#also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3

[theflyingfeeling]

💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

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PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

~

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia. 

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him. 

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him. 

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet. 

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself. 

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.

#blind channel fanfiction #blind channel rpf #ollixallu #24 days of gift-giving by theflyingfeeling #<- that's the tag i'll be using for these btw #everyone stop and look at the banner!! 🥺💖 #it's not QUITE like the original one ju made first but maybe one day you'll get to see that masterpiece as well 😏 #but ooff the way i've gone from having 'a plan' to having 'a better plan' to having 'no plan whatsoever' with this? 😂 #so yeah idk what kinda fics/posts there'll be in this series... stay tuned and see for yourself! 🤭 #some of them might be in the same universe/plot. others may not. who knows? not i 😌 #(...but as you can see from this fic the door for a multiple-part story is definitely open 👀) #some of the fics may not even be based on a prompt though if i'm not feeling like it. honestly i'm curious to see how this will turn out! #(and if this ends up being the only post i ever make that's alright too! i refuse to bully myself with a hobby i'm doing for free <3) #however: i'm not taking requests per say BUT feel free to snoop on the prompts for each day and send me your ideas or hopeful wishes 👀 #there are certain ones i'm more drawn to but i haven't really set anything in stone #one could say i'm just going with the flow. fuck around and find out if you will ✨ #also: not sure if/when i'll be bothered to post any of these on ao3 #probably i'll just see how many fics i manage to actually finish and dump them all at once on ao3 on christmas day lol #anyway! enjoy & let me hear from you <3

[daddy-dins-girl]

Playdate - Chapter Nine

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

pairing: Marcus Pike x f! Reader x Dave York

Word Count: 9.1k

Notes: All the feelings in this chapter... I'm so sorry everyone. I swear I have an end goal in mind and I'm gonna make it better... just not YET.

Chapter Warnings: (skip if you don't wanna be spoiled, if you've made it this far in the series, you'll be fine). 18+ MDNI. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Confessions of infidelity. Dry humping. Oral Sex. 69 sex position. Unprotected p in v. Creampie. Daddy Kink. Rough sex. Breathplay. Daddy!Marcus. Dom!Marcus. Aftercare. Consensual somnophilia. Lots of feelings. Severe lack of Dave York (I'm so sorry, I'll make it up to you I swear).

HUGE thank you to @janaispunk for beta'ing and letting me talk her ear off when I get an idea in my head and helping me work it out lol. And also for calming my anxiety every time I go to post a chapter :P

You woke up to a bed that seemed suddenly too large and missing the warmth Dave’s body heat provided it with. Marcus was sleeping soundly next to you and you’re not even sure when that had happened or when he got in but clearly it was after you had passed out.

But where was Dave? Did Marcus walk in and find you and him in bed together and an argument ensued? Surely that would have woken you up so you quickly shake that notion from your head. Maybe everything was fine and you were freaking out preemptively over nothing. Dave had probably just gone down to the lobby again for coffee and when he came back the three of you could sit around and hopefully have an honest and open conversation. That sounded, to you, a logical reason for his whereabouts as any so you decided you weren’t going to begin to fret about something without any warrant and snuggled up to your husband to wait, but when nearly half an hour had passed and he didn’t return, you decided to pull out your phone to send a text in your group chat.

Your throat nearly dropped into your stomach at the words that greeted you when you opened it.

Dave York has left the group.

Without giving it a second thought you quickly scroll through your contacts until you find his name and hit the call button but after a single ring it goes to voicemail. Unsure what exactly that means you try for a text instead. Simple, direct, to the point.

Hey, are you ok?

The blue bubble pops up on your screen and you wait, however neither the “delivered” or “read” notification appears underneath it and that’s when it hits you.

Dave has blocked your number.

Confused and hurt, you toss your phone over to the nightstand where it clatters to the surface, skids across the smooth wood and then falls to the carpeted floor with a light thud, though you couldn’t be bothered to care right now. The commotion however rouses your husband who, lying on his stomach, quickly pushes himself up onto his elbows and glances around the room before his gaze lands on you.

“What’s the matter?” he asks, voice groggy with sleep.

You don’t answer him right away, because, how could you. Everything. Fucking everything was the matter! What you had done last night, it all comes flooding back to you in an instant and you suddenly feel overwhelmed with emotions and you have no choice but to burst into tears, your knees coming up to your chest as you wrap your arms around them and bury your face, shoulders shaking with every sob that leaves your body.

“Honey! What…” Marcus sits up in an instant, panicked. His arms immediately envelop your frame and his voice frantic as he pulls your whole body into his lap and holds you close to his chest. “Hey, hey, hey, shhhhh. Sweetheart tell me what’s wrong” he tries, fear still lacing his tone as he attempts to appear outwardly calm, holding you to him and gently rubbing a hand up and down your back.

You feel so absolutely wracked with guilt that you can’t even find words to even begin trying to explain yourself to Marcus so instead you just bury your face further into his throat and let him comfort you, though you know you don’t deserve it. The moment he hears what you have to say for yourself you fear he’s going to be putting as much distance between the two of you as possible so you need him to just hold you a little while longer before that happens. It’s selfish. You’re selfish. But at this moment, you don’t care. How could you have done this to Marcus? And for what? For Dave to just leave you both like that? Like these months have meant nothing to him? You want to believe that’s not true, but what choice has he left you with?

Marcus worries endlessly as he holds you in his arms, honestly surprised you’re even allowing him to hold you but he’ll take it for as long as he can get it. Dave must have told you what he’d done yesterday while you were asleep and now look at the problems it’s caused.

You both lie there in each other's arms, taking in whatever comfort you can get from one another. You’re openly sobbing while Marcus’ tears are more subdued, but definitely still there. You can feel them on the naked flesh of your shoulder as he buries his face in your neck and the two of you clutch onto each other, terrified of the other letting go. What you don’t realize is that you’re both fretting over the exact same thing.

After several long minutes of just holding each other your words echo each other as you both let them out at the exact same time into the heat of each other’s flesh.

“I’m sorry.”

The words cause you both to stiffen momentarily and then slowly pull back, finding each other’s watery gaze as you both stare, confused.

The murmured apologies eventually turn into a good hour of confessions from both of you. You take turns spilling everything about what happened last night without the other present all while failing to hold back the flow of tears. Marcus admits not only to his indiscretions in the shower with Dave, but how there was no work emergency last night and he’d lied to you because he was too scared that he’d ruined everything. He tells you how absolutely horrible he’d felt, leaving you on your birthday like that but he felt so confused after what had happened, he couldn’t even bear to have you look at him knowing what he’d done and was keeping from you. The admission about what he and Dave had done in the shower nearly had your eyes bugging out of your head, though you tried your absolute best not to outwardly react too much, you didn’t want to make Marcus uncomfortable or have him hold back anything so you kept quiet and mostly just nodded your head, though your brain was working a mile a minute trying to process everything. You’d decided near immediately that you weren’t upset at him for it. The only thing you were upset about in that scenario is that you hadn’t been there to witness it; though you keep that admission to yourself for now. You were upset, however, that he had left. If he would have just stayed maybe you all wouldn’t be in this position now. Maybe Dave would still be here. You know though that Marcus isn’t the only one to blame and it’s not fair to put this all on him. The fact was he did leave, and you did what you did afterwards, knowing full well how it could affect things.

You tell Marcus how Dave had originally left but had come back and that the two of you had slept together. Your tears turned into sobs as you admitted the last part. You knew it was wrong, you felt in your heart that it was cheating, regardless if Marcus saw it that way or not. He’d tried to quickly shrug it off at first, to make you feel better, reminding you that “you’d slept with Dave lots of times” but when you responded with a quiet “yeah, but not like this…” and were unable to look him in the eyes, you could see the moment the realization dawns across his sad, handsome face and he lowers it to look away, gently nodding in understanding.

Marcus swallowed the lump in his throat but wrapped his arms around you and held you tight to his chest, peppering kisses to your hair and ensuring you over and over that he loved you.

It only made you cry harder.

Eventually the tears subside and Marcus drapes the bedclothes over you both and pulls you into his side, gently petting your hair until you both fall back asleep, it was barely 7am after all and you didn’t even know how late Marcus had got in. You still had a lot to discuss but you were both exhausted, physically and emotionally. Your head was pounding from the amount of tears you cried and you just needed to shut out the world for a little while longer, held safe in the comfort of your husband's arms until you fell back asleep.

When you do wake up again, barely an hour later, Marcus is already out of bed and wandering around the suite, freshly changed into a new set of clothes and shoving his old ones into the suitcase you had already packed. There’s a takeout coffee cup waiting for you on the bedside table when you open your eyes and you sit up, wordlessly taking the simple peace offering and taking a drink.

You get through a few sips but your stomach is doing somersaults. All the anxiety and emotions of the last twelve hours or so wear heavily on you so you place the cup aside and climb out of bed, holding the sheet tight around your frame as you head over to the dresser where Marcus had kindly laid out your last clean outfit for you.

You barely speak a word to each other as you both get ready to leave this room behind. Occasional questions like “did you remember to grab your toothbrush” or “is this your lotion or the hotel’s?” as you putter around the room and prepare to leave.

Finally everything is packed, you're both dressed, the room is mostly back in one piece and you’re ready to go. You meet Marcus at the door and you both take a breath, a heavy sigh leaving your lips as your shoulders settle and you reach down and slide your hand into his. His fingers interlace around yours and for the first time all day you finally feel grounded again.

“Come on, let’s go home” he says, pulling the door open with his free hand and guiding you out.

The first week that you’re back home goes by in a blur. You both had to go back to work on Monday and you manage to settle back into your usual routines easily enough but there’s still a strain between the two of you. You know you need to talk more but had both decided you needed time to just let everything sink in and process. You missed Marcus immensely, despite the fact that he still slept in your bed every night and kissed you goodbye every morning, things were far from how they were before your birthday weekend happened.

Perhaps fortunately or unfortunately for you both, your work lives were very busy. Typically Marcus left before you because his commute was longer and you both worked long shifts most days so your time together at home while you were both still awake and functional was limited. Some nights you managed to both be home to eat dinner together, but this week it was a pretty quiet affair. You’d ask each other about your days, small talk mostly, and then if you weren’t too exhausted you’d cuddle on the couch and watch a little tv before bed and start the process over again the next day. Despite the rift, you still wanted to be close to each other. Neither of you were angry at the other; more so at yourselves than anything. That, and you were confused. It was hard to have a conversation together about all the feelings you were having when you hadn’t quite sorted them out for yourselves. And with Dave AWOL it made it even more confusing and hurtful to navigate. It was difficult to figure out where the three of you stood when there were only two of you willing to talk things out.

Your mind often wandered to Dave, particularly when you were at work and would have a few minutes of downtime. You pulled up your private message chat with him every couple of days too just to see if your single text to him ever got marked as ‘delivered’ or ‘read’, wondering if he’d unblocked you, but nothing. What was so frustrating is that you know it wasn’t one-sided. It couldn’t have been. You know what he felt with you that last night together because you felt it too. Perhaps the real reason he left is because of his loyalty to Marcus, he didn't want to be a burden on your marriage, but the truth was Dave just enriched it. And you had a feeling Marcus might feel the same way, you just needed him to admit it to you. You hoped the two of you would have a good chance to talk this weekend, you felt like it was time.

Saturday evening was finally upon you and you lay on the couch after a simple dinner, wine glass mostly untouched on the coffee table in front of you as you half paid attention to the movie playing on the TV. Marcus had had a busy day, having to work for a couple hours from home in the morning and then running some errands for his elderly father that he typically would do on a Saturday. Today took a little extra long due to him being away last weekend for your birthday so by the time he got home he was exhausted so you had offered to cook and now the two of you were laid out on the sofa, Marcus behind you with his back to the cushions and you on your side snuggled with your back to his chest and laying your head on his arm.

You attempt to focus on the movie playing in front of you because you know how tired your husband is, but he makes it difficult when the fingers of his right hand trail absently up and down your side where your shirt slightly rides up, the delicate trace of his fingertips leaving goosebumps on your flesh in their wake. You shift slightly and in doing so the fabric of your shirt catches a little more on the seat of the sofa and rises up further, and Marcus’ hand reaches a little higher too until his fingers are at your ribs. You let out a little whine at the contact. He’s barely touching you but it's more than you’ve had all week and you’re missing him so desperately so you give up the facade and turn fully onto your back, causing his hand to slip even higher until it rests just underneath your breast.

You hear his breath hitch slightly and he turns his head down to look at you, your soft, wanting gaze boring into his. Wordlessly you reach your hand up to rub at the side of his neck and turn your body again so that you’re face to face. He moves his hand voluntarily, finally, splaying it across your breast and giving it a gentle squeeze, his breath catching in his throat when he sees your eyes fall shut and your lips release a hum of pleasure.

“Marcus” you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. “Please”

It’s all Marcus needs to hear. In a moment he’s got both his hands going underneath your ass and hauling you up on top of him, positioning himself on his back with your full weight resting on him, hands still on your ass and pushing downwards to grind you against his already stiffening length. You surge forward, sealing his mouth with yours. The kiss is sloppy and desperate and filled with pent up sexual desire and you’re both moaning into it, reveling in the dominant dance between your two tongues.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” he asks breathlessly a few moments later when you’re forced by lack of oxygen to pull apart.

“Mnnnm mmm” You shake your head before your mouth latches to his again. “Need you” you mumble against his lips. “Take me right here”

“Fuck” he groans, both hands squeezing roughly at your ass as he continues to ground you down into him, his own hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. “God I fucking missed you” he confesses, mouth trailing down the side of your throat now instead as his hands reach up to the waistband of your sweats and push them down along with your underwear.

You help him free you of the confines of your pants, kicking them down your legs and finally flinging them off to the floor while Marcus grabs for the hem of your t-shirt and pulls that over your head. You're grateful at this moment that you had foregone a bra tonight, dressed for a comfortable evening at home. Marcus, on the other hand, is far too overly dressed in your opinion, still in his jeans and a long sleeve Henley. Though you find it hard to complain at the delicious friction the unforgiving denim gives to your now bare core and it's no secret to Marcus either, the way you moan and writhe against him.

“Baby, please” you whine, hands desperately grasping at the buttoned enclosure of his jeans. The button pops open and you manage to drag the zipper down but before you get any further he’s growling into your throat and shaking his head, repositioning your body until you're straddling on just one of his thighs.

“Need you to cum for me first” he demands, already sounding wrecked and breathless and you think he needs you to for his sake as much as your own, probably trying to extend this experience for longer than it would have been were he to push inside you right now like you both so desperately want him to. You let out another moan, eagerly obeying his wishes as your hands go to his chest and you push yourself upright so you’re sat on his muscular thigh and begin to rock back and forth against it, the delicious drag of denim against your weeping cunt creating a wet patch on his jeans that neither of you could be bothered to be embarrassed or care about. His large hands come up and each grab hold of a breast, expertly manipulating and teasing the soft mounds of flesh, thumbs and forefingers coming down to pinch and squeeze at your nipples until they’re hardened peaks under his touch.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, head thrown back as you continue to ride his thigh, amping up the pace as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm that is just within reach.

“That’s it baby,” Marcus encourages, his own pupils blown wide with lust as he watches you arch your back and grind desperately against him. His hands leave your breasts and go to your hips, helping you reach that point of long awaited bliss. He bares his teeth as he watches your features contort into what can only be described as pure ecstasy and growls out the words that have been lingering on his tongue since he actively took charge of your impromptu makeout session just minutes ago, “Good girl, come on, you’re gonna fucking cum for your Daddy now.”

“Fuck!” His words, along with the relentless rocking pressure of your cunt digging into his thigh sends you flying over that edge with a screamed curse leaving your lips, your arousal pooling out of you, body trembling and spent but Marcus doesn’t let up, continuing to drag your folds along the strong muscle and it’s too much, you try to push off of his chest with your hands but his grip is strong and fierce at your hips, ensuring you get every last drop of pleasure from your prolonged orgasm.

“Fucking soak me baby” he groans and you look down to see the own wet patch he’s created in his boxers that are peeking through his partially opened jeans. It doesn’t appear to be enough that he’s finished and he’s still visibly hard as steel underneath the soft cotton, but he’s certainly gotten himself worked up to the point where the precum is eagerly flowing from him.

Evidently satisfied with you as you slow the rocking of your hips to indicate the waves of pleasure have subsided Marcus repositions you again so you’re lying back fully on top of him. He pushes his jeans down to his thighs but leaves his boxers in place as he gently ruts into you from underneath, the strained fabric of his boxers rubbing against your oversensitive sex, causing you to whimper and tremble.

“Let me suck you baby” you breathe against the hollow of his throat where your face is currently buried. Not only does your cunt need the reprieve but he’s got you so turned on you feel like you might just combust if you don’t get him inside of you in some form or another.

“Yeah? You wanna suck my cock, dirty girl?” Marcus growls and lord help you if it doesn’t send another pool of wetness right between your legs. Marcus was not normally like this. Sure the two of you could get a little kinky sometimes on your own but he’d never been like this before and it was driving you crazy with want.

You both knew what he was doing, filling a void a certain someone had left behind. Something you both craved without having to admit to each other. You both needed this, and so, you went along for the ride.

“Please Daddy, want you in my mouth, please” you beg helplessly, your lust-filled brain reduced to complete mush and barely able to string a sentence together and Marcus audibly groans at your submission to him.

“Turn around, want you to sit on my face while you do it” he breathes against your cheek and then slides his hands down to grab at your ass and squeeze firmly. His hands release you but he gives you one sharp swat to your left asscheek that has you crying out and arching into him before he helps you reposition yourself so you’re kneeled overtop of him with your knees on either side of his head and bent over his body so your face hovers above his pelvis. He pushes his boxers down to meet his jeans at his thighs then brings his hands to your hips to lower you down to his mouth just as your head retreats to take his leaking tip between your lips.

The groan he lets out into your cunt as you fully envelop him in your mouth has your lower half spasming, your thighs involuntarily squeezing his head as your hips chase the pressure of his tongue.

“Oh fuck!” You cry out, mouth falling away from him as you crane your neck back to try and get a glimpse of the feast Marcus is making of what’s between your legs. It doesn’t last long however because his hand comes up and swats at your ass again, reminding you without words what you’re supposed to be doing and you quickly oblige, turning back and doubling your efforts on sucking him off, taking him as deeply down your throat as your body will allow and swallowing down before you ease back up and repeat the action. Your hand soon joins your mouth, wrapping around the base of his shaft and stroking it in time with each bob of your head and he hums and groans his approval of your actions into your core as he continues to lick and suck and prod at your clit and hole with his talented tongue.

When he feels your thighs trembling again and his own release too rapidly approaching he goes for what knows drives you crazy and will easily pull another orgasm from you and sucks your clit into his mouth, relentless and unforgiving until your mouth rips off of him and you cry out, your hand pumping him furiously as wave after wave of your orgasm crashes around you and you ramble out little mewls of pleasure and praise at how hard he’s made you come.

He lets out a content, satisfied sigh as he slows the efforts of his mouth, gently bringing you back to earth with slow licks and prods of his tongue until you're shaking and trembling begins to subside and your rocking against his face finally slows. Your hand wrapped around his length has also slowed to barely moving, not having brain capacity or muscle coordination to simultaneously pleasure him and ride the aftershocks of your own orgasm but Marcus is thankful for the reprieve, needing to be inside you before he finishes.

“Up,” he gently demands, tapping lightly against your hip and you pull away from him with a long drawn out groan, your limbs feeling like jelly as you attempt to get control over them again. Marcus chuckles a little but is quick to help you, gently raising your hips and then pushing you forward as he manages to snake his own body out from underneath you until you’re on hands and knees on the couch and he’s behind you.

“Lean forward, just relax” he instructs, pushing lightly on your shoulders so your elbows collapse and you slowly slide forward, knees still bent and kneeling on the couch but your face now buried in the seat cushion. “Yeah, just like that” he coos, fingertips tracing down your spine and you arch at his touch, desperate and ready for him. He lets his hand trail further still, over the swell of your ass until he’s between your legs and he gently plays with you, fingers gliding through your slick folds and up to circle at your clit before they slide back down and prod at your entrance.Your body keens at his touch, back arching, ass up in the air as your arms stretch out in front of you, not unlike a cat waking up from a long nap in the sun and Marcus lets out a little chuckle.

“Yeah, this is where you need me, hmm?” He rasps, voice low as he teases at your entrance with his fingers. “Poor baby needs her pretty little pussy filled up?” His hand leaves you only to go to his own mouth so he can wet his fingers with his own saliva before he brings them back between your legs and presses two inside of you, curling them just right and sliding in and out of you a few times before he adds a third. It’s so much, feels so good, and yet still not enough.

“God, Marcus, please. Please fuck me” you cry out, desperate and needy, hips beginning to rock back and forth against his hand, anything you can do to get some relief.

He gets up from the couch suddenly to rid himself of the rest of his clothing before positioning himself behind you again, grabbing hold of his hard, leaking member and guiding it between your legs. He groans when his naked flesh finally makes contact with yours, his smooth length pushing back and forth between your wet folds, coating himself in your slick and the tip of his cock teasing at your clit. You whimper unintelligibly at the contact that stimulates every last one of your nerve endings, your whole body keening with delight.

Marcus marvels at how soaked your folds are as he slides through them with ease. “Yeah you’re nice and ready for me, hmmm? Gonna be my good girl?”

“Yes, please, take me. I fucking need you so bad.” You’re not above begging at this point, especially if it gets you want you want, need, crave.

With your desperate pleas still lingering in the air Marcus lines himself up at your entrance and presses forward, filling you completely on the first push of his hips until he’s buried to the hilt, his hands gripping tight around your waist, thumbs digging in deep to the meat of the top of your ass.

“Holy fuck” he groans as he takes a moment stilling inside you, needing a second not only to let you adjust, but to resist his own temptation to let go and finish before he’s even begun. It’s only been a week but it somehow feels like an eternity since he’s last had you. He’s done his best to distract himself with work and other obligations but not a minute of the day has gone by where he hasn’t thought about you, about how much he missed you, how much he needed you. It had taken everything in him not to beat himself off in the shower every morning this week, the only thing holding him back was knowing how much better it would feel when he finally gets the relief the way he wants it; being inside of you.

After a few long moments and steadying breaths, Marcus manages to collect himself and center himself back into the moment. His hands grip you a little tighter and he finally begins to move, pulling back with a slow and delicious drag of his cock against your walls until he’s almost fully out before he slams forward, driving himself back deeply inside with a single snap of his hips that sends you lurching slightly forward, something between a gasp and cry punching out from your lungs.

“Marcus! Oh my - fuck. Baby, fuckfuckfuck” You’re a mewling, writhing mess underneath him as Marcus keeps up his steady pace, fucking into you with reckless abandon, hips pistoning back and forth, fast and hard.

“Yeah you like that” Marcus grinds out through clenched teeth before he lifts his right hand and lands a sharp smack to your ass, causing you to jolt forward again. “Can feel you fucking trying to squeeze me out baby, choking my cock. Good girl. Good fucking girl” he groans, railing into you even faster and you’re reduced to just mumbled cries and gasps into the couch cushion your face is still buried in.

“I can’t hear you” he suddenly growls, one hand leaving your hip to grab your hair and force your head to tilt up and oh fuck if Marcus pulling your hair doesn’t do something to you.

“I fucking love it!” You cry out, breaths coming out hard and fast. “Love taking your big cock Daddy, don’t stop”

“Shit… baby, shit I… fuck!” Marcus curses, not faring much better as he ruts into you like a man possessed. He lets go of your hair and repositions to your hips, his fingertips digging into your sides so desperately that you know come tomorrow you’ll be bruised but you don’t care. You want the reminder, you’ll welcome it even.

“Take me. Takemetakemetakemetakeme” You chant breathlessly, the words punching out of your throat timed perfectly to each of his rough forward thrusts.

Somehow despite you being fucked into a near stupor, you find the wherewithal to sneak a hand underneath yourself and reach between your legs, fingers desperately rubbing fast and furiously against your aching and needy clit. It only serves to empower Marcus, seeing how desperate you are to climax again and despite the less than comfortable position he’s got himself into kneeled on the couch he takes full advantage, leaning down slightly to wrap an arm all the way around your throat so it’s caged in by his bicep, the other gripping the back of the couch to get as much leverage as he possibly can from the position and he doubles his efforts. He pushes harder and faster until the room is filled with the debauched sounds of wet slaps of skin and heavy breathing and moaning and within a few short moments your vision goes white behind your eyelids and you cry out a shuddering gasp turned moan and your hand falls away from your now oversensitive sex as your orgasm takes over, the effects of it gushing out of you and coating Marcus’ length, dripping down to his balls and surely leaving a mess on the couch that you can’t begin to care about right now.

“God Baby, you’re so fucking good, fucking soaking me” Marcus manages, voice faltering along with the steady rhythm of his hips as he bucks into you sloppily now, the sheer force of your constricting walls inciting his own release and with a few more pushes of his hips he begins to paint your insides.

“Holy fuck” he reiterates, body spent and breathing heavily as he slowly continues to rock in and out of you. You whimper and moan underneath him, the overstimulation bordering on too much as you wait for your trembling to subside.

Marcus’ grip on your throat loosens significantly so you can fully catch your breath and he brings his hand up to run soothingly down your back instead, still fucking into you deep and slow and honestly you don’t know how he’s found the stamina or managed to stay hard but you’re not about to complain, he feels that fucking good.

“You want me to stay inside you?” He asks, though you both know he already knows the answer.

You bring your bottom lip between your teeth and manage to mumble an affirmative “mmmhmmm” into the couch cushion.

“Fuck you full of my cum, you like that baby?”

“Yes, fuck,” you tear your face away to the side so your words are no longer garbled into the couch cushion, you want him to hear you. “Fucking me so deep Daddy, holy shit it feels so good.”

Marcus hums his apparent satisfaction at your words, his hand that was gripping the back of the sofa coming to join the other to soothe up and down your back and sides, occasionally smoothing over the globes of your ass before they come back up and make their way up towards your shoulders again. He manages to keep going for another minute or so until he physically can’t, his cock softening inside of you eventually slips out and you both groan at the loss but his hands don’t stop touching you. When his spent dick leaves your swollen sex he leans down and places little kisses all over whatever inch of flesh on your back and shoulders he can reach until finally he pulls away, standing up from the couch and offering his hand to you. You take it, and with a groan (and Marcus’ help), manage to pull yourself up from the sofa. His fingers interlace with yours when he grabs your hand and he wordlessly leads you out of the living room, up the staircase to your bedroom.

Once inside he guides you immediately to the ensuite bathroom and turns you to rest with your back against the countertop while he busies himself grabbing a fresh facecloth from the linen shelf and turns on the hot water, wringing the cloth out a few times before turning off the taps and turning to face you. To your surprise, and a night and day contrast to how he was acting just minutes ago, he sinks to his knees on the unforgiving marble flooring and gently pries your thighs apart and then stares up at you, holding your gaze as he gently cleans up the mess between your legs. Your hand comes down to push through his hair, pushing it back past his forehead and a smile pulls at your lips. Once he’s finished cleaning you up he rises to his feet again, tosses the cloth in a nearby hamper and then his hands go straight to your hips, a gentle barely-there hold and he looks down at them, murmuring under his breath at the little discolored indents on your soft flesh, “I didn’t hurt you did I?”

It catches you off guard, the question. He seems unsure and maybe even upset with himself and you frown, reaching for his face and forcing his gaze back up to meet yours.

“Baby, no, of course not. You could never hurt me”

“Promise?” he asks just to clarify, soft, round brown gaze boring into yours.

“I promise. Marcus, that was… thank you” is all you can think to say. He seems to accept your answer, leaning forward and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, hands leaving your hips to come up and cup your face as his tongue parts your lips and slips inside to entangle with yours. When he finally pulls away you’re breathless and lean your head forward to rest on his shoulder, arms going around his waist.

“I just love you so much” he whispers against your hair. “I’d do anything for you, you know that?”

“I know” you murmur. “You do do everything for me Marcus. I love you too, more than anything” Your arms tighten a little more around his middle and you bury your face in his neck, unable to hold back the few tears that spill out. Marcus nuzzles at the side of your face and you can feel his own tear stained cheeks as he holds you close in the quiet serenity of your bathroom. You both take a minute to just let the moment settle over you before finally Marcus heaves a little sigh and pulls back, quickly wiping away at his face with the back of his hands.

“Come on, let me take you to bed”

You spend the night in his arms. The steady beat of his heart where your ear lays pressed against his chest lulling you into a peacefulness that you hadn’t felt in days.

Sunday is a whirlwind. The first time you wake up it’s to Marcus with his head between your legs, slowly lapping at you like a cat with a bowl of cream. He’s not hurried or frenzied or even seemingly trying to work towards an end goal of an orgasm for you, he just needs to be close to you, taste you. He lazily licks and kisses and sucks at you while you gently writhe your hips against him, hands lost in his soft hair and fingernails occasionally scraping against his scalp, which you know he loves. He murmurs little sweet nothings into your heated core while he pleasures you for what seems like a small eternity, never tiring or complaining, just reveling in the closeness. You end up orgasming twice during his time down there, which you’d guessed to be about an hour, both coming on quick, strong and sudden and from seemingly nowhere. Your hand fists in his hair and your hips arch upwards and still as he works you through each one and then he continues on. By the time your second orgasm has fully settled you gently push at the top of his head and he takes your wordless request, single digit slipping out of you and mouth moving away from your over sensitive sex to kiss and lick at the insides of each of your thighs, the top of your mound, and eventually making his way up your body until he’s lying on his side next to you.

He’s being his soft, sweet, gentle self this morning, you think it’s his way of making up for last night. Not that he has anything to make up for, at least in your mind.

“Baby,” you sigh, right hand coming up to cup his cheek.

“I love you” he says, in a way that makes it seem like he needs to remind you, like he’s saying it for the first time and needs to ensure you hear him.

“I love you too” you assure him.

He opens his arms and you crawl into them without question, letting him hold you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and you half draped over top of him with your face resting on his chest. He gently pets your hair and places little kisses to the top of your head while he holds you and you let out a content little sigh, snuggling deeper into his chest. You feel the unmistakable hardness of him between your two bodies but he seems to be trying to ignore it so you do your best not to grind against him like your body’s instincts want you to.

“We should talk” he murmurs against your hair and you gently nod your head in agreement.

“We should”

“How do we start?” He wonders honestly and you shrug your shoulders a little.

“I think first and foremost we need to be honest, no matter how hard it is to say or how hard it may be for the other person to hear”

“I agree” he says quietly, heaving a sigh.

A long silence stretches on before you realize you’ll have to be the one that starts this conversation.

“I miss him” you decide to start with, straight out of the gate. You agreed to be honest, after all, and that was the first thing on your mind, and it’s been on your mind all week. Your voice is quiet, meek even, but loud enough you know he’s heard you.

“I do too,” Marcus confesses, his arms tightening a little more around you, like he’s afraid you’ll be upset with his response.

You do gently pull away from Marcus’ hold, but only because you want to be able to look him in the eyes while you have this conversation so you gently push back and raise yourself up a bit so you’re fully on your side facing him. You settle his nerves by quickly wrapping both your hands around one of his and giving it a firm squeeze, bringing it to your lips to place a kiss on it.

“Why do you think he left?” You ask next, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

“I don’t know” Marcus sighs deeply, his free hand coming up to scrub over his face. “I thought, at first, maybe you know it was me? Like what we did… he… didn’t like it or regretted it or something”

“Did you like it?” You flip the question back to Marcus. You assume he did, but you two really hadn’t had much of a conversation about it. He’d told you what they did, but didn’t dwell on it or how he’d felt about it.

“Um,” Marcus turns his face slightly away from you and you can see the tips of his ears turning a brighter shade of pink.

“Hey,” you say firmly, hands dropping his so you can place one on his cheek and force his gaze back to you. “Honesty, remember? There’s nothing you can say that will change how I feel about you, ok? Ever”

“I know, I’m sorry” he closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them again and his gaze finally settles on you. “I… I mean, yes, ultimately. It was amazing. I came like… really fucking hard” he admits with a laugh to cover his obvious nerves and you offer a reassuring smile, nodding your head for him to continue. After a moment, he does. “I don’t know though, like I’ve never done anything with a guy before, or ever wanted to, so I think it was more so because it was Dave, rather than what we were doing? If… if that makes sense?” He tries, trailing off and unsure of how to articulate himself.

And it does make sense. At least to you. Because what had started between the three of you was supposed to be Dave offering you both something different, new, but then last weekend you had been with Dave in a similar way that you are with Marcus and you’d loved that too. And last night how Marcus was with you was everything Dave typically brought to the table and you loved that as well and yet, you still missed Dave. Not just the way he grabbed your hair when your mouth was around him, or the filthy words he’d murmur against your ear when he was deep inside you, or how his hand would tighten around your throat and release just moments before your orgasm inevitably crashed around you, but you missed him. You missed Dave.

“No, I get it” you finally say out loud, gently nodding your head. “Last night was… God Baby, that was fucking amazing” you admit, grin stretching across your features as you tilt your gaze back up to look at him and his own smile tugs at the corners of his lips like he’s elated to hear you say that.

“Yeah?” He questions with uncertainty in his tone.

“Yeah” you affirm with a solid single nod of your head. “But that’s kinda my point. Last night you gave me everything I could’ve wanted before and you did it so perfectly but…” you trail off, wanting to make sure you choose your words carefully but then you don’t have to because Marcus picks up on it immediately.

“But you still miss him”

“Yeah,” you shrug, your voice soft and you bring your gaze down to your lap, fingers absently picking at the sheet covering you. “Is that okay?”

Marcus heaves a sigh, pulling you close into his chest again and you go willingly, snuggling in his warmth and letting him hold you.

“Of course it’s ok”

There’s a long stretch of silence until finally Marcus murmurs into your hair, barely above a whisper but you hear him clear as day, “do you think you love him?”

Tears instantly well in your eyes and you turn your head to bury it in your husband's neck, bringing your own arms out to wrap around him and keep him close. You don’t give him any type of verbal confirmation or denial, because you haven’t really figured that out for yourself, but the non-answer is perhaps an answer enough itself for Marcus. He knows it the moment he feels the hot tears on his skin and he hugs you tighter, large hand splayed across your back gently smoothing up and down your spine and whispering quiet little affirmations about how it’s ok as he holds you in his arms.

You don’t need to assure Marcus that you still love him, or that your feelings for Dave in any way take away from what you feel for him. He knows, because deep down inside in a place that he hasn’t allowed his head or heart to go yet, he knows has similar feelings for Dave too but that it doesn’t change a single solitary thing he feels for you.

“I know, I know” he gently soothes, slightly rocking you in his arms as your tears begin to flow freely.

He continues to hold you, letting you cry until finally he hears you sniffle a few times and he knows the tears have begun to subside before he speaks again.

“I uh… went by his office. This week”

That gets your attention. You gently push away from his chest, quickly swiping at your wet face with your hands before you lean back enough so you can look at him again.

“He wasn’t there” Marcus quickly offers, before you get too invested. “But I asked around and someone eventually told me he took a sabbatical. I guess he was due for one for a while and never took it but Monday morning he came in and put in the request and told them it was urgent so they let him take it” Marcus finishes with a shrug.

Your heart sinks even further as Marcus tells you this. You had no idea it was this bad that Dave would rather abandon his job just to avoid seeing either of you. You still don’t understand it all, what happened. You wish he would just come back and talk to you, explain himself. Even if it was to officially end things, at least you’d know where he stands.

“Wherever he is, I hope he’s OK” you sigh, snuggling further into Marcus. At least you still had each other. Your mind doesn’t want to wonder whether or not Dave has someone in his own bed to help ease the pain away. Not that he doesn’t have every right to, but it hurts your heart too much to even consider that he might.

“Yeah, me too” Marcus echoes your sentiment, bringing his lips down to press to your forehead.

You spend the rest of the day naked in bed together, making love for hours. It’s slow and sensual at first as Marcus explores every inch of your body and you of his, re-cementing your bond through every touch and kiss. You both need this. When more urgent needs arise your pacing and breathing picks up but what doesn’t change is the way you hold each other's gaze the entire time, refusing to look away even as you both reach your climaxes and your eyes beg to squeeze shut. As the day drags on and the sun begins to set outside your bedroom window you’ve lost count of your combined orgasms, only taking breaks when you need a refractory period during which one of you will patter off to the kitchen to get something easy to eat in bed along with some water and bring it back for you both to refuel your energy.

You talk more too, in those in-between moments when your bellies are full and your libidos are taking a much needed rest. Eventually you even get into hypotheticals, what you would have done had Dave not left that night, how it would change things for your relationship going forward. You both agreed you wouldn’t mind him being a more permanent fixture in your lives,if that’s what he wanted. And not just for sex. You wanted to have dinners with him, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed. You wanted him to come over after a long day at work and all cuddle up on the couch together, or for him to let the two of you take care of him in whatever capacity he needs whenever he needs it. You just wanted Dave. Both of you did.

You realize though that talking like that only makes it hurt more, knowing Dave clearly didn’t want the same thing. Maybe you and Marcus had gotten too familiar with him, too close, and that’s why he left. He never signed up to be part of your marriage and maybe what you’d thought you’d felt that last night with him was just delusion on your part. If he’d felt what you felt, how could he have just walked away?

You both ultimately resign to the fact that it’s over, whatever you had with Dave, and you mourn the loss together and make the united decision to put all your efforts into building your marriage even stronger than it had been before. The two of you need each other more than ever to fill the Dave York sized hole that was left in both your broken hearts.

Less than a couple hundred miles away the man in question sat at a small dining room table in the overly priced and blandly decorated vacation cottage he had rented for the summer. The sound of his children laughing and playing in the front yard brought a smile to his face just as he lifted his coffee cup to taste that first morning sip. He’s thankful in this moment to his ex-wife for allowing him to take his girls on an impromptu summer getaway to the quaint little beach town just one state over in Delaware. He missed them, of course, and always wanted more time with them, but really and truly he needed an escape from his life. He knew it was only a matter of time before you or Marcus would come looking for him and knew that Marcus could easily get access into his office building with the credentials he had so he felt he had no choice. He couldn’t face either of you right now, it was too painful. He knew if he didn’t stop seeing you now, he’d never want to stop, and that’s not what either of you had signed up for. It was easier for everyone this way, he’d let you get back to your lives and he would rebuild his own into what it was before. Quiet, solitary, comfortable.

Over the two and a half months he was away he would occasionally pick up his phone and check on your social medias. Neither of you posted a lot, but when you did you always looked happy. Marcus with his arm around you at an outdoor music festival, cocktails on a patio somewhere at sunset, a picture of Marcus in a sharp suit at one of your work fundraiser events standing next to the coat check with a slightly crooked smile on his face and holding your purse for you with your cute little caption that read ‘name a more perfect husband, I’ll wait’. Marcus had ‘liked’ and replied to the post saying “anything for my perfect wife.”

And they were perfect, Dave mused with a heavy sigh, clicking off his phone and tossing it across the table before burying his face in his hands. He needed to stop this, it only made it harder instead of easier. His children were a great distraction during the day, but at nights when he was alone in bed, his mind and his dick always betrayed him and thought of the two of you. He’d wrap a fist around himself and close his eyes, picturing the way you looked up at him on that last night together when he stood broken and desperate at your doorstep. Or Marcus sinking to his knees in front of him in the shower, or the way he felt when tremors racked his body as he came with Dave’s strong arms wrapped around his wet body.

God he missed you. Both of you. And unfortunately for him his sabbatical was coming to an end and the school year would be starting for his kids again and he had to go home, face reality. It was ok though, he doubted you still thought of him or would even bother to come looking for him after all this time. He could go back to the way his life always was. Dave had always been good at compartmentalizing and he could do this, too, he thinks. Washington was plenty big for the three of you, what were the odds he’d even run into you?

He didn’t know it at the time, but he was about to find out.

Likes/comments/reblogs mean the world to me and encourage me to keep this wild ride going so thank you in advance for your love 💜 I really appreciate it!

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[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.12}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

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A/N: Sorry I haven't been updating this super frequently, I lowkey forgot tumblr existed for a hot second. it's all up to date on AO3, but I'll get back into posting it on here too! Also, I have commissions up on my page! There's a link to an info post on my pinned :) could really use the extra money & I'm happy to write for ideas that y'all have!!

Word Count: 4.6k

The start of the morning went according to routine. Waking up at sunrise, fixing yourself and Tara breakfast, and tidying up the study before she awoke. While doing some light reading over a cup of hot coffee, you’re startled by a knock on the door. Soon your increased heart rate is not out of fear, but instead out of excitement. An eagerness to see a familiar face, somehow believing that he had managed to cut the trip down to only nine days. An incredible feat, but you certainly weren’t going to complain – you would be without him no more!

You’re quick to stand from the loveseat and rush for the front door, leaving the book you’d been reading on the table, far less interested in its contents when Gale had finally come back. You open the door – you don’t bother to call out, or ask who it might be, as you’re sure that you know who it is. 

But Gale’s beard was certainly not that long. And not nearly as white. And his face was never as… old. 

“Hello?” You stammer, caught off-guard by a completely unfamiliar elder, dressed in obvious wizard-esque attire, with a long orange and red robe and a matching hat that drapes behind him. He nods, smiling wearily and glancing behind you.

“The apprentice, I presume? I intend not to affright thee. Might you indulge an old man? I bear regards to Gale,” he speaks, his voice deep in the stereotypical elderly way, and you swear he’s far too old for a mortal human, but he looks plenty human. 

“You know Gale?” You ask, hesitant to believe anything the man says, both due to your immediate disappointment that the door didn’t open to Gale, and because you know better than to immediately trust strangers. 

“Indubitably. You may safely classify Gale and I as friends,” he confirms, and you realize that this may very well be Gale’s ‘old friend’ that he intended to visit. After all, he’s plenty old, and allegedly a friend. There is an instant pit in your stomach – If he is here, and notably lacking the company of your mentor, then something must be wrong. 

You know that your worry shows on your face, but you don’t care. You step out of the way and pull the door open further, inviting him in. “Come in, please.” It takes a lot not to choke on your words, on your rising anxiety, on your terror. He enters, steps out of his boots, and makes his way to the study, not requiring any sort of direction – a confirmation that he’s likely who he says he is. 

You follow, and he pauses in the middle of the study, motioning about the room. “A mighty toothsome abode this has become – cert ameliorated since I last bore tarriance.” He turns to look at you and waves a hand, a smile crossing his wrinkled features. “Compliments! Alas, I trekked not for flattery. Should thy curiosity bear uncertainty, I shall put to rest such indecision. Elminster Aumar, at your service.” He extends a hand, and you stare at it for a moment before ultimately taking it, and he gives it a firm shake, pushing dried wrinkles against your palm, before he drops his hand. 

“Nice to meet you. Where is Gale? Is everything okay?” You question, desperately searching his eyes for answers, perhaps something more clear than his convoluted conversation will provide, but you find a barrier of blue wisdom, refusing you any peeks into his true nature. 

“Enigmatic, the situation remains. Harrowing dawns are upon us, I fear. Mystra sanctioned the deliverance of a memorandum most paramount,” he sighs, and you frown, simultaneously trying to decipher his statements and search for assurance that Gale is okay. You don’t particularly succeed at either. “Cognizant am I of his absenteeism, inclusive of thy enlistment to the abecedarian chosen’s – ah, erstwhile chosen’s – service. A most discommodious concatenation has seized the deliberation of the Gods.”

There’s a few seconds of silence, but when he doesn’t speak anymore, you shake your head, narrowing your eyes. “I’m… not understanding.” 

He tuts, clasping his hands together and closing his eyes, sighing yet again. “Apologies. I come bearing a–”

“By Mystra’s mercy!” Tara yowls, her tail stiffening and puffing as she emerges from Gale’s room, anxiously glancing Elminster up and down, her head shaking and her wings twitching. “Elminster Aumar? Oh, dear – whatever trouble has my wizard gotten into?” 

Elminster looks at Tara, and he smiles nervously, dipping his head once more. “Tara, dearest, a delight to see you.” He clears his throat, addressing you once more, and Tara comes to rub against your calf, taking a seat between your ankles and looking up at the old man. “I desiderate not to impose you, but to entrust to you a message. A consideration, on Mystra’s part, to offer Gale redemption.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, and you feel Tara’s fur bristle against your skin, both of your guards up. “Redemption? I don’t understand – where is Gale?” 

“I know not his precise locale. Hence my emergence in Waterdeep. It is in your hands I allocate his discovery. Tara – grant me aplomb, will you?”

Her tail swishes, brushing over the ground in mild irritation, or perhaps worry – maybe even a combination of both. “I can find him, Elminster. Rest assured.” 

“Most meritorious. Upon reconciliation, I ask you to inform him of the following. It is imperative that he understands the false deity he faces is far more dangerous than he may possibly conceive. It threatens the gods, the realm, the universe itself. Mystra believes only he is capable of its thorough destruction.” His voice is tainted with regret – as if he is apologetic for the goddess’ message. He reaches into his robe, presenting a tightly tied scroll, and you take it from him, though don’t dare to open it. “If he complies, the spell contained within that scroll will put a halt to the orb’s impending implosion. A temporary fix – all too temporary indeed. He must find the heart, and obey the ritual.”

“False deity? Threatening the gods – the ‘heart’? What are you on about?” You let out an exhale that borders on the edge of a confused, overwhelmed whine, your head shaking in an attempt to dispel the oncoming migraine. 

“Set out as quickly as you can. The realm battles against time. He will understand, even if you do not.” He shakes his own head, inhaling slowly, as if to steady himself. “My sincerest apologies, child. Had I any choice in the matter, you would not be my target of burden. Alas, you know him well, and the trust is mutual. I have little time – Mystra beckons me afresh. I may only bestow upon you luck. And the best of luck it is.” 

. . .

“So, he is her chosen?” You ask, sorting through Gale’s desk as you collect two pouches of gold, dropping them into a quickly-filling traveling pack. 

“Has been for many a century. Oh, I do so hope to be absolved of my misery at a quicker rate than that. To live for a millenia – isn’t it plain dreadful?” She mews, kneading at the cushion of the loveseat across the room from you. 

You close the drawer that you’d been sifting through, opening a different drawer filled with quills, as well as a dagger that has gone unused for longer than you’ve known Gale. You don’t have any intentions of using it, but you’re smart enough to know better than to travel unarmed. “Did you understand anything he said? All of that about Mystra and the ‘huge threat’, or whatever he called it?” 

“Hardly, though I rarely concern myself with the affairs of gods. Once we find Mr. Dekarios, he will explain all. He won’t want to risk the clawing that would come with keeping us in the dark about whatever he is up to,” she replies, stretching out her back and jumping off of the couch, approaching you before hopping onto the desk, inspecting the bag you were packing. “My, quite the pile of gold you’ve acquired, dear.”

“Well, yeah. We’ll need to afford rations for the trip, there’s no telling how long it will take, and probably transportation, and–”

“Hah!” She meows, amused at your statement. “Nonsense. The trip will be a short one. With my purrrfect nose, we’ll find him in a whisker’s twitch.” 

“We’ll still need to travel to him, though.”

“Ah. With my trusty sense of smell, my unbridled connection to my darling humanoid, and a sprinkling of conjuration magic, we’ll be in the… general area of Mr. Dekarios,” she assures, sticking her head into the bag and biting the tip of a gold pouch, removing it and dropping it onto the desk. “Let’s leave some inheritance for our return, yes?”

“Wait – we can just… appear there? Like, teleporting?” You chuckle in surprise, a little baffled that it would be that easy.

“Well, thirty-two years of companionship doesn’t go without its benefits! Aside from the self-warming bed, of course. I know Mr. Dekarios better than he knows himself. I’ll find him, don’t you fret. Elminster emphasized the urgency of the situation, so I best be referring to a few studies on transpositional spells. We should depart before the evening. Will you be ready?”

You think over what else you need to do, or pack, and eventually nod. “Yeah, I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Delightful,” she praises, hopping off of his desk once more and walking towards his room. She pauses, however, to look behind herself at you, her ears twitching. “Do bring along some of that salmon, would you? As much as I enjoy hunting the occasional mouse, we’ve larger missions to sink our claws into.”

“Of course. I’ll even cut it up into squares,” you tease, and she lets out a loud purr in response, satisfied with your answer. Tara disappears into his room, and you return to your packing, picking up the backpack and leaving the study, immediately preparing the salmon before you risk forgetting. You slice it into squares as you’ve been doing for the past few days, and then place those squares on a sheet of parchment paper, rolling it up and securing it before you tuck it into your bag. 

Knowing that you have very little hunting experience, you make sure to grab plenty of rations for yourself, as well, though find that the bag is getting quite full. You suppose the several changes of clothes are mostly at fault for that, and you have to sacrifice two sets in order to fit what you believe will keep you fed for at least a few days. Maybe less, should you need to share with Gale, but you’d be happy enough to have found him, you doubt you’ll have room for complaints. 

When you return to the study, you can hear Tara muttering incantations in the next room over, and you decide better than to risk interrupting her. You would pick out a book to keep you company, but you doubt you have the room for that, and as Tara said, you’d probably have your hands full for the next few days. Instead, you take a seat by the unlit fireplace, allowing yourself a few minutes to think – to properly process everything that has been dumped onto you in a morning. Truly, it would be nice if ‘grand reveals’ were a little more spaced out, or had some build up to them. Alas, you were smacked with concerning news flashes that rattled you for a morning, or a single conversation, and then you were promptly dropped in a sea of confusion, left to teach yourself how to swim. 

How unfair. 

Thanks in part to Elminster’s intensely coded and decorated speech mannerisms, you have no clue what you should expect. On the bright side, it seemed quite assured that he was not dead. Mystra would certainly know if he was – not only because of her familiarity with him, but likely that her connection to the weave within him would draw her immediate attention, should that connection be severed, or… exploded. 

She was rather audacious, if you had to be honest. To abandon him in his time of need, to leave him wandering and hurting after everything he tried to do for her, was one issue, and a plenty large enough issue on its own. But now for her to suddenly call upon him for a mission because she felt threatened? Oh, the gall. 

You couldn’t tell if it was incredibly serious because she’d called on a mortal to do her bidding, or if it was incredibly un-serious, because she had called on a mortal to do her bidding! She, a goddess, the weave incarnate, the mistress of magic, couldn’t take care of a threat to the entire universe, but Gale Dekarios, a middle-aged, objectively gauche and reclusive wizard, was capable of such victory? 

It was the orb. It had to be. In no world did Gale naturally have such power at his fingertips. Even so, the weave within him is only a fraction of Mystra. Surely she is stronger? Surely she can cast such destruction tenfold, should she be so inclined. 

…Right?

Gale was not more powerful than Mystra. Nobody could be – not via the weave, anyways. Gale wasn’t even on a similar level to Mystra. He had a fraction – a fraction – of her power. Didn’t he? That’s what he’d told you. 

You recall your own experience – pulling energy with the orb as your source. The split second of unforeseen power that you felt, that surged through you as if it was you. In that moment, you’d believed yourself unbeatable. All-powerful. An irrational thought, you’re aware, and yet such possibility intrigues. 

If Mystra controlled the weave, couldn’t she remove the orb? According to Elminster, she’s capable of pausing it, and yet it remains latched and active within his body. She had to have her reasons. Mystra would not turn down the ability to be even stronger without good reason. 

Again, you return to your memory – the quiet calm of the orb, paired with Gale’s utter terror. It makes you think.

Is Mystra scared of it?

“Are you quite ready?” Tara peeks her head out from Gale’s bedroom, and you quickly stand, putting on your boots and nodding, grabbing your backpack from the loveseat. You follow her into Gale’s bedroom, where a swirling purple and black vortex awaits you. 

“We’ll be able to return, right?”

“Oh, of course,” she reassures, and you relax, stepping closer to the portal. You feel her rub against your ankle, and she outstretches her wings, yawning. Jumping to fly behind you, she perches on your shoulder, her tail bumping against your back. “With the assistance of a horse, but a return is a return, yes?”

You cringe, a little less sure, but give an affirmative shrug nonetheless. “Right. Here goes, I guess.”

“Prepare your feathers, dear – a quick trip through the cosmos and we’ll surely be on his doorstep! Or… somewhere in the vicinity.”

With that, and a nod at one another, you step through the portal, having to rely on your trust in Tara to recite the spell correctly and not land you in a heap of trouble. 

–   –   –

He’d left the ruckus of the party behind him, the noise from drunken singing and laughing a little too much for him to bear. And far too sweet of an opportunity. A perfect distraction – as if it had been curated for him. He did deserve it, didn’t he? 

He’d worked so hard. Slain so many goblins. Thoroughly exhausted himself, dirtied his daggers and saved lives. Heroes, they named them. As if his intentions were entirely pure – as if he felt empathy for the tieflings, as if he’d been pushed to act in their honor, as if he cared. 

The wine was tolerable, at least. The company not so much. Drunk and dry. Below his standards, and far too chatty. 

The boars were better than the rats. Had more sustenance to them – a little more flavor. More of a kick, too, as small as their legs were. Alas, he was hungry, and ever-so-greedy. Perhaps he’d find a deer. Or another boar – it wasn’t too wretched of an idea. If he had to compromise, he wasn’t entirely opposed to it. Hardly a fan, but blood was, ultimately, blood. A boar would hold him off for another day or two. A deer, though? Oh, certainly a week. 

He finds himself traveling deeper and deeper into the forest. The party, ringing through the trees around their little clearing, scaring off the prey he so helplessly yearned for. What insatiable hunger. A hindrance, a terrible flaw, a godsforsaken craving – until he satisfied it, at least. 

However temporary the satisfaction, it made the carnal desires, the churning desperation, the withdrawals – all of it, worth it, for a little while. Few things came close to the sensation of blood running down his neck, washing him inside and out, fulfilling his bone-chilling needs. 

How clueless his companions remained. It granted him fragmented amusement, witnessing their utter hopelessness – gave him the slightest rushes of power, of pride. Of security. To know, and to trust, that his secret remained just that, all thanks to his carefully plucked words, his controlled smiles, his flawless manipulation. Even his kills were tidy –

Well, save for the first boar, that is. Not that they’d picked up on it, fortunately, but he supposes he could have cleaned that one up a little better. He’d been desperate, and practically starved. Trekking about in unfamiliar lands was so incredibly exhausting. Especially when he was forced to sweat under the heat of the sun – not to say he didn’t enjoy walking freely under the sun, of course he did, but the sweat he could do without. 

And slaying was even more taxing on his body. Swinging, dashing, dodging – oh, catching prey used to be so easy. 

At least he did it for himself now. Made the burdens far easier to bear. Free will was such a luxury, wasn’t it?

Astarion pauses, hearing movement ahead of him. He can’t hear the noise of the party anymore, nor can he see the lights, and he’s sure that his prey lies close. So he sticks closer to the denser parts of the forest, hugging every shadow that he can, moving with them as one as though he’s Baldur Gate’s best trained assassin, or a panther, slinking about the underbrush, eyes on a darling, oblivious gazelle. 

He smells a fire, and then he hears quiet chattering –

A person.

His heart flutters, his fangs practically ache, and he realizes that settling for a boar would be a horrific lowball. Unfair – unfair to him. 

He deserves better. He deserves real prey. He deserves payment for two-hundred years spent in a hell personalized for him. He deserves payment for having his freedom robbed from him. He deserves payment for freeing those poor, defenseless tieflings. 

He deserves payment. Retribution. 

He deserves real blood. Sweet blood. Thick, terrified blood – crying blood, pleading blood. Blood with a life. Blood with a soul. Blood with a personality. 

Better him than a wolf, or a bear. Better fangs in the neck than claws across the torso, surely. He’d be doing this stranger a mercy. Maybe he’ll even be gentle. Maybe he’ll be kind – maybe, he’ll be the hero that the tieflings claim he is.

But he is hungry. And he is weary. And he can smell them, smell a meal, smell satisfaction. It is yards away, and he is closing in, and his fingers twitch, and he is silent. The grass does not betray him, no sticks dare to sneak under his steps, not a leaf crunches under his weight.

He is being given what he deserves, at last.

No – he is offered no gifts. Every step is a careful one, every stick is dodged, every leaf is tip-toed over.

He is taking what he deserves. 

He creeps closer, finding someone getting ready for rest, curled up alone on a bedroll, unaware of the danger lurking mere feet away. They smell sweet – innocent. Had he any less dignity, he’d positively be salivating, closer to an excited mutt than an ex-magistrate. However far he’s fallen, he cares not. 

His mind belongs not to him, but to his need, to his cravings, to the yearning of his fangs. He watches them, their eyes closed, but he’s sure they’re awake; moments ago, they shifted their makeshift blanket, ensuring perfect comfort. 

He hopes it’s an adequate final resting place. 

In an instant, he’s pounced, and he kneels beside them, a hand firmly clasped over their mouth as their eyes widen and they writhe, making his own blood rush. He shushes them, feigning some care for their comfort, but he knows that the more terrified they are, the quicker their heart beats, and the more blood that will be pumped directly into his mouth. 

His other hand tangles in their hair, and he yanks them up, his mouth opening as he eyes their neck, and at last, he bites down, earning a pained squeal from his victim. 

It is magnificent. 

Perfect, sweet with a kick, and it warms him, far better than any blood he’s ever tasted. Animals are no match. When blood like this exists, blood that makes him feel like royalty, blood that makes him twitch, blood that consumes his mind as he consumes–

“Fiend!” A feminine voice hisses, and Astarion feels claws rake across his face, earning a hiss from himself as he stumbles off of the victim, dreadfully yanked away from his meal. That meal clutches their neck, and Astarion finds that his assailant is a winged cat, her fur standing on end, her tail thick and bristled, claws unsheathed and prepared to strike again. 

“Bloody hells! What is wrong with you?!” His victim cries out, and Astarion’s eyes linger on the blood trailing down their neck, pooling in the crevice of their collarbone, painting them a perfect feast–

Once more, claws strike across his nose, and he growls, backing away an extra step and looking between his victim and the tabby. Despite his urges, and his concern for allowing a victim to escape, he recoils and retreats, believing it to be better to return to camp rather than expel any more energy in a battle. 

After all, it’s quite unlikely for the pair to stay in these woods when they’re aware of a vampire on the loose – They’d have to be positively insane to stick around.

–   –   –

It’d been too long since he’d indulged in the bittersweet sting of wine, and he’d made up for lost time tonight. Several glasses deep, as a matter of fact, and his mind was entirely distracted from any pressing matters, and certainly drawn away from the impending regret to follow the next morning. 

The river bank they camped by was perhaps the most peaceful place he’d found thus far. So it was on the bank that he sat, not minding the tickle of sand, too focused on the quiet, buried sound of the water slowly running past. Buried, that was, underneath the sound of the off-tune singing and chattering of his companions and their guests, the tieflings they’d rescued. 

It isn’t half the view, but it reminds him of Waterdeep. Reminds him of the view from the balcony – the one he could share with them, no matter the time of day, or night. The breeze here was slight, but it’s enough to make him reminisce on the salty breeze he had grown so used to. The kind that’s just chilly enough to allow for him to pull them closer, wrapping an arm around their shoulder in mock defense of the cold and be safe from any possible accusations about ulterior motives. Gods forbid he be pushed to answer for what exactly his feelings on them were – he hardly knew, and he doubted anyone else, especially them, would be capable of understanding.

Tara called it love. Tara also had quite the habit of getting ahead of herself. He enjoyed their company, that was certainly a given, but toleration was quite different from love. Albeit, he was beyond simply tolerating them, but it still hardly called for such an extreme adjective. He was not, and still is not, a man who is searching for love. Even if he did possess such feelings for them – which was wildly unlikely – he wouldn’t be able to act upon such feelings. Gods, he didn’t want to even imagine the embarrassment that would follow any kind of confession from his end. Perhaps even worse, the accusations. He had not taken them in so he could pursue any kind of an intimate relationship with them. He had not mentored them with such intentions in play. 

Gale knows his concerns are reasonable, and completely justified. Any such unforeseen flattery would put too heavy a damper on what they already had; a perfectly innocent business relationship, perhaps even one more akin to a professor and his student. The kind of relationship that absolutely did not, under any circumstances, have room for romantics. 

Anyways, he harbored no longing for them. So it mattered none. Whatever limitations he had firmly set in his mind were not going to become tainted with regret, because there was nothing to regret. Nothing more to wish for. He yearned for survival, nothing else. Certainly not them. 

Likely, the wine was to blame – mixing unpleasantly with the tadpole in his head, causing his thoughts to branch off into unsavory places. The wine and the scenery. Wishing for them, now, meant nothing. Being calmed by the waking dream of their presence beside him, it was nothing more than a result of his exhaustion from the day’s events. What little peace he experienced now, he wished he could share with them. But that was not due to love, he was a perfectly sane man, and sane men don’t fall in love with their apprentices. Unreasonable – that’s all it was. Unreasonable to miss more than their company. Unreasonable to allow himself to crave their touch, to dream of the sound of their voice. 

Unreasonable to revisit the feeling of their weight in his arms, carrying them back to bed after they’d fallen asleep in the study, resting so comfortably against his chest. It had been unreasonable for him to hold them for a few moments more, despite standing beside their bed, knowing he should set them down. 

Unreasonable for his mind to drift in this moment, the wine barely being strong enough for him to blame his less chaste thoughts on, conjuring up other scenarios in which he might feel their weight against his body, close and gentle, or what sorts of noises he may be able to pull from them when his hands are allowed to roam their body freely. The expressions that may come across their face, acting entirely on reactions to his saccharine teasing, playing them much like he would a lute, capable of plucking their strings enough to form only the most blissful of melodies. How pleasant such an encounter would–

“The fun is coming to an end.”

Gale’s eyes open quickly, and he finds himself gripping the base of his chalice rather tightly, causing him to gulp and forcefully relax, sitting up and turning his attention to Shadowheart, a glass of her own in her hand. He nods, cracking an awkward smile and raising an eyebrow. “Is it?”

She nods, motioning with her cup back towards the main gathering space of their camp. “Indeed. Assumed you’d want to say some goodbyes. Perhaps accept another round of praise. I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

Gale scoffs, shaking his head and rising to his feet. “Nonsense. I was merely enjoying the quiet. Past time I submitted to sleep – fear I’ve gotten well-too deep in our wine supply for one night,” he chuckles, and Shadowheart dips her head and raises her glass in agreement, returning to the fading festivities alongside him. 

#shadowheart bg3 #astarion bg3 #bg3 gale #gale bg3 #bg3 #gale baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #gale x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #tara the tressym #bg3 companions #shadowheart

[blaisenova]

I got a request, and if it's okay can it be platonic?

If it can, how about classic and Error friendship? Cause Error hates aus, and classics the original.

but of course!!

i fucking love the man child, and, naturally, i adore myself some classic too. funnily enough, this is actually a dynamic i don't often see explored, and it's one i've definitely neglected in my own years of making undertale content. BUT THAT ENDS TODAY!!

i'm not sure if you had anything specific in mind, but i just kind of came up with an idea and ran with it, so hopefully it turned out okay LOL. i'm pretty content with it. i always love putting error in space, as a treat.

story is below the cut, and i'll reblog with the ao3 link once it's posted there, but you, my dear tumblr user, get to see it first <3

thanks so much for the request!!

The multiverse was an infinitely expanding place, much to Error’s chagrin, and that meant that there were some rather peculiar concepts out there. Error had never been one for the unusual, though, so the more bizarre corners of the multiverse served to do nothing but piss him off. Really, there were very few universes that he genuinely appreciated the existence of, and those were Undernovella, Outertale, and Undertale. The first and second were, admittedly, born out of a particular bias – Asgoro was just such a compelling character. And who doesn’t like space? Sue him! – and the third was because Undertale was the only real universe out there; the rest were nothing but mistakes; accidents; copies that didn’t print quite right. So, naturally, when given the opportunity to bother one of the Classic Sanses of the multiverse, Error leapt at the opportunity.

It wasn’t exactly uncommon for him to be met with a Classic in his line of work, especially considering the special care he took with them; all it took was one fool’s mistake to turn an Undertale into something else entirely, after all, and that was the last thing Error wanted. There should only be one Sans per universe, both in and out of the timeline. Any… extras were glitches already – Errors, if you will – so, really, it was a mercy to get rid of them. Spare everyone the trouble of another him.

As often as Error was met with Classic, however, it wasn’t until his last Genocide that he actually struck up what might be called a “friendship” – admittedly, Error had never quite figured out the meaning of the word despite Blue’s attempts to teach him (though, Blue had also admitted that their whole “friendship” was a ploy, back in the day, before there was another error in the universe, so, really, who was to say what he knew) – but, sometimes, it was hard to tell if people really wanted to hang out with him or if he was just holding them captive on accident. Again.

It was especially complicated when Error was Classic’s “ride,” if you will. Classic had completely forbidden Error from spending time in his universe – which was insulting as much as it was understandable – and Error had forbidden the two from spending time in the anti-void – because the last thing he needed was another Blue situation – so the two, often, passed their hours in other universes, particularly Outertale. Not every Sans had the ability to travel from universe to universe, however – and thank the fucking stars for that. There’s no telling what kind of universes would be made if people could just go wherever they pleased – so Error was Classic’s taxi to the rest of the multiverse. It created a bit of an odd power dynamic that Error, admittedly, kind of enjoyed; he could go see Classic whenever he wanted, but Classic would always have to wait for him to show up first. If that’s what friendship was, then maybe it wasn’t so bad, after all.

Either way, Classic was everything that the rest of the multiverse wasn’t in that, unlike everyone else, he was meant to be there.

In all honesty, Error didn’t particularly enjoy the actual personality of his companion – there was something about it that made his bones buzz unpleasantly, like static, and reminded him of a past long gone and just out of memory’s reach – but it was so impossibly rare to meet someone that wasn’t an anomaly that Error found himself enjoying Classic’s company nonetheless.

Which was why – as he normally did when he was too caught up in his own thoughts to realise what he was doing – Error found himself stepping through a glitch in the fabric of the multiverse, met with the pleasant sound of snow crunching beneath his slipper. The slush immediately soaked through his shoes, chilling his toes and making him shiver with glitches. He peered upwards at the blurred cavern ceiling that hung above, dappled with the sparkling cyan gems that he used to pretend were stars; it was easier now, to pretend, when his vision was so awful. Though, even then, nothing compared to the real thing, and what was the use of pretending when, now, he could access the stars with a mere flick of the wrist?

With that same unconsciousness that came with years of habit, Error, after a short walk, easily found himself before the forest’s sentry station, where a nearly identical copy – if you ignored the marks of the anti-void or their lack thereof – snoozed away his shift, as he always did.

“Hey,” he called, voice particularly distorted with his effort to project, and a pleased smile fell over his face as the sound effectively roused his companion.

The skeleton blinked awake with that same bleary slowness that all tale Sanses did, rubbing the sleep from his sockets with a closed-mouth yawn. It took him a moment to register what had woken him as he shook the snow that had fallen onto his skull back to the ground, and his smile widened at the sight of the glitch before him. Admittedly, it was a welcome change in greeting than the usual wariness or screams that he received in the typical universe, but, then again, Classic had always been a special case in every way involving Error.

“Hey,” he returned, in that same languid tone as always. “Long time snow see.”

With a distorted bark of laughter, Error returned, “Yeah. It’s ice to see you again.”

“Good one,” Classic snickered. He stretched, slowly, filling the air with the soft pop of bones, then, as if to refute his efforts, hunched right back over into the same horrible position as before; head leaned on his arms, looking like he was still half asleep which, knowing him, he probably was. “Seriously. It’s been a while. Where’ve you been? Or do I wanna know?”

“Busy,” was all he answered, and the strings that stuck to his cheeks itched at the notion.

Sockets slipping shut in a poorly concealed cringe, Classic hummed. “I guess I don’t.”

“We’re going to see the stars,” Error said, instead of responding. With a flick of his wrist, a door opened to the rest of the multiverse, and the dark vastness of space shone through, spotted with all manner of colourful stars, both big and small; the heat of their presence could be felt through the opening, and the feeling prompted Classic to sit up. 

He peered through the portal with that same uncertain fascination as he always did, eyelights darting over each celestial body with increasing longing. Nevertheless, when he managed to tear his gaze from the beyond and back to what was right in front of him, he fixed Error was a peculiar look with squinted sockets. “That a request?”

Error followed suit in his expression, head cocked to the side. “What?”

“Are you asking me to go?” he elaborated with an almost mocking deliberation. “Or making me?”

With a confused shake of his head, Error glanced back at the expanse of space for a moment before returning his gaze to the other him. His eyelights moved over his face, in the same way Classic’s did to the stars, as if searching for something. “Don’t you want to?”

For reasons Error couldn’t possibly hope to discern, Classic seemed to relax at the question, his expression turning back to that half-lidded smile. Having friends was weird. “I guess I can make some space in my schedule,” he said. “Beats working.”

“You were sleeping,” Error corrected with another confused frown.

“Yeah,” Classic agreed before, with a shit-eating grin that gave Error a better idea of why Papyrus was so annoyed all the time, “on the job.”

Frowning, Error let out a distorted sigh and considered how attached he really was to the multiverse’s veritable “original.” Attached enough, perhaps. It was fortunate that Classic was, overall, quiet, especially when faced with the silence-inspiring view of the stars that he was so seldom met with in his own universe, or, at least, not in ways that he properly remembered. Surrounded by something so vast and beautiful, what was there to say? Words seemed meaningless, small; som

“Are you coming or not?” Error grumbled, jerking his head towards the portal.

Finally standing to his feet – which, hilariously, didn’t grant him much extra height compared to when he’d been sitting – Classic nodded shortly and flashed him yet another grin. “Not in the mood for comet-y, are we?” he huffed. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”

Without gracing the pun with a response – though, admittedly, it had been a good one – Error stepped into the other universe. Immediately, the distinction between the soggy snow beneath his feet and the crumbly softness of the planet’s surface was clear, and, despite the distinct lack of oxygen, it felt easier to breathe. They’d ended up where they always did when they went to Outertale: some place on the other side of the planet, where the sun didn’t touch and, so, neither did the monsters. Without the mark of monsterkind, the planet itself was overwhelmingly grey, feeling rather underwhelming in comparison to the infinite picture of stars, and planets, and space dust that sprawled outwards before them, impossibly more vibrant and colourful once the portal snapped shut behind them and shut out the light of Snowdin. Though, Error supposed, just about anything would feel underwhelming in the face of something like this. Even he felt small beneath the expanse.

“I always forget how big it is,” Classic mumbled from somewhere close behind, and Error couldn't help but jump at the sound.

In a wave of glitches, he glanced back towards his companion. There was something about space – about being faced with what he could never have – that seemed to make Classic vulnerable in a way that Error hated; the way that he stared out into the void that somehow felt kinder than the other voids lacked that guarded nature – that wall – that usually stood so unwaveringly. It was a display of genuineness that Error didn’t quite feel he deserved, though he couldn’t say why.

Tearing his gaze from the other him, Error forced himself to peer at the stars once more, focusing on a particularly vivid patch of space dust. “It’s infinite,” he hummed. “‘Course it’s big.”

“Infinite’s a terrible descriptor,” Classic said with a huff of laughter. He carefully sat himself on the planet’s sheer edge, legs swinging in the open space with that characteristic recklessness that Error couldn’t help but wonder if it, from time to time, could be attributed to a certain call of the void that he, too, experienced. “It’s meaningless,” he continued. “So large that it’s incomprehensible.”

Following Classic’s example, Error perched himself on the edge. It was more of a crouch than a sit, really, leaving plenty of space and the ability to leap up and away should he need to. The first few times he’d done it, Classic had questioned the behaviour, and Error hadn’t really known how to answer. Now, the other skeleton didn’t even bat an eye. It was nice to be understood; or, if not understood, at least tolerated for his peculiarities. Maybe that was enough.

“This is nothing compared to the rest of the multiverse,” he finally answered. “Just an infinity inside of an infinity.”

The words were met with a shiver so subtle that Error might not have picked up on it if Classic weren’t so exactly like him. “Geez,” he said, with a bit of a breathless laugh. “Existential.”

“Existential?” he echoed, browbones furrowing as he peered back at his companion.

“Yeah,” Classic confirmed. “Makes you feel meaningless, knowing how small a part of the multiverse you are. So small you can’t even comprehend just how massive the rest of it is.”

A short huff of laughter fell from Error. “Everyone’s equally a part of infinity.”

“Equally meaningless, maybe,” came the grumble.

Another snort. “Yeah, most of ‘em.” His eyelights turned back towards the multiverse’s pocket infinity. The view was blurry without his glasses, but maybe it was the bigger picture that mattered more than the parts of it. What did it matter if he was missing a few stars? “It’s crazy how unlikely it is that some of these universes should exist, but they’re here, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Error huffed. He ran his hand over the rough ground beneath him, rolling a pebble around with the tip of his finger in an unconscious attempt to dispel the frustrated energy that was building in him at the conversation topic. “Like, Underswap – the one where you and your bro are, like… swapped around – you wanna know how likely that is to exist?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to tell me either way,” Classic mumbled, but Error ignored him.

“It’s a probability of 1 divided by 9,109,043,495. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.” His fingers habitually moved up towards his sockets, running over the grooves left by his strings and blinking away magic. “Isn’t that ridiculous? It’s like the multiverse is just trying to spite me; to spite itself.”

“That’s pretty incredible, actually.” The words were accompanied by a shuffling sound, and Error peeked towards the other, idly noting the way that he’d pulled his legs up into a cross-legged position.

“Incredibly annoying, maybe,” he grumbled.

For reasons Error didn’t quite understand, his frustration earned a laugh. “If something with such a low probability of existing, nevertheless, exists, then I guess it’s got to have meaning, after all. Maybe we all do, even in unquantifiable, improbable infinity,” Classic snickered. That thoughtful vulnerability was back in his gaze, and Error watched his eyelights trace invisible constellations. “You’ve got a real interesting way of reassuring someone, you know.” 

Frowning, Error cocked his head to the side. “What? Who am I reassuring? Of what?”

#blaise writes #undertale #undertale au #error sans #errortale #sans #sans au #sans undertale #undertale fanart #undertale fanfiction #fanfiction #god i've missed writing for this fandom #it's been too damn long

[tennessoui]

i just read "use my body to break your fall" for the first time and i'm absolutely enamored with your writing, which is equal parts hilariously in character (you perfectly nail the dynamics of Disaster Lineage) and genuinely romantic. why do these "i'd destroy the universe for you" type loves make me so hot and bothered when i abhor jealousy more than any other trait in my irl relationship? Force knows. anyway this fic was so SEXY.... sith!obi is so fucking chefs kiss as a concept and yours is truly flawless execution. "a pleasure to meet you, my pretty little liar...." be still my heart. with writers as talented as you keeping their love alive i'm sure i'll never get tired of watching these silly guys fall in love again and again and again...ok time to read everything else you've ever written hehe

Glad to hear you enjoyed it!! That fic will always have a special place in my heart lol it really brought me into fandom before I even knew much about obikin and the fandom 🥰🙏

i have a ton of stuff posted on ao3, but if you’re looking for more specifically sith obi-wan/dark obi-wan, may I recommend you my 2 other dark obi-wan fics, lost to a sea of troubles (based in the gffa, ft Jedi Anakin & sith Obi-Wan) and pretty bird and the mob boss (set in a modern au and based off of ewan mcgregor’s acting in birds of prey)

if you’re looking for more jealousy and sexy obi-wan or anakin, I’d suggest when all we have are shadows (modern au where obi-wan is a bartender; no stakes) and stay til the dawn, I’ll give you the sun (set in the gffa where obi-wan is king of stewjon; there are stakes, also possessiveness)

They’re not dark/evil/actively burning the world down for the other in these two, but they’re definitely….unreasonable about each other in those 2 fics

And if you want just classic tennessoui silly guys falling in love in silly ways, check out: sun, sun, sun, here it comes; put your money where your mouth is; but a number; give a little, get a little; fixer-upper; the size of the fight in the dog; recipe for disaster; come on baby, sweep me off my feet

#asks #hope its not too egotistical to rec a primer of my fics oops #i just know i have a lot there on ao3 #also i understand that my fics can be divided into 2 categories: stakes or no stakes #the no stakes category has subcategories: silly lil au vs semblance of plot #obikin

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | chapter eight | chapter seven | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: If there's any mistakes, I'll be updating over the course of the next few days. I worked on this for HOURS today and just wanted to get it posted. Also I'm sorry I suck a writing dialoged, I am trying to improve. I hope you enjoy! :)

word count: 6850

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter Nine

The two of you stare at each other. You’re still stuck in your fit of rage type daze and Joel is focusing intently on you, a hint of concern is clear in his expression. He begins to slowly tap his fingers on his glass one by one, patiently waiting for you to say something in response. You’re thinking of what you should say, should you even tell him? Surely you couldn’t tell him the truth. No, no. That’s a crazy idea, you think.

“Yeah, you know,” You try to say coolly, but end up not sounding very convincing when you finally speak up. The anger and annoyance slips its way out of your mouth, pushing its way through your teeth with each word. You force yourself to swallow against the lump that has formed in your throat, starting to pick at the grain of the wooden bar top again. Joel is still staring at you. You can tell he is unamused, seeing right through your poor attempt to cover up how you’re really feeling. 

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, watching Joel in the corner of your eye as he brings his glass up to his lips, slowly drawing in the liquid before setting it back down. 

“I saw you over there with Nessa and her friends. Were they mean to you, or somethin’” His voice is smoother than usual. It takes you a moment to process what he said because you can barely hear him above all the talking and music.  

“No, I-” You shake your head abruptly, looking away from him completely and shakily drawing in some air. What should I say? How do I even justify the emotions I felt when they started talking about him? Telling anyone, especially him, would be a window right into what you’ve started feeling, something you haven't even begun to come to terms with or understand yourself. “I- I don’t know. It wasn’t about me , but…” 

You let your voice trail off, not knowing what else to say and bring your hand up to your forehead, cranking your neck toward Joel. His eyes dart off to the side before bringing them back to you, taking another slow and long sip of his drink. 

“They say somethin’ about me to you?” He says without any fluctuations in his tone, as if it was the most normal thing he has ever said. The way you look at him must have given away the answer because he slowly nods his head, looking past you and narrowing his eyes at them. You turn your head and see the crowd parted in such a way that Nessa and her friends have a clear line of sight of both you and Joel. You immediately notice the redness of both Heather and Aimee’s faces who are whispering back and forth to each other, laughing and pointing in your direction. Nessa must have said something to them, perhaps scolding them, because they quickly drop their smiles and round their posture. You and Nessa make eye contact. She looks remorseful, her eyes hold a certain sadness in them. 

“Is that really what’s got you bothered?” The sound of his voice makes you turn back to him. He scoots his barstool closer to you, your arms brushing up against each other. Your heart begins to beat deeply as you feel his warmth radiate off of his skin onto yours. “Not the first time they’ve done it. I hear what they say when I walk past ‘em.” 

You don’t say anything, focusing on slowing the beat of your heart. You quickly flick your tongue over your lips.

Joel nudges your arm, leaning in closer to you so you can hear him over all the other noise. This isn’t going to help, you think, your heart thumping again.

“Hey,” He says softly in a genuine tone. “If it doesn’t bother me… don’t let it bother you, okay?” 

You can feel a calmness come over yourself as he speaks, the tightness in your chest from early quickly dissipates. You give him a shy smile and a single nod. Joel retracts his body and adverts his gaze to his glass that is now cradled between both of his palms. 

“They’re just bored, nothin’ else to their lives other than community duties, gossiping, and getting shit face drunk a few times a week. Especially that one with blonde hair.” He gestures toward Heather by jutting out his chin and staring at her with dead eyes. “She is just about as desperate and petty as one can get.” 

You let out a small laugh, his comment slightly catching you off guard. Joel reacts to your laughter with a hint of a smile, one that slowly fades.

“She’s all talk, no bite.” He sucks in some air through his teeth before cocking his head toward you, bringing his brows together. “Anyway, not sure why you care about an old man’s feelings.”

There’s a sense of hesitation in his voice as he speaks. You give him a puzzled look. 

“You’re not that old, I mean…” You lightly tap on his forearm with the back of your hand, causing him to look at you. His lips are slightly parted and the intense look in his eyes causes your heart to skip a beat. You completely forget what you were going to say.

“Hm?” Joel leans in closer once again, directing one of his ears to you. 

“What?” You quickly let out. “You aren’t old, that’s all.” 

He pulls back, sitting up straighter than before, slowly nodding his head with a smirk. You let out the air you had been holding on to just as Joel goes back to tapping his glass with the pads of his fingers, staring straight ahead of him at the wall behind the bar. Metal signs are nailed to the wall. The one hanging directly in front of you is severely rusted and says: ‘Happy Hour Club! All Hours Of The Night (And Day!).

“You want something to drink?” Joel asks, raising his hand for the person working the bar to come over. The bartender nods her head, putting up one finger to let him know she’ll be over in a moment. 

“ No, I’m fine,” You drag out the first word. Right now is definitely not the time to drink, not while your stomach is still in knots.

He looks at you with a softened gaze before lightly slapping the top of the table and pointing at you.

“That’s right, you don’t drink because of…” His eyes shift up as he thinks. “Because of… something that happened before , yeah?” 

“Correct,” You give him a shy smile. He remembers, you think.

“Speaking of that, you know Nessa from before as well? I saw the reunion on that first day.” Joel follows up with.

“Didn’t everyone,” You slightly cringe at the thought of everyone watching you, Joel lets out a small laugh. “But, yes, she was… is my best friend. We went to school together, and were practically inseparable.” 

“That’s gotta be some sort of fate, or something,,” His tone is dry, borderline monotonous. 

Joel goes to say something else, but the bartender comes up just as he’s about to speak. He orders another glass of whatever he’s already drinking, asking the worker to pour a little bit more when she goes to hand it to him. You see her grudgingly smile, turning around and pouring the tiniest bit more. Thanks, Joel responds sounding slightly embarrassed by his request. 

“I saw you coming back from outside the walls the other day. Nessa told me you help with doing patrols, that’s pretty cool.” You slide your chair a little bit closer to him, the two of you are now nearly shoulder to shoulder. “It must be nice to get out of here sometimes.” 

He narrows his eyes at you, concentrating on what you’re saying as he takes another sip.

“It’s alright, it can be dangerous, though most of the time it’s okay, sometimes boring. But, yeah, I guess it’s nice to get out,” Joel responds, talking slowly and ending his sentence with a slight nod.

“Dangerous?” You shoot back almost instantly, looking at Joel with wide eyes.

“It can be dangerous,” He emphasizes his words. “There used to be a group on the other side of the dam, they’d stir up trouble every once in a while, but they haven’t given Jackson any problems recently. Who knows if they’re still even there.” 

There’s a long pause before he continues, as if he’s contemplating something. He looks at you hesitantly.

“What?” You ask curiously, wanting to know what’s on his mind.

“Would you want to come with me? Tommy used to go with me, but he’s busy with Maria, and with his leg…. We’re supposed to go out in pairs anyway, for safety.”

You perk up at his offer, straightening your slouched shoulders. You can feel the corners of your mouth slightly turn upward. Joel is darting his eyes over the different parts of your face, anticipating an answer.

“Tomorrow?” You finally say with a smile. He flashes you a quick smile before turning his focus ahead of him.

“I’ll stop by your house in the morning then,” Joel says. 

-

Shortly after Joel leaves, you decide it time to head on home as well. Joel told you that he likes to get out decently early and you want to be sure you get a good night's rest. Originally, you thought about going back over to Nessa and her friends now that you feel better after talking with Joel, but couldn’t stomach the thought of the type of ridicule you may face from Aimee and Heather. Fuck ‘em, you think. 

As you begin to push open the front door, you hear your name faintly being called. Turning around, Nessa is trying to squeeze her way between a large group of people, waving her hand up in the air to flag you down. You subtly roll your eyes, still annoyed by her comment she made. As she catches up to you, you hold open the door for her and she follows you outside. She’s carrying a regretful expression with her. 

“I honestly expected this night to go completely different,” She gushes as the door comes to a close, you remain silent. “I’m so sorry about that back there. They were just joking, I swear.”

“And what you said? Was that just a joke too?” You snap back, placing your hands on your hips. Nessa apologetically smiles.

“Listen, I obviously don’t know everything that happened out there, if you two–”

“It’s not like that,” You firmly cut her off. She looks at you with wide eyes, shocked at your harshness. You can see her throat bob as she forces herself to swallow; she nods and continues.

“ I’m sorry. Joel is just… he’s not that great of a guy, okay? He’s hurt Tommy more times than I can count, and that’s just since we’ve been together. On top of that, what other people have said… he’s just kind of a loner, there’s something off about him. Drinking by himself, going off in his own, leavin’ and comin’ back…” She continues as you walk down the steps, heading in the direction of your house. She’s trailing behind you, desperately trying to catch up. 

“Is that a crime? Because he keeps to himself? I don’t get it.” You call back to her without turning around, causing the random groups of people lingering outside to look in your direction. The unwanted attention doesn’t faze you though. “If people were as shitty to me as Heather and Aimee and whatever the fuck the other guy’s name is to Joel… I’d keep to myself too.” 

Nessa lets out a huff of air, causing you to turn on your heel and face her. She looks flustered. Your chest is rising and falling quickly as you breathe, a mixture of frustration and anger rushing its way through your veins. 

“ His name is Drew, ” She says under her breath. “Maybe you got a different side of Joel, I don’t know. But… Can we just drop this? I told the others to not talk about it anymore.”

She crosses her arms, the string lights hanging above illuminates her face and you can tell her cheeks are flushed a deep red color. Something that only happens when she is deeply bothered by something. A part of you doesn’t want to drop it. You stare at her expressionlessly as you contemplate, she’s staring right back at you with pleading eyes.

You reluctantly nod, chewing on the inner flesh of your left cheek, trying not to push the matter any farther. The two of you walk back to your house in silence.

-

The following morning, a knock at the front door wakes you up. The strong aroma of coffee instantly overwhelms your senses. You let out a low groan, taking the pillow you were hugging and covering your face with it. Don’t worry about it, I can get it, you faintly hear Nessa call out from the kitchen in your still half asleep state. Who could be coming over at this hour? She follows up with. Removing the pillow from your face, you shoot up from the ground into a sitting position,  remembering your plans with Joel. You turn your head as she opens the door, and before you can say anything, you see the dismay on her face when she realizes who it is.

“Hey, Nessa,” Joel greets her equally as surprised. 

“ Joel, ” She responds. “What can I help you with?” 

You pull yourself up from the ground, walking around the couch and coming up from behind Nessa. Joel looks nervous. He shifts his eyes to you, causing Nessa to turn and look at you with a condescending expression. She steps out of the way, letting you take her spot. The three of you stand at the entrance awkwardly. 

“I’m here for her,” He gestures his hand towards you, his tone sounding uptight. Nessa shoots you a look of disapproval and disappointment, making you want to immediately disappear. She purses her lips as she places her hands on her hips. So much for dropping it, right Ness? You think to yourself as you look between the two of them.

“ Uh, yeah. Joel offered to take me on his patrol today,” Your voice comes out shaky. A nervousness rises in your belly, like you’re telling your mother you’re hanging out with a boy for the first time.

“ Hm, ” She simply lets out and returns to the kitchen.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before turning to Joel, widening the door for him. 

“I’m so sorry,” You say as you step aside. “Come in, I just need to change, I’ll only be a few minutes.” 

Joels hesitantly enters. You see him look around, first to the living room and then to the kitchen, taking everything in. 

You glance over to Nessa before heading up the stairs. As you jog up the steps, you hear someone trailing behind you. A quick look over your shoulder confirms who you would assume it to be — Nessa. You enter the master bedroom that still remains to be untouched except for when you need to shower or change your clothes. Silence follows the sound of the door shutting behind you.

“What is it?” Your annoyance slips its way into your tone, you turn around to be met by a disapproving Nessa. You take a seat on the edge of the bed, rubbing your sweaty palms over your thigh. Nessa begins to shake her head before she even begins to speak.

“ So,” She starts, raising her eyebrows. “It’s not like that?”

She looks betrayed. 

“It’s not,” You respond sharply. Nessa scoffs in response, looking off to the opposite side of the room and begins to pace in front of you. 

“I don't know what else to tell you to get you to listen to me…” She slightly raises her voice, you can feel your muscles tense up.

“I don’t need you to parent me, Nessa. I can make my own choices,” Your heart is beating fast. Confrontation has never been your strong suit, especially not with Nessa. 

“Fine, whatever. But I’m going to warn you one more time. Don’t get attached to Joel. He’s not the type to stick around and I don’t want to see you get hurt. I’m just trying to be a good friend,” Hearing that makes your heart sting, a part of you knows she’s telling you this because she cares about you. But another part of you, the part that you cannot explain, is telling you to not listen to her. 

“Okay,” is all you can muster up. You get up from the bed, walking past Nessa over to the small white dresser and begin to dig through the drawers, grabbing a clean set of clothes. 

She doesn’t say anything back. The sound of the door closing once again alerts you of her departure. Looking over your shoulder to where she once was standing, you let out a deep sigh. 

-

When you get downstairs, Joel is sitting at the dining table; he looks relaxed. His legs are outstretched and he is leaning back in the chair with his eyes closed and arms crossed. Nessa is nowhere to be found, and you aren’t surprised by that considering what just went down upstairs. You stop at the bottom of the stairs, just to look at Joel for a few moments longer. You’re in awe. The calmness in his face, the way his chest slightly rises and falls as he breathes, the tautness of the sleeve over his biceps. Suddenly, he lifts his head, his eyes quickly flutter open. When he sees you, he clears his throat and straightens up. 

“Nessa left after she came down,” Joel stands up, tucking the chair back into the table and retrieving his backpack from the floor. “ Uh, yeah, she doesn’t like me very much, but I’m sure she’s told you.”

He says the last part quietly. You give him a sympathetic smile as he straightens out one of the backpack straps. Oh boy did she make it apparent, you think.

“I don’t know what she told you, but–” He continues with a wary tone.

“She just told me that she needs to get back to Tommy… check up on him and stuff,” You cut him off. Again, he very obviously sees through your lie, but you continue before he can say anything. “She’s been spending so much time with me, I feel bad for taking her attention away from him. You want a cup of coffee before we head out?” 

You turn away from him and head toward the stove. Nessa must have put it on with the intention of you and her sharing the pot. Part of you now feels bad that you didn’t tell her you’d be going out for the morning.

“One shouldn’t hurt,” He says, dropping his bag back onto the ground. You look over your shoulder at him, flashing a short lived smile. 

You have to open a few cabinets up before locating the coffee mugs. After pulling two matching blue, speckled mugs out and setting them on the countertop, you wipe them out with a small rag in case any dust had settled in the bottoms. As you go to retrieve the steel coffee pot from the base of the stove, the overwhelming sense of Joel watching you causes butterflies to form deep in your stomach. In turn your movements suddenly become awkward and clumsy. 

You feel a presence come up next to you; the same warmth you felt last night radiating onto your bare arms. Glancing off to your side, Joel is now only a few feet away from you, extending his hand out towards one of the cabinets. You follow his hand with your eyes.

“You hung it up,” He’s now leaning his hip against the smooth edge of the countertop, thumbing at one of the torn edges of the poem you found at the factory. You suck in some air as you shakily pour some coffee into the first mug. When you look up, he’s staring at you with intense eyes, his arms are crossed and the light is hitting his face in such a way that makes your heart flutter. 

“I did,” You shortly say, sliding the full mug toward him. He mutters a small thanks under his breath, blowing on the steaming beverage before cautiously taking a tiny sip. “I like it, I guess I sort of resonate with it. New beginnings and what not. I don’t know, I'd like to know how it ends though.” 

When you look up from pouring your own mug full, Joel is looking down at his feet, you notice his eyebrows are furrowed. 

-

“You know how to ride a horse?” Joel grunts as he lifts up the saddle to place on the back of the horse. You’re leaning up against the stable door watching him. The morning air is cool and damp, dense gray clouds quickly came in and it began to drizzle not too long after the two of you embarked from your house to the stables.

“Yeah, I learned at school,” You respond, walking up to the horse and running your hand around its snout. It pushed into your touch, making you smile. “What’s their name?” 

“School? What kind of school did you go to?” Joel sounds shocked, stopping what he’s doing to look at you, his face twisting in confusion. His expression makes you chuckle. You drag in some air before responding, debating on how much you’re willing to tell him. 

“Boarding school,” You finally say before narrowing your eyes and letting go of your breath in a huff. “Long story.” 

“Hm,” Joel initially hums. “Her name is Lucky.”

Lucky.

While Joel finishes suiting up the horses, you wander outside in front of the stable, eventually taking a seat on a damp rock under a tree. The occasional rain drop slipping through the leaves, dropping on the base of your head. As you stare out into the community in the distance, you can’t help but think about your disagreement with Nessa. A sadness overcomes you. This isn’t how things were supposed to be, you think while rolling a rock around in your hand.

“You ready?” Joel asks, emerging from the stable with Lucky trotting behind him. You push your upsetting thoughts to the back of your mind as you stand up from your spot on the rock, a bit of excitement taking its place as Joel hands you the guiding reins. 

Putting your left foot into the first stirrup, you push off the ground with your other leg with all your might. You get about half way up, attempting to throw your leg over to the other side of the saddle, however you fail to pull yourself upright. Letting out a small frustrated groan, you try again, feeling slightly embarrassed. The same thing happens and you fail to pull yourself up. You suddenly hear Joel laughing as he comes out from the stable, already on top of his horse. You meet him with an annoyed glare, narrowing your eyes at him, but quickly exchange it for a quivering smile. 

“What?” You try to straighten out your smile. He slides off of his horse and walks towards you. “Are you laughing at me, Joel Miller?” 

“Let me help you,” He says, still slightly smiling. 

For a moment you think about playfully refusing, however you ultimately decide not to and just move off to the side to allow him to position himself. Joel bends down on one knee and laces his fingers together, just as he did before to boost you through the window at the factory. Steadying yourself by placing one hand on his shoulder and the other flat against the top of the saddle, you put your heel in the center where his hands meet. One, two, three, he says under his breath, pushing you up on three. You get to the same stage as when you previously attempted to get up by yourself, nearly sliding back off the side. Joel quickly gets up, grabbing the back of one of your thighs and pushing you the rest of the way up. An electric volt shoots down your spine, and there goes your heart again; beating as fast as ever. Just as the two of you lock eyes, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and Joel slowly drops his hand, clearing his throat in the process and looking off into the opposite direction of you. 

“Thanks,” You breathily say, dropping your head and grabbing onto the reins. He pats the side of the horse, responding with a barely audible mhm. You steadily watch Joel as he mounts his horse and notice him glance back at you before urging his horse to move onward.

-

When you first set out past the gates, neither of you talk much. The extent of the conversation is Joel telling you where the two of you are heading. At the start, he stays quite a considerable distance ahead of you before realizing how much distance he unintentionally put between the two of you and urgently slows down, letting you come up on his side. He doesn't say anything, just giving you a look of acknowledgement before focusing on the land ahead. You don’t know what to say to him, or even if you should say anything to him. You’re still stuck on the way his hand felt around the back of your thigh, unable to focus on anything else.

In the distance, you notice what appears to be another barn type structure. It’s much smaller than the one inside the community and is considerably more worn down. One side of the roof has completely collapsed inward.

“It’s easier if we leave the horses in there and walk the rest of the way and then circling back,” Joel breaks the silence, the sudden sound of his voice causing your stomach to jump. You acknowledge him with a nod. He turns his head so he’s looking directly at you, looking like he wants to say something. He wets his lips before continuing. “Are you from Texas?” 

“No, just went to school there,” You reply, trying to figure a way to navigate the conversation from before without actually opening up about it.

“And where you learned how to ride a horse, but not how to mount one?” 

“Hey, what the fuck?” You shoot him an offended look accompanied by a boisterous laugh. Joel shrugs, licking his lips in an attempt to hide his smile. “Let me guess where you’re from…” 

“I’m from Texas,” Joel says, hopping down from his horse. You roll your eyes at him.

“And where's the fun in guessing if you’re just going to tell me,” You say in one complete breath, acting as though you’re offended. Joel walks over to you and Lucky.

“Tommy already told you. Do you need help getting down?” He sounds focused, boarding serious now. Without saying anything, you swing one leg over and hop down. 

“You’re no fun,” You shake your head, kicking at the moistened gravel.

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Joel shoots back, his tone lighter than before. 

-

“So, where did we leave off?” Joel is holding an overgrown bush back to clear a path for you to walk through. “So, your school was in Texas where’d you call home?”

You can feel the blood drain from your face as soon as the word home comes out of his mouth.

“Home … um, well I guess Texas became home after a while,” You keep your head down, watching the ground as you walk past him. Your mouth is dry and you can feel your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. “I never really left the school grounds, so. ”

“I-I’m,” Joel began to stumble over his words. He lets you pass in front of him. 

“Tommy said you guys worked together before this.” The only thing you can think to do is change the subject, your mind now feeling heavy. A distant memory of your actual home trying to push to the forefront of your mind. 

“ Shit,” Joel mutters quietly to himself, coming up behind you. “Yeah, we did construction and contracting stuff, at least when he would show up. It wasn’t a bad gig, paid the bills, you know? By the way, the dam isn’t much farther, I just need to check the control buildings, make sure everything is still okay since the last time the guards checked them.” 

His voice carries a softness as he speaks. You don’t say anything in response. The two of you walk side by side, you keep your eyes fixed on the ground.

On your way up to the dam, Joel explains how patrol typically works. There's several groups of guards that get rotated around to different checkpoints on the outer perimeter of the community. The dam gets checked at least once a week, the fencing gets checked daily, there’s some old hunting sheds farther out that are supposed to be checked periodically, however Joel said he’s positive he is the only one who actually checks them out. He went on and on about the different parts of patrolling, but you eventually tune him out, already preoccupied by your own thoughts.

When you reach the dam, your feet are tired and your knees feel numb as your body has already become unaccustomed to walking such rigorous terrains. Joel leaves you at the first control building, stating it would be safer if you stayed back, just in case, in his words. In the meantime, while waiting for his return, you try your best to regain mental equilibrium. Trying to shake the feeling that has remained since home was brought up. It’s a simple question that you know you should be able to talk about, but you have a much more complex relationship with that topic than you think most would be able to understand, even in today’s world. 

Joel returns after a half an hour. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit  you were starting to get worried. Seeing him come up out of the fog in the distance was a relief for you, and you almost nearly completely forgot how you felt when you first arrived. 

“Sorry, that took longer than I expected,” He calls out as you meet him in the middle. Before you can say anything, he walks past you, continuing to cross the dam to the other side. 

-

“What kind of stuff were you into?” You question him, racking your brain for normal questions to ask while you guys walk to whatever the next destination is. Joel lets out a huff of air, taking your question in.

“As in hobbies?” He says slowly, steadying himself on a tree as he passes through a narrow spot on the path. You give him a confirmative nod. “Honestly, not much. I watched movies when I had the time, I used to play guitar in my younger years, but as I got older… I got too busy.”

“With Tommy?” You turn to look at him and see his jaw tighten. He gives you a curt nod.

“Yes, with Tommy and all of his bullshit ,” His voice sounds much darker now. “Your house looks nice, by the way.”

“Thanks, I just got done going through everything inside. It was weird going through other people’s stuff, but, you know,” You confess to him. 

“It’ll take some time, but before you know it, it will feel like home,” He responds in a low tone.

“Maybe,” You say, not convinced anywhere will ever feel like home again. “Did you and Tommy live together before everything? From what he told me, it seemed like you guys have always been really close.”

“No,” Joel shook his head. “He usually spent the night in jail, or he’d stay with whoever he was fu– whoever his girlfriend was at the time.”

“Then you lived alone? Or did you have someone else?” You could hear Joel choke on air, resulting in a quick draw of air. You turn around, thinking something must have happened, maybe he tripped, only to find him in a standstill, both of his hands on his hips, and his face stained red. I just fucked up, you think while starting to panic. “That was stupid to ask, I’m… so- sorry.”

He’s biting down hard on his lip, his chest rapidly rising and falling. It was nearly silent, the only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the slight breeze that took over the rain. You drop your head, reprimanding yourself for not taking a moment to think before you spoke. As you’re staring down at your feet, not knowing what to do, Joel rushes past you. He’s walking fast and you immediately begin to follow behind him keeping your distance and your head down.

The rest of the morning is completed in complete silence, a thick tension lingers between the two of you. You feel awful about bringing up an obviously sore subject, but part of you is curious about his past, how it affects who he is and how he acts. Nessa’s voice suddenly appears in your head, he’s just kind of a loner, there’s something off about him. Drinking by himself, going off on his own, leavin’ and comin’ back… Why is he always running away from Tommy? Why does he always want to be alone? Surely you can’t forget the way he treated you when you first met. You can’t stop your mind from wandering while Joel does his patrol duties. 

Before you know it, you’re already circling back to the barn where you left your horses a few hours earlier. You’ve been so stuck in your own thoughts, you haven’t even realized how much time has passed. 

As you approach the worn down structure, you grab Joel by the wrist, immediately stopping him in his tracks. He doesnt pull away but you feel the tendons in his wrist tighten as he balls his hand into a fist. You pull him back towards you and he doesn’t resist. Before you say anything, you try to get him to look at you, but he’s actively avoiding your gaze. Hooking your finger under his chin, you turn his head towards you, he flinches under your touch, tightening his jaw. Joel relaxes his hand and finally turns to look at you. His eyes are full of sadness.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked, I- just for a moment, I don’t know, Joel.” Your tone becomes quieter as you talk. There’s no excuse as to why you asked, it just came out, you weren’t thinking. As you let his wrist slip out of your gasp, he gently grabs your fingers, lightly holding them in his grasp, and he’s rubbing the cold pad of his thumb over your knuckles. You can hear his shallow breathing, and you look up at him with wide eyes, your heart beginning to deeply beat. 

“It’s fine,” He finally says in a whisper, his eyes melting into yours. “It’s just something I can’t – I don’t want to talk about.” 

The two of you stand across from each other, the air is still and everything around you is quiet. Joel returns to actively avoiding looking at you, however remains softly running his thumb over your knuckles. 

“Let’s get you back, I’m sure Nessa’s waiting for you,” He finally says, letting your hand slip out of his.

-

When the two of you reach your porch, neither of you say anything. You don’t quite know what to say, a feeling of tenderness and embarrassment lingers from earlier. Joel brings his hand up to his chin, rubbing it like he’s trying to think of something to say. His eyes are glued to the ground. 

“So, tomorrow?” Joel finally says, clicking his tongue at the end. He’s looking at you inquisitively. 

You’re slightly caught off guard. After your slip up earlier you were afraid he might have completely written you off, never to speak or look at you ever again. 

“Tomorrow,” You confirm with a single nod. A sense of relief overcomes you and you have to force yourself to not smile.

“Okay, good,” He says, taking a step backward. “I’ll stop by in the morning. Have a good… rest of your day.”

Joel slightly smiles before turning away. You watch him as he walks down the pathway leading away from your house. He brings his hand up to the back of his neck before giving a quick look back to you, to which you turn away, not wanting him to catch you, and enter your house. Upon entering, you quickly close your front door and stand with your back against it; you can’t help but smile, this time you don’t try to hide it. This peace and contentment. It’s new.

It’s barely the evening, you aren’t sure what to do with what’s left of the day. You’re not sure you even want to do anything, not after spending your morning with Joel. How is anything going to top that, you shamelessly think. Taking a seat on your couch, you tilt your head back, now staring at the plain ceiling. You let your mind wander, the only thing you can think about is Joel. The sense of calmness he brings you, the way you melt under his touch, the way he looks at you. What are you going to do about him? Nessa’s suspicions were right, you just didn’t want to admit it because you knew she was right about getting close to him. You know that out of anyone, Joel should probably be the last person you want to get involved with, but you can’t stop. Not now. You feel like everything that you’ve developed for him was not of your own doing, it was something deep down inside of you, it just sort of happened, slowly but suddenly. This past week, when you weren’t within his proximity, you thought you had it under control, that you could stop yourself from thinking certain things, and feeling a certain type of way towards him. All of that went away as soon as he talked to you, scratch that, as soon as he looked at you last night. 

You suddenly get up and jog upstairs, going into one of the kids’ rooms you swore you would never enter ever again after you initially went through it. Rummaging through the desk, you’re looking for something very specific; something to write on and something to write with . 

After going through several of the drawers, you finally come across a notebook, it looks like it had previously been used for school, but that doesn’t even register with you in the moment. After a little more rummaging you finally find a stubby pencil. Your head is racing with thoughts as you run down the stairs, planting a spot at the dining table. Flipping over to a blank page, you begin to write:

I feel like there’s no point in telling anyone anything that’s happening inside of me, particularly this one thing. Who knows, maybe a year down the line I’ll look back at this and laugh at myself, but for right now, what I’m about to confess is very real. I don’t know exactly when or how it started, but I’ve come to a realization and I’m truly conflicted on what's right and what’s wrong. It happened so suddenly, before I even realized it happened. Now, I’m afraid it might be too late. The first time Joel looked at me, it felt like everything was burning around us. For a split moment, Tommy wasn’t there; it was just him and I. Now, every time I think of him, it's with the uneasiest tenderness. If I’m being completely honest, it scares me. I’ve been asking myself, how could I have let this happen? Not only with how the world is, but with who he is as a person. A complex man. I don’t know how to explain it but everything is easy when I’m with him. It’s like suddenly everything becomes quiet. I might sound insane, I haven’t known him very long, I can’t formulate any explanation that would make this make sense. I supposed at this point it's pointless to even try to pretend that what I’m feeling isn’t real.

You take a final look at the page, letting out a deep sigh; you feel as though a weight has been taken off your shoulders. You get up out of your chair, looking out the window toward his house at the end of the street. As you place the notebook in the far back of one of the kitchen drawers, you can’t help but to think more about your confession. You fully become aware that no matter what you do, at this point you are already too far gone.

read chapter ten here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

#farmerlarrry #joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

[kori-senpai]

If you were to recommend your top Fence fanfics, which ones are they and why?

(my answer became unnecessarily long, skip to the end for the one rec I do actually have)

So, this is slightly embarrassing, but. But. But. But. Not sure if you know or not but I also write fanfics for Fence. My problem is that I'm one of those fabled long fic writers and the one fic I have up goes up to 164k words. A little beast, to say the least. Took me a little over a year to write it, pretty proud of it still :')

Now. When I write for a fandom, I do not read in said fandom. That is solely to keep myself from stealing anybodys ideas by accident. You know how dreams work? Surely. You process all the information you've gathered (actively or passively) during the day and they come together in some weird short films or some strange blockbuster which you'll think was extremely alien in the morning, but on some level it of course made sense. It's your head after all.

To get back to the initial point, when I write, I don't read other people's work in that fandom, because when I brainstorm at the start of the writing process and put it all down, I have this outline, I know where I'm going, I know where I'll end up, but there's evething in between. Which, on a long fic that spans at least 130k when I start going, is a lot. And since I really don't wanna steal by accident and jumble in ideas that weren't mine, I don't read other people's fics. Different fandoms? Sure. Not Fence [the respective fandom] tho.

NOW since I'm writing these beasts, they take a while. I posted the other one in August 2022, started the year before (ergo, no fence reading during that time already) and I started my current project in--

August 2022. So yeah. I haven't read any fence fanfics since roughly three years. But I recently got over a very bad writers block and should be finished in maybe three months. Not making promises here tho don't hold me to this lol

TALKING ABOUT PROMISES - thinking back to any fics I DO remember (and since I write so much myself it's honestly just other long Fics that manage to stick in my useless sponge of a brain) is Promised Things from @applesandbannas747 (I can't get the link to work I'm so sorry, but you'll find it if you search the Fence fandom by word count over 100k on ao3, that's how I always did it) and it's one of the only fics EVER where I went back after an amount of time had passed to reread it. I think there's only one other fic that managed to make me do that, so respect to the tagged author.

Sorry I couldn't give you more than that. If anybody even bothered to read this far - I'm very much open to all fic recommendations that came out during the last 3 years lmao. Give me half a year and hopefully not another random writing idea in the shower and I should be finally able to read some good fan content soon

(please muse, fuck off. It's been years now. Visit people that need you more than I do)

#I rambled so much #Im very sorry #But I wanted to rant about this annoying tick somewhere #Somewhere being the whole damn internet I suppose #So just you and me here I guess #fence comic #fence fandom

[amplifyme]

Twenty questions for fanfic writers

I was tagged by @xxsksxxx. Thanks, friend! ❤️

Edited to add that @randomfoggytiger just tagged me too. Killing two birds with one stone here. Or something like that.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

76 in total, but only 57 of those are my own fics. The rest belong to two BATB writers who are no longer with us but whose works needed to be available on AO3.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

1,360,745 total. 587,663 of those are actually mine.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The X-Files, Beauty and the Beast (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire book series.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

These Scars We Wear

The Calling

Beggar's Banquet

Blessed Be (The Third Night)

Pas de deux

All of these are set in the ASOIAF universe.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yep! There was a stretch of about six years when I disconnected from all my fandoms and didn't respond to anything. Those days are past now and I make sure I always respond to any comment I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Pass You By (TXF)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The Possibility of Being (BATB)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I used to be be a Smut Queen back in my OG TXF days. Not sure what's meant by "what kind"? Um, the kind that makes one hot and bothered? Het? Vanilla? I'll stop there.

I quit writing the more explicit stuff 'cuz I got bored with it. These days I'm more interested in the cerebral side of things.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. I have a hard enough time keeping a single set of characters in line. Can't imagine trying to do it for more than one 'verse at a time.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Someone from The Nanny fandom (who knew?) pilfered one of my TXF fics, changed the character names, and posted it. Weirdness.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, several. More than happy to give the go-ahead to requests like that.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I wrote Doors with a fellow TXF writer named Alanna Baker. It was fun but I don't know that I'd want to do it again. I'm much more of a loner when it comes to writing.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Can't pick one and you can't make me. My favorites are the three I write for: Mulder and Scully, Vincent and Diana, Sandor and Sansa.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Sticks and Stones, a TXF casefile I started a really, really long time ago. I also have a BATB WIP I've been messing with for the past year or so but I don't know if it will ever see the light of day.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, pacing, tone.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Will actually sitting down and writing be considered a proper answer? If so, that.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I did a few lines in Italian in one of my BATB fics but that's it. I can barely write in English, let alone another language! 😄

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Beauty and the Beast.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

I'll give you one from each fandom.

TXF: Kintsugi. Not my most popular, but this one was effortless and there's nothing I'd go back and change. My take on Season 7 (aka The Season of Secret Sex).

BATB: The Possibility of Being (see above for the link). This entire project was a love letter not only to Vincent and Diana, but to my writing mentor, Nan Dibble.

ASOIAF (SanSan): These Scars We Wear. Link is above. Another love letter. This one to Sandor Clegane and his Little Bird. Because they deserve a happily ever after.

I figure this one has already made the rounds so I'm not going to tag anyone. Please consider playing if you've haven't been tagged and want to join in. It's fun!

#20 questions for fanfic writers #txf #beauty and the beast 1987 #sansan

[royal-songbird]

Icarus

HEYYY GUESS WHO JUST WROTE THEIR FIRST LMK FIC !!!!!! it is. very short but its also very late rn so i cannot be bothered to try and make it any longer so here u go. enjoy whatever this is (i'll be posting the ao3 version soon!!!!)

The hero and the warrior were like the sun and the moon. Two sides of the same coin, forever destined to orbit around one another. 

At least, this was what Macaque had believed.

He and Wukong were inseparable, they rarely ever left each other’s sides. In battle, they fought with precision, dancing around each other in perfect sync, easily defeating anyone who stood in their way. In calmer moments, they laid side by side, their arms pressed against the other’s as they traded whispered secrets and promises. They never once considered leaving the other, terrified by the mere concept- Because what would the moon be without his sun? And the sun without his moon? 

But now, Macaque knows better. He knows they are not the sun and the moon. 

Wukong is a blazing, eternal light. His gentle warmth can quickly grow into something destructive, something scorching. Macaque has witnessed the destruction that follows first-hand, he has watched forests be reduced into ashes, and mountains crumble with a single blow. Wukong is a beacon of protection, but he is also an omen of catastrophe. 

Wukong is the sun.

And Macaque…

He was foolish and ignorant. Azure had warned him, he told him that reasoning with Wukong was no use, but Macaque had refused to listen. He was Wukong’s moon, they were meant to be together until the universe itself collapsed, so surely, surely he could convince Wukong to come home. He could apologize for leaving him behind that day under the mountain, and everything would be perfect again. They could return home, and eat peaches under the sun until they grew fat, and they would never worry about anything ever again.

He spent months looking for his Sun. 

He barely slept during that time. How could he, when there was no warm body curled around his, when there were no soft reassurances chasing away night terrors? How could he rest peacefully knowing that his light, his purpose in life, was so far away?

Macaque didn’t think much of it, at the time, too occupied by the desperate, clawing ache in his chest. He pushed himself as far as he could go, and eventually… His efforts paid off.

He had finally found Wukong.

But what greeted him wasn’t his gentle sun. There was no kindness in Wukong’s gaze, there was only a cold, seething anger.

And at that moment, Macaque realized exactly who he was.

He was Icarus.

He had flown too close to the sun, desperate to feel its warmth once more.

Their final fight is barely a fight at all.

The sun’s blistering heat burns across his back, hot wax slithering down his spine like snakes, and with the final strike of a red and golden staff, Icarus plummets into the sea.

#lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid fanart #lego monkie kid fanfic #sun wukong #macaque #six eared macaque #shadowpeach #<- it can be seen as romantic or platonic i dont really mind which #finch does stuff

[localicecreambiter]

Chapter 2 is finally ouuutt and it only took like... a montth

ignore that :P

heres the Ao3 link, but I'll post the chapter text below this time too

Legend was not having a great day… then again, when did he ever?

New quest from the Goddess was going just great. Absolutely fantastic. Because apparently 6 adventures wasn’t enough as it stood. No, the goddesses seemingly were not satisfied with that, so a 7th was sent his way. Perks of being the favorite I guess, he thought with a tired bitterness. He stopped tracking the time they’d spent on the road after the first two weeks. It wasn’t worth the upkeep with everything going on, so why bother? Clearly Hylia’s business (it was easiest to blame her) wouldn’t be resolved any time soon, so there was no point in torturing himself by timing how long it took to get back home.

They’d gone through dozens of worlds, multiple Hyrules: some places unknown to any of them, some they call home. To say Legend had anticipated another world hopping adventure so soon would be lying, but who would know? Hylia knows not anyone else in the Chain. He could lie his ass off about virtually anything, and they’d believe it without a second thought. The few graces of being the group veteran. …not that he intended to do that. No, he liked the group too much to be that much of an ass to them.

Ah yes, the group. The Chain. His brothers in arms. His annoying compatriots that enjoyed loud mornings and exaggerated stories around the fire at night (also very loud). They were a rowdy group, sure, but Legend found he didn’t mind it all that much as the days went on. Wild may set things on fire more often than not; Twilight smelled of wet dog and talked too much about goats; Wind couldn’t keep his mouth shut, bombarding the group with questions about the most mundane things (seriously! He knew the kid was from the middle of the ocean but Legend refused to believe their resident sailor didn’t know what a pinecone was). Warriors had an ego the size of Death Mountain (great battle strategist all things considered); he admittedly knew little about Four, seemingly the most level headed of their group, but they got along together just fine. Hyrule was… well, Legend quite liked the traveler (though he’d hardly ever admit it). Time liked to keep to himself, only fueling the chaos on a few occasions, looking out for each and every one of them no matter the situation. Despite his qualms and complaints, the past however long they had spent traveling together weaved a tight knit trust and deep seeded care within the group. Not even Legend could escape from that, not that he really wanted to anyway. It was nice having someone to watch your back from time to time.

Now, back to his griping, “Ugghh! We’ve been on this stupid trail for hours! How have we not found a town yet?” The ground squelched beneath bootfalls, still puddled with rainfall from the night before and the muggy air did little to raise his spirits. It left his hair frizzed and hands sticky with moisture no matter how many times he wiped his palms on his tunic. Over the years, a lot of things had made their way onto the Things That Really Annoy the Hell Out of Legend list: humid weather made the top 20. They might as well be swimming at that point, really.

“Oh, chill out Legend. A little humidity never killed anyone,” The captain was quick to quip back, but there was no mistaking the underlying agitation in the ways Warriors fidgeted with his cape and gloves. “Your hair will be fine.” Legend snapped his hand away from his head, leaving tousled locks tangled in order to prove a point.

The vet smirked, arms crossed across his chest, “Projecting your worries onto me won’t make ‘em go away Miss Prissy Pants.” He had the pleasure of witnessing the older hero whirl around indignantly, mouth open in preparation to fire another shot.

“Enough from both of you.” Great, so it wasn’t just him growing more irritated with the humidity. Time shot the pair a warning glance, signaling there was to be no fun or joy had on their trek. Whatever, he still claimed the victory in stride, a smug grin blooming once the eldest turned away. With everyone being so tense — frankly more agitated than Legend was on a mediocre day — their impromptu hike lapsed into an awkward silence. The low rumble of storms rolling on the horizon and the abundance of cricket chatter was the best he was going to get as a distraction. So yeah. The quest was going great.

“Whose Hyrule do you think we’re in?” Legend’s ears pricked to attention, mumbled conversations behind him (usually gone ignored) peeking his interest. The two shortest — and if he had to guess, youngest — of the Chain trailed in the back, Epona clopping at their side. Wind’s hair puffed out more than usual, lower pant legs caked in mud and what Legend hoped was very pigmented clay. The kid seemed perfectly content in the weather, the son of a dodongo. Four kept running a hand through tangled locks, cringing at the way his fingers harshly caught on the knots.

“Traveler’s. Too barren to be anywhere else,” yet despite the gross weather, the smithy always held that level headedness to him. If Legend were to admit it — and he himself knew he wouldn’t — he was a bit jealous. The hero could probably watch someone keel over dead and it wouldn’t outwardly affect him. Or maybe Four was just better at compartmentalizing things for later. Either way, the kid knew how to hold himself together.

“Didn’t he say the air was toxic or something?” Legend didn’t even need to look to know the expression Wind was wearing. Left brow raised, eyes squinted slightly, pouty frown tugging his lips downward, and skeptical glint in his eye. A kid far too expressive and open for the uncaring world he was thrown into, a sinking familiarity always followed that thought. He’d been like that too when he first started, after all. Just some bright eyed kid who got thrown in the midst of something bigger than himself, paying the price for an evil he had not committed.

“No, Sailor. That was the water.” It was around then that the veteran slowed his pace slightly to walk next to Wind, expression light and curious. He had no input yet, but the message was clear: I want to be included in the conversation. It wasn’t often that Legend sought out a connection like that, letting it come to him rather. No matter how strange it felt to initiate, the others clearly didn’t mind it. He may be prickly, but he could be good company in his humble opinion.

“What?!” The two other heroes grimaced at Wind’s sudden volume, Legend skillfully suppressing a grin when a hand slapped over the kid’s mouth. “Oops. I mean… What?! Poison water??”

“No, toxic water. If it was just poison, it wouldn’t hurt you unless you drank it.”

Legend cocked a brow, deciding, “Same difference,” was a good contribution to the conversation.

Four scowled, lower lip sticking out just a tad too far. If he looked any more upset, the veteran would think he’s pouting. “No, it’s not. The difference in meaning is crucial when relaying dangerous informa-”

“How are you supposed to go sailing on that? At least back at home it’s just poison water.” Wind stared up at the pair innocently, eyes wide with questions crackling in his ocean hued gaze. Neither decided to question what the second half was supposed to mean, already having contemplated the logistics of a “great flood” before. Poison water wasn’t that far fetched when it came to the sailor’s Hyrule.

Legend snorted, “You aren’t, dimwit.”

“With a raft?” The new voice startled the trio, all three heads whipping to gawk at Hyrule. If he thought the sailor was sneaky, leave it to their traveler to catch them with their pants down (another reason he never wore pants. Never have them on, and you never get caught with them down). “…What?”

“You’ve actually sailed??”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it sailing. More just floating around on the lake until I can get to where I need to go.” Legend narrowed his eyes, gauging how Hyrule was affected by the weather while the other three chatted. He, like the sailor, seemed to have no qualms with how astoundingly horrendous it was. It irked him more than it probably should have. In the veteran’s time, it never got this nasty unless he was close to a swamp. The fact things got so fucked after he passed… It wasn’t his fault, that was for damn sure. Not very much you can do about darkness overtaking the land when you’re dead.

“It’s gonna storm soon,” the subject change ripped him from his thoughts, eyes landing on Wind. The kid was looking off at the darkening horizon, watching the clouds churn into a tempest that hopefully they would never have to brave. “I’d say in ‘round 5 flips of a sandglass.”

The group blinked owlishly, Four being the first one to put things together.

“…So 2 and a half hours?”

“Yup, sounds just about right.”

“You know, you can talk like a normal person, right?”

Wind cracked a grin, “Where I come from, that is how normal people talk.”

Legend let the conversation fade into the background, eyeing the stormy horizon just as the sailor had. With how their journey was going so far, a storm was the last thing they needed. Sure, it’d probably clear away the sticky air, but running around in the rain wasn’t something he really wanted to do at the moment. His boots were muddy enough as it was. Just as he thought to mention Wind’s storm theory, there was a buzz in the air. Magic. It was familiar — a far away familiar, but familiar nonetheless.

He stopped walking for a moment, violet eyes narrowing at the muggy surroundings. The treeline was silent, the rolling fields of dying yellow crops whipped violently in the breeze, the sky rumbled, but there was no sign of a source. The veteran’s brows furrowed further, face screwing up in suspicion that something was amiss. He knew that feeling, and he knew that he did. Something that reminded him of home in the most warped way possible, feeling almost wrong yet right all at the same time. It was confusing, eluding his conscious efforts to pinpoint just where he had felt that before.

Footsteps died out, Legend having yet to notice the rest of the Chain slowing to a stop. The burning gazes of 8 other pairs of eyes falling on one person should have alerted him, but being so caught up in that feeling… Where had he felt it before? Goddesses it was on the tip of his damn tongue. Think Legend…

A firm hand grasped his shoulder, sending a jolt through the veteran hero who instinctively reached for his sword. “Hey! Hey, easy there partner!” Legend blinked, eyes shooting up to stare down an admittedly alarmed Twilight. “You alright there? Hear a monster?” Looking past the furry blockade, everyone else was on high alert. It wasn’t like the vet to freeze up like that, not without warning.

“No. No monster from what I can tell. I’m fine I just…” His eyes landed on Wild, with his bow pulled taught and poised at the ready for an ambush, “remembered something, is all.” Technically, it was a half truth. He recognized something, yet struggled to remember where he recognized it from and what exactly it even was. It was an adequate enough answer, as the rancher backed off with a nod. Silence returned to their group, but Legend could hardly care less about that now. His mind was elsewhere. It was going to bother him for the rest of the day if he couldn’t figure out where-

A blood curdling yowl — seriously, a yowl — nearly blew out his eardrums as a particularly ugly moblin burst from the treeline with 3 more in tow.

“Why’s it making that face at me?!” Metal screeched as it clashed against steel, but there was no mistaking Four’s perturbed cry through the fray.

“Sorry about that,” came the sailor’s response, “It’s one of mine! They make some really stupid faces!” Legend had to duck and roll out of the way of an oversized shield nearly wacking into him. Two were focused on one, three on another, Time facing one alone, leaving the last to Sky, Wild, and himself.

“This one’s mine,” the Skyloftian announced to the group. “I’ll distract it so you two can get in a few backstrikes.” He hopped away, slashing for the brute’s shield while Legend crept up from the side. Drawing his tempered sword, dark blood soon seeped from the moblin’s back with no more than a few swipes and a couple arrow shots. The monster tried to turn, only to get sliced by Sky’s blade, regaining its attention. Lucky for them these things were stupider than dirt, not even able to take the defensive right. With a group of nine seasoned heroes, now more used to fighting together, it took less than 10 minutes to clear out the lot of them. With no further signs of another attack, they were free to check for injuries.

Hyrule got nicked in the side, nothing he couldn’t fix himself, Legend was sure. Twilight seemed to have taken an impromptu trip to the tailors with the new scratch marks in his undertunic. Warriors’ nose was bleeding, but other than that and a few scrapes he was fine. Everyone else got off with nothing more than a scratch or a bruise here or there. Good. That meant the veteran wouldn’t need to be dishing out any potions any time soon.

“Are we all accounted for?” Everyone turned their attention to Time, standing with a hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his sword. He continued once he got confirmation, “If they attacked now, it probably means there’s more at a camp nearby. We’ll split up and look for it: Wind in one group and Wild in another. If one of us finds it we’ll alert the other via your.. Rock things.” The sailor beamed, ushering everyone to line up because it “was his turn to be team captain,” whatever that meant.

Ultimately, he was placed in Wind’s group with Warriors, and Time. They had more than enough manpower with the two war veterans, the sailor, and the actual vet. Wild had a map, and Wind was their best navigator, so getting back up would be easy as pie… if that pie was on fire with raw crust and half cooked filling. Yeah, splitting up in unfamiliar woods is never a good idea.

Especially when you’re trying to fight off an archer ambush and your navigator is being shot at.

“I’m gonna need a second- FUCK!!” An arrow shaft stuck haphazardly in the sailor’s arm, jostling with every move he made. “Shit! Oh, that’s gonna hurt-”

“Focus! Make sure Wild can find us. We’ll cover you!” Warriors, on cue, blocked another volley with Wind’s dropped mirror shield. If it weren’t such a high stress situation, Legend could’ve sworn the captain would say something stupid like “return to sender” or “eat shaft.” The thought made him smirk, distracting him long enough that their attackers managed to graze his leg.

“Oh, for the love of Zephos!” The vet didn’t have time to turn around and check on their youngest, reflecting back another volley himself in hopes to hit something. A flash of grey caught his eye, loud snarling following a blur of fur and monster parts. Back up had finally arrived.

“Took long enough!”

“Hey, blame Wind! Would’ve been here faster if he held onto his rock!” Long, unruly hair streamed behind a dirt covered, scared face. With a few THUNKS a handful of their assailants went down, yellow energy crackling out of the disintegrating bodies.

“You try and hold a stupid rock while being shot at!” The sailor grabbed Legend’s arm and yanked him to the side just in time for an arrow to narrowly miss piercing his nose, much to the veteran’s dismay. “I had that-”

“Sure you did!” Wind ducked out of the way of a sword slash, coming face to face with more moblins. “Think we found that monster camp yet?”

Legend really didn’t know how the kid could keep up the quips while avoiding getting smacked in the head, pulling his blade back out for round 2. Digging in his bag, he fished out a hookshot for some spontaneous strategizing. Latching it into a tree somewhere off in the fray, he took the opportunity to zip around and stun anything and everything. Battle was serious, sure, but having a little fun with it when you’re winning couldn’t hurt.

When the dust settled, all that was left was a single black lizalfos.

The black lizalfos.

Who made a break for it the second it realized it was outnumbered, like the damn coward it was.

Chasing did little for the group, as their path ended in a clearing with a large portal swirling before them. He caught Time making a mental check of everyone before pairing them up to go through: Twilight and Wild, Sky and Four, Hyrule and himself with Wind tagging along, leaving Time and Warriors to follow up at the back.

“Stick close together. So far these portals have spat us out in the same place, but we never know when that will change.”

“I just hope the weather is nicer wherever we end up,” Legend heard Warriors mutter, most likely jinxing the group with his stupid wishing. If the weather was anything but pleasant he was going to throttle the captain.

“Best get goin’. The storm be upon us soon,” Wind ever so gently (read: not at all gently) pushed Wild toward the swirling vortex. Everytime Legend saw one of the portals, he was reminded how little the light mattered as it was eaten away by the vast darkness before them. In some strange, twisted way, he found solace in that. If there were to be one constant, he’d rather it be the comfort of darkness than a blinding light… but maybe he was biased. After all, few of the best people came from the Darkness. A flash of purple rabbit ears and sharp red eyes pulled at his lips, threatening to spill his happy memories for all to see. But no, he grabbed at those images, shoving them back into their respective places and neatly filing them away in the crevices of his mind. Those were his and his alone to keep, for none to see and not to be shared. Not yet, at least. Not after what had been said. Not until apologies were made. Until then, the fleeting feeling of fond annoyance and steely, yet soft gazes hurt too much to remember.

“Hey, earth to Ledge! We’re about to go through!” Right, the portal. They were on a completely different quest. Now was not the time to be taking a trip down memory lane. With a deep breath, hands firmly held by the traveler and the sailor, he stepped into the void churning before him.

#the legend of zelda #loz #legend of zelda #linked universe #lu legend #lu wind #lu warriors #lu four #lu hyrule #linkeduniverse #fanfic #lu fic #hope you all like it :)

[icedmetaltea]

Talking about stuff

Really contemplating leaving tumblr for another site in the near future... does anyone know a good substitute? Like, on one hand I love this site, but on the other hand man. I've been getting way less notes lately. I can't help but feel like it's my fault, that either I've been posting too much and am annoying people or my art/writing has gotten worse. Same issue with ao3 so leaning on the latter possibility.

I know it's selfish, but it's not like I'm the only one who feels this way. Lots of artists and writers have been complaining about the discrepancy between likes/reblogs. No matter how many followers I've gotten over the years, the success of any piece of art/writing will depend on who reblogs it and when, and how many reblogs it gets in general. If it doesn't get enough it quickly gets swept under the rug like it never existed.

A single piece of art or writing can equate to many hours of work on my part, and if it's barely seen it's like... why bother.

I know it's selfish, I know there are still people who reblog and comment and everything, and truly I appreciate it, more than anyone could ever know.

But I also just feel like an annoying failure who never stops talking and that people would prefer if I was gone. So they can look forward to seeing stuff from the real artists, the real writers, the people who actually have talent.

I want to be someone people see and are able to feel happier as a result... right now I just feel like a burden to not only everyone in my life (hence why I've been distracting myself by drowning myself in art lately) but also you guys.

I know I'm not just a source of entertainment, I know I shouldn't care so damned much about what others think, and again I know I sound really fucking selfish to worry about all this, but it's been eating at me so much lately.

So I see a couple options.

Take time away and let the water run clear so to speak then abuse the fuck out of the queue so I stop mass reblogging (a nasty habit of mine, surely annoying to many)

Move to a different site, if there are any where I won't feel like such a speck. Idk. Maybe I'll feel like that everywhere.

I guess I could rectify that side blog idea I had a while back so asks, headcanons, doodles, non-fnaf posts and whatnot, just keep this up for main art/writing. Kinda leaning toward that rn. Less spam, less annoyance.

Just disappear for good. Delete it all. It's been a thought in the back of my head for a long time anyway. Start new somewhere else. Or just draw/write for myself. I also don't want to make any rash choices atm cause I know the past 3 months have been hell and I'm not thinking clearly. I've been depressed as fuck and I may regret choices I make right now. But what if I don't? Maybe I'll be better for it idk

#irl stuff #kinda #vent

[the-sparkling--diamond]

hide and seek

Jack Russell x gender neutral reader

Warnings: None

Also posted on AO3 (@/TheSparklingDiamond)

You sprinted through the dark forest, not daring to turn behind you. You couldn't bother wasting time. Even a precious second could let him get the advantage. Your body seemed to be on autopilot, legs carrying you as fast as they possibly could. Pulling the scarf from around your neck, you tossed it as far as you could before quickly changing directions and running the opposite way. Your jacket was next to go, and you changed directions once more after dropping the garment. You hoped your efforts were enough to keep him off your scent, at least for a little while. You may have gotten a head start, but you knew he wouldn't take long to catch up.

Leaning against a particularly large rock, you tried to catch your breath. The adrenaline pumping through your system made you aware of every little sound. You found yourself wondering if this is how he felt. Overly alert, always aware of even the quietest noise or the faintest scent. The snap of a branch in the distance caught your attention, making you hold your breath. The sound seemed to echo through the seemingly endless trees. The silence that followed was somehow even louder. You knew that if you ran again, he'd surely find you in an instant. As quietly as you could, you sunk to the ground, back against the rock and knees pressed to your chest. Maybe you'd be lucky. Maybe your scent would be masked by the leaves on the ground and moss on the rock. All you could do was sit and wait. Wait for him to find you. Wait for him to give up. You closed your eyes, straining to hear any sign of him, but were met with nothing. Had you won? Had you finally outsmarted him?

A hand suddenly gripped your upper arm and you jumped away, fright turning your blood to ice. You looked up, eyes meeting Jack's grinning face. He gently pulled you to your feet, smiling as he murmured, "Found you."

You groaned but couldn't help the smile that formed on your lips. "I really thought I had you beat this time."

He handed you your jacket, "Yes, the jacket and scarf trick you did was good."

"Thanks," you slipped your jacket back on, laughing a bit, "I'm glad you picked these up. I would've forgotten where they were."

Looping your scarf around your neck, his grin managed to grow, green eyes sparkling, "Of course. I couldn't have you catching a cold." He pulled you close with the ends of your scarf, pressing a quick kiss to the cold tip of your nose. Pulling away, he grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, "Let's go home. Get you all warmed up, yeah?"

You nodded, leaning into him as the two of you started to walk in the direction of home. "I'll never understand why you like playing hide and seek in the dark," you said suddenly.

Jack shrugged, "It's more of a challenge that way," he paused, flashing you another bright smile, "Besides, you look cute all bundled up."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, "Is your plan to warm me up by flirting with me?"

"No...no." There was a momentary silence before he looked at you, eyes bright with amusement, "Why? Is it working?"

You laughed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence, only being broken when you asked, "Hot chocolate?"

He nodded, "Hot chocolate."

#jack russell #jack russell x reader #werewolf by night #jack russell x gender neutral! reader #gael garcia bernal #jack russell x y/n #jack russell x you

[river-muse]

So, I've started my Not a Savior, Not a Human series reread, however, currently my access to ao3 is a bit limited, I hope you don't mind if I drop something like a comment here instead? If you'd prefer it up on ao3, I understand and will post it there. For now, Happy New Year to you, and here's notes for the To our desperation:

The growth Vergil did in the background is immense, Dadgil very strong and prominent 10/10 on the softness meter. It is also abundantly clear the twins are, as they always have been, on their immediate and perfectly tuned personal wavelength. Multiple important things are conveyed through body language and gestures alone between the two, and when not - they have an unspoken agreement on child-safe and not-even-between-the-two-safe topics they can and can't cover.

Dante is mostly the goof we know and love, and he's great. Big hat's off to you for clearly assessing him as a big danger still, as the chapter's are from Vergil's POV and the two do have their rivalry and sights trained on each other constantly. I bet the only reason he was up for a fight with Vergil there, was because he saw an easy win in their 'terms over child interaction' negotiations, and really needed to blow off some steam. Love the clear surprise on his face in the morning, when he had to realise that the previous evening was not just wishful thinking, plus the revelation that Vergil trusted him with Nero. That was adorable, it's also probably the source of the later 'you really care about him, he's not just an heir to you' comment - Dante had an easier time believing that Vergil didn't care that much about Nero and so left him with Dante (did he wander if his brother would return), than believing Vergil cared for Nero very very much And he entrusted his beloved son to Dante. Ah, defense mechanisms, defence mechanisms)

Also, again, your Vergil game is precious here. It's not just the softness,

(although his interactions with Nero are all gems, and don't seem out of character at all, as most Dadgil fics tend to do in my opinion, here it's clearly written that Nero is just (1) little window Vergil feels safe enough to show his love through, even his trust and love for his own twin are a scrambled mess in comparison, he needs this)

it's also how he notices every single little thing about their 'intrusion' into Dante's home (that pool table dent, Vergil my man, you are the first to point out any junk and garbage in Dante's home yet this one bothers you). And the 'weaker link' line was the brightest indicator there, even Dante shut up at that one. Not sure if Vergil realised how much of a giveaway that was.

So yeah, this first entry into the series is extremely strong and has a ton of nuance under it, that even without the very promising 'twins learn to communicate using Nero as their little precious middleman' setup, the foundation laid in this chapter just hooks you right up. Amazing job on this, strong begining like this is very hard to nail.

Oh you are ABSOLUTELY allowed to send comments and deep-dive analyses here!! This is going on the Fridge(the AU tag AND a new tag for me so I can read it later and giggle while twirling my hair) because WOW I'm floored at how in depth you went!

I absolutely LOVE writing subtleties in Dante and Vergil interacting with each other because it opens up the space for them to either read the other like an open book or get it wrong but be 100% convinced of what they've assumed which affects their interactions after. As much as they WANT to be brotherly again there's so much sitting between them because of time apart and what's happened. People change over the course of years and they're no exceptions as much as they have iconic personality traits. The flavor just changes but the core stays the same.

I have So Much that I hide between the lines in this series and it's exciting that I'll get to see what you pick up on! Enjoy the rest of your reading, and I'm super excited to see your next comment! Happy new year <3

#Kat's Dadgil AU #Fic Comments #The Fridge(affectionate)

[bbutterflies]

Happy halfway through @ninovember! Chemistry with him is still updating daily over on ao3, but day 16's chapter is one of my favorites, if not my absolute favorite, and it mostly works as a standalone so I wanted to share it here.

I'll be posting daily on ao3 for the rest of the month! There's a lot of super cute fluff in store 💕

Read chapter 16 (Love song) below the cut

The practice rooms in the music building were a nice place to study, Nino had realized. It was quiet, and no one ever bothered him, and he could spread his stuff out across the floor and get comfortable. Especially when he stayed late, like he did today, and it meant he wasn’t hogging the rooms. He was pretty sure he was the only one here right now, so he didn’t feel bad sitting on the floor and working on his chemistry homework.

(He was resisting the urge to text Adrien for help, because he knew he’d instantly get distracted.

His phone was across the room, silenced.

Unfortunately.

He’d much, much rather be talking to Adrien than doing chemistry homework. Or just about anything else.)

He spent a lot of time with Adrien as it was. They found time to spend together most days, even if it was just lunch or walking to class together. When Adrien didn’t have to work, they’d do dinner or Nino would stay over, but Adrien was so busy it didn’t always happen. Which was fine, obviously, and Nino would be more than happy with any time he got, but he would also be happy to spend every moment of every day with him.

Adrien was just so easy to be with. Even in public when Nino had to keep his distance, he’d still rather be with Adrien than anywhere else. He loved his smile, and his stupid laugh, and how focused he got when he studied, and all of his terrible jokes. He loved kissing him but he loved just falling asleep watching TV together just as much. He was maybe in love with him, but definitely at least falling for him, and he wasn’t worried about that. He knew something about Adrien was different than anyone else he’d ever met. Adrien felt like forever, and usually something so permanent would be terrifying – but Adrien was a comfort. The thought he’d always be around was soothing more than anything.

Nino could almost imagine a future that did always have Adrien, and he liked it.

He turned his attention back to his homework with a sigh. He probably would’ve been more productive if he’d just met up with Adrien. He was distracted just thinking about him, but if he were here, he’d keep them both on track. He was responsible like that, and Nino could never tell him no, so when he said he was actually going to work, they did work.

It was cute, if a little annoying when Nino just wanted to kiss him.

He heard a knock at the door to the practice room and glanced up in time to see it open. It was Adrien, like he’d heard Nino’s thoughts, and Nino was thrilled to see him. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Adrien shrugged as he came inside, shutting the door behind him. “I missed you. Thought I might find you here. Mind if I join you?”

“Of course not.” Nino was happy to have the company.

Adrien sat down next to him, leaning against his shoulder. “What are you working on?”

“Our stupid chemistry homework, believe it or not,” Nino said. “I’ve been at it for a while.”

Adrien looked over his notes. “You’re missing a bond on that carbon.” He took Nino’s pencil and corrected his drawing. “And then you’ll have the right number of electrons on the nitrogen. That should make things easier.”

“This is why I shouldn’t do this without you.”

“Dating me just for my chemistry knowledge?” Adrien teased.

Nino laughed, bumping his shoulder. “It’s one great perk.”

Adrien hummed, looking around the room. His eyes landed on the piano, situated in the corner of the room. “I didn’t know they had pianos down here.”

“Yeah, some of the practice rooms have them.”

Adrien stood up and walked over to it. He ran his fingers lightly across the keys, not hard enough to play any notes. “Do they keep this tuned?” he asked as he sat down in front of the piano.

“I think so. Do you play?”

“A little.” Adrien’s hands rested over the keys. “Come sit with me?”

Nino was happy to ignore his homework. He set his things aside and squeezed onto the bench next to him, and then Adrien played.

It wasn’t anything Nino recognized. It started off slow, a little simple, a few basic chords under an easy melody. Adrien’s hands danced over the keys. It was clear this was something he was familiar with, something he’d done a lot, by how easily he played. He was smiling as the song built, adding onto the phrases until Nino almost couldn’t believe it was just one person playing.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. Adrien was, obviously, an expert. He didn’t miss a single note as he played, and he didn’t seem to be struggling at all. It looked easy. It sounded incredible.

Nino never wanted Adrien to stop playing. He could listen to his music and watch him at the piano for hours. Days, probably. He never knew Adrien could play the piano like this, and now that he’d found out, he was absolutely enamored. He’d have to invite Adrien to the music building more often.

Adrien’s song did inevitably come to an end, much to Nino’s dismay. They sat in silence for a second or two before Nino found his words again.  “You said you play a little. Liar,” he teased. “You’re amazing.”

“I don’t really play that much anymore,” Adrien said. “I did a lot when I was younger.”

“That was incredible. What song was that?”

Adrien shrugged. “Just… something. Just for you.”

“You… you just came up with that? Just now?” Nino asked in awe.

Adrien nodded like it was nothing, fingers grazing over the keys again. “Yeah. I used to like to do that.”

“Wow, Dri.”

Adrien glanced over at him again. “Dri?”

The nickname had just sort of slipped out, but Nino liked it for him. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah. Definitely. I liked it a lot.” Adrien smirked. “We make such a great pair. I write love songs for you, and you come up with cute nicknames for me.”

Nino would’ve laughed – he would’ve – but… “Love songs?” he asked.

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” Adrien said softly. “It… it was. A love song, I mean.”

Oh.

A love song could mean a lot of things. It was too early, really, for Nino to say it, but… he liked the idea of that. He liked the idea of really loving Adrien. So a love song was okay. It was definitely okay. It was more than okay.

“Play me another?” Nino asked.

Adrien smiled, and he did. He played for a while, flowing between songs Nino recognized and songs he didn’t. It was clear he’d had real training, classical training, from the songs he played, and it was clear he’d trained a lot from how easy it all seemed to be.

Nino was in awe, and it only made him like Adrien that much more.

Eventually Adrien did stop, his hands leaving the piano to wrap around Nino’s shoulders instead. Nino snaked his arms around Adrien’s waist. “This is way better than doing my homework.”

Adrien laughed, hugging Nino close. “I can’t believe I’m being the bad influence.”

“It’s so unlike you,” Nino mused.

“Well, if I am being a bad influence… want to come over to my place?”

“Absolutely.”

“But we have to finish our homework.”

Nino groaned, lifting his head to pout at Adrien. “That’s no fun. You’re so responsible.”

Adrien brought his hand to Nino’s cheek, cupping it gently. His hand was warm and soft against Nino’s skin. “But, beau,” he said softly, “I can’t be your hot tutor if you fail out of chemistry.”

Nino hummed, pretending to mull it over. “You make a good point.”

“Of course I do. And I really want to pass chemistry.”

“All this talk about chemistry is really killing the mood,” Nino whined.

“You don’t think chemistry is sexy?” Adrien asked.

“Ew. No.”

“What? Not even atomic orbitals?”

“No!” Nino said, trying to pull away from Adrien, but Adrien wrapped both arms around him again and held him close. Nino laughed as he tried to fight back. “Adrien!”

“Hmm, oh, what about chair conformations?”

“I don’t even know what that is,” Nino laughed, still trying to wiggle his way out of Adrien’s grasp.

“What? I’m clearly failing you as a tutor. We learned that last week.”

“Guess I need more lessons.”

“Clearly.” Adrien adjusted his grip on Nino, arms sliding lower, and Nino could barely process what was happening until Adrien stood up and had managed to wrangle Nino over his shoulder. Nino laughed, knowing he was helpless to fight now but trying to escape anyways.

“What are you doing?” Nino asked through his laughter.

“Taking you home,” Adrien said sternly, “to do homework.”

“No,” Nino whined, still struggling in Adrien’s arms. “That’s so boring.” He managed to (or, well, Adrien let him) wriggle down until he was settled in front of him, legs wrapped around Adrien’s hips and Adrien’s hands under his thighs to support him. Adrien was smirking back at him, teasing, and Nino really just wanted to kiss him for the rest of the night. “How’d you get so strong?” Nino asked as his hands settled on Adrien’s shoulders.

“I do this crazy thing called going to the gym,” Adrien said with his usual dangerous smirk. “What, you like it?”

“Yes,” Nino breathed, and he captured Adrien’s mouth in his before he could make another stupid joke.

Nino loved kissing Adrien, and he was pretty sure he’d never be able to get enough. It was different to kiss him like this, with Adrien holding him up, but he liked it. He was pretty sure he’d like anything if it came along with kissing him, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that.

“Hmm, I think you’re right,” Adrien murmured as he broke away.

“About?”

“We shouldn’t do homework tonight.”

Nino kissed him again – as thanks, and in celebration. “I knew you’d see it my way.”

“You made a very convincing argument. But, I don’t know if I’m totally convinced.”

“You’re such a dork,” Nino laughed. “You could just ask me to kiss you. You know I would.”

“This is more fun.”

It was more fun. Nino was happy to play along. “What’ll it take to convince you?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien said thoughtfully. “Maybe a lot.”

“Dork,” Nino teased, but he was leaning in to kiss him again.

#ninovember #miraculous ladybug #adrino #nino lahiffe #adrien agreste #my writing #chemistry with him

[fixfoxnox]

Something In The Orange - Part 24

Descriptions: Taskforce 141 finally start communicating with one another and Roach takes a big step on the road to recovery

Warnings: Discussion of SA

Note: I am also posting this to my Ao3 if you would prefer to read it there!

Word Count: 9.5k

"But I will hold on hope

And I won't let you choke

On the noose around your neck

And I'll find strength in pain

And I will change my ways

I'll know my name as it's called again"

"The Cave" - Mumford and Sons

Roach didn’t let himself lay long. He couldn’t, not when he knew that Soap and Ghost knew. Not when he was still in Ghost’s room, where the two men would likely come after they finished in the post-mission meeting. He had a limited amount of time and he needed to get away. He needed to figure out what he was going to do. 

He pushed himself up from the bed, nearly tripping over the covers in his rush to leave. He didn’t grab any of his things, didn’t even bother putting his shoes on, he just had to get out of the room. The longer he stayed inside, the greater the possibility that he would be forced to face Soap and Ghost. 

He stumbled out into the hallway, pushing himself to walk as quickly as he could. He wasn’t sure where he was going as he dodged around people while moving, all that he knew was that he had to do something. Soap and Ghost knew. His mind was laughing at him. He was sure that they hated him, but he had to do something. 

He’d spent so long fighting to get back to Ghost. He’d wasted so much time of his new life weighed down by the old. He finally felt like he’d been able to move past that. He’d finally found his own happiness, fully free from the weight of what he’d lost. And yet, now, it seemed that he would lose that happiness before he’d actually had a chance to appreciate it. The thought stopped him in his tracks, forcing him to lean against one of the walls of the hallway for support. 

Was he really going to lose Soap and Ghost? After everything that had happened to him. After Makarov, after dying, after living through what he had, was that really it? He felt sickness creep up his throat again. The anxiety of telling his team about what happened to him had been weighing on his chest for days, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety he felt now. This sickness was all-consuming, washing over him in waves that threatened to pull him under. He felt it invading every part of who he was, soaking into his bones until he was left with a damp sheen of sweat over his skin, shivers wracking his spine. He couldn’t do it. How could he just let that be it? 

He loved Soap and Ghost, that was what he knew. There was nothing else. They were his happiness, they were what had kept him going while he was with Makarov, he’d woken up for them. He wasn’t going to just give up on that. He wasn’t just going to give up because they knew. He would hate himself if he did. If he did, what was the point? He’d come so far. He wasn’t going to throw it away. 

For the first time in weeks, he let himself think about Simon, the Simon of his first life. He’d been avoiding thinking about him for several reasons. The first was that it made him feel like his realization in the hospital hadn’t been good enough. He knew now, knew that he didn’t fit into his first life anymore. He knew that his first life wasn’t as perfect as he remembered it being. Those thoughts made guilt claw at his chest, shredding his heart into ribbons. He didn’t want to think like that, it felt wrong to think that. Like somehow, the truth of his first life was sacrilegious, that even thinking of something that had made him unhappy there was tossing the memories he kept locked away in his mind and breaking them to pieces. It was stupid. It wasn’t true. But Roach couldn’t bring himself to think about Simon. He didn’t want to pull those memories out. He didn’t want to let anyone but himself see them. 

But there was another reason. There was something else that had forced him to push away those memories, locking them behind closed doors never to be seen again. He knew what it was. Simon had always been hesitant about discussing his past. He’d told Roach just a few basics early into their relationship, enough for Roach to understand some of his nightmares and concerns. Over the course of their relationship, more had come out. In dreams. Flashbacks. Panic attacks. 

Roach had been there for the other man through it all. He’d never pushed, he’d never prodded, he just comforted the man as best he could. If Simon wanted to tell him, he would. That was that. And, over time, Simon did tell him. He told him everything. Every terrible thing. 

And that was what had kept Roach from thinking too hard about Simon. Because if he did, if he thought about the man, he would remember what he’d gone through. He would remember the way he’d held him in his arms after nightmares. He would remember the soft words he would speak. He would remember the way that he’d told Simon it wasn’t his fault, what happened to him. Because it wasn’t. 

And he was a hypocrite. Because it wasn’t Simon’s fault, what had happened to him, yet somehow his brain felt comfortable blaming itself for what he’d been forced to do. It wasn’t Simon’s fault what happened to him. The thought of telling the man that it had been his fault made Rage bubble up in his chest. So why? Why was he so comfortable blaming himself for something similar?

That was part of the problem. Roach didn’t know what the Ghost of this life had been through. He didn’t know if it was the same thing that the Simon he once knew had. He couldn’t face the man. He couldn’t face the man and tell him about what had been eating at the edges of his mind. He couldn’t tell him about the guilt. He couldn’t tell him that he felt like he’d cheated. He couldn’t say that it wasn’t Simon’s fault, then turn around and blame himself for what he’d been forced to do.

You weren’t forced. You did it. They hate you. It isn’t the same.

But that wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t true. No matter what that voice in his head screamed at him. He knew it wasn’t the truth. Soap and Ghost knew. He’d planned to tell them already. They knew. He wanted them to know. He would have wanted Simon to know if it was his first life. So why was he so scared of telling them?

He took in several deep breaths, leaning fully against the wall for several moments. He had to try to right his mind, he had to try to figure out what to do. Ghost and Soap knew. He needed to explain himself. He was going to explain himself. 

You can’t. They already hate you.

He took in another deep, calming breath. Trying to fight against that voice again. It was hard, why was it so hard? Maybe because he knew that it was himself that he was fighting against. Maybe because he wanted to believe it. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to give in to the taunting tone that it took. 

He needed to explain himself to the two men. That had been his plan before he knew that they knew. He’d been anxious, he’d been stressed, but he’d been planning to tell them. He wanted them to know, so couldn’t he still tell them? Why did the fact that they knew have to change anything? He could continue with the plan that he and his therapist had discussed, and he could explain it to them. If, in the end, they still wanted to leave him, then at least he could take some comfort in the fact that he’d tried. Tried to explain himself. Tried to keep them around.

No! They hate you, there isn’t any point in trying. There is no point in explaining. That part of his mind kept screaming at him as he began stumbling back through the hall, returning to Ghost’s room to prepare himself. They’re disgusted with you. You are disgusting! You know what you did.

Roach grit his teeth as he pushed the door to Ghost’s room open. That voice was still screaming, becoming more and more desperate as he moved. He took in a breath, pushing past it. It continued to rant, its voice became clearer, it wasn’t as fuzzy around the edges. Roach realized slowly that he’d been more haunted by memories of his time with Makarov than he wanted to admit. 

It wasn’t his own voice yelling at him. It wasn’t his own voice reminding him of what he’d done. It wasn’t his own voice trying to separate him from Soap and Ghost. It was Makarov’s. It was much easier to ignore when it sounded like Makarov. He felt more motivated to fight against it when it sounded like Makarov. He’d killed the man once, he’d do it again if he had to. 

He was still shaky on his feet, but he put all of his focus on the task at hand. It helped to calm his nerves just a bit. His shoes came first, shoved onto his feet, and tied up as quickly as he could manage around his shaking hands. From there, he moved to grab his notebook, quickly flipping through to the page where he’d written out everything that he wanted to say to the team. 

It was all there on that page, everything that had happened to him over the past few months, how he’d felt about it all, any little thing that he’d thought of he wrote out. He didn’t know if some of it would actually be said, but he’d written it anyway, for himself. He could feel himself hesitating as he looked at everything he’d written out. It was so much. 

The voice jumped on the hesitation, warning him again that the team would hate him. He tried to ignore it, but he could feel his resolve shaking. Crumbling under the weight of its words. His eyes scanned down the page, anxiety filling him at each and every point. He reached the bottom. His eyes caught on to one name, written out in a shaky scrawl. His heart stuttered over in his chest. He tensed. The voice in his head went quiet. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself the image of blonde curly hair and loving eyes. He took in a deep breath. He let it out. He opened his eyes. The voice was still quiet. He could feel phantom hands on his shoulders, a reassuring squeeze was given to one.

He closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm, taking in one last deep breath as he looked around. He was going to tell them. He was going to tell them, for himself, for them, for the man who deserved to finally rest. 

He left the room again, closing the door much more calmly behind him. He was much calmer as he began down the hallway this time. His anxiety was still there, sitting high in his throat and threatening to spill over. He took several deep breaths as he walked, popping his knuckles and picking at his hands as he moved. 

As he walked, he focused on the things around him. The people moving about. The murmur of conversation. The slight buzz of the lights above his head. The smell of cleaning product in the air. It helped to take his focus away from the fact that he was growing closer and closer to the conference room, closer and closer to explaining things and facing judgment from the people that he really cared about. 

He found himself in front of the conference room several minutes later. The blinds to the room were closed, so he couldn’t see what was happening inside, but he could assume that the team was still inside, closing in on the end of their meeting. All Roach had to do now was wait. It was the worst part of the process, but he forced himself to lean against the wall across from the door to the conference room, settling in with shaky breath and shaky hands. 

People passed him by as he waited, barely sparing him a glance as they moved through. He was glad to see it, not only did he not have to speak with anyone, but it also told him that he, at the very least, didn’t look like he was panicking too badly. That was all that he could really hope for himself. 

He couldn’t be sure how long he waited, his anxiety prevented him from even thinking of looking at the time. If he knew how long he’d been waiting, if he could watch the time tick by, there would be a greater chance that he would chicken out of what he’d come to do. What he did know, was that he nearly jumped out of his skin when the door to the conference room finally opened. Roze and Declan were the first to leave the room. They seemed a bit surprised to see him but only gave a small wave or grin before heading down the hallway. 

Gaz was the next to come out of the room, his eyes glued to his phone as his fingers rapidly clicked over the keyboard. Roach knew he was likely texting Jackson. He caught his attention with a hand around his arm, tugging him over to the wall with him. 

“Roach,” Gaz looked up from his phone, a small smile on his face. It faded after a moment, his eyes scanning the serious look that Roach wore. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Roach responded quickly, “I just…need to talk to the team.” He bit his lip and looked away from his friend, catching the gaze of Captain Price, the next out of the room. The Captain stopped in the doorway to the conference room, observing him with an unreadable pinched expression before carefully stepping forward to wordlessly join him against the wall. Roach was grateful for his presence. 

Horangi and Konig were the next out of the room, hovering close to one another as they left. Horangi only shot the group a quick glance before continuing on, but Konig stopped, looking over the group for several moments. His eyes seemed to linger over Roach, waiting for only a few moments before giving him a small nod and continuing on his way. Roach watched him walk away, a small smile pulling at his lips as he noticed how his friend was racing to catch up to Horangi as he walked. He couldn’t help but wonder if the two were better friends than Konig had let on. 

Roach didn’t wait for Ghost and Soap to come out of the conference room. He pulled Gaz to follow him inside, hearing Captain Price follow behind them and close the door securely once they were all in the room. He motioned for Gaz to take a seat, walking toward the head of the table and catching the attention of Soap and Ghost as he did. The two men had been huddled together, still at the table. Their faces were serious and he knew from the way that their eyes had widened that they’d likely been talking about him. 

“Bug,” Soap’s brow furrowed slightly, “We were about to come to find you. We just finished the briefing, were you waiting on us?” Roach refused to meet his eye, instead, he pulled the notebook out from under his arm and flipped open to his little page, looking down at his scrawled-out script anxiously. 

The room was quiet for several moments. The men were, no doubt, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he’d pulled them back into the conference room to be kept back. He knew that if he looked at any of them, Soap and Ghost and their knowing eyes in particular, he would likely lose his nerve. He needed to get started, he needed to speak. It was the best thing that he could do for himself.

He cleared his throat after a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking, “I, um, as you guys know, I’ve been seeing the therapist on base. It’s part of the process to be allowed back into the field, I have to be approved before I can start doing mission again.” He knew that his voice was shaky, but he forced himself to keep speaking. “I know I haven’t spoken to any of you guys about what happened during my time with Makarov,” he could hear someone on the team take in a sharp breath, “But, my therapist thinks it would be good for me to share with you guys, and I agree.” He slowly looked up at the team, taking in a shaky breath as he observed their faces. They were all watching him closely with clear concern, “I’d also like to take the time to explain my recent behavior, however, I don’t want to force any of you to stay if you don’t want to.”

He waited, watching the members of his team closely for any sight that they wouldn’t want to stay in the room. None of them budged, all of their attention solely on him. It was far more nerve-wracking than he’d been able to prepare himself for. After a moment, Price nodded to him, “I think we’re all here to stay Roach. Only if you want us to be.”

Roach was grateful for his words, it allowed him the justification that he needed to look down at the notebook in his hands again. “Okay,” he took in another deep breath, “feel free to ask questions as I go. I’ll try to explain everything as well as I can but,” he hesitated, biting his lip, “some things are a bit hard to talk about.”

He looked at his paper, reading the first point that he’d written down slightly larger than the rest. He’d split up his story into different places and the first was, of course, Brazil. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the phantom cracking of bones ring in his ears. Screams of pain. A man forced to apologize to him. He took in a deep breath. 

“When I ran away, after pretending to kill Price, I went toward the more abandoned half of town. Makarov had three men following me, I’d clocked them almost immediately after I left Rojas’ estate, but I couldn’t let that be known. I couldn’t just go straight to Makarov, he would have known something was off if I had, so I lured them somewhere private where they could grab me and bring me to him.” He took in another deep breath, it was odd to speak about what had happened. His voice was still shaking, but he found that speaking was much easier than he’d expected. “The three men tried to grab me, I fought them. I broke one of the men’s legs, then the other two’s noses-”

“That’s a good lad,” Price gave him a small, supportive smile, “Giving ‘em hell.”

Roach felt a small smile tug at his lips at the words, it made it much easier to continue, “There was a big one, he managed to get ahold of me. When he did, the one whose leg I’d broken pulled a knife,” he motioned to the spot on his side where his stab wound was still scarring over, “He stabbed me here before being restrained by the others.” There was quiet around the room, and he let it settle for a moment before continuing, “They brought me to the catholic church near the center of town, I guess Makarov had taken it over. Makarov spoke to me, told me that he was happy that I’d killed Price for him, I tried to play it off like I hadn’t known. He didn’t see that I was stabbed until a few minutes into our conversation he,” Roach paused, his voice catching in his throat, “he shoved his fingers into the wound. He demanded to know who had stabbed me. He made me tell him.”

Roach stopped, leaning against the table as the memories of the incident flashed across his mind again. “Take your time, Bug,” the voice belonged to Simon, his low rumble bringing a flash of comfort to his system. He still didn’t look at him. He didn’t think he could. 

“He tortured him,” he spoke quietly, “right there in the church. He made me watch while he broke his leg, then his fingers. He made him apologize to me. Then he killed him. I passed out after that.” He kept his description vague, not able to stomach explaining the sound of cracking bones or the sight of limbs bent in ways they clearly weren’t supposed to be. He paused for a moment, taking in another deep breath to try to steady his nerves. 

His experience in Brazil had been short, but it had left its impact on him. The sounds and sights of the incident were seared into his brain. He didn’t think he’d be able to forget it anytime soon. Despite that, speaking about it, telling the members of his team, it made his chest feel much lighter. It was like a breath of fresh air flooding his lungs. 

“It’s hard,” he paused for another moment, “I feel guilty about what happened, but at the same time, I’m not so much affected by the fact that a man was killed in my name, but rather the memories of what Makarov did to him.”

“That’s alright,” it was Price who spoke again, “You don’t have to feel guilty. No one can control how you feel and there is no right way to feel about the situation. It will take time, but those memories will fade.”

The words filled Roach’s chest with warmth and he could feel his eyes stinging with tears already. He really hadn’t planned to cry so early into this conversation, but Price’s words seemed to hit that part of his over-worried brain just right. It was nice to hear someone else tell him that things weren’t his fault. “Thank you,” he managed to choke out. He took a moment to look over his notes again. His first week in Russia was next. 

This part was much easier to explain. Despite the fact that he’d killed nearly five people for Makarov during this week, he didn’t feel guilty about any of their deaths. They were all horrible people, Makarov had told him as much. The fact that they were all Ultranationalists had told him the rest. He didn’t feel bad for their deaths, he just couldn’t make himself. 

His team seemed to understand, no looks of judgment crossing either Gaz or Price’s faces as he spoke, he knew they thought the same as him. He still hadn’t been able to force himself to look at Soap and Ghost, but, he could assume from the lack of speech from either of the two, that they were on the same boat. He’d be more surprised with them if they weren’t. 

He looked back down at his papers, taking in a deep breath. Finland was next. His team already knew part of the story, they’d seen him kill the man. They didn’t know what had happened after. They didn’t know about the plane. He had to tell them, but it was hard to get the words out. He knew what happened after the plane. What he would have to admit to. 

“When Makarov and I got on the plane to return to Russia, I was just numb. I never wanted any of you to see me like that. I should have known that he had something up his sleeve, everything was so suspicious, but I just didn’t realize. He admitted that he’d planned it on the plane.” His hands clenched at his side. He could feel that burning anger build back up in his chest. “I was so mad. So, so mad. I forgot everything about the mission. I lost control of myself and I attacked him.”

“Your injuries…?” The words were from Gaz, his voice hesitant.

“He won,” Roach nodded quickly. “He tore open my stitches, shoved his hand back into my wound and then choked me. He was muttering the entire time about how he was the only one who understood me, about how I should be grateful.” He felt sick repeating the words again. Even in this context, he knew now what they’d meant. What Makarov had really been telling him. “He toyed with me the entire ride back to Russia. Essentially tortured me. At one point he just hovered over me, watching me for so long without making a move.” He looked away from the table, “When we got back to Russia he passed me back off to the doctor.” 

He took another small break, turning away from the group briefly so that he could run a hand over his face. He still couldn’t look at Soap and Ghost, but he would make himself. After this next part, he would make himself. He needed to see their faces. He needed to know whether they hated him or not. The thought, and how real everything suddenly was, brought tears to his eyes. These ones wouldn’t go away. 

He turned back to the group, his voice thick as he continued, “I spoke with the doctor. Learned a lot about Makarov and his past. About how long he’d been watching the team. I found out,” he hesitated, “Makarov had a no-kill order on me for months. Even during that period when you guys thought I’d died in Russia.” He glanced up at Price’s face, seeing the serious and dangerous look that settled there. Roach knew that Price knew. He’d likely known before he’d even realized. “I realized then what Makarov really wanted with me. I made a choice, a terrible choice, but I made it. I decided to play into what he wanted. He came into my room later that night, we spoke, and I made my proposition.” He could see Gaz’s hand clench out of the corner of his eye, he kept his gaze firmly on the table, “I quoted his words to him from the plane. Told him that he was the only one who understood me. Told him that I was grateful to him. He kissed me. He touched me. I let him.” 

There was a thick pause that laid over the room. Roach didn’t look at anyone, but he could feel tears begin sliding down his cheeks. That was it. It was in the air. Everyone knew. The voice in his head didn’t say a word. He was grateful. 

The silence seemed to stretch on for minutes, Roach knew he needed to look up at Soap and Ghost, he needed to see their reactions. He couldn’t make himself. After a moment, Soap’s voice, rough with something that Roach couldn’t identify, asked, “Did he make you do anything else?”

Roach shook his head quickly, anxiety shooting up in his chest at the thought, “No. The furthest things went was the kissing. Outside of that he just wanted to,” he paused, trying to find the words, “lay with me. I suppose.”

Silence continued for several more moments. Roach could hear shifting from where Soap and Ghost were sitting, he still couldn’t look up at them. He couldn’t face them. They knew. They knew that he’d betrayed them. How was he supposed to face them when they knew?

“Bug,” Ghost’s voice sounded almost hoarse, but there was something else, it sounded clearer, “Please look at us?” 

Roach shook his head, tears burned in his eyes. How could he look at them? How could they want to look at them? They knew now. That should be it, shouldn’t it? “Please, Bug.” That was Soap, he sounded like he was crying. Roach had made him cry. Guilt gnawed at his chest. 

He forced himself to look up. He told himself he would look, he had to stick by it. Ever so slowly he raised his head, letting his eyes follow after. Finally, he met their eyes. Shock filled his chest for a moment. Ghost wasn’t wearing his mask. He and Soap were looking at him. There was no hatred. 

There was no hatred. There was no judgment. There was only concern. There was only love. There was only reassurance. He had to look away again, turning fully away from them as a sob forced its way from his throat, the pressure in his chest increasing so much that he was sure his ribs were going to collapse under its weight. They weren’t mad at him. They didn’t hate him. He didn’t understand why. 

There was a rustling sound, footsteps walking across the floor. His arm was grabbed and he was quickly pulled into a chest, warm arms wrapped around him securely. It was obviously Ghost who’d moved to pull him close. A moment later and another pair of arms joined, wrapping him up from behind. He knew it was Soap. 

Roach understood the weight of what they were doing. The vulnerability of what they were doing. Ghost had taken off his mask in front of Price and Gaz. He’d done it to make sure that Roach could see his face. To make sure that he could see that he wasn’t angry. The thought only made him cry harder. Soap was a playful man, but he wasn’t much of a fan of moments like this in front of others. He would hold his hand. He would let him peck a kiss on his cheek. But anything more, anything like this, was for private. He was pushing aside his own comfort to make sure that Roach knew that he was still loved. He couldn’t breathe through the force of his own emotions. 

“Not your fault, Bug,” Soap muttered in his ear, “We aren’t mad. You didn’t do anything wrong. We love you.”

“You didn’t betray us,” Ghost added, “You did what you had to.”

Roach couldn’t be sure how long he stayed like that, wrapped up in the two men’s arms as they spoke softly to him, reassurances. They were burning away that voice, the one that insisted that he was hated. They were helping him lock away that little bit of Makarov that seemed to haunt him. He knew that the voice likely wouldn’t fully disappear, but he also knew that it would be weaker now. He knew that it would be powerless when he had this moment to look back to. 

Price and Gaz didn’t interrupt the moment between the three. They sat quietly, they could offer their support to Roach later. For now, they knew. Knew that he needed this moment, that all three of them needed it. Price knew that they were likely all angry, not at Roach, but at Makarov. He found himself regretting that he hadn’t been able to make the man’s death more painful. 

“I should probably keep going,” Roach managed to get out after a moment, his words muffled by Ghost’s chest, “There’s still a lot I have to tell you guys. A lot I want to tell you guys.”

“It can wait,” Ghost muttered, “A few more minutes. Until you’re actually ready.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Gaz called out, “Take your time Roach. We’ll all be here when you’re ready.” That only made Roach cry harder. 

It was several more minutes before he was finally able to peel himself away from Soap and Ghost’s warm embrace. He was sure that his face looked a mess, no doubt red and puffy, he could feel that his nose was running. He’d never been a pretty crier. Soap and Ghost didn’t seem to mind, watching him closely for several moments as he took an offered box of tissues from Price and began to wipe his face down. Now that he could see the two men who’d been holding him, he could tell that they’d been crying as well, though their faces certainly didn’t look anywhere near as bad as he was sure his looked. They were pretty criers it seemed. 

“Okay,” he said after a moment. He took in a deep breath, “I’m ready.” Ghost and Soap hesitantly moved back to their seats, settling down once again. Roach watched them for a moment, he was surprised to see Ghost leave his mask off. He never wanted the man to feel uncomfortable, but something about the reminder that he wanted him to see his face made his chest feel warm. 

He walked them through the raid next. He told them about killing Petrov, the garage, the race to the airfield, and finally how he’d sustained all of his injuries at the hands of Makarov. He watched all of their faces, seeing the anger toward a dead man burn through their eyes. Soap had actually bitten his hand when he told them nervously about how he’d begged Makarov to kill him, all so that he wouldn’t be forced to go with him again. 

He gave them all a few moments afterward, letting them process what he’d told them. He knew that they’d need at least a few moments to work through their anger. He could almost feel the heat of it burning him. It made him feel warm, to know that all of that anger was on his behalf. It probably wasn’t healthy, but he could analyze it later in therapy. 

“Is there more?” Price asked after a moment, “That was when you passed out, was there more you wanted to tell us?”

Roach shifted nervously where he stood, anxiety burning through him. “There are some things,” he started slowly, “it's connected to everything with Makarov but it's more…issues that I have.”

“Issues?” Gaz asked slowly, furrowing his brows at him. 

“I’ve been,” Roach took a deep breath, trying to find the proper words, “angry. There are so many things that I’ve been pushing down, issues with myself, with what happened,” he paused, closing his eyes briefly, “with you guys.” He could see the flash of surprise across all of their faces, it made anxiety ricochet through his body. He turned away from them briefly, shaking out his hands to try to rid himself of some of the nerves that he felt. He’d been so worried about how they’d react to the previous information, he hadn’t had time to stress over this. It all rushed to him in that moment, making his heart rate pick up in speed and his breathing grow labored. “I just…my therapist thinks that I should tell you guys. I think it's all stupid. I think I’m being stupid,” his voice grew quick, “but she thinks it will be good for all of us. If you guys don’t want to then I won’t. This was stupid anyways I should have known-”

“Bug,” Soap’s voice stopped him. He turned to face the man, biting violently at his lip as he looked up at him. “We can take it. Talk to us, we probably need to hear what you have to say.” He gave him a soft sort of smile. It made Roach feel guilty again. 

“Are you sure?” He spoke quietly, looking around at the group to try and gauge everyone's reactions. Where he expected to see hesitation, he was only met with support. “Okay, um.” He looked down at his paper again, seeing his little list of “grievances” as his therapist had called it. “When Price and I started our plan, I know that I wanted you guys to think I was a traitor.” He looked up at Soap, Gaz, and Ghost. He could feel a lump form in his throat, but he pushed forward, “But I was really hurt by how easily you all seemed to believe it. We’ve known each other for over a year, I've proved myself over and over but all it took was that one little push, and you all were suspicious.” He could see the guilt flash across their faces, it only made him feel more guilty as well. “I just,” he took a deep breath, “I thought you guys trusted me more than that and it’s really just been sticking around in my mind because if you guys don’t trust me then why am I even on this team?”

“We do trust you,” Gaz spoke softly, “We do.” He leaned forward in his seat, “I listened to Price. I believed Price. I think…I think I was still thinking about Shepherd and Shadow Company. We trusted them and we were burned for it. I know that doesn’t justify anything, and I am so sorry, Roach. But, I wanted you to know that it wasn’t because of you.” He met his eyes carefully, “And I do trust you. I trust you to watch my back. I trust you to get the job done. I trust you as a friend.”

“Agreed,” Soap chimed in. “Roach, you know how much I care about you. I think I speak for both Ghost and myself when I say that we were just so afraid of having our hearts broken. Of being betrayed again. We didn’t want to believe it, but we felt like we had to. We thought if we didn’t, we’d be the suckers again who’d trusted and been duped by a friend.” He reached forward, taking one of Roach’s hands in his own, “I am so sorry.” He pressed a kiss to the skin there. 

The words made Roach feel a bit lighter. It made sense to him why they’d been so quick to believe his betrayal. He’d suspected that it had something to do with Shadow Company, but he’d been too in his own head to truly believe it. His mind had told him it was because of him and him alone. Having confirmation that it wasn’t the truth made it easier for him to fight against those thoughts that told him that his team didn’t trust him. 

“What’s next?” Ghost asked softly, tilting his head at him with a small, reassuring smile. Roach looked at his list. He felt his heart stutter to a stop. Soap’s journal. 

He gave a quick glance to Soap before looking back down at the paper. “This um, this is more of something that I have to apologize for.” He took a deep breath, opening his mouth to speak before shutting it. He tried again. He failed again. He took in another deep breath, trying to calm the frustration in his chest. He just needed to say it. He just needed to come out with it. “Soap, I read part of your journal.” There was a pause. He turned to look at the man, he could see the pinched expression on his face as well as a look of cold horror and realization that was slowly dawning on him. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, feeling his face go red, “I just came back from therapy and it was on the table and I thought I’d just look at some of your drawings but then I got to the ones from while I was with Makarov and I just couldn’t stop,” he ranted quickly, his eyes filling up with tears again. “I’m so, so, so sorry. I really didn’t mean to invade your privacy or read what you were thinking. It wasn’t my place and everything that you wrote was justified and-”

“Roach,” Soap grabbed his hand again, gaining his attention, “I am so sorry.”

“No,” Roach shook his head rapidly, “You shouldn’t apologize! You just wrote down your thoughts. You thought I was a traitor, it’s fine!”

“I should have torn those pages out,” Soap shook his head, “As soon as I knew I should have destroyed the fucking thing. You shouldn’t have had to read that. I’m so sorry.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he quietly asked, “Is that why…in the gym, is that why you asked Ghost if he was going to muzzle you?”

Roach felt his heart stutter in his chest. Soap had picked up on that? “It wasn’t just that,” he spoke quietly, “Makarov. The ultranationalists. They’d described me similarly while I was with them. Makarov called me a dog. He called the brace his leash for me.” Roach could see Soap’s face pale, he felt a sickness claw at his chest. 

“I am so sorry,” Soap repeated again, pressing closer, “Roach, you have to know, I don’t think of you like that. I was just so angry-”

“I know,” Roach assured him quietly, “I know. I’m not mad. There were just a lot of things. A lot of things piling together.” He pressed closer to the man, pulling him into a hug. The rest of the 141 watched them quietly. This wasn’t a moment for them, it was a moment just between the two of them. They intended to let them have it. 

After a moment, Roach pulled away from Soap, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head. They’d said what they needed to for the time being. He knew that they would talk more about it later, but there were other things that needed to be said. Other things that Roach needed to explain. He looked back down at his list. 

“I was pissed at you guys about KorTac,” he spoke the words quickly. He still felt quite silly about this one, but his therapist had assured him that it wasn’t silly. That he should talk about it. He looked up at the group, “I know I wanted you to get along with them, I really did, but after all the fuss you guys put up,” he shifted nervously, “when I found out you’d gone to dinner with them, then a bar afterward, all without me, I just felt,” he stopped himself, trying to find the right word. He knew what it was, he felt so stupid saying it though. “I felt like you guys didn’t need me. I felt like you guys could replace me. Then in the gym, when you guys didn’t even notice I was there, it was like I didn’t matter to you.” He clenched his jaw at the words, “I know it’s stupid.”

“It isn’t stupid,” Price assured him. “We shouldn’t have left you out. You told us that but we,” he shifted forward in his seat, looking around at the group before looking back up at him guiltily, “To be honest with you Roach, we actually talked about telling you.” Roach felt taken aback by the words, knocked off balance. 

“Why didn’t you?” He tried not to let hurt invade his voice, but based on the wince from the different members of the team, he could assume that he’d failed. 

“We were being stupid,” Price said, “Remember the meeting about KorTac, about how I didn’t tell you about it because I thought you might need the rest? Same thing here. We thought you would want to rest after your session. We didn’t think we’d get on with KorTac as well as we did, we didn’t want to make you play mediator.” 

Roach gave a sigh, looking around the group sadly. It made sense. He understood their worry. It didn’t stop it from making his chest ache. ��I can take care of myself.”

“We know, Bug,” Ghost told him kindly, “We know. We were being stupid. We were trying to do it for you.” He met his eyes carefully, “It won’t happen again.”

Somehow, Ghost knew what he wanted to hear. He didn’t need an apology from the men. He wasn’t really mad at them, it warmed his chest to know that they had thought about him. That they worried about him. Ghost knew he didn’t want an apology. He knew that he wanted assurance, a promise that they wouldn’t do it to him again. That they’d let him decide what was going to be best for him. He gave them all a slight smile, “Thank you.” It brought relief to his chest, knowing that he hadn’t been forgotten. He looked back down at his list. “One last thing.” He turned his paper over on the table. He didn’t need it for this, he hadn’t even written anything down about it. He stood up taller, his eyes were glassy and his hands were shaking, but he looked stronger than he had the entire meeting with the team. “I know you all know about my fiance.”

Silence. Guilt washed over the men’s faces, only Price didn’t react. Roach watched them all carefully, none of them would meet his eyes. Finally, Ghost sat forward, “Bug, I’m so sorry.”

Roach held a hand up to him, silencing anything else he might say. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and giving himself one last bit of reassurance. He needed to do this. He’d accepted that he could never go back to his first life. He’d accepted that he didn’t fit there. He’d accepted that things weren’t as perfect as he remembered. Now? Now it was time that he finally allowed himself this. It was time that he talked about Simon. It was time that he allowed that memory that lived so brightly in his mind to finally begin fading. 

The thought made his throat feel tight, anxiety clogging it. He’d lived with the company of those memories for his entire life. The thought of finally letting them fade, of no longer being able to see the image of Simon so clearly made his chest ache. Those memories had been sacred to him.  At times, they were the only thing that had kept him going. Those memories were what had led him to this moment. To this Soap and Ghost. In a way, Simon had guided him here. It was time that Roach let him rest. For both of their sakes. 

“I’m not mad,” he spoke calmly, “I want to tell you guys about him. If you’d like to listen?”

“You don’t have to,” Soap assured him quietly, “You don’t have to tell us.”

“I know,” Roach pulled a chair from the table. His legs felt weak, he nearly collapsed into the seat as soon as he got the chance. “I want to. I need to.” He looked between them, “I’ve kept him to myself for too long. He deserves to be talked about. He deserves to have people know him.”

“Alright,” Ghost gave him a slow nod, but Roach could see that his face was still twisted up in concern. “Only what you feel comfortable sharing.”

Roach gave him a quick nod. His eyes moved down to his hands, grazing over his bitten and torn-apart fingers. He tried to consider where the best place to start would be. He still had to be careful with what he said, but there was so much that he wanted to share. So much that he needed to share

“We um, we met while I was still on the squad with Griggs,” it was a lie, of course, he couldn’t tell them the truth, but it still felt odd to say. “I thought he was fine at first, didn’t really know him well. He was a very private person, not very trusting, so it was months before I actually got a chance to start getting to know him.” He folded his fingers together in front of him, taking another breath. “He was from another group, we were working on a joint operation together. He was a Lieutenant, always wore a mask,” he glanced up briefly at Ghost, “For his privacy. We ended up getting to know each other because he was assigned to train me in hand-to-hand. I’d only worked with weapons at that point.”

He could remember that first training session with Simon so clearly. Roach still hadn’t seen the man without his mask on at that point and, needless to say, he was scared shitless of his Lieutenant. The man was good at what he did, and he took care of his men, but he made a frightening figure. Then they’d started training together and Roach quickly learned that he wasn’t as harsh as he seemed. 

Simon was so kind with his corrections, always carefully and calmly explaining what Roach had done wrong. He’d answered any of his questions and never complained when he had to repeat things for him or move him into a particular stance because he couldn’t understand the verbal directions. Roach had realized how gentle the other man could be and his attention had, rather quickly, shifted. His small crush on Captain MacTavish was replaced with a growing feeling of warmth any time he saw or thought about Ghost. 

“He had this really gruff exterior, but really he was so nice. I learned that really quickly while we were training together and I just sort of fell for him. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen for him until I was already too far in.” He started tapping his foot a bit, it was harder than he’d expected to talk about this. He wanted to tell them so much, he wanted to explain every little detail that he could about the Simon he’d first fallen for. He couldn’t though. 

“He fell for you as well?” Gaz asked quietly. Roach looked up to meet his soft smile, a small blush rose to the high points of his cheeks as he remembered the looks that he started to notice from Ghost a few months into their training sessions. 

“He did,” Roach nodded, a small smile forming on his lips, “He made the first move. I think it was a big surprise for both of us, underneath all that harsh exterior he could be really anxious about things. He just kinda came out and said that he wanted a chance with me.”

It was the truth, though he didn’t mention that he and Ghost had been on a mission at the time. They’d been compromised in the middle of their mission and were forced to lock themselves in a small hut as enemies closed in around their location. Soap had told them that he wasn’t sure if their air support would make it in time to bail them out. Gunshots had started, bullets flying through the wood of the rickety old structure. They’d been sure that they were going to die. 

Ghost had shoved him to the ground, pressing his body flat on top of his own to act as a shield of sorts, Roach hadn’t been able to do anything. Even through the gunfire, he’d been able to hear the other man mumble that he’d hoped that he would have lived a bit longer, at least long enough to actually take him out at one point. 

Their air support had arrived at the last second. They’d survived, for the time being, and it wasn’t until they were finally in the air at their exfil an hour later that Roach had plopped himself next to Ghost, leaned his head against his shoulder, and shyly told the man that he would love it if they could try a date. It was history from there. 

“He was so sweet,” he told them quietly, “He could be jealous at times and a little possessive,” he gave a small chuckle, “But he was so sweet. He was always watching out for me, he could tell when I was upset or anxious and he was always there to comfort me.” He shook his head slowly, “He used to have nightmares. I would hold him. He wasn’t used to showing his emotions so we had to work up to it. He trusted me though, trusted me to see him at his most vulnerable.” A smile tugged at his lips again, another memory coming forward, “He had piercings under the mask. Tattoos too. My favorite was his tongue piercing.”

“Tongue piercing?” Soap gave a chuckle at that before nudging Ghost with his shoulder, “You should get one LT, could have some fun with it.”

Roach choked out a laugh at the thought, he could not see this Simon with a tongue piercing, and based on the unimpressed look that the man shot Soap, he could assume that he agreed. It was a fun thought though. 

“I proposed to him,” Roach continued after a few moments, “Just one morning we woke up together and I just asked. It just felt right, you know?” He could practically still feel the warmth of the bed, of Simon’s arms around him. He could still hear the way that he’d mumbled it out into the air and Simon had answered him with a rumbling laugh of confirmation. That was that. “I don’t know why he said yes,” he confessed, “he was too good for me.”

“I don’t believe that, Bug,” Simon spoke quietly, “No one is too good for you.” The words had his heart fluttering in his chest. He gave the man a small smile. It seemed that the man would always know how to make him feel better. 

There was a pause as Roach twiddled his fingers, trying to think of how best to talk about this next part. “He died,” he spoke the words carefully, “KIA. They didn’t say it, but everyone knew that it wasn’t an enemy that killed him. He was betrayed by his supervisor.” His hands clenched at his side, he could still feel the sting of a gunshot. He could still see Simon falling next to him, likely dead before his body had even hit the ground. “Gunshot wound to the neck. His body was burned to try and make him hard to identify. To cover up what had happened.” 

Silence hung over the group for several moments. Roach didn’t look up at them, he kept his focus on his hands. He was trying not to think about his own death, but he could practically smell the smoke in his lungs again and the memory made him feel nauseous. He didn’t think he would ever be rid of that. 

“Did they ever get the guy who killed him,” Ghost asked the words slowly, and, with a quick glance up, Roach could see how serious he looked. It was clear that he was upset on Roach’s behalf. 

Roach nodded hesitantly, “His captain tracked him down and killed him. That’s my understanding at least, the entire thing was kept rather quiet and, because we weren’t very open with our relationship, I wasn’t able to get too much information.” He hated that his only source for Shepherd’s death in his first life had been Makarov. Technically there was no reason for the man to have lied to him, but he was much too unstable for Roach to fully trust his words. 

“Good,” was the only response from Ghost. Roach gave him a nod, he agreed. If Captain MacTavish had killed Shepherd, he was more than happy with that ending for the man. 

A hand landed on his own on the table, he looked up to meet Soap’s gaze. “I’m sorry Roach. He sounds like he was incredible.”

“He was,” Roach confirmed, biting his lip slightly. “He was. It’s why I wanted to tell you guys about him. You’re my friends. You have a right to know and,” he took in a breath, “I think it’s time that I let myself talk about it too.” He looked around the group, “That’s everything that I wanted to talk to you guys about.”

“Thank you for telling us,” It was Price who spoke, giving him a small supportive smile, “I think this will be good for all of us. And hey,” he met his eyes carefully, “You can talk to us. If anything else comes up, if we start acting like asses again, just let us know.” He gave him an almost playful smile, it pulled a laugh from Roach’s mouth. 

“I will,” he stood up from his seat at the conference table, “I guess I should let you guys go get cleaned up now,” he wrinkled his nose at them playfully, “No offense, but you guys smell like shit.”

“Oh really,” Soap met him with a mischievous grin, “let me just spread some of that incredible smell to you.” He stood from the table, his eyes glinting. 

“No, no, no,” Roach held a hand out to him, backing away slowly, “Absolutely not Soap I already stink from the hug earlier!” There was a pause, Soap met his eyes. They both took off at the same time, an almost evil laugh pulling from Soap’s lips as he chased Roach out of the conference room. The rest of the team could hear them yelling at one another from down the hallway. 

The three remaining members of the team met each other’s gazes with amusement. After a moment, Ghost stood up, sliding his mask back into place on his face. He was grateful that neither of the other men had mentioned him taking it off. “I’d better go after them. Captain, Gaz.” He was quick to leave the room after that, quickly marching out to follow after the shouting he could still hear from his two boyfriends, a small smile curling at his lips under the mask. 

Prev: Part 23

Next: Part 25 - Coming Soon

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[ruthlesslistener]

Hey, I'm sorry to bother, but did you delete one of your drabbles recently (regarding trans Herrah + dysphoria)? I had read over it a few times & it brought comfort to me, in a strange sense. If you aren't the person I'm thinking of, I apologize, but your writing does seem similar to what I recall from it, & I would appreciate the confirmation if so. Thank you for your time, either way. I want to add that I have a deep appreciation for your writing style and the way in which you word your works, so this ask has purpose beyond my previous question - please keep up your spirit, and the artistry in both pen and keyboard. (I apologize for using an inactive account to send this, as well. I prefer not to speak on my main, so I hope this isn't an insult.)

Huh, nope, I did not! I'm not really sure if I ever posted that to ao3 or just tumblr (its ringing a bell, but I can't remember the exact drabble itself), but I don't delete any of my fics, so it should be still kicking around somewhere. If it's a tumblr-posted fic, my guess is that the search function simply ate it, as is the norm for this damned webbed site- I'll look around and see if I can find it so I can crosspost it to my ao3 drabbles collection

Also no worries for using an inactive account! I honestly never would have noticed, and I don't mind even when you did point it out. I'm just happy that you like my writing style and was comfortable enough to tell me at all!

#is it the one where shes dealing with gravid pk? #bc tbh ive got a lot of snippets of trans herrah in my drafts so the ones i posted get a lil fuzzy #imlovecharr #reply #also yeah i never check blogs unless they're mutuals and i wanna see what theyre up to bc its none of my buisness #ur good!