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cower-before-power · 3 months

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As Mortals Do

Pairing: Gale X Fem Reader

Summary: As much as you enjoy being with Gale in the Weave, you love being with him just as he is more- aka All The Ways Mystra Missed Out

Warnings: Implied sex, very light grinding, mentions of oral (both on Gale and reader), I guess a smattering of angst?? But mostly soppy romantic, sexy fluff. MINORS STAY AWAY!

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: I haven't written anything for ages but I'm obsessed with BG3 and Gale, just had a little idea and decided to jot it down. I hate hate hate Mystra, Gale deserves all the love and adoration just as he is, and this is me giving it to him haha. I'm not a Weave sex expert, nor do I know for sure if Gale and Mystra did it outside the Weave, but this is my fic and I'll do what I want!

Mystra is a fool, you think.

It’s not a new thought. You often find your mind turning to the goddess, and the depths of her raging stupidity. How she cast aside a man so full of love and devotion, a man whose heart bled worship and loyalty, a man who gives and gives and gives. A man like Gale Dekarios deserves to be loved as much as he loves, to be held near and never let go of.

Her loss is your gain, you think to yourself smugly, as you lay on your lover’s chest, the two of you basking in the sweet afterglow of your lovemaking. Gale is all yours now. His mind yours to delight in, his body yours to lose yourself in, his heart yours to cherish as the precious thing that it is.

You do not intend to replicate her mistakes.

“I can hear the gears in your brain turning, love,” Gale’s rich voice rumbles softly under your ear. “Spare a thought?”

You prop yourself up on an elbow, allowing yourself to drink deep of his satisfied visage before you answer. Gale is truly a vision after you’ve wrung pleasure from him, eyes aglow and face flushed, happiness exuding from every pore. You keep the image tucked close to your heart, a special treasure for you and you alone to revel in.

“I was just reflecting on the folly of your previous lover, darling. As I often do.”

Mystra’s name no longer brings pain to his dark eyes. Instead, he quirks a brow, no doubt curious as to the train of your thoughts.

“Oh? And in what way do you find fault in her this time?”

You brush your fingers along his cheek, his forehead, the slope of his nose. His skin is warm and slick with sweat. “I couldn’t help but think how foolish of her to never have you like this, in this mortal plane. She missed out greatly.”

Gale catches the hand tracing his face, bringing it to his mouth to kiss each of your fingertips. A shiver of delight skitters up your spine.

“How do you figure that?” He asks, lips moving to press more kisses to your palm, your wrist. You want to melt into his gentle devotion, but you have a point you wish to make. Gently, you prise your hand from his grasp, settling it over his beating heart.

You grin down at him. “Don’t mistake me, sex in the Weave is incredible. Every time you take me in there, I’m drowned in ecstasy. Our very souls meeting, entwining like that? It’s not something I ever thought I’d experience, and I’m thrilled I get to. With you.”

Gale smiles at that. “I’m glad to show you those delights, my love.”

“But,” you lean forward and press your lips to his quickly, gently. “as pleasurable as the Weave is, it skips a lot of my favourite parts.”

Gale’s mouth opens, no doubt to inquire what you mean, but you silence him with a firmer press of your lips.

“Your ethereal paramour did not have many glorious experiences, darling,” your breath mingles with his as your lips brush teasingly. “She did not get to feel the smoothness of your lips the graze of your beard against her skin as you kiss her. Or how it bites deliciously against her sensitive inner thighs.”

You nip his bottom lip softly, relishing in the hitch of his breath and the flutter of his lashes.

“She did not smell your scent, sandalwood and mulled wine and bound leather, and how it mixes with the musk of sex and passion into an elixir I wish I could bathe in.” To drive your point, you lower your face to rest in the crook of his neck, inhaling a generous lungful of said aroma. It sends a visible shudder right through you, and you feel yourself already wanting for your wizard again.

Your tongue sneaks out to lave a long stripe up the side of his neck. and the soft groan that tears from Gale’s throat makes your whole being positively ache with need.

“She did not taste your sweat, the salty tang of your spend. She did not feel the wonderful heaviness of you on her tongue, the little twitch right before you spill. Or see the way you look so thoroughly and splendidly debauched after I’m done with you.”

You climb atop him, hands braced on his chest as he grips your hips harshly. Gods above, he is a truly beautiful sight. You think you are the luckiest woman in all Faerun, to have such a man beneath you.

“She did not get to feel how warm you are inside her, how delicious it feels to be flooded with your seed. How connecting in that base, physical manner can feel just as wonderful as a merging of souls.”

To emphasize your words, you grind your hips against his, mewling softly at the feel of him growing between your thighs. Gale himself is practically panting, his sweet brown eyes nearly swallowed by dark lust, his own hips rutting up into yours mindlessly as he hangs on your every word.

You lean over him, chest to chest, face to face. Close as close can be, just the way you always want to be.

“She missed out on so much you have to offer,” you whisper, “and I’m not sorry for her. I’m greedy, all of this-intimacy, unconditional love, an equal partnership-with you is mine and mine alone.”

Gale snaps then, leaning up to capture your mouth in a voracious kiss. You sigh and sag into him, letting him devour your mouth as his hands wander the expanse of your naked skin. His kiss excites, his touch inflames, your bodies melt together like they were made to be entwined.

You firmly believe they were.

Lips meet, tongues dance, sighs and groans mingle in the soft moonlight. You soft whimpers of delight however, are soon abruptly turned into a squeal as he flips you under him. “Gale!”

Your wizard simply smiles down at you in awe and reverence. You think his eyes might be glassed with unshed tears. “My love, your words….I would ask if you truly mean them, but you’ve been quite the persistent one in making me believe my own worth.”

You return his smile. “I am annoying in that way, aren’t I?”

“Doggedly so,” Gale teases, kissing your nose as it scrunches up at his jesting. “But, I appreciate it. More than even my verbose vocabulary can explain, if you can believe that.”

You giggle. “My wizard of words? Unable to explain something? I certainly cannot believe it.”

Gale’s smile turns salacious. “No matter. I’m learning the benefit of expressing myself physically when words fail me.” He shifts, hard as steel against you, and a moan strangles itself in your throat. “Now, my love, my light, my darling precious gem, shall I express my feelings on your lovely speech with my body? Allow you to enjoy all the things you just praised so eloquently?"

He shifts again, and you cant your hips upwards with a whine, desperation seeping into your pores. You want to have him, again and again again, unending, unyielding. You feel like you might go mad if you don't.

Gale’s reciprocation of your hunger shines down upon you like the sun. “Let me indulge in you, sweetheart,” he croons lowly, “let me bring you to the heights of pleasure. In all the corporeal ways that mortals do.”

Your heart cracks open, joy overflowing. There is no greater bliss. He is bliss, in all that he is and all that he gives to you.

“Yes, please,” you murmur, as Gale presses in and consumes you whole. “As mortals do.”

#gale dekarios #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale bg3 #bg3 x reader #gale baldurs gate 3 #baulder's gate 3 #my writing #gale x reader

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cranetreegang · 1 year

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And Eyes as Cold as the Deepest Lakes - Ominis x FemReader

:) guess who's back. back with more OMINIS!!!! i have a lot of ideas written and i hope i'll get around to editing and posting more very soon. I wanted to do some bantering between Ominis and Sebastian and their friendship, which i hope i nailed, and just how cold Ominis can be to other people. He's like a cat in my head.

He's my Lil Meow Meow.

hope you enjoy! <3

Summary: Curiosity gets the better of Ominis, and Natty must do what Sebastian failed to.

Word Count: ~2,000 words

Read more of my Ominis Fics Here!

#ominis gaunt #ominis x reader #hogwarts legacy #room of requirement #fanfic #fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fluff #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow #creative writing #natty onai #natsai onai #ominis x mc #ominis x you #ominis x oc #ominis gaunt x you #how many freaking tags can i put on this

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unmotivatedwrit3r · 6 months

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One in Eleven Million (ch. 6)

damian wayne x reader x jon kent

(A/N): So I think this ends up being ten chapters? I'll try to post more frequently; I've tortured you all long enough haha. Though I'm hoping to get a couple different things out in the next couple of weeks, so you'll get more from me, just not always of this.

As always, masterlist linked here.

warnings: air travel, turbulence

wc: ~1300

Damian turned from where he was watching you continue your project to face Jon. He pulled off his zip up sweater, tugging down the sleeve of his long sleeved shirt to hide the bandages Jon did at the hotel earlier in the morning, before passing it over to Jon.

“Here.” Damian nudged him. “For the sunglasses.”

Though he could feel your eyes on the back of his neck, Damian ignored you for now, taking his sunglasses back from Jon’s outstretched hand. In the corner, Jon curled into a ball, head tilted against the wall and face buried in Damian’s sweatshirt. Damian watched him for a moment, chest tight. No matter how many times he’d been through this with Jon, it didn’t get easier seeing him in pain. Jon flicked him a thumbs up and Damian relaxed, turning back to you. Overhead, the safety announcement came to a close.

“He’s okay?” You asked, eyes fixed on Jon. Your arms, already wrapped around yourself, tightened. Damian nodded, eyes straying back to his left for just a moment before returning to you.

“He will be, once we get up in the air and away from the chaos of the airport.” He tipped his chin at the project left abandoned in your lap. “How long have you been doing that?”

“Oh a couple of years maybe? I’m not sure exactly. Do you,” you hesitated. “Do you do some kind of art? And you read Arabic, right? I saw the book you were reading last night.” Damian’s eyes scanned your face. You looked nervous, though genuine, and he found himself not minding the questions. It felt more like curiosity than idle small talk. He hated small talk.

“I do. And speak it.” Your eyes lit up.

“Cool,” you breathed, smiling. “I’m not great at languages but I would like to be fluent in a few one day. And art?”

“I draw,” Damian revealed. “And paint.” He fought to keep from mirroring your smile.

“That’s awesome. I write a little bit, but only as a hobby.”

“Really? About what?” He asked genuinely.

“Whatever I get motivation for I guess? I wish I had a better answer but I just like it.”

“Doing things for liking them is an answer.” Damian could almost see you mulling the words around in your head. He took the moment to observe your features up close: beautiful eyes and an unexpectedly striking smile.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“I know.”

Your startled laugh tore the last of his self restraint down. Damian’s face split into a grin.

The two of you spent the next while talking about everything and anything. You shared your reasons for being on the plane at all, your favorite color, your other hobbies. In turn, he showed you pictures of his art, his cat and dog, and gorgeous shots of Gotham at sunrise. He had a lot of pictures of him and a brown man with shaggy dark hair and bright blue eyes. In the recent pictures, Damian began to overtake him in height. “My oldest brother,” Damian offered when you asked.

“You’re the youngest?” He nodded.

“Of several. I am one of the tallest, though.”

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “I bet your older siblings hate that.”

“They do.”

And then there were the pictures of Jon. Jon by himself or with Damian’s pets, Jon captured in Damian’s art, and Damian and Jon together.

“Where was this?” You asked. In the picture, Damian was standing on a pathway covered in a dusting of snow, bundled up and on crutches. Jon, in a blue zip-up and jeans, was making a snow angel on the ground in much deeper snow beside him.

“A few winters ago. In Gotham.”

“I remember that snowfall” You thought back to the remnants of a Mr. Freeze plot. Following Batman’s intervention, all that was left was a snowy cold front. “But mostly I stayed inside and caught up on work during the snow day. And watched too much TV.” Damian huffed a laugh.

On his other side, small snores emanated from the pile of denim and red fabric. Jon didn’t wake when the flight attendant came around with snacks. Damian accepted Jon’s pretzels for him.

“How long have you two known each other?” You asked, some time in. Damian looked over at Jon. The lights in the cabin were dim, and both boys were bathed in shadow.

“A decade or so, now,” he said. Then, a little quieter. “He’s my best friend.”

“You’re a good friend Damian.” Your eyes followed his over to Jon. He looked smaller than you’d ever seen him, all 6ft something curled up in an economy airplane seat. “He’s lucky to have you.“And I know I don’t know you guys that well but I can tell he’s a good person. And that you’re lucky to have him too.”

Damian didn’t argue.

“I am.”

Two hours in, Jon stirred, pushing the hood off his head and blinking slowly.

“Hey,” he mumbled. Your breath caught unwittingly in your throat. Jon’s voice was rough and his hair was mussed from where it had been smushed underneath his hoodie. You curled your fingers into your palms, resisting the urge to push back a curl that had dropped onto his forehead. Jon rubbed the backs of his hands against his eyes, dislodging his glasses. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Morning,” you managed. Some part of you was surprised you managed to get out any words at all, much less in a tone that wouldn’t pass for a squeal.

Damian took his sweatshirt back from Jon’s offering hand. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” he said, attempting to stretch while crammed in a seat with no legroom. You just watched, chest squeezing pleasantly. Damian was watching similarly. What am I doing? You wondered to yourself. He’s not yours, neither of them are.

“You needed the sleep,” Damian said beside you. Jon snorted out a laugh.

“Thanks Dames,” he said dryly.

“Always.”

You wrenched your attention away from the boys, turning your phone over in between your hands. It was too late, you knew. You were already attached. But this was a plane, a vehicle to get you from place to place. There was no reason they would be any different, just a passing point in your life. Selfishly, you hoped they might be more.

A tap on your shoulder from Damian brought you back into the conversation.

“Huh?” Two sets of concerned eyes were watching you carefully. Your eyes met green then blue for only a moment. “What’s up? I zoned out for a moment, sorry. Tired.”

Damian looked like he wanted to argue with you. You hoped he wouldn’t; you might have only met him the day before, but you had a feeling he’d figure it out anyway.

“Do you know how far we are?” Jon asked instead.

“Oh sure I can check that one sec.” You opened the airline map on your phone. “About an hour and a half away.” The little airplane icon on your phone screen placed the plane somewhere above the Chicago area. “See?”

“Oh that’s cool!” Jon said to Damian, taking the device from you. “Kinda looks like the thing your dad has for my dad.” There was context you were missing, you assumed. Damian huffed a laugh.

“It’s a similar technology.”

“What do your dads do?” You asked them.

“He’s a journalist,” Jon offered.

“Businessman.” Damian’s lips quirked up. “Family business.”

That did not clear it up for you whatsoever. You snapped your mouth shut on any follow-up questions at the jump of turbulence. Your shoulders stiffened instinctively for a moment before you relaxed back into your seat. This wasn’t your first batch of turbulence and it probably wouldn’t be your last. Damian didn’t seem shaken. Jon, though, looked terrified, one hand gripping Damian’s wrist and the other tapping furiously against his thigh.

“Is this normal? On commercial planes?”

“Sometimes,” Damian assured. “The pilot warned of turbulence earlier.”

“They usually come over the loudspeaker when it happens, just to reassure people.”

Your prediction came true with a crackle of the intercom.

“Just an average bit of turbulence folks. All numbers are still in the green, so no need to worry. As a precaution, the seatbelt signs are going back on so please stay seated if possible.”

The pilot’s voice seemed to reassure Jon. You, for one, were tired of hearing it.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent #damian wayne x reader x jon kent #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x gender neutral reader #jon kent imagine #jon kent x gender neutral reader #jon kent x reader #OIEM series #emerson writes sometimes

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uhdrienne · 1 month

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

04. 53,000 won

🌼 feat: wonwoo x reader (written and a bit of smau), fluff, mild angst??, hometown chachacha!inspired

🌼summary: going back to the countryside where you grew up was at the bottom of your list. unexpectedly, your life changes course, and you eventually find your home in weekly village cleaning, the sound of the waves, and with the local jack-of-all-trades, jeon wonwoo.

🌼 warning: mention of a funeral (but no one dies, it's just a description)

🌼 word count: ~3k

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

"Ugh!!" Your head is in your hands, sitting in the middle of your newly-furnished apartment, mulling over the incident. A part of you feels bad for saying all that out, but how were you to know the mic was on?

A knock on your door breaks you out of your struggle. You sigh and pull yourself up. When you open the door, you're surprised to see Wonwoo outside. His mouth is set in a mocking smile, all the previous friendliness and teasing tone gone.

He cuts in before you can ask what he's doing here. "You really think you're better than everyone, don't you?"

"What?" You ask in shock.

"You must have had a smooth life, right? I told you before, Miss L/N. This isn't the city." He continues coldly, not a usual shred of humour in that sentence to be seen. "We live differently from you bigshots in the city, that's true. We make honest livings, and everyone has had their fair share of struggles. And what did you say -- 'too simple it's aggravating'? I'm not sure you know about anything any one of us has gone through. I humoured you at first because I thought you were just awkward with us, but I guess I shouldn't have." He gives a mirthless laugh.

You snap, "If this is about earlier, just stop. I don't need you to rub it in."

He raises his eyebrows. "You went around calling us all simpletons in essence, but you get upset the moment I call you out for it?" You shoot a glare at him, but he continues, unfazed.

"Listen here, Doctor. Life isn't so fair on everyone. You may have had it easy, but a lot of people spend their lives on unpaved roads, and some run at full speed only to reach the edge of a cliff. You have no right to undermine that, got it?"

He stalks off without looking back.

You slam the door shut and return to the middle of the room, fuming. Not even three minutes later your pity party is interrupted by yet another knock on the door.

Fed up, you storm to the door and pull it open, ready to vent on the man...

"Delia??" You ask, and she breaks into a smile. "Surprise!"

"What are you doing here?!" You burst into tears and crush her in a hug. Her expression turns into one of concern. "Wha- are you okay??"

"I messed up!" You sob into her shoulder as she hurriedly comforts you and pats you on the back. "When I was telling you about the town, I was in the broadcast room, and it played out for everyone to hear."

"Oh." Delia pauses the patting for a second before pulling away from the hug. "Yeah, you really did screw up."

"Delia!" You wail. "What now? I can't face them anymore. I'll have to move out, but I'll be unemployed. I-"

"Okay, calm down, shh, shh," Delia says, rubbing your back to soothe you. "It's okay. Just apologise -- sincerely -- and make sure you don't do it again." After a pause, she asks, "Is that why I saw Chief Jeon walking down the path earlier?"

"You saw him?" You ask, stricken. "Did he say anything?"

"No, he just smiled and said hello," Delia replies. "He didn't seem any different."

"Crap," You groan, leaning against the couch.

"Yup, crap indeed," Delia says bracingly. "Look, really, try to have fun here, okay? I know this wasn't your first choice, but a lot can happen in three months. I think you need to give them a chance before you say anything. I mean, if someone just assumed shit about you, you'd be mad too, right?"

You shrug. Delia rolls her eyes. "Go take a walk or something to clear your head. You might go do something rash if I keep on yapping, so go on."

You throw on a cardigan over yourself and make your way out the door with Delia's encouragement. You finally walk to the harbour, rather chilly at this time of night, and to your dismay, you spot Chief Jeon, sitting with Seungkwan and Joshua along the steep step at the top.

Oh. It was all three of them.

You brace yourself to walk right past them but sigh, Delia's words replaying over and over in your head. But they probably hated you now, you reasoned. So if you walked past them, they might not even bat an eyelash.

As you approach, Joshua looks up and raises his eyebrows. "Why're you here?"

"Walk," You reply hesitantly, trying to avoid eye contact. Seeing them again, in person, like this -- amplifies the embarrassment you feel. You can feel your ears turning red.

Chief Jeon huffs. "Sit down. You're not at a court sentencing or something."

Seungkwan finally looks up at you and motions with his head slightly, and that is your cue to sit, a small distance away from the three men.

"That," Chief Jeon says, pointing at the large, red lighthouse in the distance, glowing with bright lights against the night sky, "is the lighthouse. Fishermen use it lots when they can't get back before nightfall. It helps them navigate, and make sure they don't hit rocks and capsize."

You look at him curiously. "What?"

"Miss Hwang -- you've met her, the cafe owner-- can be a bit of a chatterbox, but she's really friendly. She's noisy, but she has a good heart, and she makes good company on lazy days." He continues, as if he hasn't heard you.

"Hey," Joshua nudges him, amusement on his face. "Tell her about Grandma Lee."

"Grandma Lee is everyone's family," Chief Jeon adds, a fond expression on his face as he looks out to sea. "She's lived here all her life, so she's watched practically everyone grow up, and she's seen lots of them come and go. She... she raised all three of us when we were kids, actually."

"She's the best person ever, and she's a good cook." Seungkwan tells you, the first sentence he's said to you since the fiasco.

Your confusion doesn't ebb. "What on earth are you three talking about?"

Chief Jeon rolls his eyes. But it's Joshua who speaks up first.

"We were getting to that," He says. "We're angry, yeah, that you jumped to the conclusions of us being simple that it was annoying. And Wonwoo was right that everyone's lives are different and you really shouldn't have said that." You're ready to retort, but Chief Jeon cuts in.

"You must be angry about what I said earlier."

"You know meddling can be dangerous, right?" You return. "You probably haven't caught up to the world yet."

"Probably," Chief Jeon shrugs. "But I'd appreciate it if you met them halfway."

You huff.

"I know this wasn't in your plans," Chief Jeon continues.

"...But?"

"This may sound old-fashioned, but this town hasn't had too many city people come in to stay," Seungkwan adds, tossing a pebble in the air and catching it. "So we're very tight-knit and our behaviour can be different from city people."

"Sounds exhausting," You mutter.

"Yet you chose to open a clinic here. Don't we all need some time to adjust?" Chief Jeon asks you. When you don't reply, he says, slightly sighing. "We were talking about it, and we figured all people make mistakes. Strictly speaking, it's not like you knew the mic in that room was on."

"We badmouth everyone at some point anyway, right? And everyone is probably talking shit about you right now," Seungkwan shrugs. "So you're all even. It's time for you to start over."

"And we want to tell you about life here," Joshua says, not unkindly. "So we can get to know each other a bit more, and we won't just be awkward up until you leave."

You stay silent, your irritation fading slightly. Perhaps these three weren't that bad.

Seungkwan launches into a quick briefing of the villagers. You find out that Mrs Woo, your landlord, has a seven-year-old son, who's top of his class and a quiet but obedient boy. That a young couple is running a small convenience store near the main path, and they're expecting a second baby soon. Wonwoo and Joshua stay silent, mostly, only chiming in very occasionally.

You don't say much, simply nodding at the right places, until Seungkwan snaps his fingers. "Ah, right! Reminds me, have you given out rice cakes?"

You stare at him in utter confusion, only for all three men to stare back at you, baffled. "You haven't? Seriously?" Wonwoo asks incredulously.

"No wonder," Joshua muses, before explaining. "You ever heard of the custom of handing out rice cakes when a business opens or when you move in?"

You nod slowly. "I thought that was a past tradition."

"Some of us see it as a form of courtesy," Joshua replies. "We'll help you make them, so pass them out. Maybe they'll take it as an olive branch."

You nod hesitantly. "Okay. I see."

Wonwoo shakes his head in mock amusement. "All those brains to be a doctor, and you really forgot rice cakes?"

You shoot him a wilting look, and he cracks a smile. "Don't start on your spiel about city life again."

"I wasn't going to," You say obstinately, but you know damn well you were on the verge of it.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

To little surprise on your end, no one really changes their impression of you even after the rice cakes three days after you move in.

Some accept it with barely-there enthusiasm, while some don't even bother to spare you a second glance. It was expected, you muse, as you exit your twelfth household of the day.

"Miss Doctor!" A voice you know all too well calls out to you, and you look up wearily.

"What?"

"You handing out rice cakes?" He asks, outstretching his hands to take the few tins you have in your hands.

"Yeah. You guys said to."

He huffs. "Show some backbone about it, would you? You're promoting your clinic, not a funeral."

You cross your arms. "You try getting brushed off by so many people and see if you can still keep that grin on your face."

He rolls his eyes. "Don't be a baby. I bet you just went in, said "I hope you come to the clinic!" without apologising, and left."

You stay rooted to the ground. "So?"

He looks at you, shock on his face. "Did you really think that's enough? Of course no one would be convinced! An apology would be more than welcome."

You shrug, already worn out. "Whatever."

"Don't get grumpy on me," He says bracingly. "That's pathetic. Where's your friend, by the way?"

"Back in Seoul." You shrug.

He rolls his eyes. "Alright. Come with me this evening."

"What?"

"You're pretty stubborn. I said, meet me this evening. We're going somewhere."

"Wher-"

He stalks off, his hand stuck up in a wave.

"Idiot," You mutter.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

You meet him at the junction near the small convenience store at the junction at six sharp.

"Oh, you're here early," He remarks as he approaches you. "Come on. We're going to the village meeting."

"What?" You recoil instantly, and he clicks his tongue. "Don't be a baby, honestly. Come on."

He leads you, with lots of complaining, back to the same place with the broadcast room. This time, you hear the buzz of people's voices, some laughter, lively conversation from inside.

Your hesitation is obvious as Wonwoo ushers you, and he sighs. "I'm giving you a chance to go in and try making things right. They need you as a doctor like you need them as companions, you know?"

You try to glare at him, but with your unwillingness and nerves combined, it's much milder than usual. He's clearly unbothered as he cocks his head towards the room. "I'll catch up with you. Go on."

"You're not coming?" The words shoot out, more alarmed than you intended.

"Time's a-ticking. I'm not the one who should apologise, Miss Doctor."

You huff, turn your back to him, and steel yourself. "Fine." Your heels crunch into the gravel as you walk towards the room.

He watches you as you march away.

You open the door warily, and all eyes turn to you. Disgruntled mutters break out as you step in awkwardly, but Seungkwan and Joshua, who are already sitting cross-legged near the back, smile slightly and wave you over to sit with them. Amongst the not-so-discreet chatter of the grandmothers who eye you disapprovingly, you make your way through and sit next to them in relief.

The conversation is muted until Ms Hwang asks (although it sounds more like a confrontation to you), "Why are you here, Doctor?"

"Um..."

Seungkwan clicks his tongue before he cuts in, clearly sensing your discomfort with all the villagers staring at you, not kindly in the slightest. "She's living here with us in the town now! Of course, she should be here."

Joshua murmurs assent, hand coming up to pat your shoulder in comfort. You try to smile awkwardly, and the villagers go back to mumbling under their breaths. That is until the door opens and Wonwoo comes in. He's carrying a box of fruits, you observe, and the villagers make way for him on autopilot. He sets the large box down, makes eye contact with you, and breaks out into a grin.

"Ah, Miss Doctor! I see why you needed my help carrying this in." He makes a show of stretching his back. "This is rather heavy, huh?"

"Wha-" You start to ask, but Seungkwan jabs you in the ribs. He's smiling when you look at him, and you finally figure out the act.

The murmurs continue, but more so in surprise, and as Wonwoo looks around in mock confusion, he deliberately chuckles out. "Ah, Miss Doctor heard about the village meeting today. She went to get fruits for everyone, but it was too heavy. She didn't even want my help until I insisted!"

The three grandmas turn to look at you, but the air of disapproval is replaced by something more questioning. The change is rather welcomed, though, the feeling of being scrutinised slowly fading. You manage to laugh out awkwardly.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

The meeting goes without a hitch. The villagers help themselves to the peaches and apples Wonwoo — “you” brought— as your landlord addresses the issues of village cleaning and trash bags. Joshua even throws in a few deliberate praises on your choice of fruits. As the sky outside darkens, your landlord finally wraps up, and she adds, "Let's all thank Y/N for bringing fruits today, okay?"

A few mumbles of thanks are heard, but that alone sends endless relief through you.

Everyone files out after a while, goodnight's and see you's exchanged. You hang behind the rest, walking with Wonwoo. Seungkwan and Joshua go on ahead, saying they want to have an early night.

He stops you at the junction and holds out his palm.

"What?" You ask.

"53,000."

"Huh?"

"53,000 won."

"Wha-"

"For the fruits. I didn't want to say this to you earlier."

You huff and reach into your bag, but he stops you. "Bank transfers are fine. I'm not going on another wild goose chase with you for money."

"God, do you ever get tired?"

He chuckles at your annoyed tone before speaking again, slightly warmer and less sarcastic. "Good job today. I think the grandmas are warming up to you."

Before you can respond, he's striding back down the path, waving goodbye to you.

───✱.｡:｡✱.:｡✧.｡✰──────✱

wonwoo is our saviour 😋

💌 taglist: @gaslysainz @lev1hei1chou

prev. masterlist. next.

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honey-minded-hivemind · 2 months

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X men Animated. Yandere Gambit and Rouge and child reader who's immune to all powers

Oh, kinda like Leech, but instead of mulling others powers, Reader just isn't affected by them. Gotcha! May I call you Immune Anon? Or do you have a preferred anon? Let's dive in:

Mutants had many powers. Some could control minds, others could create forcefields, while others could even fly.

This new mutant couldn't do any of that.

They were completely and utterly immune to other mutations.

"High five, Ms. Rogue!" Reader shouts, running up to the energy-absorbing mutant.

It made them one of the few people Rogue could touch without fear. And she gladly did.

"Ah, sugah, you're as sweet as molasses."

"And you're cool, like a possum!"

"Oui, chere, you make a fine possum," Gambit cut in, earning a groan from Rogue and an excited yell from Reader, who immediately tackled his leg.

"Hi, Gambit! Guess what?"

"What, mon petit?"

"I was able to lie to the Professor! And he couldn't read my mind to tell!"

"Good job, petit. Gambit's proud o' yaw!"

"I also gave Rogue a kiss earlier! I'm her lucky person!"

"May Gambit get a kiss, too, chere?"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"..."

"Gambit will gladly take a kiss from his petit. Maybe then mon chere won't be so cold."

"You wish!"

The two of them got along for the most part, watching over Reader and keeping them out of too much trouble.

That being said, they still found it, and in heaps.

"Sugah, how'd y'all make such a mess?"

"We were tryin' to cook something for you!"

"Ah, sweetie, that's so thoughtful. Now, Gambit, how'd this happen?"

"Well, mon chere, we was trying ta bake a cake, and we was trying ta cook it because tha oven weren't workin'... So Gambit tried to use his power to cook it..."

"And I added frosting!"

"..."

She bursts into a laughter a second later, laughing for a good few minutes before she wipes her eyes. "Okay, sugah, let's clean ya up."

"Okay!"

"May Gambit get cleaned up with y'all, too?"

"No, YOU can clean up the mess ya made!"

"Aaawww..."

"But... we can eat the cake y'all made later. AFTER dinner for you, little gator," Rogue says, and then the she and Reader go to clean cake batter and flour of them. Gambit watches them leave, feeling his heart flutter...

"I'm gonna marry her one day..."

"Yeah, well, that day ain't today. Start cleaning!" growls Wolverine, who thrusts a mop into the Cajun's hands.

"... Next time I'll teach petit how to pick pockets..."

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere rogue #platonic yandere gambit

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butch-with-a-deep-voice · 4 months

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What made you feel like using the term “butch” to describe yourself despite some of your obvious feminine qualities? (This is an absolutely genuine question coming from somebody who is trying their best to figure out “which box” they fit into).

I guess I’m having a hard time figuring out if I’m “butch enough” which I know sounds ridiculous. I know that there’s such a spectrum and not everybody is strictly “butch” or “femme” but I guess I feel called to butchhood. But I invalidate my own feelings by finding all the ways in which I’m “too feminine” for it.

I’m genderqueer as well so it can be hard for me to find the right balance between my masculine and feminine features that make me feel euphoric.

Hey anon, so this is a very good question, and one I really want to take some time with. As such, I will provide two answers. A short copout answer if you don't have the energy to read a lot, and a long answer.

Short answer, and I really hate when I have to pull out this answer but well...

It's no different than gender euphoria in of itself. Each person is different, and it is based off of well, vibes. It's things like how I can be beside my he/they nonbinary friend, let's call him C, in the exact same outfit as him, and all our friends are like "yup, Nomi looks butch, and C looks boy-adjacent". It's vibes, and there's no real easy way to explain it further than that.

Now lovely anon/reader, if you want something a little more... nuanced (and just as inconclusive), strap in. Pun fully intended.

So I've been mulling over this for a few hours already before typing, and of course my overly analytic ass started scripting this whole thing around exploring the history of butch and femme identities, the gender politics of the matter, the racial contexts, etc. before realizing that doesn't answer your question; how did I specifically, a trans-feminine two-spirit person, reach butch being where I felt the most at home in myself despite apparent feminine aspects of myself? Understanding the history, cultural implications, and other nuanced portions of "butch" as an identity was a huge part of how I got there, and so I'll briefly go over that, but it's also important to keep my copout answer in mind as well. You know yourself best. It's well, vibes.

Let's start with the barebones identity of butch. I think a good place to start is understanding that while all butches are masculine, not all mascs are butch. Same with femme vs. feminine. It's something you claim, you embody. It's well, an identity. For many, myself included, it's an inseparable part of ones gender identity to boot. And like all identities, it is often intersectional with other facets of your life. Gender, sexuality, race/ethnicity, culture, etc. For me, Butch ties directly to my Two-Spirit identity. Part of being a Michif (Métis) Two-Spirit person is holding both the masculine and feminine at all times. While not necessarily a woman in the western sense, I feel woman-adjacent. My "feminine spirit" comes from feeling woman-adjacent, and honestly when around other Michif women, like a Michif woman (but that's a conversation for another day). My "masculine spirit" comes from being a butch Michif lesbian, amongst other things. If I had to describe how my gender "feels", Two-Spirit Butch feels honestly the most accurate, even if that doesn't fit into a Western queer lens that nicely. I may have, as you said anon, apparent feminine aspects to myself that counter my masculinity, but part of being Two-Spirit is holding those with love, honor, and compassion. Feminine spirit doesn't negate my queer masculinity, if anything it augments it. But, exploration of my Two-Spirit identity and how it relates to being butch likely won't be of much help to most of the non-indigenous readers.

Let's look at a more Western approach, because Butch is just that, a rather Western queer term. I do want to preface that as a trans-feminine person there are many within queer spaces that believe I do not have the right to claim butch for myself. To them I counter, bugger off terfs. I would also like to point out that while in a modern sense butch more or less refers to a masculine lesbian identity, that was not always the case. Butch for many many years was an identity to describe queer masculinity as a baseline, regardless of lesbian, gay, bisexual, etc. Especially in queer BIPOC communities. Butch becoming a lesbian-centric term is much newer within the queer lexicon (with some pointing to white queer culture stealing a term from BIPOC queer culture, but that is a topic I do not have the expertise to go into). While both butch itself, and queer masculinity as a whole have evolved since those times, I think keeping that historical context in mind is important.

To me, part of why I claimed "Butch" specifically is how it relates to non-conformity of expected womanhood. While I do not claim woman in the Western sense, during the early phases of transition, I began by identifying as a woman, and trying to abandon all of masculinity and what it came with. You can find a bit more of how that went in this post. I dove headfirst into femininity and hit my head on the floor of the pool so hard I ended up right back in dysphoria central, just a different kind. But, that exploration of womanhood and femininity were integral in why I claimed butch for myself. I don't think I ever would have claimed it had I not. One of the common factors with every AFAB butch I've met is a rejection of the expectations of womanhood that Western culture thrusts upon them. Personally, I don't think it would have been right for me to claim butch without having first explored Western femininity and it's expectations to the extent I had.

Eventually I finally admitted to myself that, while I knew for certain I wasn't a man, I didn't feel right as a feminine (Western) woman either. So, what was I? I felt more at home, more welcome, and more loved amongst queer women, lesbians especially, than I ever had with queer men. Hard androgyny and genderqueer (which btw I do not identify with genderqueer, not upset with you though) didn't feel right either. There were aspects of classical womanhood from a physical standpoint I knew were in line with myself after many years of HRT. Breasts, my waist line, my now feminine skin texture, my legs, honestly my entire estrogen-sculpted body. Hell, while I haven't gotten full vaginoplasty for medical reasons, I would if I could, Stone Top identity aside. I felt at home around women and lesbians, as a Michif woman/lesbian, but not in femininity. As described in the post I linked in the previous paragraph, the first true step was reclaiming masculinity, and making room for healthy queer masculinity separate from gender.

I want to bring up this exploration of the meaning behind the colours of the lesbian flag for a moment. For me, Butch and all it encompasses, is a part of all of these. Gender non-conformity I think is self explanatory. I am a walking defiance of gender norms and expectation at this point, and butchness as a whole is as well. Independence can mean many different things to different people, but I feel self sufficient as a butch. I feel competent. I feel secure. Mostly importantly though, it is an identity I feel independent in. For years and years I let my expression of gender and sexuality be defined by those around me. Past partners, friends, family, coworkers, etc. I could not claim butch until I took a step away from all of those. I stopped letting them dictate who I was, and let myself learn who I was independently. Community and butch is always going to be linked. Butch is a community-centric identity. When I tell someone in the queer community I'm butch, they know what it means. In a single word I can describe large swathes of my experience and how I relate to the world. But it also comes with community role and responsibilities. Butches and Femmes protect eachother. Butches provide safe masculinity in queer spaces that heals wounds for so many people, including other butches. Butches take up space in a room to ensure other non-butch women have space. We protect, we heal, we love. Butch love is so fucking unique and important to a community. Butch comes with a community meaning, but also community role and responsibility, and to me that is a big part of why I feel comfortable claiming it. Serenity and Peace is so many things. Both internal and external. I have peace within myself as a butch. I feel more peace with myself now than I did for so many years. When I finally said it outloud, said I was a butch lesbian, and people affirmed that, it was like a weight I never even knew existed was lifted. I've felt happier in my time openly being butch than I have in ages, and everyone around me as noticed it too. Friends, family, coworkers all comment on just how happy, confident, and at peace internally I've been. Love and Sex this is a doozy of a topic that I truthfully do not have the desire to explore right now. It is important, but I am not in the headspace for it. But butch love is unique in itself. As for sex, well. Please refer to the wild swathes of queer theory and discourse out there. As an off-hand example relating to myself though, see Stone Butch. Unique Relationships to Womanhood/Feminity. I explicitly wanted to link these together. As a Two-Spirit butch, and a trans-femme one at that, my relationship to womanhood and femininity is unique, complicated, and at times inexplicable. The fact that I can say I don't identify as a Western woman, but with other Michif woman I do feel like a woman, is one confusing way. The fact that butch being a gender identity to me is another. But one aspect I want to explore is this notion that masculine and feminine are antithetical to eachother, when I don't think they need to be. I'm not androgynous. I hold both masculine and feminine, not a middle thing. My masculinity is queer masculinity, and I genuinely think queer masculinity MUST be in some way shape or form partially feminine. There is a softness to queer masculinity. A vulnerability. A tenderness. Queer masculinity is often gentle, loving, soothing. All things associated with Western notions of femininity, not masculinity. But queer masculinity, non-Western masculinity, makes room for those things. You wouldn't look at a mother bear protecting her cubs and say "that's not motherly behaviour, that's not womanhood". My relationship to my feminine self is in relationship to my masculine self. They are tied, and being butch, being a soft butch at that, encompasses it.

I think finally a topic I've been dancing around, though alluded to multiple times, is that first copout answer. Vibes, and gender euphoria as a part of vibes. From the vibes standpoint, what I have to offer is this anecdotal piece. When I told my friends that I was mulling around with the idea of claiming butch, basically every single one went "... yeah? You didn't know that?" Off of vibes alone every single one of my queer friends already knew I was butch. From behaviour, to what I was most comfortable in fashion wise, to how I related to others, they all knew that my "vibes" were butch already, well before I had even remotely considered it. As for the other hard to define aspect... As a non-cis person yourself anon, you mentioned it already. Gender euphoria is a weirdly difficult to attain thing. I spent years on years of experimentation, exploration, and rumination trying to find my euphoria. Trying to find the spot I'm in now, where I find myself loving what's in the mirror every single day. Butch got me to the point that I legitimately look in my mirror and love what I see Every. Single. Day. I take selfies of myself because I love what I look like, even in just a hoodie in sweats, every day now. I put more casual care into how I look now, because I love myself, more than I ever did before. I take better care of my health. I have more self confidence. I'm happier and more stable emotionally. Hell, I'm a better friend, coworker, and community member now as a butch than I ever had capacity to be beforehand. It's not just me noticing that too. Near everyone in my life started making note of it anytime I took another step into fully claiming butch for myself. The biggest reason I feel right in claiming butch is that frankly, how can you look at secure, holistic, stable happiness like this and not say it's right.

There's a lot more I want to say here, but I've already been at this for nearly three hours, and that's on top of the two hours I spent just thinking on the matter to boot. I hope I was able to answer your question at least partially anon, and that it helps you with your own gender expression/identity journey. I think the only other thing I want to say is that it's okay if what you identify with now changes. It doesn't invalidate what you feel now, just like how you are now doesn't invalidate what you felt was right for your say, 5 years ago. Human experience and identity evolves, it grows, it changes. If you feel right with butch now, excellent. If you end up realizing that it was just a stepping stone in discovering your unique patch of gender euphoria, that is just as excellent. Rootin' for ya anon 💕

#holy crap i went way harder on this than i meant to #but i also think this is a topic that deserved some effort #thank you for the thoughtful ask anon #bite me #ask nomi #trans #transgender #butch #trans butch #lesbian #nonbinary #two spirit #sapphic #stone butch #queer #queer theory #gender

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iminkandpaper · 2 months

Text

Sidekick rammed into Villain, setting them both onto an off-balanced stumble into a food cart, where they collapsed in a heap.

Villain stood, dusting off his three piece suit. If he wasn't in his Civillian attire he would have retaliated much worse than the ensuing "Who the fuck are you?"

"S-s-sidekick?" The girl was suited and masked. On further inspection, he saw that her hands were cut and she had a bruise forming on her chin.

"You don't sound too sure of that," Villain said. He stared down at the girl- she couldn't be older than fourteen.

"Sidekick," she said again, more sure of herself. Sidekick backed up further into the wall. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen," she blurted. Then, seeing his look of disbelief, said, "but it's okay, Hero is usually with me when I go out. Most of the time anyway. Sometimes I'm alone because he- never mind, I saw you and I just really really need your help."

"You need my help?"

"Yes."

"With?"

"I need you to hide me or something."

Sidekick hugged her knees. She looked so vulnerable. Villains lips twisted into a confused frown. Even out of the suit he wasn't exactly the best liked person out there. In fact, he had several suits against him for tax evasion, though they never could seem to catch him what with the exorbitant amounts of money he threw at the feds.

"Or something," he repeated. Villain crouched so that he was eye level with Sidekick. "Why me?"

She mulled it over for a moment before she settled on, "you're rich and shady."

At that, Villain sputtered, "I am not shady."

He didn't deny the rich part.

"You are so shady, dude." She nodded solemly, a 'there there, it's all right' sort of consolation.

"Fine. Whatever. Who am I hiding you from?" He looked mildly annoyed now, and Sidekick bit her lip. She muttered something unintelligible. "What?"

She muttered again.

"Kid, I can't hear a thing you're saying."

"I need you to hide me from Hero," she said louder. Villain almost fell over.

"From... Hero?"

She nodded. "You're the only one who can, I've seen the way you lose the feds and the... whoever else."

Villain didn't want to do it. He really didn't want to. But she looked so... sad. He didn't like it, and when Villain didn't like something, he fixed it. So he took her home, gave her a room and clothes before they sat down to talk.

Sidekick was unmasked when she came into the study. Villain glanced up. She looked frustratingly familiar, though he couldn't place it.

A fresh bruise anointed her cheek, glaring him in the face. It was an extension of the mark he had seen on her chin. This wasn't from a nighttime scrabble.

"Who?"

She shook her head and said she couldn't tell him. Villain asked again. He had a few guesses with the way she fidgeted with her fingers and avoided looking him in the eye.

He eyed the necklace she wore, a dog tag with her name and date of birth.

"I'm a Foster kid," she explained. "They set up a system where we had to wear these for in case."

It hit him then.

"You're Alias."

"Yeah." She fidgeted more with the dog tag. "Hero is fostering me, but-"

Villain made a motion with his hand for her to keep talking. She shook her head.

"Well, since its out there," Villain mused at finally knowing Hero's identity, "I should mention I'm Villain."

Sidekick looked unsurprised.

"Did you know?"

"Yes."

"Lovely. Go to bed, I'll deal with your situation."

In the morning, Sidekick woke to news of Hero dying from a heart attack. She went down to breakfast where Villain was reading a newspaper.

"Good morning."

"You killed him."

"He was an abusive shit." Villain sipped his coffee. "It was warranted."

Sidekick didn't argue.

She opened her mouth, but Villain beat her to it. "You can stay for as long as you'd like, Kid. I'll have paperwork drawn up so I don't catch a case of kidnapping."

She stayed. Indefinitely.

Sidenote: Villain also imposed a nighttime adventure ban, which Sidekick tried and failed numerous times to break.

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typingatlightspeed · 5 days

Text

TF2 Fanfic - Someone Else's Song Chapter 1

Engineer needs to do something about his crush on Spy. So Pyro convinces him to write him a love letter. Unfortunately, Spy reads way too deep into things and ends up spending a whole week trying to crack a code that doesn't exist. He also, somewhat to his consternation, ends up decoding his own feelings for someone on the team in the process. Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Ao3 Link!

I'll fully admit this one is dumb as hell but the fun kind of dumb where the mercs get to be little shits lol. Just, uh, ignore how Scout is better at reading in this than in canon. It's for the bit, dammit. Also spot the Simpsons joke!

---------

Pyro looked from the page in his gloved hands—typed up on the publicly available typewriter in the rarely-used records office on base—to Engineer, who was doing his level best to avoid eye contact, his face bright red as he inspected contents of his coffee cup like the answer to all of life's questions was hidden beneath the last dregs of the beverage inside. "I mean, the wording definitely doesn't sound like you, so between that and typing it instead of handwriting, I don't think he's gonna guess from that."

Engineer sighed a little, relieved. "It don't sound like no one else on the team, does it?"

"Aside from maybe Spy himself? I don't think so." Pyro set the letter back down on Engineer's workbench. "It should keep him guessing. But if you don't give him any clues, how's he gonna guess it's you?"

Engineer mulled that over a little. "Him knowin' it's me is kinda what I'm tryin' to avoid."

"Knowing it's you and guessing it's you are two totally different things!" Pyro shook his head. "Look, I get that you don't think you've got a shot, but the whole reason I said a love letter was the best way to get these feelings out is because you can get a feel for whether he's interested or not! If you don't give him anything to go on, he's gonna give up, Engie!"

"This ain't a 'come an' get me' letter!"

"No, but if he's intrigued enough to try and find out more, then you know he's not turned off by the idea that someone on the team's into him! And if you give him just a few breadcrumbs, he won't be able to turn down a mystery. Hell, he might dig that, that you know him well enough to know he wants a little mystery, a little bit of a chase, right?"

"You know so much about him, maybe you should be movin' in on him, 'stead of me," Engineer pouted, setting his coffee down.

"Pfft," Pyro dismissed him with a wave of his gloved hand. "I don't go in for these backdoor shenanigans."

Rolling his eyes, Engineer set his hands on his hips. "Well what do you suggest, then?"

Pyro tapped at the filter of his mask in thought. "Well, you typed it up, so unless you wanna try sneaking down to the records room again without being noticed, I'd suggest something quick and simple. Maybe a signature? You didn't even put a pseudonym, or a title. Like, 'your secret admirer' or something!"

Taking the page from Pyro's hand, Engineer set it on his drafting table, looking it over in thought. Pyro was right. He was terrified that Spy would suss it out immediately and reject him outright. He wasn't exactly a man that shared similar tastes to the fancy Frenchman. In spite of himself, however, he couldn't help but get giddy at just the thought of those bright blue eyes, that strong, aquiline nose, the adorably silly way he snorted when he laughed too hard. How in the hell did he manage to turn from a hardened killer in his forties to a blushing schoolboy?

Seizing one of his drafting pencils, Engineer considered for a long moment. How would he sign this love letter? What identity would he give this fictionalized version of himself, a breadcrumb for Spy to cling to without fully giving himself away? With a sigh, he scribbled down the first thing he could think of that wasn't obvious.

"N.G.?" Pyro read, over Engineer's shoulder?

"Well it ain't like I could use D.C., that'd be a dead giveaway. Nobody on the team's got an initial in common. So I just pulled two letters that don't match anyone on the team at all."

Pyro turned to his friend and stared at him long and hard through darkened lenses. He shook his head. "Yeah, yanno what? Sure, fine, it works." He threw up his hands and walked off, utterly done. "Good luck, Engie."

"T—thanks, Py," Engineer replied, confused at his friend's response.

The next day's match was a late start, leaving everyone utterly exhausted by its end, which pushed into the twilight hours. More importantly, the late start left everyone champing at the bit to get going at its beginning, leaving Engineer ample chance to sneak the folded note into Spy's locker without anyone noticing.

When at last the final bell sounded and the day was called to an end, the team ambled in from the field, spent and sore. The day's mission had been a payload defense, which was always grueling work that lacked a finality and catharsis in victory that holding a control point, capturing points, or retrieving a briefcase full of intel would always bring. Instead, it was simply a matter of holding pressure until at last the other team could push no longer, and it left them all battered and weary. It was with this bone-deep exhaustion that they returned to their lockers after the match, setting down their weapons and tools and undressing before they hit the showers, chattering idly about the highs and lows of the day.

"...and that's why, man. Ain't no way their Demo ain't got it out for me or somethin'," Scout said, continuing his long-winded theory as to his problems of the day.

"No more'n any of 'em do," Sniper countered, hanging up his hat and shedding his sunglasses. "You just keep gettin' in the bloke's way, mate. I keep tellin' you. It's not targeted if you keep stumblin' into 'is sticky traps."

"He keeps settin' 'em right where I'm goin'!" Scout replied, tugging his shirt off. "It's like the guy's got a grudge!"

"Your poor battlefield awareness is not the manifestation of a grudge," Spy shot with a roll of his eyes, stubbing out his cigarette on his shoe and finally making it to his locker. He lifted an eyebrow, immediately clocking the new addition to his possessions. "Hello now, what's this?"

"Man, I got plenty a' battlefield awareness! I got battlefield awareness comin' out my ass! Ain't nobody know the ins an' outs a' that field better than me you snooty fro—hey what's that?" Scout interrupted his own self-aggrandizement to peer at the letter that sat in the upper cubby of Spy's locker, where the rogue was also staring, studying, trying to be sure there were no traps attached. Scout merely ducked around him and snatched up the paper with a flourish and set to opening it.

"Scout! You idiot, there could be a trap! Or contact poison! Or—"

"'Spy," he nodded to the older man, holding the letter out of his reach as he grabbed for it," I find you fascinating in a way I can't shake. I'm fixated on you. You're all I can think of when my mind turns to idle thoughts, and those thoughts are a mixture of adoration and lust. Hoo buddy, this is gettin' spicy!" He grinned and waggled his eyebrows, dodging around Spy's grasping hands and hopping up onto the bench in front of the lockers. His voice grew more dramatic as he read." It's driven me to distraction and the kind of madness only alleviated by some sort of action. " He grinned down at Spy, who had given up on trying to snatch the letter from his grasp, his face growing pink with embarrassment.

"But I have doubts as to whether I'd be welcomed. Feelings beyond surface-level are impossible to read with you, which makes sense. You wouldn't be the deeply capable spy you are if you were an open book. What a fuckin' brown-noser. Your skill and talent are part of what make you so damnably attractive, if frustratingly mysterious."

The rest of the team had finished piling into the room, gathering around the bench as Scout read aloud for the group. Pyro had his hands on his hips, shaking his head. The kid could be such a dick sometimes, and he could practically feel Engineer dying behind him, the shorter man wilting as he tried to pretend to be surprised.

"So," Scout threw an arm out, giving it all the performance he could muster, "all I can do is write this and leave it where you can find it, so I can finally get this off of my chest. Yours..." everyone leaned in with interest, stricken with curiosity as to who had written such a note. Scout pulled the letter away from his face, holding it out for Spy to take, "N.G."

"N.G.?" Spy asked, finally snatching the paper from Scout's hand, holding it up for his eyes to scan hurriedly across. Everything was spelled correctly, and there was no unusual capitalization. A quick look at the paragraphs showed no immediate pattern in word choice, and everything but the name was typed, so handwriting couldn't be analyzed. From a cursory glance, where was no clue as to whom had written the letter. He took a deep breath, and looked from the page to the assembled mercenaries, his cheeks burning.

Four and a half sets of eyes and two pairs of lenses all stared back at Spy, and from a glance, he could discern nothing but surprise and curiosity from all of them. He swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure. "It seems someone is...smitten with me," he said slowly, the reality of the situation dawning on him.

Scout guffawed from his spot on the bench, hopping down next to Spy and throwing his arm over the taller man's shoulders. "Hope you like sausage, pally, 'cause ain't nobody got access to this locker room but us chuds." He grinned and gestured broadly to the assembled men in the room, all of whom averted their eyes bashfully at the suggestion.

Spy lifted an eyebrow at Scout, then rolled his eyes in annoyance. The little shit was right, but he didn't have to come out and say it. Whoever wrote the note, it was one of seven possible suspects.

Even if Scout were oblivious as to why it was the worst possible outcome if he were the author—and Spy had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't as oblivious as he played, considering the occasional cracks Heavy would make—there was no way he would have been able to spell half of the words on the letter, let alone define them. And he certainly wouldn't go reading the damned thing aloud for everyone just to embarrass Spy. That was one worst-case-scenario squared away, at least, so Spy didn't have to worry about the logistics of a murder-suicide.

No, it was down to Soldier, Pyro, Demoman, Heavy, Engineer, Medic, or Sniper. His eye swept over them all, and he turned his mouth up into a straight line. All of them were uncomfortable under his gaze, which was only fair. After all, they were all in a room together, and Scout was clearly ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness for immediate mockery.

Spy tried to think it beneath him to do the same if the tables were turned, but he knew better. He would be the first to tease Scout and his prospective beau mercilessly, so it was only fair that he suffered the same fate, really. Though it seemed unfair that whoever it was who had placed the letter should be so shamed, particularly when it was already very clearly a labour just to make this barest gesture.

Among a team of straightforward, brash, confident men, it was certainly surprising.

Either way, standing around and letting Scout hang about as his personal gadfly wouldn't make it any easier. "How eloquent," Spy finally sighed drolly, knocking Scout's arm off of him and straightening his jacket. "Well, nobody is stepping forward, so there's no point to standing here, covered in dirt and sweat and stinking up the place. Gentlemen." He put the letter back in the cubby of his locker and set to undressing.

"You're gonna shower? With everyone? Knowin' you got a target on your ass? That one a' the guys is gonna be eyein' you up like fresh meat?" Scout balked.

"If he hasn't been noticed taking looks yet, he scarcely will risk it now," Spy announced, unbuttoning his jacket. He smiled, looking to the younger man, who seemed absolutely scandalized. "And if he does, then hopefully he will enjoy the show."

That brought a chuckle out of Heavy and Sniper, who peeled off to go change as well, the rest of the team following suit, conversations springing up among them as they undressed, grabbed their towels and shower kits and headed in to go wash.

"So yer intae blokes?" Demoman asked as Spy walked past him to the showerhead on his blind side. He shed his towel and hung it on the wall, and turned on the water, letting it run and get warm before stepping under its spray.

"I am into interesting people," Spy replied, setting himself up in turn. "I have preferences that interest me more than others, of course, but someone's gender does not disqualify them, no."

"Ye great pouf," Demoman chuckled. "Figured as much."

"You're one to talk," Spy chuckled.

"Oh?"

"Not a man on this base believes your line about that business with the BLU Soldier being just about friendship."

Demoman heaved a heavy-yet-quiet laugh. "Aye, fair enough."

Engineer stood at Spy's other side, his eyes straight ahead, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He heard a snort from the other direction, and turned to see Pyro looking pointedly at him, grinning. His eyes went wide, and he shut them, turning his face into the water spray. Little shit was going to get him made. But he knew why he was doing it. He'd heard it too. Spy was into men, and that meant he wasn't out of the game yet.

Whether Spy would think he's an interesting person, though, that remained to be seen.

"N.G.," Spy mumbled, looking about the mess table at his coworkers, watching them with keen eyes.

"So mysterious!" Medic tittered, looking across at Spy as he picked at his dinner.

"Yes. Very mysterious," Heavy agreed flatly, sitting beside the doctor. He cast a look about the table, wondering if nobody else had put together the very obvious pseudonym of its author. In spite of himself, he didn't let his eye linger on Engineer. The poor man had to build up the courage just to leave a love note; it would be cruel to out him. Though Heavy was surprised; he didn't figure Engineer for such a coward. The man was normally so plain-spoken. But then, matters of the heart were fickle. Who was he to judge?

Especially as Spy was busy analyzing every single one of them for the slightest tell, trying to socially engineer his way into a solution through sheer force of will, making them all squirm under his curious scrutiny. Heavy was grateful that it wasn't him who held a torch for Spy. He wouldn't be able to maintain a straight face under such intense study. He almost pitied Engineer.

But then, he'd asked for this, quite literally.

"Any theories?" Sniper teased, gesturing to Spy with a fork full of salisbury steak.

"Considering his dismay, I've safely eliminated Scout from the running."

Everyone nodded. That was obvious for other reasons, but they all knew better than to say it.

Scout made a face at the possibility. "Fuckin' miracle anyone wants to fuck you."

"Thank you," Spy dismissed with annoyance. "Otherwise? I do not know. I have theories as to who it isn't, but as to who it is? That is trickier."

"I did not write your letter," Soldier announced.

"I know, you don't know how," Spy replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Damn right!"

"Don't just tell him!" Pyro chastised, whacking Soldier on the shoulder. "That takes away the fun! Let Spy solve it!"

"I assure you, he did not provide me with new information just now," Spy said drolly. He finished his dinner and downed the last of his drink. "But thank you, mon ami."

Pyro beamed.

"Regardless, I think I will get nowhere surrounded by everyone, and I suppose I owe it to the author to perhaps approach him in private, once I have deduced his identity. As such, I will retire for the evening. If you'll excuse me." Spy rose from his seat, taking his dishes to the kitchen to wash before leaving mess for the evening with a casual wave to the team on his way out.

They all stared after him, and when the door closed, immediately turned to one another, staring hard at each other, accusingly. Except for Heavy, who just shook his head.

"I'm impressed! I didn't realize you held such a high opinion of him," Medic said, leaning in to grin at Sniper.

"Me? What're you lookin' at me for? I'm not interested in that bloody snake!" Sniper snapped, reeling back in his seat. He pointed to Demoman, "Demo's obviously this N.G. bloke, tryin' shamelessly to pull 'im in the showers!"

"Tryin' tae pull 'im?! I was jus' askin' a question! And a fair one at that! Nae a single one o' ye thought tae clear it up if N.G. even had a chance! If Spy only wanted birds, it'd all be pointless anyway! Ye cannae say ye were nae curious!"

"If Spy only wanted birds, only Doc'd have a chance," Scout snorted, deeply entertained by the chaos.

"Is that a joke about my pets, or are you suggesting I'm a woman? Answer carefully," Medic grunted.

"What's wrong with being a woman?" Pyro asked, fanning the flames.

"Absolutely nothing, other than I don't appreciate being misgendered simply because I do not strut around aggressively asserting my masculinity every three minutes like some insecure, immature Dummkopf!"

"That's big talk from a guy walkin' around callin' everyone a dumbhead!"

"Scout," Heavy warned, though he was quickly drowned out by Sniper.

"You're awful quiet, Truckie," he observed with a smirk, looking down the table at the shorter man.

Engineer choked on the water he was drinking, breaking into a coughing fit upon being called out. The table erupted in laughter, and once his throat was clear, he glared daggers at the assassin at the other end of the table. "I'm tryin' to eat my damn dinner's why I'm quiet, Stretch. Ain't nobody's business but Spy's who's sweet on him, and it's uncouth to sit around cacklin' like a bunch of hens speculatin'."

Everyone shared a look. Medic bit his lip. Demoman pouted, trying to contain a smile. Sniper simply continued smirking, his gaze leveled on his friend. Pyro was glad for his mask to provide a poker face. Scout had a hand clapped over his mouth to contain his giggles.

Heavy simply shook his head. Engineer was right. Engineer was also deeply, deeply obvious. "You are correct, Engie," he said. He rarely used the other man's nickname, but said it now pointedly. "Rude to gossip about teammates' love life, Engie."

Engineer stared hard at Heavy, and the giant smirked as his eyes locked on shadowed lenses.

"But you are not very good at being sneaky, N.G. "

Everyone's eyes alit on Engineer, whose face burned bright red.

"Ohhhhhh," Scout gasped, realization dawning. "Engie, N.G.! That's fuckin' genius, man, I never woulda thought 'a that."

Sniper turned a baffled look to Scout, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Love bloomin' on a battlefield. It's beautiful," Demoman said, wiping at his eye.

"A love letter from the soft-spoken American to his elegant French beau; how romantic!" Medic cooed.

"He ain't my beau!" Engineer replied, his hand curling into a fist.

"Come on, guys, be nice. Imagine how hard it must be to admit that to Spy of all people. He's not known for being gentle to people," Pyro cautioned, trying to deescalate now that it was actively turned on Engineer.

"Yeah, s'pose he can be...intimidatin'," Demoman conceded.

"And flippant," Medic admitted.

"And rude," Sniper pointed out.

"And an asshole," Scout added with a pout.

Engineer frowned harder.

"But he is handsome," Heavy offered with a thoughtful nod.

"What, are you a fanny bandit too?" Scout asked, a bit surprised.

"Keep forgettin' fanny means arse over here," Sniper mumbled.

"Not your business," Heavy shot, "but do not need to like men to understand what handsome man look like."

"Women do tend to fall for his charms readily," Medic observed, thrusting a finger into the air.

"That's true, and ye cannae deny the lad's got charm," Demoman agreed, nodding sagely.

"And we know Demo's a pouf, so there's your expert," Sniper chuckled.

Demoman shot him a look. "He's nae me type, but I'd nae kick the lad outta bed. So I see what you see in him, mate," he said, giving Engineer a wink. At least, he assumed it was a wink.

Engineer's face hit the table, his hardhat flopping off loudly as he slumped into a defeated heap, blushing up to his scalp. "Fellas…"

"Nobody better say a fucking word," Pyro cautioned, pointing a finger and making sure to jab it in the direction of every mercenary at the table. He laid a hand on Engineer's back as the man curled his arms around his head to hide his face. "Or respawn won't be able to save you."

Everyone else reeled back, hands up in surrender. None of them wanted to incur Pyro's wrath.

"What? Us? Say anythin'? No, naw, you got it all wrong, Py! Never never not once, nope. Not me, not us, right, guys?" Scout sputtered nervously, terror edging into his expression as he begged off.

Everyone else nodded in nervous agreement.

"Just can't believe Heavy made it before Spy," Sniper mumbled, casting an apologetic look to the giant, who raised an eyebrow. "No offense, mate. But it's Spy we're talkin' about 'ere."

"Spy's job is partly to decipher intelligence and codes," Medic conceded, laying a hand on his companion's shoulder.

"Spy look too hard, miss obvious thing," Heavy sighed, shaking his head. "He is probably trying to find coded message that does not exist."

"It's clever," Demoman chuckled, leaning in to Engineer, who had not lifted his head from the table. "Give the lad a bone tae chew on, a wee mystery tae solve, when the answer's in front o' his face! Just the sort o' thing that'd get his attention, for sure."

"Yeah, well hopefully givin' 'im that bone'll get 'im givin' you his bone, right?" Scout said with a toothy grin.

"Can you not?" Sniper shot, swatting Scout. "Can you be fucking supportive for once?"

"What?! How'm I not bein' supportive?" Scout rubbed at his arm, pouting at Sniper. "Engie's playin' to that rat's interests, and I'm sayin' that's a good thing! It's what he's into, so maybe that'll let 'im hit it! Look if Engie wants to dick Spy down I ain't judgin' nothin' but the guy's taste in men, man!"

Sniper sighed, sitting back in his seat, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as Scout turned to Engineer. "You got this, Hard Hat. A love letter, a little mystery? It's cliche but Spy's a big walkin', talkin', smokin' cliche. Bet 'e loves that bodice ripper shit, too. The romance shit. You show up shirtless, all flexin' an' dramatic, sweep the guy off 'is feet? Carry 'im to bed an' lay 'im down an' tell 'im you're gonna ravish 'im? Putty in your hands, pal."

"We still talkin' about what Spy's intae?" Demoman teased.

"Whatchu tryin' to say, Cyclops?"

"I dinnae ken, lemme get me shirt off and do some flexin' for ye and we'll see, aye?"

Pyro chuckled as Scout and Demoman set to bickering, Sniper immediately jumping in to roast them both. He pat Engineer on the back, who he felt shaking with soft laughter, relieved that the worst the team had for him was some gentle ribbing and their own version of being supportive. Now, all he had to worry about was what Spy thought.

N.G.

In ROT-13, that decoded to A.T. Not a man on the team had those initials either, and even the one man with a T, Tavish, had an F and a D for his other initials, so it seemed unlikely. Though he had been friendly in the shower...

He was always friendly in the shower. Spy always stood on his blind side, so conversation lacked awkwardness, and he always wanted to chat while the adrenaline of the field was still fresh. Spy knew that. And that aside, the man was forthright to a fault. If he were his admirer, there'd be no secret about it. He'd make a show of ogling him and ask him out for drinks, brazen as always.

No, Demoman seemed unlikely. Doubly so because Spy knew from experience that the man wrote in Scots, just as he spoke, which made his English even harder to parse in written form.

The writing of the letter was clean, precise, almost designed to be hard to identify. Surely, typing almost all of it had been a clever way to avoid handwriting analysis.

Which would be doubly important for a man with difficult-to-read handwriting. Medic, perhaps? Spy could rarely understand the scribbles the doctor threw onto his blackboards in the lab, and more infuriatingly: official documents that he needed to interact with. It was chicken scratch to his eyes, and he had to fight to make out what the hell the man was even trying to communicate. The love note would have been unreadable in Medic's handwriting, so a typewriter would be a clever move. Certainly, the vocabulary and formality on display seemed a closer fit for him than anyone else on the team.

But Medic had no shame. He certainly only partook in clandestine behaviour spontaneously, improvising his way through life to a degree that frankly stressed Spy the hell out. There was no way the man would bother with a note, let alone typing it up, especially when he maintained that his handwriting was perfectly legible, na schönen Dank auch! He, like Demoman, would likely just come out and say it, likely in an embarrassingly public scenario, likely with an inappropriate amount of familiarity, and wonder why everyone was staring.

No, no, it couldn't be him. Spy grumbled quietly, taking another sip of the whiskey he held in one hand, a pencil threaded between the index and middle fingers of his other hand, which drummed on the top of his desk as he hunched over it, eyes busily scanning the page once again. If there were a substitution cipher, the key would have to be contained in the letter itself, possibly in some sort of pattern in the words.

No clues in the capitalization. No clues in the words that started sentences or paragraphs. He counted the commas and periods, no pattern or morse code to be found. He took another sip of whiskey and sighed.

Soldier couldn't read, and admitted it wasn't him, so that was out. Unless he was trying to throw him off the trail in front of the others...

Heavy, while straightforward and confident, was also cagey with his more easily-bruised emotions. It could be him. Surely, leaving a note and hoping for the best, hoping to avoid the attention of the rest of the team and finding very few excuses to get Spy alone to speak with him, could be his style. The language was florid enough to speak from his poet's heart, but it was also too complex for the man's grasp of English. Had it been in his native tongue, he was sure a love note would read exactly like what one would expect from a doctor of literature. But Heavy would likely never allow any third party to translate something so intimate, and not another soul on the team could even read Cyrillic characters, let alone the Russian language. It seemed deeply unlikely.

That left Sniper, Pyro, and Engineer. Sniper was plain-spoken, but also spent most of his life hiding as part of his livelihood. Caginess made sense, and he knew the man had a better vocabulary than he let on, and could play roles when needed for work. It wasn't impossible that the letter had come from him, but it seemed strange, considering their vitriolic friendship. N.G. had complimented his competence at his job, and competence in one's profession was something Sniper always spoke of priding himself on. It would make sense that he looked for that tendency in a partner, as well. Spy admired the man's commitment to his work, and his pragmatism, but he wasn't sure he could handle being the object of affection of a man who was so pragmatic that he threw piss at people and lived in a van. He shuddered, not crossing the man out in his mental list, but dearly hoping that he wasn't the culprit.

Pyro was a cipher of his own. Most of his dossier was redacted, and he kept much of himself very close to the chest, short of his fondness for cute, childish things and his penchant for talking a lot of shit at the slightest provocation. Spy had never seen him write or read, now that he thought about it, but absence of evidence should never be confused for evidence of absence. He shivered, wondering what Pyro's affection might look like, and leaving a love letter absolutely seemed his style. Typing it rather than doodling it in crayons and markers, though? If if were him, someone else had probably sprung the idea, which suggested co-conspirators. Considering Pyro had been excited to let Spy solve the riddle in the first place, that did make him seem a more likely suspect.

Engineer definitely had the vocabulary, though he only showed it off when he was looking to show off. He was also clever enough to type it to cover his tracks. But would he be the sort to leave a love note? He wasn't exactly the kind of man who wore emotions on his sleeve, usually only allowing camaraderie and anger into the open, like your stereotypical American man. But secretly, was he a romantic?

Spy thought of quiet nights around the campfire, when Engineer would strum his guitar and quietly sing old folk songs to fill the silence, his strong jaw and dark eyes illuminated by the dancing firelight. He'd sing of home, of struggle, of love, of all sorts of things, his warm, throaty voice low and gentle, barely above the strings that hummed along. But this was man who says he's not qualified to answer questions about the nature of beauty. Maybe it was just a matter that one cannot analyze such things objectively; one has to feel them, and his image of propriety got tied up in his concept of logic somewhere along the way? Could there be a romantic behind that facade, betrayed by the beauty of his songs?

Spy set his pen down, looking away from the page to stare off into the middle distance. He took another sip of his whiskey and frowned. Well, shit. He didn't know who this mysterious N.G. was, and he had yet to puzzle out anything about him. But somehow he had just deciphered his own emotions, and was left with a heavy pit in his gut at the realization that, oh no, he had feelings for Engineer.

But what if he wasn't N.G.?

But what if he was?

"Merde."

#TF2 Fanfiction #Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #TF2 Fanfic #TF2 Napoleon Complex #TF2 Engineer #TF2 Spy #TF2 Scout #TF2 Soldier #TF2 Pyro #TF2 Demoman #TF2 Heavy #TF2 Medic #TF2 Sniper

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year

Text

Just Let Me Adore You Pt. 6

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: okay so... it all goes to shit here kind of lol

Genre: angst fr

Summary: You’ve been dating your boyfriend, Bruce, for 3 absolutely blissful years. He’s a scientist and professor who is as smart as he is kind and if anyone asked, you were sure you’d spend the rest of your life with him. That is until two mysteriously charming men that Bruce swears are dangerous take an interest in you that threatens to turn your entire life upside down. I mean… what exactly are you supposed to do with two gorgeous men telling you something that suggests that basically everything you think you know is a lie? And why does part of you have enough doubt to wonder if they might be telling the truth?

Series Masterlist

***

"Mom- how could you not tell me?" You ask her forcing yourself to remain calm.

"Well, your father and I-"

"Daddy knows too?" You ask quietly because the idea that your parents agreed to keep you in the dark makes this whole thing that much harder to process.

"Of course he does."

"Why would you keep this a secret from me?"

"Because we weren't sure you'd ever turn."

"What?"

"In both your father and I we have a rare genetic thing, our wolf genes are dormant. Neither of us can turn- we thought, maybe you wouldn't be able to either and we didn't want the pressure of knowing that to affect you growing up. It can be very hard, being a wolf who can't be a wolf. We worried that if we told you that you would go through middle and high school thinking you were broken because you never turned. It's- wonderful that you have! I can tell you anything you want to know now that-"

"I haven't." You mutter.

"You haven't?"

"I haven't turned."

"Then- where did the question come from? How did you suspect you were a werewolf if you haven't turned?"

"I got clocked." You mutter.

"You got clocked?!"

"Yep. Some guys, near strangers, actually told me I was a werewolf. I've been mulling it over for like the past month wondering if it was even possible. I finally decided to just give you a call and put the whole thing to rest."

"Okay, wait strangers told you? How would they know?"

"They're werewolves. There are actually quite a few of them out here apparently mom."

"And one of them realized you were one?"

"Two of them but, it would appear so. And now I have a second problem."

"What is it baby?"

"These same men that told me I was a werewolf, told me Bruce has known this whole time." You say.

"Bruce your scientist boyfriend?"

"Yes mom my scientist boyfriend, who specializes in studying supernatural creatures. Would've been nice to know I WAS ONE before committing three years to him!" You huff.

"Wait you never told us he studied supernaturals. Why would you leave that out?"

"Because why would my human parents care about what he's sciencing mom?!" You scoff.

"You're okay with him experimenting on supernaturals as long as you aren't one?!"

"He doesn't experiment on them he does pretty much exclusively observational research as far as I know. Mom, what do I do if he's known this whole time and kept it from me? How do I even ask him something like that?"

"Be direct. And look out for the tells."

"Tells?"

"I know as a kid you had such sensitive hearing you could tell if someone was coming to the house before they even reached the front porch and I'm sure by now you've learned to manage that sensory response but if you can focus, you'll be able to hear his heart, hear his breathing change. If you can't focus watch for if he makes eye contact, or if he starts fidgeting, sweating, or pacing. Those are the tells of a liar. Plus regardless of if he's known all this time or not, I don't like the idea of you dating someone that treats our kind like lab rats."

"Okay well, I guess my life is imploding. I'll call you later. I have questions about this werewolf thing but I must first sort out the boyfriend drama." You tell her.

"Alright dear, take care of yourself hm? And tell Wanda I said hello."

"HI MOM! BYE MOM!" Wanda shouts before you hang up.

"Bye Wanda dear!" She says and the call ends there.

"So- you're a werewolf. I was right!" Wanda practically squeals in excitement.

"Okay you need to calm down." You tell her.

"I need to calm down?! How are you not less calm?"

"I think I'm still in shock. Kind of. But also I've been considering this for a while now. Plus Steve and Bucky being right about this means they might also be right about Bruce."

"You really think Bruce knew you were a werewolf this whole time and kept it from you?" Wanda frowns.

"Believe me I don't want to but I have to consider it. He swore Steve and Bucky were delusional liars and- if they were telling the truth about the wolf thing why would they lie about Bruce?"

"So are you going to ask him?"

"I have to. Don't I?"

"Unless you have access to his research yeah."

"How would access to his research help me avoid asking?"

"Well, for him to find out even though you didn't know, he'd have to have run a blood test or something on you at some point and I'm sure he kept them on file somewhere."

"I'll just ask him. I wouldn't feel comfortable going through his files anyway."

"I dunno considering it's likely that he's been running tests on you fuck his privacy in my opinion. Do you have access to his research?"

"Technically, yes, but he takes his laptop to the lab with him usually. I wouldn't be able to go through it without him here. It'll just be quicker to ask him. Mom says I should be able to tell if he's lying about it." You shrug.

"Well there ya go." She says.

"Would it be awful if I waited?" You grimace. The thought of this makes your stomach turn.

"No, it's gonna be a tough confrontation you should do it when you feel ready. Although it's probably not good to let it fester. Can I ask what's holding you back?"

"If he's lying I need to be prepared to leave and I wanna have that in order first-"

"I can't believe you're saying that as if I'm not right here! Pack a bag or two right now and I'll take your stuff to my place. As soon as you find out he's lying head right out the door and come to mine."

"Wait- do you think he's lying Wanda?"

"How should I know?"

"You said as soon as I find out he's lying, as if he for sure is and it's just a matter of confirming. You think Steve and Bucky are right about this?"

"They were right about you being a werewolf. You said it yourself, if they weren't lying about that why this?" She shrugs. "I know you love Bruce but it's not farfetched that in 3 years with all he knows about supernaturals, he suspected you were one, like I did, but unlike me he did what he could to confirm that suspicion."

"Oh." You frown.

"I'm sorry y/n. I don't want to believe that he would do that to you, but you know I've always had my reservations about him."

"No I- I know. It's a valid thought. I mean Steve and Bucky were right about one thing and if I was so sure they were wrong about Bruce I wouldn't feel the need to ask him in the first place but- the ethics of his research have always been a point of contention for me so, I'm not surprised we're here anyway."

"Honestly if he's been telling the truth that's great, but what you should pay more attention to is how he reacts to the question regardless. I mean- everything you thought you knew just got flipped on its head he should understand why that would raise more questions especially since the source of one truth is the source of this information."

"I dunno he's been pretty agitated about this whole wolf mafia thing. Every time we talk about Steve and Bucky he's like in hyper defense. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't believe I can think for myself. If I'm not agreeing with him he says it's because I'm too naive or too trusting or whatever."

"That's- kind of ugly." Wanda mutters and you laugh.

"He's paranoid and he feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Because if I'm in danger it's because of his research all those years ago. Not that anyone has made any indication that I'm in danger it's just- knowing all of these supposed mobsters are in my social vicinity he assumes they're just waiting to strike. Circling me like sharks." You chuckle.

"If anything it seems like they're circling to protect though?"

"Bruce would have an aneurysm even trying to consider that possibility." You scoff.

"Okay well, pack some things. You don't have to take him on today but since I'm here we'll pack your evacuation stuff now and just keep it at mine til you do."

"Maybe I should be giving him the benefit of the doubt." You sigh as you pull your small suitcase out of your closet.

"I think you're giving plenty of benefit by bothering to ask him and not just assuming he's lying."

"Yeah but- packing like this? As if I'm expecting to hear a lie and need to escape?" You frown, folding up clothes and packing them into the suitcase without much thought.

"Hope for the best but prepare for the worst that's what you always say. I know it's hard when the worst is that your boyfriend betrayed your trust but it'll be easier to face if you're ready for that possibility."

"Right. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." You nod.

"So- if the werewolves end up being right about him, what's your plan with them?"

"My plan with them?"

"Yeah, like- will you go talk to them?"

"I dunno. I have no way of contacting them Wanda they just kind of appear every couple of weeks. It's not like I can go looking."

"I think you could." She shrugs.

"How does one go looking for werewolf possibly crime lords?"

"Well you said Peter knows two of their men?"

"Maybe. I mean Peter knows two of the werewolf mobsters yes but. That only helps if Steve and Bucky really are on top like Bruce thinks they are. If not the last thing I wanna do is have more werewolves looking for me."

"Hm, I guess dealing with Steve and Bucky can wait. First we deal with Bruce." She tells you.

"Yeah sure- I guess so." You agree and finish packing your things for her to take to her place. Despite Wanda's conviction on the matter, you don't have the courage to confront Bruce when he comes home that night. You have dinner and discuss his day and wind down together like you do every other night. You pretend that nothing is wrong and can I just say you are one hell of an actress because Bruce does not suspect a thing. In fact you sit on this information for days before you deal with anything and it's not exactly by choice. The bell at the front of the store rings and you greet the way you always do.

"Hello! Welcome in!" You call, looking up to see Wanda walking towards you with serious conviction. "Uh oh." You mutter.

"Hi Peter!" Wanda says without even looking for him knowing he works pretty much every shift with you at this point.

"Miss Wanda! Hi!" Peter pokes his head into view from behind some shelves. Wanda waves at him and then turns her attention to you with a point.

"You." She says.

"Me."

"You need to talk to him." Wanda says.

"I will! I just-"

"No no you just nothing. You've been sitting on this for over four days. What are you gonna do just pretend it's all okay for the rest of your life?" She crosses her arms. You knew this was coming, and to her credit, she has left you to your devices until now.

"No of course not, but- I'm not ready." You sigh.

"Y/n right now you don't know if you can trust him and that's something you need to sort out because a relationship without trust is like, jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Death waiting to happen."

"Sorry I'm not eager to risk blowing up my entire relationship." You shrug.

"Newsflash the fact that you're in this situation at all means your relationship is probably already fucking doomed. Especially if the truth is what we're worried that it is, then your relationship has been over for a looooong time."

"Ouch." You frown.

"Honey if he's been lying to you this whole time then he thinks you're a fool. Do not let him make a fool of you. When you get off work, talk to him or I will come to your apartment and accuse him myself."

"That is a terrible idea." You shake your head.

"I know, the point is to light a fire under your butt so you take care of it yourself. Because you know I'll do it."

"Why can't you just let me do this on my own time?" You pout.

"I wish I could but as your best friend it would be irresponsible for me to pretend that I'm okay with this ignorance is bliss act you have going on to protect your relationship with a man who we suspect is lying to you. All you're doing is wasting your time and I can't in good conscience allow that to go on especially because in a few months you'll probably bitch at me if I do and if I were in your shoes you would have my head."

"I know you're right but I hate you for it."

"You will thank me later, and I will maybe see you tonight. At the very least I expect a text or I'll be banging on your door by this time tomorrow." She leans over the counter and kisses your cheek before sauntering out of the store.

"What a terror." You sigh to yourself.

"Wanda left?" Peter asks coming up to the counter.

"Yeah. She only came in to yell at me in person so I couldn't ignore her."

"Yell at you for what?" Peter laughs.

"Avoiding my problems. Honestly Peter the best and worst thing you can do is have a best friend that will ride your ass because they will have your back but man is it annoying to hear when you're not acting in your own best interest." You roll your eyes and he laughs some more.

"I'll- keep that in mind. I don't have much in the way of friends honestly so, I'd say you're pretty lucky to have her."

"Aw come on Sam and Clint don't ride you about being responsible and shit?" You ask.

"They're barely responsible themselves." He snorts.

"Fine then I'll be accountability friend."

"You'll be my accountability friend?"

"Yeah! I'm already Wanda's. Usually. Right now my life is minorly in shambles so she's mine but we swap as necessary. I can do the same for you." You say ruffling his hair. Peter makes a face but he doesn't complain about your affection. He never does.

"I mean you don't have to-" Peter trails off.

"I know but, you're a sweet kid. I'm sure I've got tons of advice I can offer you." You shrug.

"Oh- I appreciate it. You've been real nice to me since I started here so, thanks."

"Of course Peter." You smile at him. The rest of your shift passes quicker than you'd like it to because now as you're closing up with Peter you're thinking about the conversation you now have to have with Bruce. When you unlock your apartment the smell of food hits you first. You kick off your shoes and walk into the kitchen where Bruce is pulling a tray out of the oven.

"Hey Brucey." You say.

"Hi babe, welcome home." He says.

"Thank you. What'd you make?" You ask him, setting the table for you to eat.

"Stuffed peppers and roasted potatoes."

"Sounds good!"

"You're just in time to try them." Bruce puts the peppers on a serving plate and walks them over to the table with the potatoes. The two of you sit down and eat together, mostly in silence, but eventually, when your plates are almost empty, you initiate conversation.

"So how was your day? Did you go to the lab today?" You ask him.

"I did yeah. Nothing terribly interesting happened really just analyzing data and whatnot." He shrugs. "How was your day? Any shitty customers today?"

"Not particularly, we don't tend to get a lot of those anyway. Wanda came to visit for a little bit but that's about all." You tell him.

"That's nice." He nods and you feel your heartbeat start thundering as you convince yourself to get to the point.

"Yeah. I need to talk to you about something actually." You say standing to clear your dinner plate. You feel like if you walk you can dispel the nervous tension you're feeling.

"Oh? What's up babe?"

"You know how Steve and Bucky said I was a werewolf?"

"Yes and we agreed they were delusional. Why? Did you run into them again?" Bruce shifts in his chair to look at you as you lean against the counter by the sink.

"No, I haven't seen them since the last time we spoke about them a couple weeks ago it's just- well I finally called my mom about the whole thing-"

"Why would you call your mom if their claims are baseless?"

"Becuase it was the easiest way to put an end to any doubt it's not that big of a deal, I call my mom for all sorts of things Bruce."

"I mean sure but it's a weird question to ask her since you aren't-"

"Except I am." You say, crossing your arms. You barely catch Bruce's eyes widen before he turns back around in his chair so his back is facing you. He takes his time pushing the seat back to stand up while you keep talking. "Yeah according to my mom I actually am a werewolf. She never told me because of a dormant gene in our family, but I definitely am one. Steve and Bucky were telling the truth." You say. Bruce clears his throat and walks over to the sink placing his dinner plate into it.

"Well how are you feeling about it? I mean this is sort of big-"

"What I want to know, is if you already knew." You cut him off backing up a bit to put more space between you.

"What?" He asks with a little chuckle that you think is nervousness.

"Steve and Bucky were right about me being a werewolf, so it begs the question were they also right about you knowing and keeping it from me?"

"Oh come on that's ridiculous, for me to somehow find that out and hide part of your identity from you? I can't believe you'd even entertain the notion." He shakes his head. You look him over carefully, considering your mother's advice. He's not sweating, but he also hasn't looked at you since you said you were a werewolf, he's not exactly pacing but you look down and realize he's rolling his fingers together. "Y/n, come on you can't seriously think that I'd deceive you that way can you? I mean these strangers get one lucky guess and suddenly you trust them more than me?" Bruce adds when the silence drags on longer than he'd like. His heart, focus on his heartbeat. You take another few seconds to try and pick it up. When you really focus like this you can pick up on so many things it can be overwhelming but you force yourself to pick up his heart rate and it's not as steady as it should be. Not full blown panicked pounding but definitely nervously fast.

"I don't know who I can trust Bruce." You say.

"Me! I've never given you a reason to think otherwise. You can trust me. Why would I lie to you?"

"It makes sense."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. Your supernaturals research is your life. I mean you've studied enough werewolves, it's not impossible to think that you'd know you're sharing a home with one or suspect it and convince yourself it's necessary to investigate those suspicions."

"I can't believe you think I would do that to you."

"I don't want to. God knows I don't want to but it's hard not to when you won't even look at me. You haven't looked at me since I told you I was a werewolf and you always look at me when we talk. It's hard when I know how much supernatural studies takes up your life, I know you've tracked and trapped werewolves before so you obviously know how to identify one, but I'm supposed to believe you wouldn't be able to clock one sharing a bed with you?! It's hard when at every turn you tried to convince me Bucky and Steve were crazy. You swore it was impossible for them to be right about this and now look at where we are. The impossible is not only possible it's true. So if they were telling the truth about one thing, why not the other? And when I think about it, like really think about it, since the second 'lie' is dependant on believing the first 'lie'- if you really thought they were insane and lying to manipulate me, why were you so against me calling my parents to find out? I mean if you truly believed it was false a quick call to confirm that would've immediately dismissed the second lie and we wouldn't be here. Your continued objection doesn't make sense unless you knew they weren't lying."

"This is ridiculous y/n I love you, I would never hurt you-"

"If you're lying to me Bruce you've already hurt me. And the fact that you have yet to actually deny it is enough of an answer."

"ALL I'VE DONE IS DENY IT!"

"NO YOU HAVEN'T! You've said it's ridiculous, you've said you can't believe I think that, you've said you'd never hurt me, you've it doesn't make sense, you've said I trust them more than you, but you have not at any point said 'no y/n I didn't already know you were a werewolf and kept it a secret from you.' So yeah, I'll take that as a confession."

"You- you started this conversation assuming I was guilty."

"Do not turn this on me Bruce. If you can't look me in the eye right now and say you didn't know I was a werewolf and keep it a secret from me... I'm leaving."

"And going where? To those crime lords, y/n they do not have your best interests in mind. You'll get hurt."

"Say it Bruce. Say you didn't know." You say quietly. There's a stretch of silence that you take as your answer and without another word, you put on your shoes and grab your bag still by the door.

"Y/n wait!" Bruce says before you can leave.

"You still can't say the one thing I asked of you." You say pulling open the apartment door and leaving without even looking at him.

***

Part 6/???

Tagged Users: @cjand10 @vicmc624 @mandijo17

#marvel fanfiction #marvel #stucky fanfic #stucky x reader #stucky fluff #stucky smut #stucky #stucky angst #werewolf bucky barnes #werewolf steve rogers #werewolf au #Just Let Me Adore You #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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ashes-writing-corner · 4 months

Text

Hey guys! Im back with another update. This one starts a bit heavy and ends with a little bit of sweet-spice. At least in my opinion, but I think im biased!

Trigger warnings: talks about suicide, mentions of organ transplant, and slight groping I guess (consent is asked, cause that's important)

Taglist: @stargatenovus

Ghosts That We Knew

Part 12- Confrontations and a (not so) confession

Ellie was asleep. There was a heavy, quiet tension in the air. Something had been brewing all day since you got home. Ghost could feel the tension since you got home, despite your best attempts to hide it from your little girl.

You hadn't talked to him today. Not even a hello when you came home. And now here you were, sitting in your bed with your phone in front of you, looking tense as hell. Something was wrong.

It felt like a prelude to war to him.

“Can you manifest?” You asked, “we need to talk”.

He didn't like the sound of that. Regardless, the soldier did as you asked of him, fully manifesting at the foot of your bed. His arms were crossed and his seemingly sunken eyes seemed to be taking in the whole sight of you. Almost like you were someone to be revered and respected.

But your eyes projected a mix of emotions. Sadness, a bit of anger…and was that treachery he saw? The spirit raised a brow under his mask.

“What's wrong, love?” He asked.

You hesitated a little. “I know who you are. I know what you did, for me and for the world” you answered, trying to keep your tone even, “Simon…”.

You knew his name. You KNEW his name. Which only meant one thing.

Fuck…

“Did you know?” You asked.

“Y/N, it's not-”.

“Did. You. Know?” You asked again more firmly.

Ghost blinked softly. “Not at first”.

“So you lied by omission then”.

“What? No!”.

“Bullshit! You should've told me the minute you found out”.

“Why? And kill your sense of self worth further?! You already hate that thing-”

“I hate that it doesn't feel like my own”.

“Exactly! I didn't want to reinforce that thought, that feeling. I wanted you to come to terms with it first. You've had more than enough time to”.

“Oh I'm sorry my trauma is FUCKING inconvenient to you-”.

“Language! Ellie is asleep in the other room. Keep your voice down”.

“Oh so now you wanna tone police me? I don't think so”.

“Look I had my reasons, alright?! You were hurt and I didn't want you to hurt further. I already did enough hurting to people around me…I didn't want to add you to the list”.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you. The tension was being released somewhat, so at least this was helping a little.

“You had a home. You had friends who loved you. Why would you do that to yourself? Is that how you repay people who care-”.

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?! Repay?! Are you kidding me-”.

“Language!” You hissed sharply.

“But repay them? You think this is repayment for them? No! This was a punishment”.

“For you or for them?”.

“For me!”.

“Really? Cause that's not how Johnny feels I'd imagine!”.

Shit. You accidentally let it slip that you had been in contact with him. Well…the cat was eventually going to get out of the bag.

There was a look of anger and sadness in the ghost’s eyes. Carefully though he calmed himself before speaking again.

“Look this isn't about my friends right now. This is about us for the time being. I'll admit I didn't know at first. I had…suspicions. But I couldn't confirm them for a while. And then you told me it didn't feel like yours, that it felt like a chunk of lead” he pointed out, “I didn't want you to know that you felt that way because of me. Because I knew this would happen”.

“What did you want to happen? What did you expect?” You asked, blinking back tears.

“That you'd get some bloody help, first of all. I thought you'd have a therapist by now”.

“I don't trust therapists”.

“Why?”.

“Well first of all, ever realized how therapist is spelled?”.

Ghost mulled it over for all of two seconds. “Oh for fucks sake, seriously?”

“Sorry had to add a little humor there. But no seriously, I don't trust therapists. I refuse to be just another paycheck for them”.

“You need it”.

“Don't you dare tell me what I need!”.

“Do you wanna wind up like me? Because that's exactly how you wind up like me!”.

You scoffed. “You really think I'd do that? I have Ellie. Why the hell would I traumatize and abandon her like that?!”.

You were going to make a jab about how he had abandoned his friends and team. However you knew that was low and unnecessarily so.

“Because in that bloody moment you don't think” Ghost stepped toward you, “because in that moment it doesn't feel like abandonment. It feels like you're relieving them. You get that thought in your head that you're nothing but a burden to everyone around you. Don't you dare tell me you've never felt like that. Because you have. Everyone and their mum has. I don't want that for you, or for Ellie”.

That was a twisted way to think about it. But at the same time you figured it made sense. Mental illness could make someone feel like a burden. Was that what he was thinking at that time? That he was little more than a burden to his friends? You were thoughtful for a moment.

“Okay…I will see about therapy. If it puts your little ectoplasmic mind at ease”.

“Ellie as well…” Ghost practically growled.

“She's already in therapy”.

“Good” he crossed his arms, moving away from you.

He felt like a scorned dog if he were being entirely honest. He saved your life, having already lost his, and this was what he got for it? Maybe it was best he went back to that damn closet-

“I'm sorry” you said, your tone softening, “It's just…I never thought this would ever happen. I didn't expect to meet my donor, or even the ghost of my donor. It just feels…crazy. Like something out of a book or something”.

“Did you read the letter I wrote?”.

You looked up at him. “I saw the envelope. But I didn't read it in the moment. I was too shocked”

“You should. It's for you”.

“I will. I just need a little time to process” you moved so you were sitting on the end of your bed, legs over the edge, “who are you? Or maybe a better question is who WAS Simon Riley?”.

“Did you read the file?”.

“I did but that only told me medical stuff. Physicals, mental evaluations, that whole thing. You're very good at lying, you realize that right?”.

Ghost shrugged a shoulder. “Kinda had to be in order to do what I did. Didn't always enjoy it but I'll admit it was useful”.

“Okay but seriously, who were you?”.

“Someone who died in every way that mattered before his actual death. It's why I was ready to go at any given moment, and why I was a donor”.

“I think I've asked this before but, do you miss being alive?”.

“Sometimes”.

You thought for a moment, a heartbeat, before asking: “why the mask?”.

“To hide my face”.

“I asked a simple question”.

“And I gave a simple answer”.

“Cheeky little fuck” you thought, “but why hide? You're dead. You have nothing to hide, well no reason to”.

“Trust me, you don't wanna see what's under here now. Ghosts tend to look like how they did in death…”.

“I'm not scared, Simon” you told him, “if I'm allowed to call you that”.

“I'm not taking it off, love. Sorry. Be as brave as you want but-” he stopped mid sentence, “what the hell are you doing?”.

You were taking off your shirt, an idea having struck you. Not only revealing your chest, but also the scar that was left from your surgery and his death. Talk about making a mark…

“showing you what you did…what I guess we both did”.

You weren't wrong. He had a similar, gnarled scar on his. You both had left your mark on each other. It was poetic in a way, like a full circle sort of thing. You were a part of each other…

Without thinking, Ghost, no, Simon took a step forward. His eyes steely, fixated on your chest, and you could tell more than just the scar. Oddly enough, it didn't bother you. When he was close enough, Simon looked at you, his hand outstretched.

“Is…” he hesitated, “is this okay, love? Is this allowed?”.

You nodded. “It's okay” your voice was barely above a whisper.

Surprisingly he pulled back, and for a moment you thought he was going to leave. But relief washed over you as you realized he was actually taking his skeletal glove off. The skin of the ghost was a light gray, reminiscent of clouds before rainfall. Only when it was off did he move forward in caressing the scar that bordered your left breast.

Using a single, cold finger, Simon traced the scar from the top of your chest down the whole length of it. His finger was definitely cold, colder than anything you'd ever felt. You assumed that death really was as cold as believed. Gently, he pressed his whole hand to your breast, feeling all of it. Not in a groping, sexual manner, but more like…reverence perhaps? Regardless it made the heart inside you practically leap, from both the cold and anticipation. Your eyes never left him.

His touch was gentle but cold. A strange combination that wasn't entirely unpleasant. The heart inside you pounded, responding to the cold hand of its previous owner.

“You alright, love?” Simon asked, “I can stop, if you want me to”.

His voice had no right to be like that, gruff and yet gentle at the same time. It just made you feel things. Things you hadn't felt in a long time.

“No…no it's okay” you shook your head, “it's yours anyway”.

“No” Simon replied, his tone sharper than he intended it to be, “it's yours. It was always meant to be yours…in some form or another” he looked you right in the eye when he said it, like he had never been more sure of anything in his life…well, afterlife.

“That…felt almost like a confession. Something you wanna share?” You asked, your own tone playful.

You could see the smile in his eyes as he withdrew his hand. “Not quite yet…gettin’ there though”.

“What's that supposed to mean?” You asked as he put his glove back on and picked up your shirt.

“It means go to bed. You've more than earned some sleep”.

You took it from him, a part of you feeling a tiny bit disappointed. “Alright…but only if you hold me”.

“You never gotta ask twice for that, love”.

You put your shirt back on and laid back against the pillows. Simon was soon at your side, arms around your waist. His cold was now more a comfort than anything.

“Good night Simon” you closed your eyes, smiling a little as his hands wandered your torso a bit.

The ghost pressed his head to your shoulder and you swore you felt ice cold lips kiss your neck.

“Good night, lovely. Dream of me…”.

If you guys enjoyed this please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging ^^ if you're feeling generous, feel free to give me a follow! I greatly appreciate it :) thank you so much and I'll see you in the next part!

#fanfiction #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #ghosts that we knew #ghost x reader #ghost!ghost #paranormal friendship #eventual paranormal romance

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dawnbreakersgaze · 10 hours

Text

Look I KNOW I promised to draw Caleb next but you have to understand that I have the biggest crush on Dr. Greyson for no good reason and the fact that he doesn't have a face has left me mad. Furious. Rabid. Incensed.

So I've spent a while mulling over what he looks like in my mind

And this is still a rough draft mind you!!!

But it's the first rought draft I've been happy with so I'm finally sharing it

Also we're not gonna judge my stethoscope drawing skills okay let's just pretend that contraption makes sense 😥

So yeah, let me introduce you all to the Greyson who lives in my head, rent-free. Maybe one day PG will give us a face for him, but until then I'll keep dreaming I guess 🥲

#lnds #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love & deepspace #Greyson love and deepspace #the worst part about loving side characters is that like 5 other people care about them worldwide 😩#so to you 5 people i say- HELLO!#i hope you like him bc your opinions matter to me 🥺#art of kay

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depressedbagpipe · 2 years

Text

Silver (Prince Caspian x female!reader)

Chapter IV - Peter's Mistake

Words: 3385 Warnings: lots of angst, besties fighting in front of a bunch of people. I guess mentions of misogyny? Caspian and reader having a badly written moment alone. Reader's hair is long enough to be put into braids. Reader is clad in weapons, too. The first part is more of a filler. A/N: I'm not gonna lie, this physically hurt to write, because I love Peter so much but I needed some angst. I don't know how to hint at romance between characters so I'll leave it like this for the time being. Thank y'all so much for your support <3

Series Masterlist Previous chapter <;> Next chapter

Chapter IV - Peter's Mistake

“It’s only a matter of time. Miraz’s men and war machines are on their way. That means those same men aren’t protecting his castle,” Peter looked around the room.

An emergency war meeting had been called, all of us standing around Aslan’s table. I sat on my trunk, dressed in my old armor, clad in weapons from head to toe. My hair was in the usual braids that I wore for battle, keeping the hair away from my face and my silver locks on display. I was the spitting image of myself once again, the big stone portrait behind me backing me up. As soon as the room started to fill up with all the Narnians, I could hear their whispers. They stood a couple of feet away from me, either in terror or wonder, but I felt like the powerful warrior I had once been for over a decade.

Reepicheep asked. “What do you propose we do, your Majesty?” He had easily won Peter’s favor, being the first to show him the respect Peter always sought.

“We need to get ready for it,” Peter started.

“To start planning for…” Caspian answered.

There was an awkward silence as both members of different royal houses challenged each other with their eyes, only for Caspian to give in.

Peter continued without any interruption. “Our only hope is to strike them before they strike us,” he explained. I already pictured his plan in my head, yet as soon as I caught sight of Caspian’s face, I knew that was not a good plan.

“But that’s crazy. No one has taken that castle,” Caspian spoke, directly defying Peter. He didn’t like that.

“There’s always a first time,” he was sending daggers to Caspian now.

Trumpkin intervened, Peter’s plan being mulled over in his head. “We’ll have the element of surprise,” he agreed.

“But we have the advantage here!” Caspian tried to reason with everyone in the room. I already had my eyes fixed on him before he looked at me, almost pleading for my help. I remained quiet, not wanting to aggravate the scene, yet the Narnians were pretty much sold.

“If we dig in, we could probably hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sided with Caspian. Peter hardly stared at his sister, something like betrayal radiating off of him.

“I, for one, feel safer underground,” Trufflehunter spoke, always the mediator.

Peter turned to look at Caspian again, a cold stare on his face, his jaw tensed. “Look, I appreciate what you’ve done here, but this isn’t a fortress. It’s a tomb,” he almost spat the words out, coming closer to the dark-haired boy.

Edmund, who was sitting next to me, suddenly spoke. “Yes. And if they’re smart, the Telmarines will just wait and starve us out.”

Everybody was taking sides. I stood in the perfect middle of the two kings, watching their feud.

Reepicheep, his loyalty unmatched, spoke again. “I think you know where I stand, sire,” he bowed once more.

We all had our eyes on Peter, yet he quickly turned to look at me. As his right hand in combat, my word usually outweighed the rest of the council’s advice. I knew he was looking for my support, as he always did. And he usually had it. Yet this time, I simply couldn’t agree with him. I shook my head without speaking, sending a pleading look to him to not come forward with the plan, but his stare only became colder, even more determination in his eyes at my refusal.

Peter turned to Glenstone, the centaur currently in charge of the Old Narnian army. “If I get your troops in, can you handle the guards?” he asked him.

I didn’t fail to notice how he glanced at Caspian before answering Peter’s question. “Or die trying, my liege,” he nodded at him.

Peter’s satisfaction was short-lived, for Lucy quietly spoke behind Peter, sitting on the Stone Table. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Sorry?” Peter questioned.

“You’re all acting like there’s only two options. Dying here, or dying there,” I felt pride spreading through my chest. Despite her young age, Lucy had always been the sensible one. We shared a look, and this time I nodded at her.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening, Lu,” Peter, almost patronizing, tried to shut her down.

“No, you’re not listening,” Lucy’s anger was felt around the room. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch, Peter?” The look she sent him was harsh but true. We had fought many battles without Aslan by our side, yet this time, the risk was different. Peter wanted to attack and siege an active castle with our reduced number of troops, with an even smaller number of resources and supplies. We would only have one chance, and anybody could see we were not prepared for that.

“I think we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter turned around to face Glenstorm again, finishing his conversation with Lucy.

“There’s always another way,” it was me who finally spoke. Everybody was now looking at me, Caspian’s thankful eyes fixed on me. My voice was grave, stronger than it had ever been. My armor was by no means magical, but I was indeed fearless in it. As soon as I put it on I had stopped being the silent teenager I had been before and was back to being a warrior – the Silver Knight.

“And as I said, we can’t keep waiting on Aslan. We need to act now,” Peter had stopped dead in his tracks, now standing before me. His eyes searched my own as if he were trying to share his reason with me.

I kept sitting down on my trunk, not even bothering to stand up. I knew that once Peter had something in mind, there was no stopping him from getting it. “Look, we both know we lack numbers. Waiting here isn’t an option, either. But what you plan right now is a suicide mission,” I tried to reason with him.

“I told you, most of their soldiers are on the river, we need to attack when no one’s defending the castle!” Peter raised his voice, pouring all of his frustration on me. It wasn’t the first time he did that, but it always hurt being yelled at by your best friend, who casually happened to be your king, too.

“Peter,” my anger was rising as well, “don’t be stupid. Do you really think somebody like Miraz would leave his castle unattended?” I stood up from the trunk, stepping closer to him. Some of the closer Narnians stepped back, as if giving us enough space to fight, and hopefully not get caught in the crossfire. “Look what they did to Cair Paravel centuries ago. Don’t you think they would have bettered their tactics after all these years? He willingly ordered to kill his own nephew, for Aslan’s sake! There is no way Miraz would be that dumb to center his strength on a freaking bridge knowing Caspian is out here plotting his death with us,” I was almost yelling at that point.

Peter was almost shocked at my outburst. “So you’re taking his side, too?” he vilely pointed at Caspian, envy oozing from him. “You’re my right hand, for Aslan’s sake, you are better than this!” Peter was on my face now.

I scoffed. “You are better than this, Peter,” my words were laced in venom. “Someone who has actually lived there is telling you your plan is futile, yet you’re here acting all child-like sending the same people you swore to protect to certain death,” I pressed my finger against his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat thumping on his ribcage. “Stop trying to prove you’re a ruler and fucking be one, Peter Pevensie,” I almost whispered, yet my frowning eyebrows were hard on his face. “You’re no better than Miraz if you ignore the danger.” I was about to leave the room, who was dead silent watching our fight.

“You either stand with me or against me,” Peter said, his back turned to me.

I stopped dead in my tracks and bitterly laughed, looking over my shoulder back at him. “Is that a threat?” I asked. I could feel my cheeks red in anger.

“Will you stand next to your king, as you swore, or will you betray Narnia?” He called out loud, his voice now bouncing off the walls in a faint echo. It was suddenly only the two of us in the room, two kids yelling at each other in frustration.

“Do I have a choice?” I shook my head in disbelief, suddenly not recognizing the blond boy behind me.

“You tell me,” Peter answered, fully looking at me. We were both ignoring everyone’s eyes on us, but as I was coming down from the high, I realized the position I was in.

I couldn’t actively defy my king without being accused of treason. I couldn’t leave my best friend behind to die if I had a way to protect him. I couldn’t let him make the biggest mistake of his life due to arrogance.

I shook my head once more as I walked to the exit. “I liked you better when you were a whiny kid,” I walked up the stairs that led to the exit before turning completely to the room. Once again, all the eyes were on me. I caught Caspian’s eyes, who looked at me rather pitifully. He understood my decision even before I could muster the words. I exhaled softly, before calling. “Narnians, prepare for battle.”

“Thank you,” a soft voice spoke behind me. I had been sitting on the edge of the lookout port, staring at the stars as the Narnians below me prepared their horses and weapons for the attack. Edmund was guiding the gryphons that would take Peter, Susan, Edmund, Caspian, Trumpkin, and I into Miraz’s castle. Susan was recharging her quiver, while Peter simply barked orders with Rhindon in his hand, the blade reflecting the moon’s soft silver rays.

Caspian stood next to me, a respectful distance away, as he too took in the scene below us. I exhaled, taken away by Caspian’s beauty under the moonlight. “For what, your grace?” I whispered, not wanting to disturb the little peace I would be having that night.

“For standing up for me. I mean, maybe it wasn’t your intention, but you made me feel less alone. Like somebody understood my concerns,” Caspian answered, also whispering.

My cheeks hurt from the heat in them, and thankfully it was dark enough to conceal their color. “He’s making a mistake, your grace. A mistake that’s gonna get us killed,” I fixed my eyes on him. As if on cue, Peter turned around as if he could sense my hard eyes on him, but did not look up to our position. He shrugged it off and continued going over the plan with Glenstorm.

“Please, just call me Caspian,” he pleaded with a small smile on his lips. I nodded in agreement, yet remained silent. “Is he always so hard on you?” Caspian softly asked, imperceptibly stepping closer to me. His worried tone lulled my sore throat as if it were sweet honey.

I shook my head. “He’s just being a pain in the ass,” I explained. Despite my anger, I still knew the boy pretty well. “He feels like he’s lost control and he doesn’t like that. He’s proving to himself he can still be a king.”

Caspian looked at me for a couple of seconds in silence. I met his stare, and once again I felt my breath hitch. His face was illuminated by the moon, making him almost angelic. For a few seconds, he was only a boy, wanting to do right only not knowing how, seeking refuge with people he only heard about in legends. There was a fire in his eyes too, similar to Peter’s. Both men were more alike than they thought.

“For the record,” Caspian said. “I think he’s being an idiot,” he looked down at him. “We all make mistakes, sure, but I still wouldn’t treat my partner like garbage just to prove a point,” his words were almost pained, insecure. I widened my eyes, and almost choked on my saliva. I coughed violently at the thought. Caspian, worried, approached me quickly, patting me on the back as I tried to catch my breath. “Oh, Lord, are you alright? Pardon my intromission, my lady, I just…” I cut him off with a laugh.

“No, no, don’t fret, it’s just,” I exhaled loudly, calming down before talking again. “Partner? Me? Oh, Aslan, no, no, nobody is courting anybody here,” I said, using words Caspian would understand.

There was relief in his eyes, only this time he did not even try to hide it. “Oh, well, pardon me again, my lady, for my indecency,” Caspian was no longer touching me, yet he did not pull away completely. His smile was pretty visible, too.

I smirked at him, almost cockily. “There’s nothing to pardon,” I shook my head again. I grimaced at the thought once more, then quickly deleted that from my mind. “In all seriousness,” I continued, “Peter and I are just friends. Best friends, even. We have been through so much together, and we know each other like the back of our hands, but, believe me, we wouldn’t be a good match,” I explained. Caspian nodded carefully at my words, almost tasting each one. “Besides,” I added, this time in a softer tone, “I’m not a lady. I’m a knight. Knights don’t get to marry royalty.”

I was sure Caspian caught my shoulders slouching. “Maybe, as a king, I could change that,” he didn’t look at me. He didn’t dare to.

“Trust me, I’ve seen the true cruelty of the Court. Nobody would be exempt, not even a king,” I reasoned with him, although I wasn’t sure where our conversation was headed anymore.

Caspian looked at me intently. “Trust me, I know. After my father died and my uncle ruled in his name… I heard all sorts of things,” he had a sad glow on his face. Something in my mind was screaming at me to take his sadness away.

“Well, not only I’m not a proper lady, but I’m a knight in pants. Just imagine all the comments and looks I had to endure during the years,” I smiled sadly, recalling all the names, laughs, and comments. “Plus, my friendship with the Kings? I’m pretty sure everybody thinks I had been courted by them at some point,” I sighed, my shoulders slouching even more. “I’d like to believe I had set an example for young girls to come, but I see was wrong,” I caught sight of Nikabrik below, who only talked to Edmund and Peter, ignoring Susan’s orders completely. His earlier comments still resonated in my brain.

Caspian, almost shy, nudged my shoulder with his, suddenly very aware of the improper distance between us. “Trust me, you did set an example,” his words made me turn to him completely. “I grew up fantasizing about you. Your strength, your courage, your loyalty. Even my father knew about you. Every single sword-fighting lesson would be spent pretending to be you,” his eyes were shining. “History may have altered your name, but you are still the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on.”

Once again I thanked Aslan for the darkness surrounding us, for Caspian couldn’t see how much my body was burning with his statement. I was at a loss for words, for it truly was the first time someone had looked at me for who I truly was, and not who they thought I was.

I was about to say something back when Lucy appeared behind us. “Peter is calling for you both,” she stopped when she took sight of us, sitting close to each other, our fingertips almost touching. She smirked mischievously. “I don’t think you should make him wait. See you downstairs!” she happily chirped as she left us alone once more.

I guiltily stared at Caspian, who wore a similar face. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds before we both started to get up. Caspian held out his hand out to me, and though I did not need help, I took it anyways. Both of our hands were ungloved, and the touch of his skin on mine set a huge bonfire alight inside of me. His skin was soft, barely tarnished, only a few superficial scars adorning it. Mine was back to how it was before Narnia, all the battle scars faded from my skin except for that one on my neck, where the White Witch had almost successfully killed me. We pulled away reluctantly as if we couldn't physically get away from each other. I felt the electricity running through my fingertips as we pulled away, hurrying down to where Peter was impatiently waiting for us.

“Where were you?” he asked us, despite having his gaze fixed somewhere on the horizon.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance, the good mood Caspian had managed to put me in disappearing in an instant. “Getting ready,” I replied with a short nod, walking towards my gryphon and securing my weapons, only to have something else to focus on rather than Peter’s anger and Caspian’s worshiping gaze.

“Remember to stick to the plan,” Peter’s only words for us were those before he retreated to talk to Susan.

“He’s more moody than usual,” Edmund suddenly spoke. I realized how much I had missed his company, giving him a quick side hug in appreciation. He hugged me back, rather indecisively, yet didn’t pull away.

My head was on his shoulder when I answered. “I have a bad feeling about this,” I confessed, although he could perfectly sense it too. I felt him nod when Peter ordered everyone to initiate the attack.

“If it all goes south, you know I’ll be with you,” Edmund said, and I knew he meant it. We had a bit of a habit of sharing near-death experiences at the same time.

I laughed at his words and smiled softly at the boy. He had once again grown taller, but he still conveyed the same boyish grin I learned to love about him.

“Do you have enough arrows?” Susan suddenly appeared next to us, checking my own quiver, smaller than hers, yet just as deadly.

I nodded. “I think so. Yours?” I repeated the words, thinking back to our exact conversation the first time we fought together.

She grinned at me. “I think so.” She too hugged me, the tension leaving my chest.

After the fight with Peter, I had not dared look at anybody. I didn’t know if I was embarrassed, angry, frustrated, or sad, but I couldn’t face anyone. That had been why I had retreated to the vacant lookout post, quickly polishing my weapons and fixing my armor for the battle about to unfold.

“Be careful, please,” Lucy ran to me and hugged me tightly, closing her eyes in the process. I bent down and kissed her on her forehead, our little ‘good-luck-ritual,’ but didn’t let go. We both needed each other.

“May Aslan protect us all,” I answered, the Narnian way to ward off evil and invoke protection. We smiled at each other before I turned around and walked to the front of the army, where the rest of the Pevensies and Caspian stood next to their gryphons. I quickly winked at him, catching him by surprise, and a slight smile danced on my lips as he cleared his throat in embarrassment. It took everything in my power not to laugh, but by that point, I knew I was crushing hard on the raven-haired prince.

The gryphons took a hold of us and together we soared to the sky, heading to Miraz’s castle while the rest of our army followed us by foot. Lucy and the healers stayed behind at the refuge, worried eyes praying for our safety. I too prayed for Aslan’s help, as I had done countless times before. I wasn’t even sure what exactly I was praying for, but I kept my eyes closed, simply asking for things to go our way.

Aslan, was I wrong.

Next chapter

#prince caspian x reader #prince caspian #ben barnes x reader #narnia fanfiction #narnia #prince caspian movie #prince caspian fanfiction #ben barnes #bin bons #chronicles of narnia #prince caspian x you #prince caspian x y/n #narnia imagines

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your-divine-ribs · 18 days

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Reading Festival (Dad Van)

Words: 2.2k

You take the kids to watch their dad perform at Reading Festival ✨

Dad Van Masterlist Main Masterlist

🎸 You try to keep life as normal as possible for the children growing up which is easier said than done considering their dad's career.

🎸 Since you and Van started a family he's cut down on touring considerably, finally finding that work-life balance he struggled with during his early twenties.

🎸 Touring still takes him away from home for weeks at a time though, and especially over the busy summer festival season.

🎸 Van FaceTimes every day whilst he's away, but even with seeing his face on screen and hearing his voice, Grace and Leo are missing their dad terribly by the time Reading festival rolls around.

🎸 "So... I've been thinking about driving down and coming to watch you at Reading this weekend," you tell Van over the phone. He's excited but when you add "with the kids" his enthusiasm wavers.

🎸 "You know how much I'd love that babe, but I'm not so sure. I just don't think Reading festival's the place for little 'uns really."

🎸 "Come on Van," you reason with him. "Loads of families go to festivals, it's no big deal. You know how much they love music, even little Leo. And Grace won't stop watching the TRNSMT video on YouTube over and over again. She's been begging me to take her to see you on stage, and Reading's the last show of the summer for you."

🎸 Van's quiet for a moment whilst he mulls it over. He's so protective of the kids. It borders on over-protective at times, and his next comment proves this. "I'm still not sure love, it's so bloody loud... and all those people... there's thousands... they'd get crushed!"

🎸 "We're not gonna be at barrier or in the mosh pits silly!" You laugh. "We'll be side of stage, nice and safe, and I'll get the kids some of those big ear defenders. It'll be fine, stop fussing!"

🎸 So there you are on a glorious summer's day in late August, making your way through the crowds with your very excited kids. Grace is decked out in proper festival style with bright pink wellies, flowers in her hair and glitter on her face and Leo's wearing a little bucket hat and shades. Both are wearing Catfish t-shirts specially customised with 'Daddy's Tour Security' on the back and you just know Van's going to be delighted.

🎸 He bounds over immediately when he sees you all entering the artists' area and there are hugs all around. "There they are, my little fan club! My two favourite girls and my main man!" Leo gives him a little fist bump.

🎸 "Daddy I can't wait to see you on stage... you're like the biggest superstar in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD!" Grace stretches out her tiny arms to demonstrate.

🎸 "Oh I don't know about that Gracie," Van chuckles. "There's much bigger stars here, Arctic Monkeys are headlining tonight and they're massive! I saw Alex Turner earlier... he was standing right next to me and I almost lost my shi......"

🎸 Van cuts off abruptly as you glare pointedly at him, quickly rephrasing his sentence. "Uhhh... I nearly lost my cool, that's it... cool!"

🎸 Leo reaches over from your arms, plucking off his sunglasses and placing them on Van's face. "Daddy cool, Daddy cool!" He giggles, clapping his hands.

🎸 Van's hyper as he takes you all on a tour of the artists' area back stage, and you try not to appear starstruck as you get introduced to some of your favourite bands.

🎸 "I'm guessing I don't need to tell you who these guys are!" Van says as you all enter the hospitality tent and you feel your heart thumping in excitement as you come face to face with Eli, Rob, Josh and Ryan. "This is my missus Y/N, she's got your records on all the time, reckon she's a bigger fan than Catfish!"

🎸 You get a hug from all the Inhaler boys, your cheeks flaming scarlet as Grace loudly announces "Mummy, isn't that the man that you've been looking at pictures of on your phone?" whilst pointing straight at Eli.

🎸 Josh takes a shine to the kids, producing a pink cowboy hat with sequin trim which he places carefully on Grace's head. "Don't tell Eli I've given you that, it's his but I think it looks much better on you!"

🎸 Grace is over the moon with her new hat. "I'm never taking it off... ever! Not even when I go to bed!"

🎸 Van pronounces her the Queen of Reading festival and Rob and Ryan devise some silly coronation ceremony to 'crown' her. She's delighted with all the attention.

🎸 "Yer not gonna trade me in for a younger model, are ya?" Van sniggers as you step away from the Inhaler boys in search of some lunch. "I don't think it's me you need to worry about!" You laugh as you realise Grace isn't moving away with you and you turn around to see her tugging on Josh's jacket, not wanting to leave him.

🎸 Van has a meltdown when he spots Alex Turner again across the other side of the hospitality tent. "It's mad ain't it? He's just standing there eating chicken like a normal person!"

🎸 "He is a normal person!" You laugh, but Van's having none of it. "He's a genius! He bloody wrote Cornerstone!" You love the way he still gets starstruck when he comes face to face with one of his idols despite his own level of fame. His goofy 'uncool-ness' is one of the most endearing things about him.

🎸 Van's nervous about getting hassled by fans and would rather stay in the artist's area until Catfish's set but Grace begs her dad to come and watch Inhaler who are due to play in fifteen minutes. "Daddy you've got to come, you're way taller than mummy and I want to go on your shoulders.... I'll have a much better view... PLEASE!"

🎸 You're wary that a tantrum might be brewing but luckily Van relents when Larry turns up in a golf buggy to transport you all over to the main stage. "Thought we could travel in style!" He grins.

🎸 Van's in awe. "Ahh mate where did ya get that from? Bet ya nicked it off security didn't ya? What a legend!"

🎸 The kids immediately burst into cries of "Uncle Larry you're the best!" which is their usual response to seeing him. You all climb on to the hijacked buggy and you have to close your eyes most of the way as Larry swerves through the crowds, almost taking out a group of festival goers with his reckless driving. Only Larry could make travelling in a golf buggy a risky venture.

🎸 The Inhaler boys put on an amazing show and you're having the absolute best time dancing and laughing with your family. Leo is up on your shoulders and Grace is perched on Van's and you and your daughter are screaming out the lyrics at the tops of your lungs.

🎸 "Hold on a minute," Van shouts over the music, pretending to look dismayed. "How come I never hear you singing my music like that Gracie?"

🎸 Grace shakes her head, giggling. "Because your music's full of naughty words and mummy would tell me off if she heard me singing them!"

🎸 By the time the band are ready to go on stage everyone's excitement has reached monumental levels, especially Van who's so full of energy he looks like he's going to pop if he doesn't get out there soon. You've missed seeing him performing, before the kids came along you were always side of stage for shows.

🎸 You make sure the kids' ear defenders are in place just in time for Helter Skelter to blare out and it's a good job as the music's so loud you can feel the bass thrumming through you. Bob, Bondy and Benji give the kids high fives as they walk past and Van gives everyone a big hug and a kiss.

🎸 The crowd erupt into deafening screams, whistles and cheers as the lads emerge on to stage and your heart swells with pride. Even though they've not quite made it to the headline slot yet you know they'll make it one day. You recall watching them play the BBC Introducing Stage back in 2013 when you and Van had just started dating. Now there's tens of thousands of people out there all eager to see them play.

🎸 Leo's squirming around in your arms chanting "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" You have to hold on to him tight or you know he'll be making a break for it and toddling on to stage. Luckily Larry is there next to you to help distract him.

🎸 Grace is having the time of her life, shouting out the lyrics and playing air guitar. She's obviously been watching Van's performances closely as she's got his stage movements down perfectly.

🎸 The boys are playing a blinding set but you can't help worry that Van might lose his focus as he glances over at you regularly throughout. He only messes up the lyrics once during Hourglass but the fans are there to fill in for him and he beams over at you with a look of pure happiness. Hearing the fans singing his lyrics so passionately gets him every time.

🎸 You're a little overcome with emotion yourself, a stray tear escaping which Grace doesn't miss. "Why are you crying mummy, I thought you loved this song?" She throws her arms around your waist, hugging you tightly.

🎸 "That's why I'm crying sweetie," you tell her, stooping down to plant a kiss on her head. "Me and your dad wrote the lyrics together when he was touring a lot and I was missing him. It just reminds me of those days."

🎸 All in all the lads pull off a pretty seamless performance, dropping an atmospheric transition from Glasgow to Rango just as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. The fans are euphoric, the band haven't played Glasgow outside of Scotland in forever.

🎸 By the time the opening bars to Cocoon ring out Leo's fast asleep in his buggy but Grace is still going strong. "Forget it if they talk!" She cries out with gusto and you're thankful for the clean radio edit of her favourite song.

🎸 You and Van had argued many a time about whether Grace should be allowed to swear when singing his songs, Van's stance being that it would show her the importance of only using bad language at appropriate times as she grew up. You weren't happy with his controversial suggestion though. "Van... she's only five... no way!"

🎸 "Thank you Reading, we are Catfish and the Bottlemen, it's been an absolute pleasure!" Van shouts out his farewell line and you're expecting him to turn and walk off stage with the rest of the band but he lingers there, huge grin on his face as he looks over at you.

🎸 "She's probably gonna kill me for saying this but there's a few very special people here to watch the show tonight, Y/N, Grace and Leo!" You stand there in shock, frozen to the spot. This is unprecedented. You look out across the sea of faces in the crowd who are all cheering and going crazy, craning their necks to catch sight of the three people who Van dedicated the band's most recent album to.

🎸 You shrink into the shadows, overcome with embarrassment. Van's right... you are gonna kill him!

🎸 Before you even know what's happening Grace is slipping out from her spot between you and Larry and running on to the stage, arms held out wide as she barrels towards her dad who scoops her up into his arms.

🎸 The collective "AWWWWW!" from the crowd is deafening. A group of girls at the barrier are in floods of tears, recording the touching moment on their phones. Van looks fit to burst with pride as your eyes lock and you think you've just fallen in love with him a little more. Maybe you can forgive him after all.

🎸 Unfortunately Van's momentary lapse in concentration gives Grace the opportunity to grab hold of the microphone. Most kids would probably be overwhelmed at being on stage in front of such a mammoth audience but not your daughter who's inherited an over-confident and wilful streak a mile wide from her dad.

🎸 "Fuck it if they talk!" She croons into the mic, her note-perfect angelic voice ringing out across the stunned crowd. Van's jaw goes slack in shock as he snatches the mic out of her hands and quickly scuttles off stage with her in tow. The fans are going absolutely wild. They didn't even scream this loud when the band first emerged.

🎸 "Shit... am so sorry love, I wasn't expecting that to happen!" He blurts, looking at you sheepishly. Grace is grinning like a Cheshire Cat and the rest of the band are bent over double in fits of laughter. You note Bondy giving your daughter a surreptitious thumbs up.

🎸 It's quite obvious that Van thinks you'll be incensed but you actually think it's hilarious now the shock's fading away. You still manage to glare daggers at him for a few moments just to make him sweat before you break into laughter.

🎸 The next day your daughter's stage debut has gone viral and has practically overshadowed the band's phenomenal performance. It's possible that Catfish's already huge fanbase might have doubled overnight.

🎸 Van's overjoyed. "What did I tell ya love? I always said she had star quality. Takes after her dad ya know!"

#dad van #catb imagines #van mccann #van mccann x reader #au fanfic #vanfic

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tryan-a-bex · 5 months

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Writing patterns meme

Rules: Share the opening of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

From this post by @dancinbutterfly https://www.tumblr.com/dancinbutterfly/735744268412534784?source=share

I'll mull about patterns here because I put the last two after the cut due to warnings. So, about half of them start with dialogue, which is how I started writing--a lot of dialogue, minimal else things. The other half start by getting inside someone's head--internal dialogue, basically, so not that different I guess. Also I try to start with something funny or at least interesting, to hook the reader? I don't know if it works.

Endless Family Trick or Treating

“It’s not a sphere!�� argued Dream, swinging his jack-o’-lantern trick-or-treat bucket against the leg of his vampire costume. “It is a sphere!” insisted Desire, twirling the tail of their demon costume in their hand again. “I learned it in school and it’s round like a ball so it’s a sphere.”

2. Velma Meets the Family

Velma stared at the gently lapping water of the river, leaning her elbows on the railing. The rest of the gang was fast asleep in their motel, but she hadn’t been able to sleep so she’d come outside to think. The water sounds were restful, but her mind refused to stop whirling.

3. Freddy the Robot Vacuum

It was amazing what a person could get used to. Hob had enjoyed his first robot vacuum. It was nice, and not a very difficult adjustment, to get used to the vacuuming being done automatically for him while he was out. The little phone app notifications were cute, and he was only human so he anthropomorphized his vacuum, naming it Freddy. Getting used to the anthropomorphic personification of dreams hanging around in his flat… took a bit more time.

4. Life is but a Dream

Rose put her head down on the desk. Why? Why would the words come in the middle of the night, and never when she had her laptop out and on? She’d even tried writing her thoughts down, but found that she actually couldn’t make out her sleepy handwriting in the morning. She looked at the tumblr icon on her desktop, sighed, and got up to get a cup of tea instead. That would be a shorter distraction. Probably.

5. Death is not easy to cheat

Unity poured tea in both cups and sat down across from Rose, pushing the plate of cookies toward her. “How are you doing, dear? You look tired.” “Oh, Unity! It’s been so stressful lately! I can’t seem to think of the right words when I sit down to work on my novel, but then they keep me awake in the middle of the night, you know? And during the day Lyta is either freaking out about Daniel being with Uncle Morpheus and Hob, or freaking out about him being so white and growing up so fast.

6. Trials of a Shapeshifter in Love

“Lucienne has been working so hard lately,” Gault explained to the Dream King’s head cook. “I’d like to do something nice for her. I was thinking a surprise romantic dinner over candlelight in the library.” “Ah, yes, I think she would appreciate that very much.” They put their heads together to plan the meal when suddenly Gault heard a familiar voice from the hallway. “So, what have you already tried?” Lucienne asked. “Hell, all the normal plunging and clawing didn’t fucking fix the goddamned blockage, and it’s a fucking hassle taking the whole damned drain apart all the way back into the fucking wall.”

7. Naga No-Go

“Lucienne.” Lucienne’s head popped up from the book she was studying. Lord Morpheus’ summons sounded just a little bit more… strained than usual. She turned her head, using her raven senses to triangulate the direction of the summons. His chambers??? This… could not be good.

8. Which Witch (Okay I'm cheating here because this isn't published yet. but if you want more, let me know and I'll post it on ao3 or send you a link.)

“You can’t just come in here without a warrant.” The cantankerous old witch put her hands on her hips and stood squarely in the doorway. Eldie sighed and rubbed the shaved hair at the nape of her neck. “Please let me come in, ma’am. Your daughter hired me to clean and cook and help you out, and I can’t help if you don’t let me in.” “I don’t need help, you shameless hussy! Who does she think she is, that gossiping busy-body! I’m fine here by myself. You can go now!”

Okay, under the cut are mentions of spiders, and non-con body horror. (The fic is not bad, the backstory from canon is, and that's where I started.)

9. Arachnophilia (mentions of spiders)

Zelda stared down at the cafeteria mac and cheese on her plate. The only thing appetizing about the middle school cafeteria food was that her mother wasn’t glaring at her and criticizing how she did or didn’t eat it. Instead, everyone ignored her, tucked into a corner. She would feel hurt about being shunned if she had any desire at all to interact with the other children. She didn’t. She closed her eyes and shoved a forkful into her mouth, thinking about her science project to distract herself from the taste. Spider webs were actually incredibly strong for the size of the filament, and they came in such an extraordinary variety of shapes and sizes. She couldn’t wait to get back to the library for more research. She opened her eyes as she swallowed, scooping up more food and quickly scanning the room.

10. The Order of the Knights of the Dreaming (the actual fic I wrote is pretty sweet without much actual violence, but Alice's backstory from InCryptids is intense, so skip this next paragraph if you don't like mentions of non-con and body horror)

Alice closed her eyes and felt her memories and skin being ripped from her once again. It hadn’t actually been like that. In real life, she hadn’t figured out her memories were being adjusted for years, and she’d undergone the flensing willingly. But once she learned that her mind had been altered without her knowledge and that removing her skin had not been necessary but was done for the profit of her “uncle,” well, the nightmares about being violated had been unceasing.

If you made it this far, congratulations, consider yourself no-pressure tagged!

#I will love you forever if you reblog this for me #sandman fanfic #original fiction #sandman crossover #first line tag game #tryana find it back

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frracturedjaw · 2 years

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hi! I'm super excited to see a new slasher writing blog! :D do you think you could write just something fluff/comfort with Vincent taking his mask off in front of his s/o for the first time? thank you!! ♥♥

baby steps (vincent sinclair + reader)

🔉so my darling (acoustic) - rachel chinouriri

summary: vincent is learning to be comfortable in his own skin with reader's help.

warning(s): none

an: house of wax anons coming out of the woodwork... ily, thank u for the request :)

as much as Vincent wants this, the idea still makes him nervous. he knows you'd never pressure him to take the mask off, you have more grace than that. and patience. god, you are so patient with him. it only makes him feel all the more guilty that he's taking his time with this. he can only try to reassure himself that you understand, maybe not entirely, but enough.

you keep your eyes shut -- just like you promised -- when he opens the bedroom door. light from the hallway illuminates the familiar shape of your body, one he'd lovingly memorized. now he would allow you the same privilege.

you feel the bed dip and creak as he crawls in beside you. his eyes adjust to the darkness quickly, your silhouette turning to face him. your legs curl around his as they usually do when he settles into bed. then, your hand splays over his chest. it's bare now. having shed his thick sweater, he permits your hands on his body.

Vincent finds himself suffocatingly aware of how utterly exposed he feels. even in the privacy of his own home, his own room, under the blanket of his own bed, he feels a thousand eyes on him. even when the only ones watching are his own.

"you okay, Vinny? you heart's beating a mile a minute." you whisper. he hums affirmatively, just a little too quickly to be convincing. "we can stop if you want. I don't wanna push--" his fingertips press against your lips, and he murmurs a 'no'. "alright, then." you acquiesce, pressing a kiss against his open hand, which curls to cup your jaw.

your hands continue across his collarbones, the delicate pads of your fingers flat against his skin. the darkness is thick and all-encompassing, and you can't tell much difference if your eyes are open or shut. Vincent knows you can't see him, but his heart thrums insistently nonetheless.

"you've got freckles?" it's more a statement than a question. Vincent hums again, unsure of how to respond. your fingertips rub gently across his shoulders, as if there was something written there. "you're so goddamn beautiful, Vince. I'm falling in love with you all over again." he feels heat rising in his skin, taking an intentional deep breath. he reminds himself that this is only a small step. he can stop whenever he wants. you'd understand. you'd understand. "you talk about yourself like you're a tragedy. I'll never understand you in that sense, I guess."

"sorry." if you weren't so close, you wouldn't have heard him. his voice is a hushed rasp, and his breath tickles your face. he can just barely see your lips pull back in a reassuring smile.

"aw, Vincent. I don't mean it like that. it makes sense, why you think the way you do. I just don't think I could ever see you as anything but pretty."

"...pretty?"

"yeah, pretty. gorgeous. divine, even. you remind me of an angel, Vince."

"Mmh." he mulls the words over in his head, allowing your hands to slide up his neck. he's never felt anything as pleasant as the way your fingers glide over the base of his skull, carding through his unkempt hair and raising goosebumps in their wake.

Momma never called him ugly. he'd been called names in the schoolyard, but nobody that mattered to him had told him there was anything wrong with the way he looked.

it was always implied, though.

"this is your face, now, Vincent. we're gonna take good care of our face, right?" she'd told him, pressing the edge of the mask down against his hairline. he never saw Momma scared (until the end), but he recognized the shrill note of horror in her voice whenever she caught him without it. the way their father would bring him into the office to gaze intently at the whorled flesh under lamplight, a persistent frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. he'd always say something under his breath before sending Vincent away. he learned that what laid beneath the mask was not his face. it was a mistake. like how broken arms and facedown paintings are mistakes. they can get fixed, but are never quite the same as how they should be. a tragedy, he thought.

your nails scratch gently at his scalp, occasionally drifting down the length of his hair. his breathing deepens, and his eyes fall shut. the rise and fall of cicada song is pleasantly loud, the sound filling his mind and leaving no more room for memories.

"can I touch you, Vincent?" your lips brush against his skin when you speak again. every inch of you -- as much as possible, anyways -- is already pressed against him. he can feel your pulse in his fingertips, the flow of his breathing matches yours. you may as well be tangled into one person. but his face was different. like it was separate from the rest of himself. in the bed was you, Vincent, and his face. you notice his apprehension. "I'll wait as long as you need."

you're about to tuck your head beneath his chin just as you always do before sleep when he leans into your hand. your fingers graze smooth ridges of scar tissue. you gaze up at him in the dark, blindly searching for some reaction, some reassurance that this is what he wants. he doesn't move to stop you when your hand moves lower. two fingers trace between his eyebrows, along the bridge of his nose. you find the dip of his cupid's bow, fingers passing over soft lips before settling against his cheek. your other hand rises to cup his face.

"hi." he mumbles and you feel a small smile spread over his features. a giggle slips out of you, and he catches it. the bed wobbles with shared laughter.

"hey," you reply, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. your hands explore his entire face, his hands resting loosely at your forearms. he can feel every ridge of your fingerprints on the sensitive half of his face. it tingles strangely. he himself never really touches it. "thank you for letting me... y'know."

he doesn't respond, only nuzzling into your hands further. his eyelashes tickle against your skin as he lays butterfly kisses across your palms. for once, he finds himself lavishing in the attention instead of shrinking from it.

"I love you," he rasps.

"I'm glad I get to love you back."

#slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher fanfiction #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #house of wax

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