentions of all 3 Moon Boys, just cute shit :)
Word Count: 3K
A/N: Credit to justoscarisaac for the GIF. It's beautiful. This fic is a personal favourite of mine, but as always if I’ve portrayed anything incorrectly please call me out on it so I can fix it! If anyone has any requests let me know because I would LOVE to write them!
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Outside a storm is raging. It’s past midnight, with the moon high in the sky, and you haven't slept a wink. You've been tossing and turning for a few hours now, and nothing is working.
Every clap of thunder makes you jump and each and every bolt of lightning makes you squeeze your eyes tight, almost as if if you couldn’t see it then it wouldn’t scare you.
But your tactics aren't working. You feel scared and alone.
So, you distract yourself. You decide to think about your boyfriend, Steven Grant.
You think about the past two weeks and everything that's happened, and how happy it's made you. You go over everything Steven told you after your date at the quiz night. He had promised you that he would explain everything about himself, and he had. The pair of you had sat on your sofa, and Steven’s life was revealed to you.
“You see, I’m not alone in this body. I uh- it’s a identity disorder, see? Technically I’m not even the original. I’m an alter. But I’m still me, still a real person. Still Steven.”
Steven’s explanation made sense. You had heard him in his apartment talking to other people, even though he lived alone. You asked him then, who were the other alters? How many of them were there? You wanted to understand, to finally figure out the life of Steven Grant. He had frowned.
“You don’t think of me differently, do you? Knowing that I’m not just…me? We all have the same brain, kind of. We all have the same body.”
“And so, do you all like me?” The question had slipped out before you had time to stop yourself.
Steven had chuckled, a little. He cocked his head to one side slightly, as if listening to a song far away. You couldn’t hear anything.
“Yes. That’s kind of the number one rule. We all have to agree on someone, you know, that we all like. There’s me, obviously. Then there’s Marc, he’s the original. His last name is Spector. And then there’s Jake. Jake Lockley.”
You had stayed silent for a little while, trying to take in the information. It was hard to process the fact there was three of them, and they all liked you.
“Right, so you’re the only one who…who fronts, then? Or is it like you all are there at once? Have I met Marc, or Jake?”
At that point Steven had explained how fronting worked. He explained who Marc was and what his job was. You had pulled away slightly at the word mercenary, and Steven had no choice but to tell you the whole story. He told you about Khonshu. And after everything, after Steven’s love for Egypt and the way he seemed so strong as well as smart, the fact he was a host for a god seemed believable. You believed Steven, and he couldn’t believe it.
“I know it’s a lot. And I promise I’m not making it up, that would be weird. I just want you to know the truth. And if you don’t want to know me after this, I get it. I really do.”
A rumble of thunder disturbs you from your thoughts, making you nearly jump out of your bed. You don’t want to bother Steven, he had enough issues to be worrying about without your irrational fear of storms being added to the list.
But, you can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop thinking about being wrapped in his arms, feeling safe and protected.
The pair of you hadn’t shared a bed yet, you hadn’t even done more than making out and holding hands on dates. Not that you minded. But right now all you want is to be in his arms, in his bed, knowing that you have someone to ride the storm out with.
You slip out of bed, flinching at every lightning strike, and find your slippers and keys. You’re wearing shorts and a tee, standard pyjamas by any means, and you don’t care if Steven sees you in them. You just want him.
You pad across the hall and knock on the door. If he’s asleep, and doesn’t answer, you’ll just go back and try to watch something on the telly instead. But deep down, you’re hoping that you knocked loud enough to wake him up.
The door opens and you’re surprised to see Steven looks wide awake. When he realises it’s you at his door, his demeanour relaxes and he pulls you into a hug.
“Y/N you okay? What’s wrong, love?”
He pulls away from you, all worried with scrunched up eyebrows and a pouty lip. He’s wearing an oversized jumper and baggy sweatpants. His feet are bare, which makes you think he might have been asleep, but the look on his face suggests he hasn’t been sleeping at all.
“The storm, I can’t sleep. I was wondering if maybe I could stay with you? But, only if that’s okay?”
Steven quickly glances behind him, and you suddenly realise you've never been in Steven's apartment before. It's always you at his, and you've only ever hung out outside of Steven's apartment before a date while you waited for him.
You can’t see what he’s looking at, and you think he’s going to turn you away and say you can't come in, but when he looks back at you he’s smiling.
"Oh, love. Come in, yeah? Good thing I was awake. I uh-" Steven pauses as you step into his apartment. The layout is identical to yours, but Steven's flat is way more lived in. There's stacks upon stacks of books all around the apartment, some on bookshelves and some rising up in wobbly towers from the floor. There's lamps on all around the apartment, giving it a warm and cosy feel, even though the storm is still raging outside. Somehow though, just by being with Steven, it doesn't seem to bother you as much.
There's a goldfish tank at the far end of the room, and there's maps and Egyptian posters plastered all over the walls and, just like the layout of your apartment, Steven's bedroom is on show. But it's much different to yours...
There's sand all around the bed, and some sort of restraint is tied to a pole at the end of the bed.
"It's not uh, not a sex thing. Promise." Steven shuts the door behind you and scoots over to his bed, shoving the restraint under it. "Before I figured everything out about Marc and Jake, I thought - well I thought I was losing my mind - but I thought it was a sleeping disorder. I haven't got rid of it because it's kind of, habit? I don't know. Sorry."
Steven is babbling, flattening out his bedsheets and trying to tidy the place up while you stare at him. You think it's cute, the way he gets flustered around you. You take a step closer to him, and take his hand.
"You don't have to apologise Steven. It's alright. Is that why you haven't wanted me to come over before?"
Steven shakes his head, "No no no, Y/N, I've wanted you to come round. I've just...not had the balls to ask."
He squeezes your hand and leads you to his bed, where you both sit down.
"Anyway, you're here now. The storm's scaring you, huh?" Steven brushes a hand through your hair, coming to rest his hand against your cheek. You move to kiss his palm.
"I hate them. And I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to disturb you, but the thought of sleeping with you just seemed so much better than sleeping alone."
Steven moves his hand away from your face, bringing it down to meet your hand. He blushes at your words, but he’s no longer seems ashamed of the affect you have on him. He wears his reddening cheeks with pride.
"You know I'd do anything for you, love. You can sleep with me anytime." His words are sweet, but as soon as he says them his eyes widen, "I mean like, in my bed. Not like sleeping together together, you know? Well, maybe. If you wanted."
You shut Steven up by laughing. Even the rumble of thunder doesn't make you jump. Instead, you pull Steven in for a kiss. "I know what you're trying to say. It's okay." You pause, "Why were you up anyway?"
Steven's blush has gone down, and his expression becomes more serious. "Khonshu. There's a mission. The lads are trying to plan something."
Steven glances at the mirror on his wall, and you follow his gaze. You know he's talking to himself, either Marc or Jake has something to say. You want to say hello, even though you can't see what Steven's seeing. You wish you could meet them.
"Oh. Right. Scary stuff then?"
Steven looks back at you, and a fork of lightning flashes in the window behind him. You jump a little, and Steven puts an arm around you.
"Let's not worry about that now, yeah? Why don't you get in bed? I'll turn out the lights."
You do as he says.
His sheets are soft and his pillows smell like him and you feel like you're in the midst of one big Steven hug. He goes about, turning off the light's one by one until it's just the bedside lamp left. His bare feet patter against the floor before he slinks into bed next to you.
"Shall I turn this light off, love?"
He turns to you, propped up in the bed on his elbows, and you drink in the sight. Suddenly, the storm doesn't even seem so bad. All you care about is Steven.
You scan him, looking at his perfect curls and kissable lips. His kind eyes and his gorgeous, goofy smile. You nod, and the light goes off.
It takes you a second for your eyes to adjust to the darkness, and while you do all you can here is Steven getting comfy beside you. You're on your side, facing him, and when your eyes adjust you realise he's facing you too.
You can feel his breath on your cheek and when a flash of lightning illuminates the room, Steven smiles at you.
"Hi." He whispers, as if just because it's dark now he has to be quiet. It makes you smile.
"Hi." You say back. You're aware of his body heat beside you, but there's a distance between you and none of your body is touching his. You reach an arm out and put it against his chest.
He reacts by shuffling closer, and puts an arm on your waist. Your pyjama top has risen up slightly and Steven makes contact with your skin. It makes your brain tingle with delight.
"So," you say, trying to distract yourself, "When you say the lads are planning something, does that involve you?"
Steven's rubbing slow circles against your skin with his thumb, and it's the most soothing thing you've ever experienced. You start moving your fingers against his chest, rubbing the fabric of his sweater.
"Yeah, yeah. It involves me. I'm 1 out of 3 of the protector of the night, you know?"
There's a joking tone in his voice, and you're aware he's trying to make the situation lighter than it actually is. You almost laugh, because you realise now you're both whispering to one another about a very serious topic of conversation.
“So, you’ll have to go soon, then? To deal with…whatever the mission is?”
"Yeah. It's okay though. I've got the suit. I've got Marc and Jake. They'll have my back and we'll be home to you in no time." Steven moves his hand from your waist to stroke your cheek again.
"The suit?"
"Yeah. The ceremonial suit of armour from Khonshu's temple. Although my suit isn't like Marc or Jake's, mine's sharp and has style, you know? I did say to you that I'm suited and booted sometimes." Steven chuckles to himself and you smile. You've never seen the suit, but the way Steven describes it makes you believe you'd find him sexy in it.
But your mind isn't fully focused on that. Your mind keeps replaying something he said only moment's again
"Hold on. What did you say? You said we'll be back to me in no time. As in, all three of you. Like, like-"
"Love, I did say to you we all have feelings for you. We all want to come home to you after this mission. You're what keeps us going."
At Steven's words you subconsciously move closer. You move your leg on top of his and he shifts. He's on his back and now you're hugging him like a koala on a tree. Neither of you say anything, because neither of you mind. Your heart is racing.
"That's the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me." You tilt your head upwards to look at Steven, who's already looking at you. Thunder and lighting go off at once, suggesting the storm is close, but it doesn't matter to you. You take one look at Steven and kiss him, hard. One of his hands is playing with your hair, and the other is resting on your hip.
When you pull away, there's a thought lodged in your brain.
"Can I meet them? Jake and Marc? Only for a minute or two, only if that's okay? Can you do that, at will?"
Steven goes silent, and you're worried you've pushed your boundaries. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.
"Yes. Yeah. They...they'd like that. Are you okay with that? Try to think of it as me, but different. If you like them too, I won't be mad. If you want, it'll be like three boyfriends in one." Steven plants a kiss on your forehead, and you practically melt under his touch. The idea of being the girlfriend to all three alters makes you sweat, and your excitement has fully outweighed your fear of the storm.
"Okay." You whisper, " Let's do it. Please."
You're not sure what to expect, you know they'll look the same so it doesn't matter that the room is dark, but you don't know if they'll sound the same or act the same. You're not sure if you should move off of him or not, when something happens.
Something passes through Steven, and you feel the change immediately. The grip on your hip is slightly tighter and his body tenses slightly. You look up at him and it's the same guy, but different. In the dim light you can see his jaw is more set, and his eyes don't quite hold the same, soft glow as Steven does. But he's still drop dead gorgeous.
"Hey, Y/N. How's Steven's babygirl doing?" You do not expect the American accent that come's out of his mouth. He too is whispering, but he sounds much more confident. You're blushing at his word choice - babygirl - and you can't help but giggle.
"Oh, okay. Listen to you." His voice is full of satire and there's a smug smirk on his lips as he looks down at you. He's loving every second of how flustered you are. "I'm Marc, by the way."
First introductions are usually followed by a handshake, but instead Marc just pulls you closer to him so that your head rests on his chest and the hand on your hip moves to snake around you.
"Is this okay? Are you comfortable with this?" He whispers into your ear and if you were standing, your knees would have buckled.
Steven was sexy in his own goofy, lovable way. But Marc was next level. And in a weird way, after what Steven said, you didn't even feel like you were cheating. This all felt totally normal, as if you had spent just as much time with Marc as you had with Steven. You guess, in a way, you had.
"This is good." You don't want to look at Marc because you know you'll blush.
"Steven says he knew you'd love me as much as you love him." You can hear the smile in Marc's voice. He's started rubbing your scalp, your hair intertwined in his fingers. Then, Marc laughs. "Steven also says he doesn't mean love like love. What an idiot. I know the pair of you are taking it slow and haven't said that just yet but, by the way, it's obvious."
You look up at Marc this time, totally distracted by the way he's playing with your hair, and he winks at you. Although meeting Marc is exciting, and it's all very surreal, you're slowly getting sleepy. Your body's relaxed against Marc's and you stare at him through a happy, sleepy gaze.
"You wanna sleep soon, huh? Wanna meet Jake first?"
"Mhmh. Sure." You're nearly falling asleep. Your eyes droop and shoot back open, trying to stay awake.
"We'll make it quick, sleepy girl." Marc leans over to kiss your forehead.
You don't notice when he changes to Jake. But he doesn't disturb your sleepiness. He simply snuggles closer to you, resisting all his sexual urges, and holds you closer as you begin to drift off to sleep.
"Sleep well, princesa. I'll get my time with you yet. Guess I'm the lucky one who gets to watch you sleep."
Jake's words fall into the void, and you're asleep.
He watches over you all night, protectively cuddling you and brushing hair out of your face. Before morning comes, he switches back to Steven, who plans on sleeping for a couple of hours before you wake up. Jake has done Steven a favour by taking off the sweatshirt, and now he's shirtless beside you. Steven's nervous about it, but Jake gives him the confidence he needs. As Steven settles down, and you subconsciously cuddle into him, he whispers one last time.
"We're so lucky. So bloody lucky."
The boys agree.
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taglist: @later-gators12 @alicetweven @bristark616 @toracainz @dopeqff @insomniacfigure @allthingsvicf @leh2393
#moon knight#moon knight x reader#moon knight fanfiction#moon boys#steven grant#steven grant x reader#marc spector#marc spector x reader#jake lockley#jake lockely x reader
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jason meeting you for the first time in book club and he’s head over heels
gonna spam your inbox with jason asks btw hi
wait this is so cute, like you've got me thinking (this got way longer than expected)
there's a bookstore you go to frequently and on the last friday of every month they host a book club. you've been one of the members for a while now, and you know every name, face, and life story of everybody in the group by now. so, when you walk in on the last friday of this particular month, you definitely notice the unfamiliar man sitting amongst people you've already gotten to know. he's handsome, with dark hair, and green eyes, and he looks like the type to be playing beer pong on a friday night, not critiquing the plot of some newly released murder mystery. you'd be lying if you said you weren't intrigued.
regardless, you take your seat and the meeting starts. everyone takes turns sharing their opinions, each person stating how they couldn't see the plot twist coming, and that they found the book incredibly riveting. when your turn comes, you politely explain that to you it was predictable. there was only one real suspect with a clear motive, anyone else would've been a stretch. it was too easy to deduce what had actually gone down that night, and you didn't think the book needed 450+ pages to get there.
the opinion is pretty well received, except for this one person in the group that's always always irks you, asking "and how exactly did you figure that out? because if none of us did, i have a hard time believing that you did." you could give them a play by play of exactly where the author went wrong, how too many of the clues had obvious explanations, and how any semblance of common sense would lead you to the real killer. but instead, you opt for a simple "i don't know, just got lucky i guess," followed by a shrug.
the sharing continues until you get to the dark haired stranger sitting almost directly across from you in the circle. every person in the room is staring at him intently and you don't blame them, it's not often a guy as hot as him joins in on your monthly activity. you almost think it's a joke, a prank, he's being hazed, he'll open his mouth to speak and then bolt out the door leaving you guys in the dust. but instead, he calmly gestures to you, "i agree with them. far too easy to figure out, don't get me wrong it's well written but it heavily relies on the reader conveniently forgetting details from the previous chapters." he gets it, this guy gets it. you chime in, "exactly, like when they reveal that the mistress was on the boat the entire time, but they hinted at her being on the boat within the first chapter." no one asks for any follow up this time, simply accepting the pretty man's word as law.
everyone finishes sharing their opinions and then it's time to mingle. you walk around, catching up with acquaintances you hadn't seen in a while, and the stranger watches you from across the room. watching you seamlessly interact with the people in the store before turning your attention to the shelves upon shelves of new and untouched books. brushing your fingers across the spines, and occasionally pulling one down to read a blurb.
he watches you make your way down the aisles, dipping in and out of his field of vision, and back to the main area where everyone's chatting, before spotting him and heading over to where he stands; a book in hand. you hold it out for him and he takes it, looking up at you curiously.
"a good mystery. if you're looking for one."
"thanks."
"yeah, no problem."
you walk away, and he watches your back as you head over to the rest of the group to say your goodbyes and head out. but before you exit, hand holding the door open, you turn towards him and give him a small wave, before the sound of the bell on the door jangling invades his ears, and you're no longer there.
his eyes follow you until he can't see you through the window anymore and he looks down at the book, it's something he's read before. but it's good, and he knows you know it's good because you recommended it to him. so even though he's already read it, he'll read it again so he has something to talk about with you in a month when he gets your name.
#☆ messages from friends ☆#jason todd i’ll love you forever#jason todd x reader#might have to expand on this
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NEVER FELT SO ALONE - MARC SPECTOR
Pairing: Marc x Reader
Word Count: 2,579
Summary (Request): hey!! i just finished moon knight and was wondering if can request a marc spector x reader fic or basically all of the moon knight boys where marc cheats on the reader so she doesnt get hurt and by cheating on her there would be no questions or suspicions coming from the reader n all. (basically same way how marc tries to divorce layla but she ended up finding out the truth in d end) angst with happy ending pls <33
//i don’t like cheating tropes so i didn’t actually have marc cheat and also… marc spector brainrot. love it. him and matty have permanent spaces in my brain//
“He’s been gone too long.” You paced your living room with your phone in your hand.
You were speaking to yourself, of course, given that your boyfriend was out on the town yet again doing God knew what. You knew he kept secrets, he always had. Just getting him to talk about what music he liked or what movies he liked was like pulling teeth. But of course, it wasn’t always like that. There were more goods than bads so you were willing to put up with his distance and fight and poke and prode to get him to tell you something of substance because he knew you.
He loved to hear you talk about your life. Your childhood, family and friends, work. He liked to hear you talk about your favorite shows and books, ranting about what stupid things your beloved fictional characters were doing and how you knew they were smarter than that. He asked you about school and sometimes brought food to your campus if he had time before he disappeared on some job. He’d leave a few hidden notes before he left too - usually under your pillow, in your wallet, and under your favorite bowl. You once found a note between pages of your book, his own anticipation of how far you’d get while he was gone.
Problem this time around was that there were no notes this time. There was no text or voicemail. There was no explanation. Admittedly, it happened sometimes. Sometimes it was so sudden he didn’t have time to let you know anything, but even then, he was never gone that long.
This time around, before he left, you noticed some odd things. You noticed more hushed conversations, hidden phone messages, darting glances, looking over his shoulder. He spoke even less than usual, as if he was building a wall between you two. Looking to put distance. You noticed his phone was being turned off when he left the house and a few times during his absence, you could’ve sworn you’d seen him running into the local museum.
Usually you could shrug off his odd behavior because, overall, Marc Spector was an odd man. You knew his life had been challenging and naturally, it closed him off in some regards. But shutting you out completely, going radio silence at the drop of a hat, that just wasn’t like him.
So you did some digging.
Given his phone was off, you couldn’t track any sort of locations from there. You didn’t know who he worked with when he left, save for one woman named Layla who was often as off grid as he was, so you couldn’t ask anyone. He hardly talked about family and you weren’t even sure he had friends other than you so that was a dead end. The only real starting point you had was that museum.
When your last class ended, you hopped on the crowded bus and headed over. You were welcomed by the man at the front security booth and wandered the vast space. You had to squeeze past tour groups and couples on dates, kids running around with novelty swords and replica headpieces. You squeezed between people until you found a bench that allowed you to breathe, despite the heavy crowd. You hadn’t expected it to be quite as busy and you were so tired. Just as you were about to give up, you saw him.
The spitting image of the man you loved. Only his clothes were different, baggier and plainer. His curls fell across his forehead more and he seemed to hold hismelf shorter than Marc. Maybe it wasn’t him after all.
You sighed to yourself and headed towards the exit, catching a small snippet of his voice. It was softer, tinted with an almost fake accent, with more inflictions than Marc had. You shook your head slightly as you headed out, trying to clear the idea of the doppleganger from your head but the notion seemed to keep you around the museum. You found yourself sitting on the steps outside, near a streetlight so you could try some of the assignment you needed to finish. You hadn’t even realized how long you had been there until your headphones beeped in your ears that their battery was low.
As you were putting the headphones into your bag, you noticed Marc’s doppelganger heading to the nearby bus stop. He noticed you at the same time and made his way over to you, which made your body run hot for a moment.
“Hello.” He smiled slightly. “I, uh- I saw you inside. Can I ask why you’re still out here?”
“Yeah, it looks a little weird, huh?” You laughed, trying to contain the whirlwind of thoughts set off by the man’s voice. It was so strange to hear such a soft, relatively hesitant tone coming from a face that you knew to be much more confident. “I just thought I saw someone I’ve been looking for… Turns out it wasn’t him.”
“Old friend?”
“Boyfriend, actually.”
“Oh…” He nervously wrung his hands and you almost laughed at how out of character that movement seemed. “Wait, why are you looking for your boyfriend?”
“No reason.” You shrugged. “Just thought I saw him.”
“Right… Well, are you alright to get home? It’s not like a… “we’re in a fight and he kicked me out” situation?”
At that, you did laugh.
“I’m alright, thanks.” You shook your head with a smile. “But if you hear about a guy named Marc coming around, tell him Y/N needs to talk to him, yeah?”
“Marc? Uh.. Alright, yeah. Yeah, okay. You said Y/N?”
“Mhmm…”
“Have we…”
Your brows raised while the gears turned in his head. His eyes darted around your face, down to your clothes and back to your eyes while he tried to put the pieces together. He opened his mouth to say something before he shook his head, seemingly confusing himself in the process.
“You okay over there?” You asked carefully, leaning in slightly for your own examination.
“Yeah, just… I don’t know. Deja vu maybe.”
“Hmm.” You nodded and leaned away. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Steven.” He tapped the pocket of his jacket and you saw a little pinsized hole for where you assumed his nametag usually sat. “Steven Grant.”
“Cool.” You said simply. But you recognized that name as one of the characters that Marc told you about, from one of the things he used to watch with his brother that turned into their own little roleplaying game. And maybe it was a coincidence but something was strange. “See you around, Steven.”
“Bye, Y/N.”
A few days went by before you saw him again. You had tried going by the museum but he wasn’t there. You even asked the man who watched the cameras and he said that Steven - though he called him by some unrelated name - hadn’t been in since the night you met him. You were at another dead end.
You wandered the streets when you got a vague text with an address. It was an unknown number and the relatively common text style gave you no clues. Automatically you assumed it was Marc from a burner phone. Who else would it have been? With as much of a hurry as you could without drawing extra attention, you made your way to the apartment.
You gave a quick knock to the door and it popped open, seemingly on its own since no one was on the other side to greet you. You wandered the cramped space, finding a bed in the center of a sand circle, books stacked on books on every table, a small trashcan overflowing with crumpled balls of tape, A vast fishtank stood in the middle of the room and you leaned in to see the fish, a small thing missing a fin, and caught glimpse of the man watching you from the other side. His near sudden appearance made you jump and bump your head against the glass.
You mumbled an apology to the fish as he scurried to another corner of the tank and you stood straighter.
“You’re the one who texted me?” You asked simply, not wanting to take a guess if it was Marc or Steven that stood before you.
“Yeah.” He said in the same plain tone and you didn’t catch any accent. It was definitely Marc. “Heard you were looking for me.”
“Wouldn’t have to look if you would’ve told me where you were going or that you were alive, at least.”
“”Yeah... I never meant to worry you.”
“Clearly.” Your brows raised quickly. “Nice place.”
“It’s not mine.”
You made a small noise in your throat before wandering the space a bit more. You peaked through some of the books, finding a book of French poems by a woman who you knew Marc didn’t read. But someone Marc knew and worked with did.
“This Layla’s place?” You asked simply, swallowing the rising bile in your throat.
“Layla?” He asked, arms crossing over his chest but not moving from his spot. “What makes you say that?”
“The French poems.” You said honestly. “Not to mention all the Egyptian stuff, you having a fake accent and working at the museum in the Egypt wing… It’s a lot to do just to be a good partner.”
“Right… Look, about all of that..”
“You didn’t answer my question.” You cut in firmly.
“I’m trying to.”
“No you’re not. You’re avoiding. You’re choosing a piece of what I said rather than the actual important part.”
“This isn’t Layla’s place, okay?” He rolled his eyes slightly.
“So this is your place?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of.” You repeated with a scoff. “Right. So, what, it belongs to that fake persona I talked to a few nights ago.”
“Fake?”
“Steven. Come on, that accent? And he’s named after that thing you told me from you and your brother… Did you think I was stupid?”
“What do you think is going on?” His brows furrowed.
“Well, I have a couple working theories.” You said with a shrug as you dropped to sit on the edge of the bed. “One is that you’ve been cloned. You know the American government, doing experiments with soldiers and not telling them.”
That one made Marc chuckle.
“Not a clone, baby.” He smirked. “But keep going.”
“Okay, good to know.” You nodded. “Second is that you’re just working.”
“That all?”
“Well there’s the idea that you’re cheating on me but…”
“But what?”
“But if that was true then I’d have to leave your ass and I don’t really want to do that. Which is why you’re gonna tell me right now if that’s the case or not.”
“And who would this mystery woman be?”
“Layla.” You shrugged.
“Layla?” His brows raised incredulously, almost insulted that you would say that.
“You have her favorite poet on your desk, Marc. You two constantly go off on little excavations and jobs. She’s cute, fiery, not afraid of challenge, just your type really. Not to mention, you’ve been pretty close since you met.”
“You know why we met.”
“Yeah but did you ever tell her? I bet she wouldn’t fuck you if she knew you killed her dad.”
“Wow.” His eyes went wide. “You had that one ready, didn’t you?”
“Well you’ve been gone for a while. I had some time to come up with some good ones.”
“Y’know what…” He pushed his tongue against his cheek with a small scoff, as if something just came to him. “Yeah.. Yeah, I’ve been sleeping with Layla. Every time I ‘go to work’ I’m just meeting with her.”
“Hmm, funny.” You offered a sarcastic expression. “Just tell me what’s really going on.”
“I just did.”
“And I don’t believe you.”
“Course you don’t.” He mumbled and ran a hand down his face.
“Wanna say that again?” You challenged sharply, daring to close the distance between you two. You glared up at him, ignoring the fact that the height difference made you less intimidating than you were aiming for, but you stuck to your guns. “Or do you want to say something else?”
“I love you.” He put his hands on your shoulders and turned you around. “But there’s the door.”
“You son of a bitch.” You twisted out of his grip and spun again to face him. “You don’t get to kick me out after you tell me you’re cheating.”
“You’re the one that said you’d walk out.” He shrugged.
“If you two shack up here, then I'm sure she has some clothes here. Bathroom products, maybe. Toothbrush? Hair brush? She’s gotta have some underwear here at least, right?” You kept pushing as you stepped deeper into the small apartment in an effort to mate Marc couldn’t throw you out.
“Y/N.” He sighed and followed after you.
“Just tell me the truth.” You stopped and spun quickly to face him, almost colliding with his chest as he was coming up behind you. “Because I’ve never felt so alone. These few weeks without you have been like my world is falling apart. It’s gut-wrenching to wake up without you. No calls, no texts, no little notes around my place…”
His heart twisted when he realized how much he had been hurting you.
“You’re right… I’m not cheating on you.” He admitted with a sigh as his eyes fell to the ground.
You breathed a small sigh of relief and reached out to take his hands in yours. His thumbs ran back and forth along the backs of your hands. You gave them a small squeeze and he managed to meet your eyes again.
“I… Jesus, this is gonna sound nuts.” He sighed.
“I'm listening, Marc.” You said softly.
“You won’t believe me.” He shook his head.
“I believe you love me. And I love you. I believe you thought you were being noble and protecting me, but I always feel safer and more protected when you’re with me. Just be honest and we can work it out.”
“I serve Khonshu.” He said suddenly, as if it was his only chance to get the words out. “He saved my life before I met you and my servitude is how I repay that debt.”
“Khonshu…” You repeated, an expression of uncertainty on your face. “Is that the Egyptian moon god that looks like a bird version of Jack Skelingtion?”
At that, he chuckled and it brought a small smile out of you.
“Pretty much.” He laughed and nodded.
“And Steven?”
“That’s a longer story.”
“So let’s go home. I’ll make some food and we can talk about it.”
“You sure?” He gave your interlocked hand a small pull so you were chest to chest. He guided your hands to rest on his shoulders while his found their place at your waist. “You’re about to find out how much of a trainwreck I really am.”
You shrugged slightly. “Good thing I’m in it for the long run. I’m gunning for your last name eventually so I better buckle up, huh?”
“God, I love you.” He grinned.
#marc spector moon knight#marc spector x you#marc spector x reader#marc x reader#mcu marc spector#marc spector fic#marc spector#marc x yn#marc x you#moonknight fic#moon knight x you#moon knight x reader#mcu moon knight#moon knight#moon knight request#moon knight x yn#moon knight fic#marc spector angst#steven grant
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Oh Chute // Bob Floyd
Summary: For some reason you’d never know, yours and Jake personal Heaven becomes a check point for the friends you left behind. One by one the Daggers come through on their way to their forever life after death.
Warnings: Mentions of death. Blunt force trauma. F-18 accident. Bob Floyd Angst.
Word Count: 2.5k
Author Note: This is a spin off Series to Bruises. Masterlist Tagged below.
Bruises Masterlist | Life After Death Masterlist
Name: Robert Floyd: Age: 36 Cause Of Death: Blunt Force Trauma sustained via fall.
***~***~***~***~****~***~***~**
“Where the hell am I?” Robert Floyd had no idea where the hell he was. One minute he was in the cockpit, sitting behind Phoenix like he had done for years, and then? He was in a field somewhere in the middle of nowhere. His head hurt, a lot. But when he came to with a mouth full of dirt he knew something had to be wrong. Very wrong.
“Oi.” Jake Seresin loved golden hour. It was his favorite time of the day. When the sun would kiss the horizon and leave a beautiful golden hume across the fields that seemed never ending. Rolling plains of green lush fields that were all his, all yours. Your own silence of paradise.
“Hotshot!” Jake snapped at the Boxer whose hair stuck up along his spine. His bark was just that, all bark and no bite. “I’m gonna get your vocal cords clipped if you don’t cut it out man.” It’s an empty threat that the Boxer dog has heard a billion times before—and it always seems to fall on deaf ears. Hotshot kept barking in the direction of where he’d sensed danger looming. “Dammit—!”
Jake stood from where he was crouching to fix the broken wire on the fence that bordered what he could only assume was another property. Someone else’s slice of heaven. He hadn’t ever seen what was beyond the rolling hills, but he didn’t care all that much. He already had everything he ever needed and more.
“Hello!? Is anyone here!?”
“Huh?” Jake frowned when he saw it, a figure dragging a parachute across the field in his direction. “Ain’t no way—“ Jake shook his head and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He pocketed the gloves he’d been wearing and took a few cautionary steps closer to the figure that grew closer and closer. Until he knew for sure who he was seeing:
“Floyd?” It comes out a little bit questionable and albeit hesitant because Jake isn’t sure why exactly he was seeing Bob on his property. “Bob? Is that you?” He calls out again. “Oh fuckk—this can’t be good.” Jake says that last part to himself, he knows that the only people here are already dead or figments of his imagination.
Bob freezes in his tracks, it had been a few years since he’d heard that unforgettable voice. It’s Jake, it’s Hangman. Bob can only just make out the blonde hair and the stupidly symmetrical physique, but regardless of the distance he knows it’s Jake Seresin. Oh crap. He’d fallen asleep before training hadn’t he? He was asleep in the red room right this very second, dreaming of a friend he lost not too many years back.
“Hangman! Oh my god! What are you doing here?” Bob asks all the while he’s back on track, walking towards Jake as he makes his way over. Hotshot is already a mile ahead and at Bob's feet in no time, wagging his tail and licking Bob's hand. A welcome fit for an old friend. “Hey buddy, hi!”
Like Jake said, all bark, no bite.
“Uh, I—“ Jake knows he should probably approach this conversation carefully. If Bobs here then there’s only one real explanation as to why. He’s dead. “I live here.” Jake rubs at the back of his head as he assesses Bob's reaction. There’s hardly a flinch. “This is my home man, and you’re a long way from yours.” It doesn’t make sense, why was Robert Floyd in Jake's own personal afterlife? He didn’t understand the lore as well as you but even this was making his brain itch. Surely you’d know why?
“What do you mean you live here?” Jake can see the confusion all over Bob's face when he finally does reply. He can also see the blood creeping out of his nose. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. “I just ejected, my chute got tangled—“ Jakes standing there with his arms crossed just waiting for the lightbulb to turn on. Bobs a smart guy, he should be able to connect the dots. “Hang on, you died.” Bob's frowning while he looks up at Jake once again. “You died years ago. Does that mean?”
“Dead doesn’t mean done Bob.” Jake just smiles, he still wasn’t sure why Bob was here or what happened to bring Bob here, but he was thankful to see an old friend. “You might of—“ Jake doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Bob is cutting him off. Nope. Nope this can’t be happening. Bobs not dead. He’s just asleep.
“I need to get back.” Bob just shakes his head in disbelief. “I uh—I’m dreaming, yeah.” It’s his way of processing what’s happening. “I’m dreaming, yeah, yeah no I fell asleep in the rec room didn’t I?” There’s a silence that lingers in the field while Jake just looks at his old colleague, god he didn’t look a day older than the last time Jake saw the WSO.
“Sure pal.” Jake just sighs while the two men hug for what feels like the first time in a lifetime. He can feel how fast Bob's heart is racing. “Why don’t you come up to the house? I’ll fix you something to drink.” It’s the only thing Jake can think of to help settle the clearly distressed soul. Bob nods, he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s tried to wake up a few times now but damn this dream really feels real.
“Jake, is this real?” Bob nearly sobs while the two men walk back up to Jake's truck. He’d driven up to the border fence a little while ago. “Am I dead?” Jake contemplates how to handle this situation, but he settles on a little humour to take the edge off. He always did love fucking with Bob.
“As a doorknob dude.” Jake chuckles softly all the while Bob just stands there in disbelief. “You probably hit the ground hard too.'' Jake can see the colour draining from Bob's face as he takes his helmet off in the passage's seat. It’s then he sees the blood pouring out of Bob's ears. Damn. The ground must have been really hard. Jake remembers that feeling all too well. The thud, the snow. But for Bob it must have been so much worse.
“Oh god.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***~**
“Honey!” You heard Jake's boots against the hardwood floor before you saw him. He’s got that all too familiar walk that lets you know it’s him. Not that it would ever be anyone else, but right now it did sound as if there were a few extra footsteps present. “You around?”
“I’m in the kitchen with Ellie!” You cooed back. Bouncing softly while you waited for your tea to steep. “She’s just gone down for a—“ Before you could even say that your daughter had just fallen asleep against your chest in her wrap, you were rendered speechless by the scared silhouette behind your husband. “Bob?”
“Hollywood?” Bob was in more shock than you were. “Oh okay yeah now I’m definitely dreaming.” He steps past Jake and into the kitchen to give you a hug that was all too welcomed. You send your husband a frown of concern over the WSO’s shoulder and Jake confirms what you think you already know.
Robert Floyd was dead. He’d recently died or was dying as you spoke and he was in denial about it.
“Uh—Bob honey I’d say it’s good to see you but I don’t think you belong here.” You cooed with a soft expression plastered across your face. As much as you loved seeing an old friend you knew for certain that if Bob was dead he needed to get to his own forever home before he got stuck between the land of the living and the land of the dead. “What happened? What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I’ll get you a drink man.” Jake adds all the while you and Bob sit down at the dining table in the kitchen. He finishes making you your cup of tea while he listens to Bob explain the last thing he remembered before he was waking up in the middle of Jake's back paddock.
“It was just a simple training session.” Perhaps the denial was beginning to wear off, you could see how shaky Bob's hands were while he played with his cuticles and looked around the kitchen. “Something was wrong with our altitude gauge, Phoenix couldn’t keep the nose and before I knew it we were punching out.” It all happened so fast. “I pulled my chute.” Bob explained all the while his heart began to race as realisation set it. “But it wouldn’t untangle—“ Your heart just broke, Jakes too. He couldn’t imagine free falling from the sky like that—even though he kinda did. “I think I hit the ground before I could pull my secondary.”
“Bob, do you know where you are?” It was the softness in your voice and the love you held in your eyes that made Jake fall a little more in love with you. He did everyday. Not a day went by where he didn’t fall more in love with you. “Do you hear anything? See anyone?”
When you had died, all you could hear was Jake begging you to stay. The sunset was so beautiful and the homestead was so peaceful and nothing seemed to hurt, you just couldn’t stay. As much as it pained you to turn your back on the faded image of the love of your giving you CPR, you had to see what was inside the home you now shared with that very same man. He’d come racing up the driveway not a few months later.
“I think I’m in a hospital somewhere?” Bob could hear a beeping sound, like a heart monitor reading his pulse. “I don’t remember it hurting, dying that is.” Bob let his chin fall as Jake handed him a glass of water, remembering that the weapons system office didn’t drink in life so he probably wouldn’t in death. “We all missed you, both of you, so much.” It was a beautiful thing to hear, even after all this time. You knew Jake missed his friends and hoped they understood why he did what he did. He had to be with you. If he couldn’t in life then death would have to do.
“For what it’s worth?” You looked to your husband with an all knowing smile before you rubbed your thumb on Bob's hand to sooth his worried soul. “We know, but we’ve been happy this whole time.”
“I understand why you both did it, you know.” Bob added as he sniffed. “Rooster was so mad for so long but I always understood.” It made Jake's heart sink into his stomach, but hopefully he’d get the chance to say he was sorry one day. “Am I really dead?”
“I’m sorry Bob.” You didn’t know what else to say. “If you wanna come into my office with me I can probably help you figure out where you’re supposed to go from here?” You offered. “I’m not even really sure why you’re here and as much as I’ve really enjoyed getting to see you again, but, you can’t stay.”
“Where do I go then?” Bob asked softly and all the more confused. “I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“What’s your perfect world man?” Jake asked as he leaned back on the kitchen countertop. He had his, you were all Jake Seresin ever needed. “Your idea of heaven? Your forever home?” Your little girl was his forever dream. “Surely there’s something—“
Robert Floyd was silent for a moment, he thought about where he’d want to spend the rest of his forever life.
“I had this old drum set when I was a teenager.” You caught the glint in Bob's eye, he could hear the music playing. “My dad owned this old instrument shop that had pretty much everything you ever needed in it, drums, electric guitars, pianos, even clarinets.”
“If that’s where you wanna go Bob then I’m sure that’s where you’ll end up once you step outside our door.” You could see the gears turning in your husband's mind, he was trying to figure out why Bob was even here. It was so random, so out of the blue. Were all his friends going to come through one at a time? Was this how things worked? Did they all miss him so much they couldn’t pass on without saying goodbye?
“I’m not ready to go yet.” It was as genuine as ever. Bob was just scared, he didn’t know how to feel or what to say. All he knew was that he just needed a minute to figure out if this was real or if he’d just fallen asleep in the rec room. “Could I maybe just sit here for a while?”
“Yeah Bob.” Oh how you’d missed your friends, the people who cared the most. “Yeah, take all the time you need.”
“You can go, if you want—“ It was the softest of voices, the most calming of lullabies. Bob could hear her right in his ear. “I’m right here, you aren’t alone, so if you need to go, you go, okay?” Phoenix cried as Bob turned around in his chair to look over his shoulder. He saw the image clear as day. He was in a hospital room being kept alive by machines and tubes.
“Who is it?” You asked as Bob saw his final moments play out right before him. He never wanted that, to end up on life support. Bob had always told the people who mattered most to him to pull the plug if he ever got to that point. Phoenix must have listened.
“It’s okay, you go, say hi to Hangman and Hollywood for me.”
“Nix—“ Bob smiled at the thought of his front seater. He hoped wherever his heaven was that hers wouldn’t be far away. “She says to say hi.”
It felt all too real when you looked over to your husband. These were his people more so than they ever were yours. He’d known them for years and left them all without saying goodbye. Now was his chance.
“I really did miss you Bob.” Jake sighed as he walked across the kitchen with heavy steps. His hand came to rest on the WSO’s shoulder, bringing a comfort Bob didn’t know he’d missed so much. Jake loved you so much, that was clear to everyone who knew him once he lost you. For some it was easier to accept than others. Bob only hoped that if Rooster got a chance to stop by on his journey into the forever that he wouldn’t hold his grudge. “But I couldn’t say, every breath I took since she left felt like such a waste on me.”
Bob looked at you, and then looked back up at Jake. The blood from his ears had begun to fade. There was no more pain. Bob was simply Bob. And he could hear the drums as clear as day just outside the front door. It was his time to go.
“I’m just glad that you guys got your happily ever after.” Bob chuckled to himself. “Even if it was in death.”
***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***
Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai i @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989 @phoenix1388 @emma8895eb @tsofo26 @itsmytimetoodream @angelbabyange
#bruises // jake seresin#life after death //#robert bob floyd#bob floyd angst#Robert Floyd top gun#top gun fandom#top gun fanfiction
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resending just in case the first didnt send due to my wifi cutting off right as i sent it 🙄:
how would the brothers react to an mc who comes from a family where twins, triplets, quadruplets n other sets of multiples are common ? like, their mother is a twin, their father is a triplet, most of their siblings are twins or triplets, the mc even has a twin themselves
i just wanna see how the brothers react to visiting the mcs family n seeing 9 different ppl have look the same cause theres 3 separate sets of triplets in the family
Hi there!
I did get your previous ask, but I decided to answer this one, so I will just delete the other one :)
Okay, this was certainly interesting to think about and the consensus is mostly that they're all confused lol.
Thanks for the request!
the brothers react to GN!MC having a family full of twins, triplets, etc
Warnings: none!
Lucifer
Great. There are more of you. Just how many of you are there, MC? Are these your clones? It must be some magic spell gone wrong. That's the only explanation.
Lucifer demands answers. Explain what is going on. Once you've told him about all the twins and triplets in your family, he's trying to figure out how this is even possible. He always thought such things were rare, but here you all are.
He tries to keep everybody's name straight, but he messes up sometimes. It's not from lack of trying. Actually keeps a little notebook with a list of everybody's name in an attempt to keep track of them. This doesn't really work all that well when everyone looks the same, though.
He never confuses you for one of your family members. No, he knows which one of you belongs to him.
Mammon
He is immediately flustered. How is he supposed to act around all these slightly different versions of you? They all remind him of you, but they're not quite you and he's so confused.
Since we all know he has feelings for you, being around so many people that look like you makes him nervous. He has to try even harder not to give himself away. Pretty much just constantly blushing.
Please stay by his side, MC. He doesn't want to lose track of ya. Not that he would ever mistake anyone else for you, but it's just hard for him to find you again if you go too far.
Mammon likes your family just fine, but being around them all is kiiiind of stressful. Doesn't remember anyone's name. Uses yours almost every time even though he knows he's not talking to you. It just comes out, he can't help it!
Leviathan
Oh! This is just like that one manga called Everyone In My Family is a Twin or Triplet So I Moved Far Away Where No One Would Recognize Me and Ended Up Falling in Love with a Demon Lord! That's almost your exact scenario, MC! You're living a real life manga storyline!
He's not too terrible at remembering who is who, but he's not really great at it, either. He certainly never gets you confused with anybody, but everybody else kind of blends together a bit.
If you've got any family members that have similar interests to him, Levi will get all their names correct every time. This helps him to keep everybody else straight, too.
He's fascinated by your family of look-a-likes, but he definitely thinks you're the best version. He might try to actually say that to you, too, but he's going to be blushing like crazy while he does.
Satan
He's never seen this many twins, triplets, and quadruplets before. He's going to ask a ton of questions. He wants to know how this is even possible.
-Tell him you understand the science behind it, MC, because it's fascinating. If you don't know the specifics of how the genetics of such things work, he's going to read a bunch of books about it as soon as he gets home.
He gets everybody's name right. He never mixes anybody up or confuses anybody for anybody else. How he manages to do this is a mystery to everyone, even you. It likely has to do with his ability to retain details.
Since he's capable of keeping everybody straight, your family loves him. It's nice to finally have someone who doesn't get you all confused all the time. He's a little baffled because to him it's not a big deal.
Asmodeus
He has so many ideas. Please, he just has to have a fashion show or photo shoot with all your lovely family members! He's always wanted a crew of models that are just as lovely as you!
Another one who never gets anybody mixed up. Asmo is able to do this because he's a social butterfly and somehow connects everyone's appearance to their qualities and interests. He's just good at it, you know?
He wants to do everybody's hair and paint everybody's nails and any one of your family members who agree will find themselves looking fabulous in no time.
But don't worry. He will make sure to pay extra special attention to you. He's in love with your entire family, of course. How could he not be especially when they all look like you? But you'll always be his favorite, MC.
Beelzebub
Hey. You have a twin, too? Do you guys have twin telepathy like him and Belphie? He's going to have a lot of questions for your twin specifically because he knows what it's like to be one.
Of course, he doesn't look exactly like his twin and that part's a little confusing. Also, MC, do you realize that all of your family members look the same? What's going on with that?
You'll have to explain who is twins, triplets, or quadruplets with who. He'll try to keep them all straight, he really will. But his success rate is kinda low. Gets most of them mixed up with each other.
He never gets you or your twin mixed up with anyone else, though. He gets that, so it's easier for him to understand. Thinks of your twin as "MC's Belphie" forever after.
Belphegor
Okay. He obviously knows about the twin life, but this is kinda overdoing it, don't you think? He knows your family isn't like this on purpose (at least he doesn't think so), but wow. It's kinda chaotic.
Surprisingly good at keeping everybody straight. He doesn't try too hard and he still messes up, but he's better at it than some of the others.
He also wants to know if you have twin telepathy. What about the triplets and quadruplets? Do they have it, too? He imagines that having quadruplet telepathy would be pretty noisy.
In the end, he likes your family fine, but he prefers you. Content to just sit beside you while you interact with your many family members. Probably falls asleep on your shoulder as you do so. Sorry, MC, but your family kinda tires him out.
masterlist | Thank you for reading!
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me nightbringer#obey me headcanons#obey me fanfiction#obey me fanfic#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#obey me brothers#request#misc writes
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The Master And Margarita Jacket
(Matthew Sweet’s Doctor Who version…but with a frisson of Bulgakov’s)
It’s done! With every bit of unphotographical glittery metallic paint that I can’t capture on camera even if my iphone skills weren’t rubbish.
@spoonietimelordy, @rearranging-deck-chairs, @bearinabandana and everyone else who Did The Reading of that one ‘I Am The Master’ novel but I’ve forgotten to tag because i’m so sleep deprived i can’t think any more but hopefully other people will, assemble!
Detailed closeups and explanations (with some spoilers) below:
Starting front top right side (face on).
-Margarita herself, biting a mushroom. A more Cockatoo beak than Macaw, with red face instead of white, to make what exactly she is more mysterious.
-The Master Who logo here is just gold, any shading didn’t look right when it was so thin.
Front top right pocket. Purple, of course.
-Next section down are these three. The ‘Never Stop Growing’ patch is my second favourite patch of the bunch. So many Master Themes, and plot relevant.
-Then the little ‘Best Buds’ with the heart in the middle. I was inordinately proud of that idea. (Buds, budding, bigenerated vibe).
-And then ‘Obscene Lotus’. That’s mentioned early in the book, and while it’s just described as a big purplish lotus, there’s so much sexual charging in that scene that, well, you gotta.
Me, reusing the ‘budding’ pun in a different capacity? It’s more likely than you think.
-The cover of the Penguin Clothbound Classic version of the original The Master And Margarita, that took multiple days to complete and so much agony.
-The patch is a blank one that I bought, then painted the design to look like one of those stamps people sometimes put in books. Painted the border the same colour, then tea-stained it to look like old paper. Certainly in real life the colour comes out nicely. I couldn’t find his autograph (and sadly there’s an unrelated artist with the same name lol) but he got his doctorate in Wilkie Collins so I just looked up examples of that guy’s writing and tried to give it a bit of that vibe. Hopefully it’s the thought that counts. But hey, if anyone ever meets him and gets me a signature sample I can just redo it.
General mushroom patch - I like the fire kind of vibe and the looming.
To the other side!
So. You’re asking what’s with the daisy theme. Fair. So Margarita is also another name for a daisy in some languages. I choose to lean into that because it’s also the widely known symbol of Three - with that scene where he talks to Jo and recounts how a hermit living on a mountain helped dispel his depression by getting him to focus on the beauty of the flower (“and it was the most daisiest daisy”). Given that Three is essentially a character in the book, this felt like the vibe we’re going for. It’s perennial. It also is a healer of bruises and wounds, how can that not be relevant meta wise too to the Master’s new companion, hm? And okay yes, Mikhail does say he’s not a botanist, but if you can think of another way to get that message across other than botanical illustration page…
I like the patch because lightbulb, idea, full of mushrooms etc.
-‘I Am The Master’ being the name of the book the story is contained in, plus Fun With Identity.
-Next the one bit of Real Art that I attempted to copy in glittery acrylics - Magritte’s ‘The Treachery Of Images’ or more commonly known ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. The story not only of the Master’s experiences recently, but the story’s themes of hallucinations and deceptions; as well as being the symbol of Russian!Brigadier.
-This patch is great isn’t it? A play on the Master’s apparent alcoholism or Russian blending in as you prefer, and of course, The Lighthouse of Martin!Doctor fame.
-Mikhail’s guitar for playing Brown Sugar and other ominous inference songs.
-The formula triangle of Love, Food, and Music (I couldn’t think of a self-evident way to show his approach to food - Russian dumplings are, well, not exactly distinct). On its side so the glittery pink triangle points in a certain direction because he’s escaped places and I can do ominous inferences too Sweet.
-Maybe controversial? There is a failed love story component in here though, that I just couldn’t leave unmarked. The Doctor, K’vo, and Jo all have their parts to play in that.
Now for the arms:
Here’s the right-side looking-on arm.
-I repainted this mushroom patch to be the orange and green of K’vo’s.
-You’ve already seen the long image of it above, so here’s just a snippet closeup of the motif that goes along both arms. Daisies linked in a chain with the words ‘daisiest daisy’ (if you wonder why everything’s outlined by the way, a) i like the style, and b) it makes glitter infinitely more legible and clearer to see if there’s a dark matt border around it breaking it up, especially with something as variable coloured as denim). There’s the sunflower in the middle because Margarita loves her sunflower seeds.
This is the other arm. Margarita holding a margarita in a margarita. What’s more to add? I used my shittest white (mixed with my fabric medium as everything else has been at every step) rather than @yesokayiknow’s excellent suggestion of Liquitex, which has saved me everywhere else, including those light patches. But here shitty kids basics acrylic is translucent enough to do some excellent work pretending to be glass and ice. The parrot patch has been altered to make the beak entirely black and her face red instead of macaw white, to keep her species ambiguous as literary theme demands.
To the back!
This Master Who logo is bigger, so it has the Master’s purple highlights like bruising.
Here is a small UNIT patch I modified to be a Russian one, globe focused on their continent (roughly). Sweet just translated the word ‘unit’ for Russian!Brigadier’s group, and the text is the re-cyrilliced version of that.
Skipping to the bottom…
Here referencing O’s collection of Doctor Information, Sweet adding to that with having distinct scrapbooks. ‘Manuscripts Don’t Burn’ is a line from Bulgakov’s The Master And Margarita (spoken by Satan in fact, mhmm) and became something of a rallying cry for oppressed Russian artists. I have ‘Author Unknown’ for the obvious meta with his and the Doctor’s memories, and likewise, the fact that flames are clearly present and burning lets the viewer come to whatever conclusion they like. #133 was chosen for the simple fact that in my copy of Bulgakov’s novel, and the one depicted on the front of the jacket, it is page 133 which starts the chapter The Hero Enters, where we meet The Master who has renounced all other names (who is very much, as Interference notes, the Doctor). They are glitter paint titles done on Hemline repair patches, black, brown, white, and navy blue. I know anything too painty on that area of the back will risk a lot of wear, and these are easily replaced when necessary (if still hours of lettering).
To the left most side…
This was the most expensive patch I bought, £12. But worth it. The mushroom stalk is silk.
Here I depicted in silhouette the scene of the Master climbing up to the Doctor on the giant mushroom. I chose silhouette so as not to draw the eye too much. I also added some 2ply black-black glitter cotton as part of his climbing equipment, attached on by some silver stitches for the…things I can’t remember the name of. It gives it a bit more 3D effect, but also keeps the thread close enough it shouldn’t pull on anything.
And at its base we have a reference to Mikhail’s chosen middle name. I chose to believe it’s relevant, Sweet’s too deep into this for it not to be. This is a cover I edited to highlight the namesake who actually travelled Russia and collected the tales of this book, and indeed, it does include the story of Koschei The Deathless. I edited the robe to be red instead of its original yellow, and added the quintessential Time Lord collar. But I think it’s perfectly passable. This is iron on transfer paper (dark) onto a very light grey polycotton to turn it into a patch. It…*cough* hasn’t had its edges finished or strictly been attached yet, but that’s a bit of handwork I can do as and when.
So finally back up to the middle
I’ve expanded out @spoonlesss-artbook fantastic angel-winged Margarita’s Master art. The Redbubble bag was only that big as it was (hemmed with bostik fabric glue like a true pro and attached as a panel) so it cut off a little, and it didn’t go the whole way anyway, so now we get some endings of the feathers, some all the way up to the arm of the jacket. I tried to blend it into the fire, one creature of both. And trying to get a multidimensional feel, boundary breaking. And again, very glittery irl so plays very well with the fire theme. It was fun when it came to colour-matching particularly the blue wing at the top, because the glitter gives it a bit of a sheen. I blunted it with a few careful washes of black so it still sparkles but is the right colour in most angles.
The Redbubble edit cuts @spoonietimelordy’s signature, so I copied it from the original and moved it over to the left side in some sparkly silver. Also internet doxxing my real life self on the bottom of the back as my own signature.
Doesn’t look like the sort of thing that would take weeks when you see it all together, but I’m really happy with it. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s shown their brilliant art to me and shared posts about painting all these years, cus it allowed me to absorb stuff and let me come out of the gate swinging! It feels thoroughly addictive. Even if I only know ‘use tiny brush’ for almost everything and glitter metallic is great for hiding sins. (And a ‘Ha!’ in the face of my mother keeping me away from it my whole life because of mess - I never got even a single speck on any clothes that wasn’t this jacket. I could’ve been doing this for years rather than just picking up a brush at the age of thirty-damn-one. But at least I’ve got it now).
And thanks to Matthew Sweet for feeding the worms in my brain too.
#the master and margarita#i am the master#matthew sweet#doctor who#dw fanart#the master#dhawan!master#jacket painting#mine#:)#(and you never ask a gentleman how much his patches cost)
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I found myself thinking of Jekyll today and wondering if it causes him physical pain to have to fake a smile. To what extent is Henry Jekyll, pleasant doctor and sophisticated upperclass gentleman a painful mask he has to wear and does the discomfort ever feel physical?
I was at the local aquarium today (this is the perfect time of year to go because it's open but there are no tourists so it's never crowded and admission is cheap) hanging out and doodling on one of the benches while I watched the fish. I had on headphones to listen to an audio book and to provide a buffer between myself and anyone who might try to talk to me and I had been looking forward to relaxing for a couple of hours when a family walked up and the father waved his hand in front of my face to get my attention. The minute they started asking me questions about what I was drawing I was filled with what I can only describe as intense dismay.
Obviously the family being present isn't in of itself an issue, it's a public aquarium, it's aimed at families and parts of the aquarium are geared specifically at children, but the family noticed me drawing and stopped to talk to me.
I reiterate that this was not something they did wrong, they were just being friendly, but I was really not prepared to have a conversation and I found the whole ordeal to be...well an ordeal. They were interested in what I was drawing (a sketch of Henry Jekyll because he's been on my mind off and on) and just the thought of having to explain who this character was, hoping they got it, and having to potentially explain why I was drawing him felt overwhelming.
And it was, they did not know who Henry Jekyll was, they were vaguely aware of Jekyll and Hyde but weren't the type of people to read classic literature and had never heard of the musical or actually seen for themselves any movies featuring the character. The mom commented that he looks like "a Disney villain from back in the 90s" which...fair assessment, I can't pretend I don't see why she would have thought that. The older kid was probably the most interested and wanted to see more of my drawings which made me really uncomfortable but I let him look through my sketchbook anyway because his parents kept saying he was interested in drawing and he loves art and I felt too anxious to say no.
I made small talk with the parents for a while, all the usual, "what's your name, where you from, what's your job?" (I hate those questions, they are usually the least interesting things about any people, myself included) and I wondered if this is what Henry does on a regular day. Has ordinary conversations with reasonably nice people and feel completely like a fish out of water the whole time. I felt pretty terrible about it too, I didn't have any hard feelings or resentment but the whole time I was thinking "Stop touching my things, go away, please fucking leave so I can get back to my audio book and my drawing. I just wanted to sit with the fish for a few hours because it's supposed to be quiet here this time of year."
No one ever seems to catch on that physically talking to people is an effort for me. I've gone my whole life and no one has ever noticed that I'm anxious or uncomfortable in situations where I have to speak out loud because I've gotten good at faking small talk and I know how to make my voice sound pleasant.
It's strange because I express myself easily enough in writing and I like messaging with people over text but the minute I have to be verbal with people I don't know I feel like I'm putting on an immense effort. I have to consciously choose a tone, figure out what words I want to say, be ready with an explanation in case I'm asked questions and I have to do all of it in real time on the spot. It feels like improve, like I'm constantly doing an improve routine and I know most people would say "Just be yourself!"
But myself doesn't want to be doing this at all. Myself wants to be drawing and looking at fish. Even as a child I was never very social, I liked to doodle or daydream or build with my lego sets. I got reprimanded a lot for being too quiet. So I made myself more talkative and learned how to hold conversations. I learned to blend in but it's so tiring at times and I can swear when it's at its worst it feels almost physical. The discomfort becomes a suffocating "texture" on my skin and in my brain and I have to keep pretending like I don't notice it because every time I try to articulate how I feel people don't understand it. It's just not a thing they experience.
So I just keep "acting normal," and wonder if there's something wrong with me, like I'm operating on a different frequency from the people around me and I'm the only one on that frequency so other people don't even know it exists. It's...incredibly isolating at times. Even my partner doesn't seem to hear the world as loud as I do or experience the "texture" it's just a strange THING that I'm stuck with by myself.
I wonder if it was the same for Henry Jekyll? Except instead being of too quiet he was too loud, too boisterous, threw tantrums, didn't know when to stop rambling about anatomy and weird gross medical facts. So he learned how to cover it and move through life pretending to be interested in everyone else but keenly aware they could never share his interests because his favorite subjects were too grisly and if he started talking about diseases he'd put everyone off.
I head-canon Jekyll loves what he does, but he doesn't love it for reasons a doctor should, he doesn't care that much about healing the sick, he cares about conquering illnesses, he likes to learn about symptoms, he enjoys the disgusting viscera of his work. But he can't let on that this is what he enjoys about his work because that's not noble or heroic, it's something most people would find creepy of him. So he buries it and pretends he cares about curing the sick. He pretends he enjoys talking to people who don't know anything about who he is or what he does but they think they do because they are aware of doctors and understand that medicine exists. All the time he loathes it, it exhausts him and he can't even indulge in activities he enjoys to blow of steam because he enjoys things like brawling, doing drugs, and fucking. All things a man of his status shouldn't be seen doing. There's an image people associate with Henry Jekyll and it's an image he can't afford to tarnish...
but it's not really HIS image, it's just a buffer he keeps up to make himself more palatable. I wonder if that ever hurts him physically, if the mask ever feels like a "texture" muffling him.
there are times when I feel like it's no wonder he wasn't repulsed by Hyde when he first saw his reflection. Because I can only imagine by the time Hyde showed up he was already completely burnt out on being Jekyll.
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2 am
Joe Liebgott x reader
A/N: (this is written for the fictional depictions from the show - no disrespect to the real life veterans!)
This fic idea has been banging around in my head for a solid year now, but for some reason I'm only just now writing it. Oops. The title comes from "2am" by Foals. Thanks for reading, and I hope that you enjoy!
Warnings: alcohol, mentions of the Holocaust, language (one f-bomb and that's it)
For the middle of summer, the night air is cool against your warm cheeks when you stumble out of the hotel lobby, arms slung around the necks of your friends as the three of you lean into each other for support and guidance as you make your way to the curb. The three of you are still laughing at some joke that Luz made back inside when the cab pulls up.
“Here you go.” Careful not to lose his grip on you, Luz opens the back door of the cab and guides you towards the back seat.
You really should be getting back to your hotel, but you don’t want this night to end. And who would, after all the fun you’ve been having with your old friends? It’s nice to see them again, to catch up with them, like you’re finally getting to know them without the constant threat of German artillery fire looming over your heads.
“I’ll take the next one,” you protest.
This makes Babe laugh. “Nope. Drunkest person needs to get home first. We gotta make sure you get in the cab before you pass out.”
You fix your old friend with the best intimidating look that you can manage in your current condition. “You drank way more than me, Heffron.”
Babe chuckles. “But I can actually hold my liquor.”
Well, touché. You can’t argue with that one.
“Can you make it home okay?” Luz asks.
“I’ll be fine,” you promise. After all, you’re not nearly as drunk as they seem to think that you are . . . At least, you don’t think you are.
As if he can see your thought process, Luz laughs. “I’ll swing by tomorrow morning to make sure that you’re still alive.”
Your friends close the door of the cab then. Babe taps the glass of the window twice to signal to the driver that you’re ready to go. On cue, the car pulls forward, slowly pulling out of the hotel’s drive. Only when it nears the exit of the parking lot does your driver finally ask his question.
“Where to?” A voice with a familiar raspy quality wants to know.
The sound is enough to make you freeze, your breath stuck in your throat. Maybe you are drunk. Yes, that must be it – the alcohol making you hear what you want to hear, using some wild manifestation of your subconscious desires. Because you haven’t heard that voice in years. You haven’t seen its owner in just as many. And you certainly didn’t expect to run into him here, of all places.
Your eyes jump to the rear-view mirror. A lump the size of a golf ball appears in your throat. Because even in the faded light of the late summer night, there can be no mistake as to who is staring back at you, waiting expectantly for your answer. Even after all these years, even though you can only see his eyes, you would recognize him anywhere.
“Joe?” Somehow, the words manage to push past the lump in your throat, echoing through the car in the silence that has fallen.
Click-click, click-click. The turn signal methodically keeps time, a metronome as your fellow paratrooper waits for a reply. Though you still haven’t said anything, he takes a right out of the parking lot and eases onto the road.
“Guy behind us was looking impatient,” he says by way of explanation.
It’s Joe Liebgott, you can tell. From the voice, the eyes, the way he tensed when you said his name. Would he have reacted that way if anyone else had said it? Or is it only because of you and the things that happened between the two of you so long ago?
The car is moving and you probably shouldn’t, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, trying to get a better look at him. He’s so close – closer than you ever thought he would be – but he seems unreal and worlds away, like a dream that you can almost, but not quite, reach.
“Is it really you?” You whisper.
Joe sighs, a familiar sound. “Yeah, (Y/N). It’s me.”
“San Fransisco,” you remember aloud, some far away memory of some offhand comment that he once made to someone filtering into your memory. “You always said that you would come back here.”
He only nods. Your heart thuds in your chest. There’s so much to say, to ask, yet it feels like you’re running out of time for it all.
“And now you’re here,” Joe finally says. “With . . . them.”
It takes your brain a second to work out that he means Luz and Babe. Two of the many members of Easy Company who came to the reunion this year. Unlike some people.
“You didn’t come to the reunion.”
“No.” He makes a noise that might be a laugh. “Kind of defeats the purpose when you’re trying to leave the war behind you.”
Leave the war behind you. A slap in the face would have hurt less. Is that why he stopped calling you? Stopped answering your letters? You met during the war, during boot camp, and made it through the whole thing together – from Georgia to the Eagle’s Nest. You had been under the impression that you could make it back to the States . . . Well, at least now you know that Joe had different ideas.
“Then why are you here?” You ask. It’s a fair enough question; Easy Company reunions always generate a lot of attention. Joe happening to be outside of the hotel that was hosting this year’s reunion can’t be a coincidence, can it?
His silence is all the answer that you need.
“You showed up, but you didn’t come inside. Why?” Before he can answer, you add, “And don’t say the thing about leaving it all behind you again. I got that part, okay?”
You can hear Joe’s mouth shut with a click. You hadn’t meant to snap the last part at him. But seeing him here . . . All the anger, the sadness, anything you ever felt about or towards Joe Liebgott that you’ve spent years repressing is now rising to the surface.
“I think you know why,” Joe mutters.
No! You want to snap. No, I don’t understand how you could have left me hanging like that, after all that we went through together, all that we meant to each other.
“I – “ He clears his throat, shakes his head. “I was only hoping to see you. Just . . . I don’t know. I thought that would be enough, if I saw you. I never expected you to get into my cab.”
“And now I’m here.”
“Now you’re here.”
Thankfully the darkness of the night hides your faces from each other. In the solitude it provides, you can feel warmth bubbling and spilling over your eyelids, leaving glossy trails down your cheeks that shimmer gold in the passing streetlights. When it was clear that Joe was done with you, you had decided to leave him and your affections towards him behind. Clearly a part of you never quite let go. That much is clear to you now, as tears escape you without your permission.
Still driving, Joe glances up at the rear-view mirror, catching your eye. Your teary eyes. You can hear the frown in his voice.
“(Y/N)?”
“You left me behind,” you whisper.
For a moment, more silence. Then, “I know. And you know what? It was the stupidest decision that I ever made.”
Yes, it was. For a while, having loved him, having trusted him, felt like the stupidest decision that you ever made. It seems so terribly silly and childish to be sitting behind the man you once loved wholeheartedly – the man who broke your heart – and to wish for nothing more than for the two of you to go back to the way that you once were.
Second times the charm? Or should you follow a policy of “fool me once”?
“I want to go home,” you say. “Can you take me home? Please?”
Joe nods. “Where to?”
You give him the name of the hotel that you’re staying in. The cab fills with the rhythmic click-click, click-click of the blinker as Joe changes lanes, easing the car onto the exit and then navigating onto the quickest route like a master. There are several times when you hear him draw a breath as if to speak, but he never says anything. You keep quiet, allowing him the silence to concentrate on his driving.
Say something! Part of your brain – or is it your heart? – demands. You never expected to see him again, and now the chance is here. The destination is fast approaching, and then what will you do? If only you don’t squander it, this could be your chance to say all the things that have plagued you for years.
The cab slows as Joe sidles up to the hotel. Warm light from the lobby spills out the door and into the back of the cab, beckoning you into its safety. However, something stronger in the front of the cab keeps you firmly in place.
“I can’t sleep alone. Not again.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you’ve even had the chance to register them in your mind.
For the first time since you got into the cab, Joe turns to face you so that you can look at each other head-on. He frowns.
You rush on. “Do you remember Austria? After we liberated that camp, I never thought that I would sleep again. I only got rest because you were willing to flaunt the fraternization policy to come hold me, keep me safe.”
“I remember.”
“I think about that, sometimes,” you admit. You probably shouldn’t have told him that, given him that power over you. But who doesn’t regret the things they say at 2 a.m.?
Joe pushes a sigh, long and hard, through his nose. “Fuck.” He adjusts his position so that he’s leaning further back into the cab, closer to you. Through the darkness, you can see the conflict so clearly on his face, with his wrinkled brow, his frown. It’s so familiar.
“I’m sorry,” Joe says. “I really . . . I was stupid. You deserved better than that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought that I was sparing you.”
“From what?”
“All my pain. My anger.”
“You don’t think I have that, too?”
Joe blinks, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. When your boyfriend should have been helping you through those things, you had to rely on your old friends from the company instead. You would have helped him through his struggle, if he had only let you.
Then again, Joe Liebgott always had trouble asking for and admitting when he needed help.
“Park the car, Joe,” you say. “No, not here. In one of the parking spots.”
“Why?” Joe asks, even though he’s already pulling into a parking spot – he gets it perfect on the first try, effortlessly.
“Because,” you say. “You’re done driving for the night. You’re coming up to my hotel room and we’re finally going to talk.”
Joe kills the engine, but he doesn’t move from his seat. For a moment he stares at you, like he isn’t sure if this is real, or if he should. He must make up his mind because he nods, gets out of the car, and comes around to open your door for you. In the old days, he would have smirked at you, given you some pick-up line to hear you laugh. Now, he watches you with reserve.
Maybe this is a mistake. But if either of you really feels that what happened was a mistake, then there’s the possibility that it can be fixed, even after all these years. Not in one night, but it will be a start. Tonight, you can do something for Joe that people so often forget that he needs – show him some understanding, some compassion. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to reignite the light that once existed between you again.
#band of brothers#band of brothers fanfic#band of brothers imagine#joe liebgott#joe liebgott x reader#joseph liebgott#joseph liebgott x reader#my writing#hbo war fanfic#hbo war
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ML Fanfic Recs for 2023: 80K - 125K Words
So I’ve been going through and adding particularly good fics I’ve read throughout the year. Only Complete fics, of course. Enjoy!
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Tell Me Why You Love Me by @linnieluna
“Anyway, that piece of paper contains the name of this texting app. It’s completely anonymous, so you can download it, make your account with no attachments to your personal life, and communicate with me outside our suits. I included my username on the paper, too, so you can add me once you’re done."
Her partner skimmed through the words on the paper and nodded his head. “Brilliant as always, M’lady. I’m surprised we didn’t figure this out sooner within our superhero careers.”
“Yeah, it would’ve been nice to have this before, but hey, better late than never. Make sure not to have your phone screen on the messages if you’re going to leave it somewhere. We don’t want anyone reading our texts. Also, this is for emergencies only. No jokes or puns. I can only deal with you for so long.”
“I don’t know if I can agree to that last one,” he said.
Now 22 and working full-time, Marinette and Adrien seem to be getting busier and busier, which means fewer opportunities to keep track of akumas and show up on time. With the idea of using a messaging app to communicate with each other without revealing their identities, their lives immediately grew to be easier... until it wasn't.
This starts off as a mostly slice-of-life fluff fic, but about halfway through things turn dramatic when Monarch learns some things he really shouldn’t and takes action. I had a lot of fun with it as it was coming out, it’s worth a read.
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Kwami Magi Homura Magica by Crossoverpairinglover
After eighty-four loops in time, Homura Akemi takes a new path to Paris to save her friends.
The sixty-third loop after that, Homura arrived at the Agreste Mansion.
After clash after clash with the heroes of Paris and its greatest menace, events have reached a tipping point.
Ladybug faces someone verging on a second wish, a wish that endangers space and time to save a friend.
This was an absolutely AMAZING story that crossoverpairinglover dropped out of NOWHERE. Seriously, if you like Puella Magi Madoka Magica and Miraculous Ladybug, this is a real treat - but be prepared to sit down and binge, because it’s over 100,000 words and only has three chapters.
Anyway, I adore the care that’s taken with going through Homura’s mindset here, she gets a lot of character focus. And the lore! There’s some good explanations here for the history behind kwamis and Incubators’ interactions, and the Order of the Guardians normally treats Magical Girls, and why the Incubators are wrong in their assessment of the universe needing more energy to stave off entropy (hint: it involves Plagg), and just... there was a lot of love put into this.
And the action! Most Miraculous fics don’t have much in the way of fight scenes, and what they do have is mostly just functional. This is one of the rare exceptions. There’s some really long, detailed fight scenes in this (roughly the entire second half of the second chapter has one between Ladybug and Homura), which are a treat to read!
We also get some glimpses into a variety of other universes here, other timelines, alternate ways things could have gone down - I’m especially partial to the rather detailed view we get of one where Homura sent a message asking for help to the Ladyblog on her third time loop, and how things progressed from there.
The ending I also thought was really good, a happy ending that generally made sense and dealt with the issue of the Incubators.
If you can’t tell I’m really happy with this fic, it was incredible and unexpected. The length of the individual chapters can be daunting, but if you’re up for the task, I highly recommend giving it a shot!
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If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart
It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.
How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….
- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays
*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***
This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.
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Eventually by @lucid-ao3
Adrien’s life has been dictated by rules, monitored, and controlled for years. He has learned to compartmentalize. It’s not that bad. It always gets better, eventually. Doesn’t it?
Recovery can be an unexpected obstacle when you didn’t realize you were being hurt in the first place.
OR: How Adrien lives and copes with the emotional abuse inflicted on him over the years, and how he ultimately could overcome it.
If you want a good “Adrien doesn’t realize how abusive his father is but slowly buckles more and more under his tyranny, until things come to a head, and he actually gets the HELP HE NEEDS” fic, this is a good one!
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Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon
Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.
Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.
This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years.
As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.
I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.
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Skittles in Vodka (Rooster x Reader)
Almost a decade ago, Rooster ended up stranded in the desert. Thankfully an Army caravan was around to pick him up, and there he met the woman he loved. Unfortunately, he never got her name. Now a certain candy drink reminds him of her.
TW: Drinking, hangover (no description of yuck), slight suggestive line but no smut.
A/N: I hope everyone enjoys this, I made it from his POV so it's not a traditional x reader. I thought about it a while ago and I thought it was cute. :)
*****
Being a naval aviator was a struggle in many departments. Home life if you had it was hard, family life was also a major struggle, and your love life was pretty much non-existent. It always seemed like the perfect person had to fill that position next to a service member. Almost always, it never turned out to be the sure thing. At least that was the deal with Bradley.
It was these kinds of thoughts and another failed month-old relationship that brought Rooster back to the ABC store. He was not an alcoholic, no, but he was a human being who had a hard day. He was also the man that his teammates made fun of him for purchasing straight vodka and skittles, and sticking the skittles into the vodka. Although he had been teased for it being a “feminine” drink, the same people who gave him shit for it would never admit to him that it was actually delicious.
When asked about the drink, Rooster would keep the long explanation to himself. The only time anyone has been able to crack the answer out of him is when he was too drunk off the skittles concoction to really care about the personal nature or length of the story. It was the same every time.
When Rooster was away on a deployment almost ten years ago, there was a malfunction with his plane and he ended up in a no fly zone. His aircraft went down and he was forced to eject. Ending up essentially in the middle of nowhere, he was thankful that a caravan of Army soldiers found him, since search and rescue couldn’t. One of the soldiers he met was a woman who he got along well with, and she had mentioned the skittles drink to him that night on their way to Arifjan, in Kuwait. Then he would get quiet and mumble something or other, but the look in his eyes was heartbroken. His teammates would ask about the drink, but they never dared to ask any further about her.
Not until he met Hangman, who never really cared about boundaries when applied to teasing others. One of those rare nights, when Bradshaw was drunk on the sugary mixture, he had explained the drink upon being asked, and trailed off as was tradition.
“So what happened to the chick?” Hangman had asked what everyone had been turning over in their minds for a while now. Rooster looked so sad when he talked about it, what could have happened to her?
Rooster looked up at Hangman, his eyes glazed, and gave Hangman a big old shrug of the shoulders.
“Don’t know, she never was able to tell me her name. She told me not to share mine either, sad really,” Rooster slurred, “swear I was gonna marry her,” he whispered, and had just stared at the empty glasses in front of him.
“She never told you her name?” Bob asked, curious now. It was another one of those nights, many years later.
“Yeah, she couldn’t because we were on the ground, it was to protect information,” the liquor was heavy in his voice, “She said to me, ‘My name is Mary Trenton,’ and I asked her if that was her real name and she said no.” The laugh that had bubbled from the woman’s lips had played back in Rooster’s mind when he had shared his callsign with her.
‘If you’re Rooster, then I’ll be Chicken,’ she had snorted. She didn’t mean it in a malicious way, and that's what had made him smile so wide.
“The only thing I know is that she was my age, and that she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life,” Bradley sighed, putting his head down on the tabletop and closing his eyes.
“Mary…” he thought, before slipping into unconsciousness.
*****
Several alarms were going off, blaring at Rooster. He had lost control on the radio, and had no idea where he was. The next thing he knew, he was forced to eject. Now, he was wandering in the desert, searching for some place where maybe he would be able to get a map. Y’know… civil civilization? It was almost three in the afternoon, and while the sun was less intense than it had been around noon, it was still incredibly unpleasant.
Praying that he was going in the correct direction, Rooster stumbled through the bright landscape for upwards of an hour. When he looked to his left, he saw the humvees and the cargo vehicles on the horizon. Stumbling towards the caravan, he eventually fell to his knees waiting for whoever it was.
No markings, no badges, no names to tell him anything, and praying they were American, the caravan came to a halt before passing by him. Several people climbed off the first vehicle, each one carrying an AR-15, and Bradley threw his hands up. They all had their faces covered by camouflage linens, to keep the sun off their skin. While it was smart to keep the sun out, it did very little for Rooster’s sense of safety.
“Who are you? No names,” the shortest one demanded, and he explained what had happened, panicking. They were American, thank God. One of the five people surrounding Bradley had departed back to the vehicle, shouting something to someone else within. When he returned, the shortest soldier looked in his direction.
“He’s the pilot,” he nodded, removing his covering to talk to Rooster more directly. He was an older gentleman, maybe in his late forties.
“Rooster,” Bradley offered, taking the hand that was extended to him to stand.
“You were in a no fly zone, son,” the man said, explaining what had happened to Rooster, who wrinkled his eyebrows together. No wonder search and rescue had never shown up for him. He assumed they had sent out a message if these people knew who he was.
“My navigation malfunctioned, that’s probably why,” he sighed.
“Well, we’re on our way to Arifjan in Kuwait,” a feminine voice came through the face cover of the short one, which confirmed Bradley’s suspicion that it was a woman. She wasn’t too much shorter than the rest of them, but she was short enough for him to notice it.
“You can come with us, and your ride can pick you up there,” she finished, gesturing for him to follow her.
They entered a truck, three down from the first, and Bradley was incredibly thankful for the shade. When he was handed a water bottle, he almost cried tears of joy. Although he probably was so dehydrated there would not have been any to shed. He almost spit out the cool water in his mouth when the woman removed her face covering.
She was perfect, and without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Despite being sweaty and in the middle of the desert, she looked amazing. Her eyes were the kind that warmed your soul like hearty food after the snow. When she smiled at him, he almost melted into a puddle on the ground. It was the Middle East in July, he might just.
“Do you normally stare at women you’ve just met?” she teased him, her voice raised over the noise of the engine.
“Only ones as beautiful as you,” he flirted shamelessly, shrugging his shoulders and smiling right back at her.
“What’s with the name, Rooster?” she asked.
“God, she’s way too pretty to be real,” he thought.
“It’s my callsign,” he explained, and she made a cute little face like no duh, “I got it in flight school, I guess I’m not the best at acting fast or something like that,” he mused. He used to hate it, but he preferred to have the name over flying unsafe. He wanted to stay alive, and he didn’t care if he got a dumb nickname for it.
She nodded, acknowledging Rooster’s honesty.
“You got a name you can tell me?” he asked, scrunching his face up in hope that there was something he could get out of her.
“Mary Trenton,” she stated, but the way it came off her tongue told Rooster it wasn’t anywhere close to something on her birth certificate. It didn’t fit her, and she didn’t look right saying it.
“Is that your real name?” he asked her, knowing the answer.
“No,” she laughed, and it filled Rooster with that warmth again that he hoped was not actually heat stroke. He nodded, acknowledging that he wouldn’t be able to know it. Maybe when they got to their destination he would be rewarded. Leaning forward, she flicked her fingers in a ‘come here’ motion, and Rooster obliged.
“If you’re Rooster, then I’ll be Chicken,” she snorted, and Rooster laughed out loud.
*****
The next morning, Rooster always regretted the drink. He was a big man, but what amounted to straight vodka always did him in.
Leaning against the bathtub, he sat next to the toilet. One hand was lazily wrapped in his hair, and his other arm was sitting on the toilet seat. At this point, he didn’t think he had anything left to give the porcelain bowl. The drink definitely did its job, that was for damn sure. It was delicious, but at what cost? Bradley closed his eyes, thinking of the first time he had heard of the damn thing.
*****
Rooster’s face was scrunched up in disgust, while “Mary” stared at him in disbelief. His stomach turned slightly at their conversation.
“Have you ever even tried it before?!” she demanded.
“No! What would possess someone to dump a bag of skittles into VODKA?!” Rooster gagged. Mary smirked and poked her fork at him, shredded beef from an MRE stuck onto the end of it.
“Hey now, don’t knock it until you try it!” she declared, this was the hill she was apparently willing to die on. Rooster shook his head, picking through his own MRE.
The caravan was not going to make it to Arifjan until the end of the day tomorrow, so around seven in the evening, they had stopped to set up camp. Mary had brought Bradley over to a tent, where she had passed him a spare sleeping mat. The pair were now sitting a few yards away from the tent, finishing their luxurious meal.
“So, uh… you have a family?” he asked her, and she nodded, still trying to work her way through the last scraps of the meal. When she was done chewing she answered him.
“I have two sisters, one is going to school to be a fashion designer and the other is a concert pianist,” she looked down at the meal, in a way that wasn’t quite bitter but wasn’t angry either, “Ma always thought women should do things that were… more delicate. She tried everything to get me out, including giving MEPs false disqualifying information, insulting my superiors…��� Bradley nodded.
“I got a guy like that, he actually pulled my papers from the naval academy,” he confessed, and Mary frowned in disapproval. Silence filled the space between the two of them as she played with the question in her head, debating whether or not she wanted to ask him. Her curiosity won out.
“How long have you been alone, Roos?” she asked him gently, almost too quietly. He looked at her in surprise.
“How do you know I’m alone?” he inquired.
“The way you posed your question, and the way you talk about people you know,” she confessed to him quietly, “you asked if I had a family, unless I’m wrong but you didn’t ask me to tell you about my family. Like a family is something foreign to you. The way you asked tells me you don’t.” Bradley’s face was sad, but he wasn’t upset. She had hit the nail right on the head, and he was just surprised.
“My dad died when I was little, and my mom died when I was in high school. The guy I was telling you about was my uncle,” he explained, and Mary nodded. The silence was back and it stuck around for a while longer this time.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she apologized, and Rooster shook his head.
“You’re alright,” he reassured, “I just wasn’t expecting that, I guess.”
The sun had already gone down, and lamps that were lit around the small camp were slowly being put out as lights out was called. Mary and Rooster stood up and disposed of their garbage, making their way into the tent for the night.
Rooster, having no extra clothes besides his current flight suit, was tossed an extra pair of OCP pants by one of the men in the tent. He noticed Mary peeking over at his arms while he changed, and made a show of subtly flexing them for her. It was ridiculous, he had to admit, but she appreciated it. She kept her pants on but removed her top to reveal an issued sports bra underneath it all, which Rooster appreciated right back.
They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow, but that didn’t stop them from staying up for a little longer. They spoke just quiet enough that they could hear, but it would not disturb the others in the tent.
“Do you talk to your mom?” Rooster whispered to her, and she shook her head.
“Not all that much. Occasionally, I’ll be on the phone with one of my sisters and she’ll insist that she wants to say hello. Then she’ll immediately ask me if I’m married and pregnant yet,” Mary snorted. Bradley tilted his head, curious about her reaction, and she continued to answer his unvocalized question, “I want kids, but that’s all she’s concerned about. I’m busy doing other things,” she shrugged.
“What’s your favorite song, Mary?” he asked her quietly, and she took a moment to consider the question.
“I love Elvis,” she began, “I love Pink Floyd, and The Eagles,” she looked over at him, her eyes were so beautiful in the dim light.
“Those are bands,” Rooster stated, and she smiled.
“I can’t pick one song, so I’ll give you a wide variety,” her breathy laugh made his heart soar, “I will say I was obsessed with Great Balls of Fire when I was a kid,” she admitted. Rooster eagerly propped himself up on his forearms and he leaned in close to her, excitedly.
“My dad used to play that all the time when I was a kid! I can play that on the piano!” he laughed, excited for someone else to finally get it.
“No way,” she giggled, covering her face with her hands, and then bringing her index finger to her lip in a silent shush. It was more for her than for Bradley.
The realization hit Rooster like a ton of bricks that he didn’t want to let her go tomorrow. He was in the middle of fucking nowhere and he felt like he was at home, warm in his bed. He wanted to get to know her better, could they consider this a first date? He didn’t know. But seeing her like that, giggly, slightly sweaty, and beaming at him, he knew he was in trouble. He was falling in love with a woman that he didn’t even know.
Shit.
“Mary,” Rooster cleared his throat quietly, and she gave him her full attention, “Tomorrow.. Whe–”
“Lights out, Navy,” one of the other men in the tent cut Bradley off, and Mary glared at him from her mat. She turned back to him, and sighed.
“We have to go to bed, Roos,” she apologized, reaching for the lamp, “can you tell me tomorrow?” her doey eyes looked at him through the dim light, and he could only nod his head. The lamp went out, and the tent was now dark.
“Night, Rooster,” Mary whispered, rolling over away from him.
“Goodnight, Chicken,” Bradley whispered back, smirking into the darkness and Mary smiled back at the void.
*****
Bradley pressed the green button on his cellphone to stop that god awful ringing noise. He brought the phone up to his ear, turning the volume down as he did.
“Hello?” he croaked, still in his position next to the toilet. He didn’t even look to see who had called him in all honesty.
“So Bagman wasn’t lying, it was a skittles and vodka night?” Phoenix’s voice rang out through the other end of the phone. Rooster groaned in response, which was answer enough.
“Do you want me to stop at the laundry place for you and I’ll grab you a coffee and something?” she asked and two things crossed Bradley’s mind.
God bless you Natasha Trace.
Oh shit, I forgot.
Tonight was a work function and dress uniforms were required. He wished he had remembered before getting piss drunk last night.
“You’re a saint,” he moaned, gripping the toilet seat when his stomach flipped once more. After a quick thank you, Bradley hung up the phone, and was becoming reacquainted with what little was left in his stomach.
*****
“What’s it like up there?” Mary asked Rooster. They were back on the road, and had been passing the time by chatting, just as they had been the night before. Rooster decided that he would wait to ask Mary personal information until they arrived in a secure space. It gave him time to think about what he wanted to say anyway, what exactly he wanted to know.
“In the sky?” he clarified, and she nodded.
“I wanted to go into aviation when I was a kid, but I never had the experience to help me get there,” she shrugged and he smiled.
“It’s pretty great,” he confirmed, “All that bullshit you hear in movies about how you feel at home and once you go up you never come down isn’t bullshit.” He flashed a grin at Mary, who mirrored him. “I’ll have to take you one time,” he offered, and she made a show of nodding and considering his offer.
“Perhaps,” she agreed, then an evil look came about her face.
“What?” Rooster hesitantly asked, slightly afraid to do so.
“I’ll let you take me for a ride if you try the skittles,” she laid the deal out in front of him. Bradley bit his lip to stop from making a dirty joke. He wasn’t trying to degrade, but it was one of those things that he would personally find funny if it was any other person. Did she mean to phrase it like that? He had no idea.
“Deal,” he agreed, putting his hand out. She shook his hand, her gloves preventing him from feeling the soft skin underneath. He didn’t know if her skin was soft, but he imagined it would be.
At this point in time, they were a few hours from Arifjan, and Bradley was squirming in his seat with nerves. He was nervous to ask her all the things he wanted to, but couldn't. He was also nervous for the inevitable ass reaming he was about to get from his superiors when he returned.
He didn’t care right now, he wasn’t worried, and he was perfectly comfortable where he was. At least he tried to tell himself that. Rooster was always so smooth, and here he was trying not to have a meltdown for fear of rejection in the middle of the desert.
*****
Music filled the hall, and nearly identical dress uniforms flowed throughout the room as people mingled. A few other uniforms stood out, as members from the Air Force and Marines had joined in as well. A few Army greens made Rooster’s heart jump. Chatter mixed with the echo of the hall, and Bradley was thankful he took the painkillers when he did.
He was staring off into space when the word ‘skittles’ brought him back to the group conversation. Everyone was looking at him now, and he had no idea what was going on.
“What?” he asked, looking at everyones expectant faces.
“I was telling Shannon about your skittles girl,” Hangman said nonchalantly, and his date's giggle filled Rooster’s head.
Rooster couldn’t explain why he felt as angry as he did, but it was something about the way Hangman said it that made him feel like he was about to explode. It wasn’t his story to share. She wasn’t ‘skittles girl’ she was Mary. It wasn’t funny either.
“Personally, I don’t think she even exists,” Seresin laughed, and that did it for Rooster. He turned abruptly and walked away from the group, neglecting to make a scene in front of a lady and his superiors.
Bradley pushed through the doors and in the open air he could take a breath. A few voices asked him if he was okay, and he ignored them until he could hear over the roar in his ears.
“Bradshaw?” Phoenix was behind him, and Bob and his date stood by the door.
“I’m fine,” he reassured her, staring out over the dark water below.
“Listen,” she began, “I see what this girl has done to you, and it hurts me to see this.”
Rooster ignored the tears that began to burn his eyes, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He refused to turn and look at her.
“Have you ever tried to find her?” Bob questioned, and Rooster gripped the railing harder.
“All I have is a fake name and an alcohol recipe, Bob,” he stated flatly. He wasn’t trying to be mean, but he was beyond upset. Frustrated.
“My roommate’s friend used to make vodka skittles,” Bob’s date piped up quietly, and Rooster whipped around to look at her. Her eyes were wide with surprise as he started firing questions at her. When she began to describe her like Rooster had asked, his shoulders slumped; she looked totally different. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his head now pounding once more.
“I’d love to find her, guys. But the fact is that I have no information,” he almost growled, and Phoenix nodded sadly, “I’m sorry, thank you for your help,” he ended the conversation, walking away from the group and into the garden.
*****
Arifjan was alive, the caravan pulled through the gate and made its way to its own residence on camp. When the vehicles came to a complete stop, Mary and Rooster stepped out into the bright sun. Voices shouted orders for unloading and parking and Mary grabbed several things from the truck.
“Can I help with anything?” Rooster offered, and Mary shook her head.
“I think I’m good, but you might want to prepare yourself for what’s behind you,” Mary grimaced. Rooster turned to see one of his superiors making his way over to him, and he glanced back at Mary who looked concerned for him.
“I’ll be here,” she promised him, carrying a tan toolbox away and leaving him to his business. Rooster stiffened up and greeted the man who was most likely about to spend the next few hours giving him hell.
*****
Bradley had gotten a stern talking to, to say the least, and had to fill out a mountain of paperwork before he was free to move about the camp again. While he was checking off boxes and signing his name, he thought about what he would say to Mary. The pen slipped out of his hand a few times from his palms sweating. He was whipped and he knew it.
Practically bouncing in his seat, when he signed his name on the last page he sprung out of the seat. Just as he stood, the door opened and his ‘handler’ as Rooster had deemed him, walked in.
“Bradshaw, make your way out to the tarmac immediately,” he instructed, “there’s a dust storm incoming and we have to be out of here within the next thirty minutes.”
Every ounce of energy was drained from Rooster in that short string of words. He wasn’t ready to go, he wanted to talk to Mary first. Feeling like a child who didn’t want to leave their friend’s house, he nodded curtly and quickly made his way outside. Cool air turned into searing heat as he stepped outside, jogging to her last known location.
“I’ll be here.”
“Mary!” he shouted, and he didn’t care if other service members stared at him. His feet pounded on the ground as he ran out to the trucks. The sun disappeared from his vision as he entered the massive garage.
“Mary!” his voice was strained and frantic. People were judging him now, and he was starting to panic. Rooster was frustrated at all of the people staring at him, did they not know who he was looking fo–
Of course. There was no Mary. Where was she? He had to talk to her.
Feet echoing on the ground, he was getting out of breath as he ran throughout the facility that housed the trucks. Hands started to shake.
“Mary!” his voice echoed, distress lacing the name.
Someone was yelling at him now, telling him to get out. Muttering to himself, Bradley took one last desperate look around, hoping to make eye contact with her. There was no sign of her. He felt like he was being crushed by a giant, like it had him in his grip crushing his bones and removing all the air from his lungs.
“No,” he murmured, “No no..”
When he finally looked into the eyes of the man ordering him to leave, the gravity of the situation finally hit him. Rooster turned around, now jogging out of the building. He looked everywhere he could manage before he arrived at the tarmac. He didn’t get to say goodbye, and he didn’t have her name, or a phone number, anything. Now he had to go. The Black Hawk crew was asking him to get in, and he could no longer ignore them.
Breathing heavily, tears threatened to spill over his eyes when he stepped into the helicopter, wiping them before anyone else could see, blaming it on the dust in the air.
*****
Despite his frustration at the event, he had taken Bob’s advice and tried to find her. He knew he couldn’t use her name, it wasn’t real. He looked up anything he could, he talked to buddies he had in the army, but they had no idea who she was. By the time Bradley had exhausted all options, he was sure half the US Military knew he was looking for her.
Bob and Phoenix even got involved, but were just as successful as Bradley. One day Maverick found them all discussing it, and Rooster was forced to explain everything to him. The Captain thought it was cute, and offered his help, wanting his kid to be happy. At that point everyone had pretty much given up, though.
While Rooster watched his friends play pool at the Hard Deck he thought about it long and hard. By now she had to be married with children, maybe even retired, who knows. Maybe he had to let it go.
He unplugged the Jukebox, and he thought about the way she had laughed when she admitted that she loved Great Balls of Fire. He would turn and wink at other women, maybe he would flirt a little but despite the resignation to reality, it never went further than that. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Before now, he had been in relationships, but it had always felt wrong.
That’s why he ultimately ignores the woman who sits next to him at the piano while he plays, it’s not her and could never be her. She slides up next to him while everyone sings at the top of their lungs. She’s the opposite of her in every way. He doesn’t want to touch her, and he’s deeply self conscious of her presence when he clinks out the final notes of the song. He looks over at Phoenix and Bob, who are howling, and Mav who is smirking at Bradley triumphantly. Keeping his back to the woman, he stands to walk over to Maverick.
“No more skittles?” the older man teases, and Bradley shakes his head. The jukebox has been plugged back in and the usual chatter has resumed. Pete shrugged and smiled at Bradley, what are you gonna do?
“No, it was good while it lasted,” Rooster trailed off sadly, his expression one of acceptance. He had to let it go, deciding he was never going to see her again anyway. He tapped the bar top and turned to go back to the pool table.
Those eyes.
There she was, right in front of him. She hadn’t aged a day. When shock filled Rooster’s face, her smile still lit up her face like it had in the dim light of the tent almost a decade ago. Her hair was down, framing her face, and her eyes sparkled like champagne. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bob and Phoenix watching the interaction, confused.
“It’s you,” Rooster barely whispered, and her smile only grew, fueled by his existence in front of her.
“Rooster,” she said, her voice cracking with the same emotion he felt. Despite the break, it sounded like the most beautiful music to him. He couldn’t help himself, and he wrapped her into a hug that she gladly returned. She smelled like the ocean and like the flowers that used to grow outside his mom's house. She was warm under his touch, and he loved the feeling of her finally in his arms. He was slightly afraid that if he let her go she wouldn’t actually be there, and she would slip through his fingers like sand. Had he actually gone insane? Finally? When she moved out of his grip to look at him, he stared right back at her with all the love he held for the past decade in his eyes.
Handing him a small slip of paper, a tear fell from her eye and he unabashedly reached up to wipe it away.
“That’s for you,” she laughed and sobbed at the same time, “so you don’t lose me again.”
Bradley reached up and wiped his own tears away, laughing along with her. He opened the paper to see her real name, phone number, and email. When he looked back up at her, the name on the paper suited her perfectly. He felt relief at finally having an answer to his question.
“I tried to find you,” he croaked, and she took his hands into hers, crumpling the paper ever so slightly.
“I heard there was a storm moving in, so I tried to find you,” nodding, she confirmed. He smiled, realizing they had the same idea. Laughing, he shook his head.
“I’ve been looking for you, Rooster, but I didn’t have clearance to get your name.”
“Bradley,” he corrected her, “Bradley Bradshaw.”
“That suits you,” her gentle voice filled his heart with a happiness he didn't know was possible for him. He did have a new question though.
“How did you find me?” he was curious, and she nodded to the man sitting behind Bradley. When the younger man turned to look at his uncle, Pete gave him a little wave.
Of course. Only Mav could pull this off.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rooster could see a few of his friends had now joined Phoenix and Bob, trying to work out what was happening. She noticed too, and gave a little wave like Pete had seconds before.
“My friends,” he turned to them, and guided the woman over to them. He introduced her to everyone, and when her name didn’t ring a bell for any of them, he sighed, “Skittles.”
That got a reaction, and everyone was shocked to say the least. Hands were shaken, and names exchanged. It’s nice to meet you and oh Bradshaw has not shut up about you for the past decade.
Hangman was particularly pleased to meet the beautiful woman not because he wanted to flirt with her, but because he was actually happy Rooster found her. They all were, and had quickly given her the honorary callsign of the candy.
Despite being in the center of a group of his friends, Rooster and Skittles were the only people in the room. Bradley was admittedly shocked when he found out she wasn’t married, but she told him it’s because she had been hung up on him and he understood completely.
She had waited for him.
Before they knew it, the bar was empty and Penny was closing up for the night.
The bar owner and the Captain watched the pair, still talking excitedly, from a distance.
“I can’t believe you found her, Pete,” she admitted, and he nodded.
“It wasn’t easy, but as you are aware, I have friends,” he smirked, “I just wanted him to be happy, y’know?”
Penny nodded, and went back to cleaning, while Mav stood up to help her. The pair left, and went to Bradley’s place where they stayed awake all night catching up and having a glass of skittles vodka.
#rooster#bradley bradshaw#rooster top gun#rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw x reader#topgunmaverick#top gun#top gun x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw
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A New Beginning
TURTLE DOVES!!!
I found something in my drafts, and I decided to share it.
I wrote this FOREVER ago - So I'm unsure if I will continue with it.
@leosgirl82 was there when it happened. 😁😎🤩🫶🏽💃🏽
And @drowninghell made some fanart for it - Which I will be posting if it's alright with her 🥰😍💖
Tee hee
Anyways. It was something somewhere between "write what you know" and "wicked fucking self-indulgent."
Also
IT'S NINJA FUCKING TURTLES
SO
Without further ado...
I give you...
Some Cowabunga 💙❤️💜🧡
18+ content - for mature audiences only!
THESE ARE AGED-UP NINJA TURTLES. THEY ARE GROWN ASSED ADULTS. DON'T BE A <FILL IN THE BLANK>. 😘
Or at least that’s what I tell everyone.
My name is Liz, and I work for OSHA.
You see, after I graduated with an Associate’s in Science for Occupational and Environmental Safety Management, I was offered a job with FED OSHA - Occupational Safety and Health Administration through the federal government - The job of my dreams. So, you can imagine how ecstatic I was when they hired me.
Everything was great for the first few months - until they brought me in on a top-secret project in New York. They told me they needed a Safety Technician who specialized in humanitarian issues and loved animals. Apparently, they thought I was their girl.
Weird, right?
So, they brought me to this gargantuan underground facility, where I was given my own office with all the latest and greatest technology and safety gadgets - even ones that hadn’t been put on the market yet; It was a fucking dream. One of those ‘too good to be true’ scenarios.
And indeed. It was too good to be true.
They moved me to Manhattan to be closer to the facility because it was necessary for me to be on call 24/7 - which was totally fine because it was just me.
And because they paid me WELL.
So, after a few months of puttering around, fixing compliance issues, they decided it was time for me to start in my REAL job position.
“Ms. Bueno, we will be bringing you in today, to help with the major issue we hired you for, initially.”
“Great! I can’t wait to get to work!” I said to the director.
“Good. I’ll be waiting in Section K22. Please meet me down there.”
“The high-security clearance sector?” I asked, a bit confused.
“Yes,” he replied.
I nodded, and he went to walk away but stopped at my office door. “ Oh, and Ms. Bueno?”
“Yes, sir?” I asked.
“Do make sure you use the restroom before you head down. Some of the things you see may be… Shocking,” he told me.
“Certainly, sir,” I said as he turned and left completely this time.
What the actual fuck are they doing down there.
I met the director at the entrance to K22 - which turned out to be more secure than Fort Knox - and I was handed a white lab coat and some safety glasses by his security detail, which consisted of like seven huge dudes.
“Why are you guys all wearing bullet-proof vests, and I get this?” I asked, shaking the flimsy lab coat between my index finger and thumb.
“They seem to have a soft spot for females,” said ‘Bruce’, according to his name tag.
“Well, Bruce,” I said, unimpressed by his explanation, “OSHA clearly states that whatever PPE or other safety-related articles are donned by personnel going into an area of safety concern, those same articles need to be worn by EVERYONE that enters. Not just the men,” I stated, giving him my best OSHA inspector face.
“She’s not wrong. Give her a vest for under her lab coat,” said the director.
That’s right. Fuck you, Bruce.
After all of my safety gear was on, they walked me down a long, brightly lit corridor that led to another door. This door could only be opened using iris recognition.
“Ms. Bueno, what you are about to see, is one of the World’s most highly classified projects. If you tell anyone about this, you and said people will be eliminated.”
“Eliminated?” I choked out through a slightly embarrassing squeak.
“Eliminated. As in loss of life. Death. And you will be expunged - completely erased so no one knows you ever existed. Do you agree to these terms?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What in the HELL have I gotten myself into…
“Uh, yes?” I said, making my response sound more like a question.
“I’m not convinced, Ms. Bueno. I need to be very convinced before we go through these doors. It’s a matter of national security.”
“100%, sir. I am absolutely, 100% positive. I swear to these terms, sir,” I told him, feeling my backbone reappear.
“Good. Samuel, we’re ready for entry,” he told the biggest security staff member.
Samuel cocked his gun and stood in front of the door, in the ready position, pointing the gun at it like the zombie apocalypse was about to ensue.
I swallowed nervously.
That’s a fucking lie. I’m about to shit my pants. No wonder he had me go to the bathroom before I came down here.
Anyway, as I’m wishing I had a diaper on, the director leaned in and initiated the iris recognition scan, successfully opening the sealed door. The security detail filed in first.
I followed the director into what looked like a giant laboratory. As we got ready to turn the corner, his security detail fanned out in front of us.
“LET US OUT!” Boomed a deep, raspy voice.
*Adrenaline rush*
“Just sit down. It’s not gonna help,” said another.
“HE NEEDS HELP!” yelled the first voice.
“I know, but they aren’t gonna let us out. And honestly, I don’t even know who could, or would, help him.” came a third voice.
I saw the director from the corner of my eye, turn and look at me as I stood stock-still, looking forward, and waiting to be told that I could proceed.
He didn’t say anything, so I turned and looked at him, my eyes the size of Jupiter. All pupil.
He nodded once, and I stepped around the corner.
May God strike me dead where I stand, if I’m lying.
There was a giant reinforced cage, resembling jail cells, holding the fucking Ninja Turtles in them.
I shit you not.
Albeit they were a bit older than we’d seen them in movies, and they looked slightly different, but they were definitely THE Ninja Turtles.
I gathered myself and turned to the director. “What is my job here, sir?” I asked him, completely composed with a straight face.
“Health and Safety,” He said, sadness flashing across his eyes for less than a moment. “We will leave you and let you do what you need to do,” he said, leaving me alone with the caged turtle-men.
Once I was sure I was alone, I looked around for security cameras. When I'd decided there were none - probably for top-secret and national security reasons - I took off the stupid lab coat, safety glasses, and bulletproof vest and ran to the cages.
“Oh my god, what happened to him?” I asked, squatting down and reaching an arm through the bars to check Donatello’s pulse.
The other three turned and looked at me, confused.
“Don’t touch him,” Growled the red-banded bara.
“Who are you?” asked Leonardo, putting a hand up in a placating manner, in an attempt to get his brother to back down.
“I’m the lead Health and Safety technician for this project. They hired me six months ago for this project, but this is the first time hearing about all of this,” I said, slightly alarmed by the faintness of Donnie's heartbeat. “Now, please tell me, what happened to him,” I said to Leo, looking him directly in the eyes.
“We don’t know. They sedated him. Heavily. And took him out of the lab. He was gone for two days. He’s been like this since they brought him back,” said Leo, now kneeling in the corner of the cell so he was next to me and his unconscious brother.
“And how long ago did they bring him back?” I asked.
“Maybe three to four hours ago? It’s hard to tell. We’ve been stuck in here forever.”
“Oh God… Is he allergic to anything? Does he have any health issues?” I prodded, my eyebrows furrowed, and my face twisted in clear heartache.
“Uh, no, no. None of us do. I mean, unless you count the fact that we’re overgrown, mutated, humanoid turtles…” He said.
I couldn't help but smirk at him, “No. That’s actually quite normal. This is New York, after all.”
Mikey huffed a stifled giggle from beside me, now standing the closest he could get to us, in his own cage.
As I started to stand up, Leo stuck his hand through the bars and grabbed my wrist. I looked into his gorgeous blue eyes, which were filled with sorrow and hope. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t even done anything,” I told him softly.
“Yea, but you’re going to - I can see the genuine worry on your face,” he said, my face heating up as he pulled me closer to his cage to get a better look at me.
“I need to go look through the files over by the entry door,” I whispered to him. “I need to see what they were doing to him, so I can help him.”
Leo released my wrist and wiped a tear from my cheek. I didn’t even realize I was crying.
“I’m Leo,” he introduced himself.
“I know who you guys are. You’re kinda my childhood heroes,” I confessed, looking down.
“Thank God,” huffed Raphael, visibly relaxing.
“You’re actually gonna help us then?” asked Mikey from behind me.
I turned and looked at the orange-clad turtle, “Yes, of course.”
I turned back to Leo and leaned in closer to him so he could hear me whisper...
“I don’t know how, but I promise, I’ll help you get out of here.”
Enjoying my work? Find my Master list HERE
~Tags~
@leosgirl82 @sharpwindow @post-apocalyptic-daydream @eveandtheturtles @m1dnyt3-w0lf @raphsmuneca @tmnt-tychou @snackugaki @scholastic-dragon @miss-andromeda @happymoonangel @drowninghell @raphslovemuffin80 @chicchanmooshy @xanadu-702 @pheradream-15 @jurikyu-blog @raphielover @zombiesnips-blog @meowph-132 @shakeyourtrees @iheartchv @fluffytriceratops @fyreball66 @memes-in-a-half-shell @t-annuki @waterstar2016 @symmetricalkazekage @androidships007 @tinkabelle19
*If you aren’t on this list, please let me know if you want me to tag you in my other work or if you prefer me to not tag you 😘
#thelaundrybitch#tmnt aged up#A New Beginning TMNT#Safety Turts#hahaha see what I did there#teenage mutant ninja turtles#tmnt bayverse#tmnt#tmnt fanfiction#tmnt au#This feels very#Blurple#Maybe I'll keep writing this series#THESE ARE AGED-UP NINJA TURTLES. THEY ARE GROWN ASSED ADULTS. DON'T BE A <FILL IN THE BLANK>.
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important blog stuff (UPDATED)
hi! call me Draco (creative, i know. don't judge, i thought it was a super unique online name when i was 12). i go by he/him, kinda by default, but i've cut ties with most strictures of gender so really just call me what you want.
i'm a recently-over-18 aro/ace, autistic furry.
i am comfortable interacting as this blog with only those who are 16 and up. i will block anyone found to be under 16, no questions asked. this includes liking or reblogging my posts.
this blog is for Extreme Cuddling content. all of it will be safe and fluffy, no digestion or chewing to be found here.
MY INTEREST IN THESE TROPES IS A NON-SEXUAL COPING MECHANISM.
if any of the following applies to you:
interact sexually with v*re content
enjoy v*re content of real-life people, or which uses images of real-life people
enjoy v*re content of nonsentient animals
support "MAP" (child molester) or zoophile "rights," or are proship
general bigotry (racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, aphobic, etc.)
then interacting in any way with this blog will be a violation of my boundaries and i will block you immediately.
TERMINOLOGY EXPLANATION (under the cut)
i am no longer utilizing terminology originating from v*rearephilia, and will hereafter be censoring any mention of it on this blog to prevent traffic from fetish blogs on my regular posts. i am using it here in order to allow attention from those still using "sfw v*re" terms.
i want no connection to fetish content attributed to me. my interest in the idea of characters nonfatally swallowing each other whole is not, and has never been, sexual. (and if you think that concept is an inherently sexual one, you should probably reevaluate how you view the world.) the term "v*re" originates from "v*rearephilia," which is defined as a fetish in the modern usage. while i respect others' decisions to continue utilizing the term and those associated with it, i have found that it often only serves to attract unwanted interaction and harassment from fetishists who are too inconsiderate to let others enjoy their interests (and, often, sensitive coping mechanisms) the way they wish to.
TL;DR i don't use terms like "v*re," "pr*d," "pr*y," "mouthpl*y," "foodpl*y," etc. because they act as an open invitation for fetish blogs to violate my boundaries.
#extreme cuddling#sfw vore#nonsexual vore#draco talks about stuff#important blog info#vore tags for visibility
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Jace is an alpha who loves getting his hole knotted by other alphas. Cregan is happy to serve.
“How do you find Winterfell, my prince?” Lord Cregan Stark asked the young alpha in front of him, his booming voice almost drowned out by the howling wind.
“Unique.” Jacaerys replied, his soft brown eyes sparkling with appreciation, “I have never seen snow in my life. Everything is so different here in the North.”
He could be smiling, Cregan thought, but the lower half of Jacaerys’s face was buried in a high collar, hiding the prince’s handsome face in the soft fur. There was no way of telling if the prince was smiling or not.
“Not many royalties visited my humble castle,” Cregan said, “as far as I know, you are the first Targaryen since Queen Alyssanne who sets his foot on Northern soil.”
“I will take that as a compliment then, Lord Stark.” Jacaerys turned his eyes away from the breathtaking view of snow-covered mountains and dense forest to look at the young lord.
Now Cregan was almost sure the prince was smiling, because of the small wrinkles on the corner of his eyes. There was frost on Jacaerys’s lashes, pure white flakes a sharp contrast to the prince’s dark lashes, like delicate crystals embroidered on fine silk.
“Please, just Cregan.” Cregan said, trying his best not to reach out and wipe the snowflakes off Jacaerys’s lashes, “There are enough people calling me lord. I would like us to be friends more than allies. If that pleases my prince, of course.”
“Only if you call me by my name too, Cregan.” Jacaerys replied goodheartedly, “Jacaerys, or Jace, as how my brothers call me.”
“Well, Jace,” Cregan decided to test his luck, “How about a hunting trip in the snow? Our lands may be barren, but the dense woods are full of wild games to hunt. It is a Northern custom to treat its guests to a hunting trip and share the catch.”
“I would like that very much,” Jacaerys said, this time truly smiling as he lowered the collar to expose his entire face, “Cregan.”
Cregan felt his skin tingle at the prince’s voice. Jacaerys was not like any alpha he had met before. The dragon prince was regal, handsome, polite, sophisticated, respectful and very, very charming. He was not like a typical snobbish royal prince, or an ignorant Southern lord. He might not be as wild and physically big like an alpha from the North, but Cregan had no doubt that he was just as brave and fearless as any of the Northern heroes. In fact, Cregan had never been so intrigued by anyone, let alone a fellow alpha, but Jacaerys was just different. Legend had it that Targaryens were closer to god than men. Cregan never believed the saying until now.
Perhaps Jacaerys was indeed sent by a divinity to brighten up the gloomy days of the North by his dragon fire. There was no other explanation why Cregan was so intrigued by a fellow alpha that his gums would tingle whenever he laid eyes on Jacaerys. Was it normal to want to mark a fellow alpha? Did Jacaerys notice Cregan’s wild pheromones? If the prince did, he never showed, leaving Cregan even more anxious and unsettled.
How was he supposed to remain calm in front of such an intriguing creature?
The trip to the woods was a short one, but the biting cold and bone-chilling wind making it feel like a lifetime, especially for Jacaerys.
“I hope when you said there were many wild games in the woods, you meant real animals, not this beastlike weather.” Jacaerys half joked as they rode into the woods, his breath forming a white fog around his mouth.
“You will get used to it soon enough.” Cregan chuckled, looking way more composed than the prince. There was supposed to be an entire entourage accompanying them, but they rode too fast, leaving other knights and squires far behind. Neither of them seemed to mind, appreciating the rare privacy instead.
“What are we hunting, Cregan? Rabbits?” Jacaerys jumped off his steed and looked around at the snow covered land. He had a bow in his gloved hand, a set of arrows on his back, and a long sword dangling from his belt. He was wrapped in the warmest fur cloak Winterfell had to offer, soft brown curls kissed his pink cheek and lips, and his eyes were full of life and curiosity.
“Oh, no, my prince.” Cregan caught a glimpse of something moving in his peripheral vision, “We prefer something bigger.”
Cregan urged his horse to go in the direction of the target, while drawing his bow and released a decisive arrow. He released three more arrows before the moving target fell to the ground, twitching in pain. It was a stag, young and inexperienced, having no idea what fate awaited it by getting too close to humans. By the time Jacaerys arrived on his own horse, Cregan had already slit the stag’s throat to end its misery. Warm blood stained the snow crimson, so fresh out of the animal body that a thin layer of steam rose from the pool of blood. Jacaerys could smell the unique stink of animal blood, mixed with another wild scent, metallic, scorching, bitter, like standing next to an iron forge. Jacaerys inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of blood and Cregan’s alpha pheromones. He always liked alpha pheromones more than those of omegas. The harshness, possessiveness, and competitiveness always made his entire body sing with excitement, and the Lord of Wintetfell was certainly among the top alpha pheromones Jacaerys had ever sensed.
“It’s a big stag.” Jacaerys commented, crouching down to observe the carcass.
“I told you, we prefer bigger games in the North.” Cregan said proudly, wiping off the blood from his face.
“Everything is bigger in the North, I am sure.” Jacaerys joked, “I’ve never seen such a large stag.”
For some reason, Cregan thought the prince was not talking about the dead animal. Cregan showed Jacaerys how to skin an animal before moving on to their next target. Jacaerys was a quicker learner. What he lacked in strength and build, he made up with agility and amazing reflexes. He was also very good at following targets that moved very fast, an ability Cregan himself lacked. By nightfall, they had scored half a dozen games, stags, snow rabbits, foxes, even a direwolf, but they failed to catch the magical creature.
“Shall we head back?” Jacaerys asked as their surroundings had turned too dark to continue hunting.
“There is a place I want to show you.” Cregan said, his dark eyes shining with anticipation.
“Okay.” Jacaerys nodded, “Lead the way then, my lord.”
“You are not worried that it might be a trap? I could tear your throat and blame it on a direwolf.”
“No.” Jacaerys’s answer came quicker than Cregan expected, without a second of hesitation, “In fact, I am not worried at all.”
“May I ask why?”
“I believe in you and your house’s honor, Cregan Stark.” Jacaerys replied, his lips curling up into a confident smile, “Am I wrong?”
“You are wiser than your age, Prince Jacaerys.” Cregan laughed, urging his horse to go further into the woods, “Follow me, please. I promise you won't be disappointed.”
Cregan certainly held true to his words. A short ride into the woods and they arrived at a natural hot spring, tucked snuggly behind a tall tree. The canopy was so thick that it was impossible to notice the hot spring, even with all the steam. Jacaerys’s eyes widened in surprise, as he took in the beautiful view, white snow, starry sky, a handful of pebbles scattered around the hot spring, and the steamy hot spring itself.
“A hot spring! Who could have guessed!” Jacaerys exclaimed, jumping off his horse and making a dash to the pond.
“I hope you like it. A nice soak will relax the sore muscles after a hunt.” Cregan suggested. It was the first time that Jacaerys lost composure before him, acting more like the prince’s age, and Cregan liked it very much.
“Are you kidding? I love hot springs.” Jacaerys had already taken off his cloak and jacket, now only in a simple shirt, “I’ve never soaked in a hot spring surrounded by nature before. It’s just brilliant!”
“And I was worried that a humble hot spring might not be enough to impress you.” Cregan walked to the prince as he began to take off his own clothes, “I am sure you have seen it all. I’ve heard that the pleasure gardens in Lys offer the most extravagant bathing experiences.”
“Nothing compares to this view.” Jacaerys insisted, soaking his cold toe into the spring tentatively, “Besides, hot springs are boring without good company.”
“You should probably go inside before you catch a cold, Jace.” Cregan suggested as he jumped into the spring completely naked, “Come, join me.”
Jacaerys swallowed. He was so mesmerized by the view; Cregan’s muscles moved in the steam, contracting and relaxing, showing off its sculptured shape. Cregan had the typical coloring of a Northern man, dark hair, dark eyes, and even the soft bushes on his chest and lower abdomen were dark as night. He was handsome, with nicely trimmed beard framing his jawline, thick brows, straight nose and kind eyes, an alpha at his prime. Just how Jacaerys liked it.
Jacaerys took off his shirt and pants before joining the Northern lord in the water. Just like Cregan said, the hot spring felt warm on Jace’s cold skin, not overly hot, but warm enough to relax his stiff joints and tight muscles. They settled down near the rocky edge, side by side, their naked shoulders brushing against each other, but neither of them complained.
“Can I ask you something, Cregan?” Jacaerys spoke after a while, resting his head on the cool rock.
“Of course.”
“Why haven’t you taken another omega to wife? You are still young. Any omega will fall for an alpha like you.” Jacaerys said, letting his eyes wander down Cregan’s strong torso, from the defined chest to the lord’s groin, and the amazing knot between his strong thighs.
“I am in no hurry to enter another marriage.” Cregan admitted honestly, “I have my heir. Marriage is just not a priority. And you flatter me, Prince Jacaerys. I am actually not good with delicate creatures like omegas. I am too rough to most of them.”
“What about alphas?” Jacaerys asked, getting an inch closer to the naked lord.
“What about them?” Cregan raised a confusing eyebrow, having no idea what Jacaerys had in mind.
“Are you good with alphas?” Jacaerys asked softly, reaching a hand out to trace Cregan’s collarbone, his finger sliding down the lord’s wet skin, “For example, an alpha like me?”
“Jace?” Cregan blushed, “Prince Jacaerys?”
“Stay still, Lord Stark.” Jacaerys said in his most regal tone as he moved to straddle the young lord, “It’s an order.”
Cregan dared not to move. He was not a green boy, so he knew very well what Jacaerys’s seductive smile meant. An invitation. A permission to start something intimate. But why? Was Jacaerys thinking about this when Cregan invited him to a hunt? Or was this just a prince’s impulse after seeing the hot spring? Either way, it seemed that Prince Jacaerys preferred the company with a fellow alpha rather than an omega. Cregan had heard of such queer preferences before, but he had never expected the heir to the throne to be one of them.
Jacaerys’s finger slid down to Cregan’s navel, playing with the hair on the lord’s lower abdomen teasingly, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Answer me, Lord Stark.” Jacaerys demanded, “Have you laid with an alpha before?”
“No.” Cregan answered with all honesty, “I have not.”
“Well, I suppose you will have a taste of it tonight.” Jacaerys flashed a toothy smile before bending down to kiss Cregan’s lips, “I promise it will be a pleasant experience.”
Before Cregan could reply, Jacaerys had already sealed their lips into a heated kiss. Jacaerys was swift and decisive, just like how he hunted. He ran his tongue over the roof of Cregan’s mouth before intertwining their tongues together, sucking hard until his cheeks were sunken. For the first time in his life, Cregan felt like a prey instead of a hunter. A northern wolf was about to devoured by dragon fire.
No. Cregan was the Lord of Wintetfell. He would never allow himself to be the prey.
Cregan put a large hand on the back of Jacaerys’s head, pressing the prince closer to himself, the other hand grabbed the prince’s tiny waist. Jacaerys let out a surprised moan, which Cregan drank up eagerly. Cregan thrust his hips up, letting their alpha knots bumping against each other.
“I suppose you have laid with alphas before?” Cregan said, groping the prince’s butt.
“Will you be jealous if I say yes?” Jacaerys panted, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Maybe.” Cregan had no idea how to proceed, so he acted out of instinct, sliding one finger into the warmth between the prince’s butt cheeks.
“Don’t worry. You might be the best of them,” Jacaerys hissed as Cregan’s finger touched his hole, “depending how well you serve your prince.”
“I am ready to serve, my prince.” Cregan said, his cock already hard from the softness of Jacaerys’s skin, “Always.”
“Knot me.” Jacaerys commanded, licking his lips in anticipation, “Let me have a taste of your alpha knot.”
“As you wish, my prince.”
It was then that Cregan realized he had fallen for Jacaerys the moment he laid eyes on the prince. House Stark would pledge loyalty to Prince Jacaerys, not the queen, but the future king.
#house of the dragon#hotd#my asks#abo dynamics#jacaerys targaryen#jacaerys velaryon#cregan stark#cregan x jace#jacegan
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