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writing-in-april · 3 years

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The Key

Llewyn Davis x Female Reader

Summary: Reader gives Llewyn a special gift on Valentine’s Day

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day guys (especially to @spencers-dria) This is for @aellynera and is for the Valentine’s Day fic exchange organized by the lovely @sergeantkane!!! Thanks for organizing this I love fic swaps!! This is the first time I’ve ever written for Llewyn so fingers crossed lmao 😂 Also consider this a bonus for my 1000 follower celebration! The other fic will be out later tonight! Thanks for reading and requests are open!

Warnings: uhhh- just one sexual innuendo- I think that’s it!

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.5k

I set a package on my coffee table, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand wrapped in matte red wrapping paper. It was the last stop in a series of clues I had laid out for Llewyn on Valentine’s Day.

After I was satisfied with the placement of everything around my apartment I sat at my kitchen table waiting patiently with a cup of coffee for Llewyn to wake up. The early morning light started to beam its way through my curtains as I sipped on the steaming liquid and thought about how we had gotten to this point.

When I spotted a man sitting outside in the blistering cold last winter with not nearly enough layers to combat the weather I had to reach out to help. I had known that if I had left him there there was a high chance he would’ve died from exposure that night from how much it had dropped in temperature.

I remembered how tired he looked, almost like it was yesterday. I remembered basically working all night to unthaw him, even though I didn't even know his name. After I had learned a little about Llewyn after his lips were no longer blue I immediately offered my apartment as a place of rest for him.

It took months of convincing him that he was not a burden to get him to stay at my apartment on a more permanent basis. He still wouldn’t totally accept the help I had been giving for a long time. He wouldn’t even sleep in the guest bedroom I had in the apartment and insisted on sleeping on the couch. I had decided at the time that I had lost that battle with him and let him sleep on my lumpy couch, at least he wasn’t out in the cold.

I couldn’t tell anyone when exactly the relationship between the two of us shifted to something more. But, I could remember the night I had decided to act on my feelings that had been brewing for quite some time. I remembered it like it was yesterday too, it was one of the days Llewyn was being stubborn about accepting help from me. The only reason he had come over that night was because there were no other couches available for him to sleep on, and the rain outside had been far too heavy for him to justify sleeping in the cold again. He came to my place with a hesitant knock as if he was afraid I would refuse him, even though I had never done it before.

I wanted to berate him for not coming to me first and letting himself potentially get sick from walking in the rain house to house. It had reminded me too much of the first day I had found him in the cold, lips blue and practically inches from death.

Llewyn traipsing in from my bedroom broke me out of my reminiscing. He looked so good in the mornings, with his curls wild from last night’s activities and only a pair of boxers slung around his hips.

“Good Morning, Angel.” His deep voice in the morning sent shivers down your spine, in a good way.

I repeated the pleasantry back to him while he leaned forward to kiss my forehead, then asking him, “Do you know what today is?”

“No? Did I miss something important” He looked frantic, running his hands through his messy inky curls and scratching his scruff awkwardly.

“It’s Valentine’s Day.” I wasn’t surprised that he had forgotten the holiday, he hadn’t had someone properly take care of him in so long.

“Oh… I don't-“ He started to stammer before I cut him off with some reassurance.

“Don’t say sorry for not being able to get me anything, we’ve talked about this.” His shoulders slumped forward at my words, looking a little sad. Though I had assured him many times that the fact that he couldn’t shower me with gifts didn’t bother me and that I just wanted him he still couldn’t help but feel bad. I leaned up from my chair and pressed my own kiss to his forehead, stopping a moment to inhale his scent before continuing, “Angel, I just want to treat you today. There’s no need to apologize for something that’s out of your control and I don’t need anything I just want you.”

“I don't need anything either.” He immediately rebutted, causing me to sigh a little and bring my hand up to stroke his beautiful hair. “You might not need these things, but I want to give them to you.”

“Ok…”

His confirmation had me immediately hopping up from my chair and giving him instructions to find all of his gifts. I had decided to do a small little scavenger hunt, hiding all the gifts in what seemed to be plain sight. Everytime he got a little bit closer to one I’d tell him whether he was warm or cold.

“Cold.” I giggled out when he started to become convinced that I had hidden something in one of my flower pots. He fake sighed in annoyance, he had already found the first gift, which was easy to find. It had been hidden in the cabinet and was fancy ground coffee that I knew he’d love whenever he needed a pick me up in the morning.

“Warm.” I said as he was making his way over to the loveseat that sat in the corner. He looked around the area for a while until he actually sat in the chair, which coincidentally was where the gift was hidden. “Hot, you are piping hot!”

He laughed a little and finally rooted around the love seat to try and find where I had hidden the gift. Once he finally found the gift that was underneath the seat he immediately opened the box, which held a new coat and a new pair of boots. I could tell that he knew they were expensive, way more so than the coffee.

“Thank you, I’m s-

“Nope! Remember no sorry’s!” I cut him off and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “Now onto your last gift!”

He stood up to go hunting for the last gift, but not before pressing a bruising kiss to my lips and thanking me for the first two presents a few more times. I slapped his ass after a minute and told him to hurry up so he could have his morning cup of joe before I had to go to work, which prompted him to start looking for the last gift.

“Hot.” I spoke simply as he walked over to the coffee table. He was much quicker at finding this gift compared to the last.

When he finally reached the coffee table where the last gift was I could tell he wanted to insist that he didn’t need anything else. But, instead of letting him say it I reassured him again before asking him to open the red wrapped gift.

He tore the paper gently as if he didn’t want to ruin the paper even though it was just plain wrapping, he was always so gentle. Uncovering the small black box that held his surprise made his hands shake a little, I knew he thought this would be another gift that he would feel he didn’t deserve. But, in my opinion this gift was a long time coming.

When he opened the box he gasped once he realized what the little black box held, a shiny silver key. One that matched the key I used to get into the apartment. There was a key that Llewyn already used when he wanted to come over and I wasn’t home, one that was hidden above my door frame. This held a different meaning though, by the look on Llewyn’s face and the tears in his eyes he knew what it meant too. He enveloped me into a suffocating hug that I’d never dream of wanting to escape, burying his face into my shoulder and dampening my shirt with the tears.

We just stood in silence in our embrace for a few minutes before I spoke softly while rubbing his back, “This is my apartment, but I want it to be yours too.”

“Why?” His question was muffled into my shoulder, but I could still hear the shakiness in his voice.

“You know why.” The hidden meaning in my words weren’t lost to Llewyn, he knew exactly what I was saying. We had never spoken the words out loud to each other, only dancing around what we both knew was true. I knew Llewyn was scared, even though I had never done anything to hurt him so many people had done so in the past. So, I didn’t mind waiting to confess my love to him, just as long as he knew how much I cared about him.

“I love you.” He spoke meekly as if after all of this, he was still instinctively afraid of rejection. I’d make sure to never give Llewyn more reasons to fear love, I would love him back with all my heart. I pressed a chaste kiss onto his lips before making sure to return the sentiment,

“I know, I love you too.” And, I knew that he’d use his new key too.

——

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin

Llewyn Davis:

#llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis #valentine’s fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #1000 follower celebration #1000 followers

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noxtms · 3 years

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MARCH 15TH, 2021. it’s two days before the planned st patrick’s day parade ( and evening celebrations ), and the spring festival is in full swing. the joint events have been as huge a success as they always have been : local business has boomed, and to those that care, it’s a pity that arcanum wasn’t back up and running in time to cash in like so many other stores had.

the building that had once been both life’s work & ancestral home of the trelawney’s had lay empty for the best part of two decades, and unfortunately, it showed. structurally sound though it was, near everything within required replacing - be it from water damage caused by several large holes found in the roof or destruction that had been caused by the innumerous break-ins over the years. magic could only go so far, especially when one was working alone. since the purchase of the building had gone through the month before, sybill had taken to apparating to london each weekend, working room by room. a vinyl of celestina warbeck’s greatest hits played loudly from a vintage turntable was her only company as she bustled throughout the building, early morning to darkest evening. it was slow going, and the work had grown monotonous, over time - but she had never expected anything else.

the fifth floor - containing two mirrored bedrooms sybill intended to invite cassia & oriana to personalize - was the first finished. she was making her way top to bottom, slowed even more by the onslaught that was memory. this was the birthplace of cassandra trelawney, the originator of their family status. this was where sybill had spent formative years, walking thin corridors, climbing spindly stairs, learning to read tea leaves at a shaky table in a now dusty kitchen, recording her dreams in a leather bound notebook she had kept on bedside cabinet in the room she had now reclaimed. this was home, and she had been gone from it for far too long.

the lower shop level would be the last to be tackled, working as she was, and so, the bell above the main entrance remained broken. this would join the long list of things to be blamed for why sybill did not hear anyone approaching - scrawled somewhere between the loud record that they’ll find scratching at it’s end & the happy crowd beyond grubby windows that did not remain so, for long. the truth is that when the ministry finds sybill, they’ll only be able to make a guess at what truly happened.

they will theorize that it was unlikely she had any forewarning ( a uniquely ironic phrase, given the woman’s status as a debated seer ). she probably knew her attacker, though it’s hard to say - there is no sign of struggle, and the killing curse does not leave a mark. even if she had realized in time to have a defensive instinct, her wand - nine and a half inch hazel, with a unicorn tail hair core - was found on the floor above her, resting on a rickety coffee table and so very far from reach. they will say she died before it happened, and there’s no reason to think that she felt any pain, or that the situations were connected.

the formal report will lodged by overworked aurors some hours later will not have certain details. there is no witness to the woman with wild hair & hooded eyes, nor her two companions, who apparated into the lane behind the building and entered through unlocked door. no one saw her look of fear, when throat cleared behind her & she turned on heel to see them looming in the doorway. there was no need for a silencing charm. sybill, unable to understand the position she was in, never called for help. bellatrix wasn’t there to interrogate her, and thus, didn’t give her much of a chance, anyway. their time together was short & sweet. the green light went unnoticed, and the loose cannon that was a seer with potential to urge foes in right direction against them was taken off of the playing field, with ease. conspiracy theorists in the future, inclined to look that bit deeper, may get a closer approximation of the truth than those aurors ever did.

but then again : it wasn’t their first priority.

it was such a lovely day. the sun, not quite beating down upon the heads of everyone bustling through the alley, still shone with more strength than it had all winter. the lack of brisk breeze made even the long shadows cast by mismatched buildings almost warm. the wwn predicted rain later that evening, and mothers ushering their children along stole glances every now and again towards the sky, waiting to see the telltale sign of dark clouds rolling in.

the first indication that anyone has to something being truly amiss was actually the sharp drop to the temperature, and the rolling fog that fell over them all, thick enough to hide anyone - and anything - more than a few feet away. thick enough to blot out the sun. the shadows grew longer. they stretched outwards. when the first scream pierces the air, only those nearest are able to see what’s causing those notes of fear.

it doesn’t take more than a moment for everyone else to realize. as the alley explodes into pandemonium, the dementors descend onto them all.

ROUNDUP OF INITIAL FATALITIES & INJURIES ( AS OF THIS DROP ):

sybill trelawney is very, very dead. as brutal as this’ll sound - that isn’t very relevant to this plot drop as a whole, so don’t worry about it ! she’s not.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

rather than transition the on dash event threads towards this plot drop, we’re going to do things a little differently with everyone’s current needs in mind. on dash will remain the period of time that is the start of the month through to the 15th ( which will make things a little less intensive as we begin the next part of the ooc noxtms ~ celebrations ~ ). off dash, and on the discord, several channels covering a number of businesses have been established. they each have a character cap of seven to make things less confusing, and can be used for plot drop rping !

as always with a plot drop of this nature, the discord announcement will include the allowance for injurys. there’s a smaller cap on these than usual, since the dementors themselves are sort of .... 0 - 100, and the injuries themselves will have to be discussed as happening in the chaos rather than from the dementors. that is, unless you uhhh ... really want your character to get a little kiss kiss ! that can be arranged !

the galleon system list has also been updated and now includes a reward of 250 galleons ( per character it’s completed for ) for a 250 word minimum drabble / self para, written with the patronus charm & it’s much-needed usage during this plot drop in mind. if this were english class, the prompt would probably be something to the effect of : write a detailed description of your characters happy memory, or what their experience is about to be, conjuring their patronus in this specific situation. you have a LOT of freedom on it, and can write it in any way you see fit. please feel free to use the tag nox.task on any posted to the dash !

there was never any intention of having a st patrick’s parade / party event. sorry for bamboozling you all, but i think it’s safe to say that after this disastrous ides of march, those events will have been cancelled ! once you’ve read this post, please give it a little like !

#nox.plotdrop009 #nox.important #nox.event013 #hehe #i mean.#rip!

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luobingmeis · 3 years

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I think Undyne's determination has less to do with like something that happened in the past and more like the overlap between determination as an actual physical thing VS a spiritual thing. Whereas the amalgamates were injected with determination by Alphys, Undyne makes her OWN. You've killed her best friend. You're going to kill the love of her life. You're going to kill her mentor. You're going to kill everyone. You've killed HER. But she still has to stop you. Everyone is counting on her 1/2

Undyne's whole motif is letting the monsters of the Underground achieve their hopes and dreams. Theres a reason she is the boss fight in Waterfall, the most backstory rich area in the game. Hope and dreams have just as much weight as determination does, its what helps you defeat Asriel. And Undyne the Undying's design mimics Asriel's because in Genocide SHE is the heroine, SHE is the determined hero that defies death in order to save everyone she loves via the hopes and dreams of everyone (2/2)

Sorry I just really fucking love Undyne Undertale fhfhfndkdk she willingly letting herself be used in an experiment to help her people is Very Good tho too hmmmm

!!!!

sorry ur abt to get a whole essay i love undertale so much.........

(also i use a lot of !!! for emphasis, not bc i’m yelling omg)

(also i’m letting you know this is an incoherent mess, it is 2am here akjsdkjsdjk)

but you can definitely be right!!!! tbh your idea seems much more par for the course than the spaghetti im throwing at the wall

even then, though, it’s stll so interesting bc like!!!! undyne’s courage is undeniable, and her fight to protect the underground plays Such a huge role in her whole waterfall arc. and, in the spiritual sense, she is absolutely determined!! that just makes me WONDER though bc, like, canonically, monsters Are Not determined! they don’t have that threshold!

and then, in looking at determination in the spiritual sense, what exactly makes undyne different? is it that her desire to live and protect the underground unlocks that threshold needed for determination? at one point, could monsters be determined, but then their millennia trapped underground biologically/psychologically stripped them of that? so then could any monster in the underground, when facing high enough stakes, have that determination? or is it just undyne?

bc then i think about the other bosses in either route, like papyrus, mettaton, asgore, sans. where undyne is the monster/boss capable of possessing determination, sans is probably the one least likely to have any threshold for determination (this is bc his entire boss fight is him realizing he can no longer be an observer, he is literally the last line of defense between chara and the annihilation of all monsters). mettaton is complicated bc as a napstablook turned corporeal, i dont even know where to BEGIN with him. but then there’s papyrus and!! it feels like he should be capable of feeling determined. in both the pacifist and genocide route, he is so assured that the human has some internal goodness. while, in the genocide route, that hope could be translated to fear, that still makes me wonder: under what circumstances could a monster’s determination be unlocked? is it not solely life or death? does it require some ulterior motives (aka undyne’s whole character being protecting the underground)? and like!!! it’s just so fun to think about bc, say it is undyne’s spiritual determination being unlocked, it’s so interesting that she’s the one differentiated!! that even papyrus, a character brimming with good and happiness and love, doesn’t have that determination, but undyne, who has a similar type of passion and goodness within her, does!!!

with experiment undyne, i will admit my theory is very much uhh wild! and unhinged! and, while my theory is much more playing in the “what if’s” of the science of artificial determination, it still makes me wonder! especially in the boss fight herself. ever since i first saw her genocide boss fight, i’ve always been a bit fixated on her eye, specifically the one w/ the eye-patch that eventually seems to have Some type of arrow power. while this definitely could have just been A Design Choice (and one i stand by!!), undertale is a game that reveals its complete lore when the pacifist and genocide route are put together. thus, in a hypothetical situation, i don’t think it would be out of the question that undyne’s eye could still Do that even in a pacifist route.

but even then, there are holes to poke! such as why doesn’t she use it? if undyne has been injected with artificial determination, why is she, frankly, normal until it’s a matter of life and death?

(to cut to the punchline before i get into my bullshit: i think it’s bc, at first, it seemed as if the artificial determination just Didn’t Work and had no affect, when in reality it needed to be met with spiritual determination as well)

and, again, i know i’m playing with a lot of hypotheticals right now, and mostly this is me just kinda fun bullshit theorizing, but i think it could have something to do with the fact that she has the threshold for spiritual determination! the reason i even think that she would offer herself up to determination experimentation is bc of the loyalty and love she has for asgore and the underground. i would argue that she is just as invested in asgore’s plan as asgore himself is, and she obviously sees him as some type of father-figure. so that alone gives her this Drive to do whatever it takes for the underground to survive.

so, therefore, i think in regards to this hypothetical experiment undyne, i think it quite literally is that spiritual determination threshold combined with artificial determination

and for that, i quickly want to talk abt the amalgamates and why they tie into this:

the timeline: corpses/souls injected with determination --> no reaction --> corpses wake up and act normal --> ??? happens --> (quickly leads to) amalgamates

and so then that once again raises the question: what differentiates undyne?

i think, for that, we then have to consider another question: if most monsters do not have the physical determination to continue living after death, can that determination be given when they’re already dead? monsters in general already have no threshold for determination, so can that be artificially made if it never existed in the first place?

bc while alphys’s experiment, iirc, was to see what happened when a soul was injected with determination, i think the other much needed question is if monster souls could even Handle determination

and, while we do not know specifically what went wrong with the amalgamates (aka like How did they melt together), we do know that their physical forms really were not able to handle the artificial determination, imo most likely bc they do not even have a threshold for spiritual determination

but undyne is, as you have noted, different!

so, frankly, i think you’re right! i think undyne does have an inherent spiritual determination. it’s uncommon in monsters, but her want to save the world is enough to leave her determined

however, i think That would have just been enough to keep her alive

i think it’s artificial determination that gave her that final form! to reference back to the amalgamates, they were all creatures whose powers we had seen before, but different now and, specifically, more powerful. that very same thing could be said for undyne! her powers are, essentially, things we have seen before, but fucking to Max Intensity

AND THEN!! AND THEN!!!!!

when you do kill heroine undyne, she doesn’t turn to dust first

she melts first, and then turns to dust!!!!!

and, honestly, it’s that small detail that sent me down this rabbit hole, bc the only ever time we’ve seen monsters melted together are the amalgamates!

i think the main difference between heroine undyne and the amalgamates is the fact that undyne, at first, had No Reaction to the determination at first bc, since she most likely already had this secret threshold for spiritual determination, it wasn’t the Biggest of changes. it wouldn’t have had such a drastic reaction on her physical form bc, even if she didn’t know it yet, it wasn’t an entirely foreign substance

the amalgamates, however, aka monsters who had no spiritual determination, could only handle the artificial determination for an unknown amount of time before their bodies began rejecting the chemicals and becoming..... that

of course, then, this leaves me with even more questions, such as could undyne sustain this final form? would her body eventually give out, overcome by determination? was this form only meant for life or death situations?

and uhhh i think this is the end!! if you made it this far and are thinking to urself “damn you’re really an english major when you write like this?? this isn’t even comprehensible” do not fret!! i know this theory is kinda a shitshow, and it’s one of those things where i can keep myself up all night thinking abt this and talking myself in circles bc there are some points that i think have strengths and other points that are probably pretty weak

basically though!! i see the connection between artificial determination and undyne through the fact that her form actually changes, the reveal of her legit power eye, the way her attacks have been altered, and the fact that she melts at the end (akin to the amalgamates’ appearances) before poofing into dust

this has been,,,, a shitshow i am so sorry i hope this was at least somewhat understandable ajkdsjkdsjk

#this is why i cant talk abt undertale past 9pm #bc then my brain just goes brrrr as i write bullshit for 40 minutes #answered #ember360

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onthemeander · 5 years

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A thousand thanks to Psionicsnow for the prompt. It was fun to write such a soft and subtle story. Very sweet and innocent.

Interested in getting your prompt written? Check me out!

Fresh Cut Grass

Everything hurt. Every organ, muscle, bones, joints, cell, and atom felt like it was smothered in gasoline and set ablaze in a tire fire. Her soul was cracked and broken and shattered and she couldn’t scavenge a single iota of energy to try and collect the shards. Instead, her tears carried them away on a wave of sadness rolling down her cheeks. All of it was let loose, laying across the floors and couch of her apartment as she cried.

Moose laid on her legs, pinning them with his warm wrinkly body while watching her with his watery eyes. She clutched the couch cushion to her chest, curling up as tight as possible without kicking her poor basset hound from his perch. Her eyes were burning and swollen as the tears pooled into a large stain across the cushion. Her sobbing was raw, a baser aching sound from her vocal cords that rang in her ears. The silence of her apartment making every sound amplified.

Suddenly, there was a solid knock at her front door. The sound was paired with a taut but gentle voice calling out her name. Moose sat up, ears perked towards the door, tail wagging and starting to pant in excitement. She heard her neighbor insert his copy of her apartment key into the lock. Tentatively the door opened, just enough for her blonde headed attractive neighbor to pop in. His light blue eyes widened as he slipped in through the threshold. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Steve. I’m… sorry. Please-“ She gasped out, trying to wave him away while rolling to her side, Pressing her face into the back for her couch. She pressed in as close as possible to he back cushions to quiet her sobs. Her door lock clicked into place, his sneakers squeaked as he quickly crossed her wood floors in only four steps. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell the light was dimming around her as his shadow came over her.

The scent of fresh cut grass, leather and musk wafted off of him. It changed the air altogether, making the stale stagnant sadness that clung all of them be washed into a soothing balm. The combination was so comforting that she started to breathe deeply for the first time since she started crying. The iron grip around her lungs slightly loosen, the sudden freedom set its muscles on fire requiring more cooling air to ease the ache.

A large calloused hand was soothing placed atop the crown of her head. A large warm wight that grounded her racing mind. Her head was manipulated, picked up just long enough for the sound of shuffling to happen. After several seconds, he had placed a rather warm and firm pillow under her head. The smell of grass was stronger now but the pillow felt weird. It was just a bit too stiff like there was a firm structure deep within its batting. Confused, she opens one of her eyes just long enough to realize that her pillow was his lap.

Even with the surprise, she couldn’t stop the tears, forced to close them again as another fit of hiccups broke out. Steve just sat there, still and calm, silently running his broad fingers through her tresses. Her hands, which had been cushioning her head, now gripped large chunks of his old t-shirt between her fingers. Time was suspended as they sat there.

Slowly she felt just enough energy come back to here where she could actually form words. “I’m… I’m sorry. I just…” her voice made a disgustingly wet gurgling noise, cut off by a full body sob. She was sure there were large tear stains cross his right pant leg. Steve said nothing, just rubbed circles into her scalp and random shapes into her back. Moose wined either upset by everything or simply hungry.

She was slowly coming down from the terrifying height of her crying. It felt like it took an eternity and all it shoved into a single second. Everything that was wavy and faded began to come back into focus as the tears slowed. her breathing haltingly leveled out allowing her own lungs to reach her nose, no longer having to be shoved through her mouth.

His sweatpants-clad thighs were burningly sturdy under her temple, as a set of rolled electric blankets, soothing the pulsing ache that had made its home there. Though he was dressed from the gym he was freshly washed, smelling of citrus, herbs and earthy woods. Like he took his run through a springtime forest, dashing through citrus trees, sage bushes and the fresh waters of some nirvanic stream. “Do you want to talk about it?” She could feel his stomach expands against the back of her head as he spoke. A sturdy constant rhythm she could align her own erratic sobbing gasps too.

She couldn’t, not right now, maybe when things were not as raw. “No. I’m sorry but not really.” Moose whined at their feet, his stubby wrinkly front feet prompting him up against the cushion seat. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes, refusing to look anywhere other than the pattern of the sun streaming through the window panes.

Steve remained quiet, supporting her in so many ways, simply breathing and being there. Stroking random shapes into her scalp with his broad callous fingers, his short nails feeling hypnotically heavenly against her pulsing headache.

Her sleeve was already covered in snot, which made her stomach cramp in embarrassment. Steve either didn’t notice or care as I magically materialized a tissue for her to use. “You must think I am ridiculous.”

“No,” His voice sounding so strong and clear, “we all have our times when we need to let everything go.” He kept handing her tissues not one complaining as her nose loudly honked as she blew it. Finally, the last tears rolled down her check.

Giving one last bone achingly deep sigh she rolled onto her back looking up at his handsome face. His hair was wet, starting to curl in the summer humidity. The light bounced softly off his jawline, freshly shaved and washed. Every bid the perfect all-American man that he was partially famous for. She probably looked a mess next to this Adonis yet the look in his eyes was one of pure reverence.

“Okay, I’m good. I’m sorry but I’m fine,” She said, proud of herself for only sniffing once. He had a soft closed mouth smile for her. “So why did you come over Steve? Did you need something?” Finally getting the energy she sat up, head slightly throbbing at the movement. Moose hopped down, woofing slightly in discontent at being forced to leave his perch. Steve let her sit up but kept close by, constantly keeping contact between them.

“Uhhh… No,” His face became a little ruddy, “actually I heard you from my apartment and was concerned.” She flinched at that, pulling into a tight ball, embarrassed and unable to keep touching him. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I’m sorry you had to come over like that.” He, however, seemed to have other ideas. With a gentle insistence, having her lean against his chest, tucking her head under his jaw. Moose was wagging his tail excitedly looking up at them as she had her head protectively tucked into the neck of the super soldier.

“No, No, it’s okay.” He comforted, voice rumbling so close to her ears. Everything was so close and homey. “I want to make sure you are okay. I want to be there for you when you need someone.” His cologne was centralized right above his collar bone, a buttery warm spiced musk that she could stop from greedily inhaling.

They sat there, simply breathing within each other’s space. The air was heated and electric, sparking all of her nerve endings just being in that place. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the warmth, which was better than any blanket. She was content, ready to milk the moment and etch the memory into her mind permanently. Just below her palm, she could feel the bold beating of Steve’s heart.

Gently he urged her to turn to look directly at him. His eyes were positively sparkling, the color of a pair of Blue Morpho Butterfly wings with the sun streaming through. Every edge around him was softened, a far cry from the hardened edges sculpted into every soldier and hero’s being. “I care about you, you are special to me.”

“I… I umm… I… same?” Oh god, her heart was shoved so tight in throat she wasn’t able to even phrase a response. I’m sorry just started to pour out of her mouth, her skin burning surely as hot and red as a chili pepper. Steve’s eyebrows rose in an almost comically high pose as he held in a soft laugh. His teeth were white and perfectly aligned, putting Arlington to shame, as he lost out to the urge not to chuckle. His cheeks were red as well, flushed and glowing with so much life.

“May I kiss you?” He asked, his voice husky in it’s whispered tone. Her words were caged like a wild pacing tiger in her throat. She just leaned in, hoping that was yes enough. His hands were enormous, cupping her cheek, and tickling the sensitive skin behind her ear. His aftershave clinging to his freshly shaved face, deep smoky burning that warmed her like the comforting feeling of the first summer campfire with family.

His lips were as bold and gentlemanly as the rest of him. Every touch of their chaste lips was treated like a soft and sacred act. A sentiment left from a bygone era, something to be cherished. He took no advances, treating kissing, not like a lead up to the main event but the main event itself.

The fresh cut grass smell filled every one of her inhales. Sparking memories of rolling down hills as a kid and jumping through sprinklers as they watered lawns. It mixed with the minty taste in her mouth leaving her energized and joyous. She ran her fingers up his arm, tucking them just under the cuff of his t-shirt, feeling the curve of his bulging biceps. He wrapped his large arms around her waist, resting them comfortably just above her hips.

The kisses became shorter, less afraid of them ending all together they simply basked at the moment. They shared soft giggles and gasps between kisses, all the joy, and excitement had to come out in any way possible. There were little moments of teeth clashing together, noses smooshing into each other and complete misses that resulted in lips on chins that made everything even more perfect and real. Movies kisses were so sterile, they didn’t prepare you for the true joy of the little mess ups that made it even more exciting.

Pulling away slowly they relaxed in each other’s space. They were breathing each other’s air and enjoying the look of each other’s flushed face. Steve’s hands stroked along her flanks, tickling ever so slightly. His lips were swollen and pink, becoming even redder as he chewed on it. He seemed almost nervous. All she could do was watch as those perfectly white straight teeth peeked out from his lush lips. Looking up she noticed his cornflower colored eyes pinning her with a determined stare.

“Would you like to go on a date with me tonight?” His voice, usually so bold was reduced to a tender whisper. Her breath caught in her throat, the thudding in her chest increased. He cupped her hands between his own, they almost disappear beneath the wide expanse of his palms. Her cheeks ached with the sudden strain of how wide her smile was. Tears threaten to fall again, but the pain was thankfully not accompanying it this time.

“Yes.”

#marvel #fic commission #captain america #steve rodgers x reader #fanfiction community

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melchixr · 6 years

Text

The Color Green

@imtrashandimproud said: I REALLY LOVE YOUR FANFICTION OF MELCHIOR AND MORITZ BEING SOUL MATES! PLEASE GIVE US MORE!

So here’s a “you’re colorblind until you meet your soulmate” and a “private school” au all in one. it feels really good to be back!

Words: 2022

“Mom! Which one of these is the blue one?”

Melchior almost slipped on the hardwood kitchen floor once he jumped off the bottom stair. But the adrenaline that had picked him up out of bed and carried him all the way down the floor made him catch his balance once more. Mrs. Gabor sat patiently at the table, admiring the excitement on her youngest son’s face.

“The one on the right,” She responded, gesturing with her coffee. “Bring it here, Melchior. Let me write blue on the back.”

Melchior stood, waiting as he watched his mother fetch the label’s and marker. She placed one on the back of the brand new tie, writing ‘BLUE’ in the familiar short, fat letters. Her handwriting had graced the tags and tongues of almost every clothing item Melchior had ever owned. “Here you go, Mel-Mel,” She cooed and placed the tie around his already popped collar. As she tied the time, Melchior brought his slender hands up to halt her chubby one’s.

“Mom, I know how to tie a tie.” He stated, but Mrs. Gabor’s glared insisted as she continued her work.

“You’re practically grown, Mel,” She sighed. “My last birdie is about to leave the nest.”

Melchior scoffed, stepping away from his mother’s doting hands. “Mom, all I did was transfer schools. I’m not graduating.”

She placed a gently hand on Melchior’s shoulder, pulling him down to kiss his cheek.”I know, honey. Don’t be a smart-ass.” As her son turned to leave, she noticed the soft pink lipstick mark on his cheek. With a smirk, she let him go back up the stairs, knowing full well he had no way of noticing for quite some time.

“This is Mrs. Knuppeldick. She teaches French and European history,” Wendla said in her official, Junior Class President voice. Then, quickly switching to a much quieter tone, she added: “Don’t forget to bring a pen to her class. And don’t make fun of her name. She’s a total bitch.”

Melchior just giggled. He felt at ease with Wendla, with her wide eyes looking up at him brimming with joy. He wondered how anyone could be so happy when they were stuck in what looked like the most uncomfortable dress Melchior had ever seen. If it was anything like the cardigan he had just been given, it must’ve made her want to claw her skin off. “And across the hall in M6 is Mr. Sonnenstich. You might not have him, he’s math one and two, which you killed off in your old school right?”

“Uhhh….Is that algebra?”

Wendla chuckled and pushed a strand of what looked like dull black hair behind her ear. But her smile still shone in a way that was still obvious to Melchior. “Yeah, that’s just freshman and sophomore algebra.” She sighed and pointed towards the back entrance of the main building. “Now, you got your locker already, right?”

“No, not yet…” Melchior muttered as she lead him out into the courtyard. The whole school was fairly old, in brick which just seemed gloomy and overpowering when put against the grey sky. The most jarring part of the whole campus was across the courtyard, where row upon row of brand new lockers had been put into the old stone.

In the center of the stone yard, a large stone fountain babbled with a constant stream of water. The school’s mascot, a lion, sat at top with water shooting from his mouth. The school’s crest lined the edge, with a noble three dimensional lion’s head protruding from them. It was huge, and must’ve been around longer than electricity. But still, two scrawny boys stood on the ledge like it was a play structure.

“Let me see your schedule!” Wendla stated, snapping Melchior from his fountain-themed trance. He handed her the piece of paper from his pocket. As Wendla read it, Melchior let his eyes wander back to the teenagers. It was hard to tell the two apart, as they both had pale white skin, dull dark hair, and wore plain, grey sweaters in Melchior’s eyes. The only difference between them was the fact that one of them was kneeling before the other taking pictures of his companion walking aimlessly along the edge of the fountain, arms out like a child trying to keep his balance. “Oh, your locker is the one on the top of the third red row.”

Melchior’s head snapped towards the lockers. Oh fuck. They’re color-coded.

“Oh,” Wendla sighed after a moment of silence, filled with the sound of the pair at the fountain chuckling. “Are you still colorblind? It’s alright, they have numbers. Yours is thirty-”

“No, I’m not. It’s fine,” Melchior insisted, charging towards the lockers. He looked them over, guessing at the different tones of grey. If he recalled correctly, red was sort of darker than the sky’s shade of grey. Or his skin’s sort of grey. So he moved nervously to the shade he hoped was his best guess.

“Melchior, uh…. I said third row red.”

Melchior threw what he hoped was a charming smile. “Really? I thought you said GREEN!” he laughed and moved over two more rows. Wendla cleared her throat and he moved over one more in a sort of blind prayer.

“That’s blue, Melchior.”

As Melchior felt his face turn bright red, he turned around to see Wendla’s ashamed eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, a figure came bouncing into Melchior’s sight.

“Heya, need help with your locker!” The boy said with a smile. His face was soft and warm, with a huge smile filling most of it. His hair was dark, laying like a mop over his freckled face. “I got ya! What was it, Wendla?”

“Third row red, very top,” The girl giggled. “Thanks for the help.”

The smiling boy moved back to around where Melchior started, “This is the one you need, buddy,” He told Melchior, who shuffled over awkwardly and started turning the dial as he read them on his schedule. As he did, Wendla slowly moved to stand beside him.

After a few moments, she pushed another strand of hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I just uh…. Saw the lipstick mark on your cheek and thought that you….uh….had already found your color.”

Melchior turned with eyes wide. “What? Oh...Oh my god,” He gasped and began furiously wiping at his left cheek with his scratchy cardigan sleeve. “No,no, that’s my mother’s. I didn’t see it.”

Wendla and the smiling boy laughed softly, like they knew something he didn’t. He wanted to shove his head into the locker and slam the door shut repeatedly until either his head popped off or the world stopped existing outside of the locker. But at the moment, he could seem to get it open. He was hitting all the numbers, but it still wasn’t opening, no matter how much he tugged.

“It’s alright,” The smile-y boy tried to change the awkward tone of the interaction. “I got that for you, buddy. Can I see your combination?” Melchior shuffled to the side and let the boy take his place and his schedule. “Your name is Melchior, right? You’re the new guy?” He asked, reading from the piece of crumpled paper.

“Yeah, I sure am.” He replied as the boy began to turn the dial.

After a few more seconds, the locker swung open, revealing the sharpie covered insides. “Your old school didn’t have lockers?”

Melchior, already flustered, shoved his new books into the locker,” No,” he insisted. He hated looking dumb. But yet here he was, looking like a fool in front of two fairly attractive people in a brand new place. “My dad just didn’t want me going to my old school anymore.”

“Why’s that?” Wendla prodded. Melchior thought to himself that kids that grew up going to a prep school must not pick up on verbal cues.

Melchior attempted to shrug it off. “Something with leading a riot against common core in the lunch room.” He turned away from the locker to see the surprised faces of his companions. “Oh, I’m uh….not the only one who got suspended but….my dad didn’t want me there because there was a….bit of a stigma around me.”

A silence that even Smile-y boy could break hung around them. Melchior avoided their eyes once more, instead electing to close his locker and study the paint chips intently, which were a shade or two darker than the paint. Wendla cleared her throat, as if she were about to say something to get them somewhere else and on a different subject. But before she could giggle and charm her way out of the odd situation, the sound of shoes hitting hard stone approached them quickly.

“Ernst!” A slightly whiny voice called to the group. A second later, Melchior felt a hand grab his shoulder to turn him around. Instead, it just shoved him as the person grabbing him let go out of what Melchior assumed was shock.

The color red was shocking. It was vibrant and aggressive, attacking Melchior eyes with rich and deep shades. It was profound and simple in the same way that sent shivers down his spine. The paint chips were a earthy brown, coarse and rooted in what made Melchior smell dirt and wine and rain. He saw his hands touching the dial. A tanned and sunkissed beige that made his skin prickle with heat. His usually dull mole on the back of his hand was a gentle brown. His cardigan was a cavernous navy blue. His shoes were a bright purple he was surprised his mother let him leave the house in.

“Holy shit,” The whiny voice behind him whimpered. “That’s...That’s what blue is.”

Melchior had never turned around faster in his life. A boy stood behind him, a mop of wild black curls that looked like fuzz from a torn up dog toy or couch cushion perched atop his head precariously. Beneath it, a pair of eyes stared, full of shock and what might have been tears. They were green, an elegant and sharp color that looked right into Meclhior as he looked into them.

Green was suddenly Melchior’s favorite color.

“Holy shit,” The boy with a pale, sunken face cried out. His skin was still the same as it was before the color. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” he kept saying, thin hands reaching out to touch Melchior. He let the boy touch his cheek, his cold fingers displacing Melchior’s flush. “You’re real. You’re real. You’re real and….and….” He paused, pulling his hand away. “Fuck. I’m uh...I forgot my name, holy shit.”

“Well I’m Melchior,” His voice came out rougher than planned, like he was on the brink of tears. He may well have been.

“Moritz, Moritz Stiefel,” The boy seized my hand from anxiously fixing my hair and shook it. “What’s your last name?”

Ernst and Wendla laughed, finally catching onto what was happening. They stood back to watch the action.

“Gabor. Melchior Gabo-”

“Moritz Stiefel-Gabor,” Moritz cut in. “has a ring to it. Or Gabor-Stiefel. I like that more. Oh man, I’ getting ahead of myself. Do we kiss now or do we have to go out and wait or…”

Ernst let out a hearty laugh and cut between the pair of lovebirds. “Sorry, Melchior. I forgot to introduce you to my friend, Moritz. Moritz, this is the new kid, Melchior. But you’ll get to know him plenty better.”

With a nod, Moritz let out a weak chuckle. He looked like he had been holding his breath until this moment in his life and finally let it go. “Melchior, nice to meet you. I know it’s your first day but would you like to cut lunch with me?”

Looking to Wendla for approval, Melchior saw the straight-laced model-student give him a sly nod. Upon looking back at Moritz, the realization hit him that the boy he was smiling at was the boy he’d be spending the rest of his life with. “Of course. Why not?”

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speakersdisaster · 6 years

Text

Ghemma’s Gay Farm Story - Parts 1 & 2

~~~~~~~~~

PART ONE

~~~~~~~~~

Ghemma’s been on her own for a few years now.

Sometimes, she stays in the woods, foraging for food and finding shelter wherever she can.

Other times, she passes through small towns, finding work wherever she can. She’s not trained in much, but she is good with her hands and a hard worker, so she usually finds a way to earn her keep, at least for a night or two.

These days are her favorites, the ones where she feels useful, and goes to bed warm, protected from the elements and with a belly full of real food.

But sometimes there’s no work for her, whether it be because of a lean year, a distrust of strangers, or some other reason. Those days are hard. It’s always more difficult to return to the unforgiving wilds and isolation when she was looking forward to a night of rewarding work and real rest.

This is one of those days.

She arrived to the small village of Bird’s Hollow eager and optimistic. Her first stop was to the few small inns the village possessed, but was turned away with a rueful “sorry love, no work today” or a “try one street over, they usually have something.”

Next she brought her search to the farms that surrounded the village. One by one she made the trek to each farm, asked for work, and was turned away.

By the time she made it to the last farm for miles, the sun had begun to set, and she had begun to lose hope.

She takes a moment to psyche herself up before approaching the main house of the farm, as she always does. You’d think after doing this literally hundreds of times over the years, talking to strangers would get easier, but she’s never been the most comfortable with interpersonal interaction.

She begins to approach the house, walks up the steps to the front porch. A large window makes up much of the front side of the house, and she can’t help but see inside during her approach.

She sees a cozy sitting room, in which sits a girl around her own age, reading a book in a comfortable looking chair in front of a fire. Ghemma stops, freezes almost, entranced.

The girl is...well...I mean….she’s gorgeous, obviously. Petite, but with some substantial curve to her, honey-golden waves of hair billowing around her lovely round face. She absent-mindedly tucks the hair that had begun to shield her eyes behind her ear, exposing its pointed tip. Some elven blood in her then! The light from the fire catches upon her face, enveloping it in a soft and warm glow. A small smile plays upon her full lips, her intelligent eyes focused deeply on the tome in her lap. She sighs contentedly, and Ghemma’s eyes flick down to the...substantial...chest that rises with the motion.

Ghemma’s cheeks grow hot.

But it’s not her obvious and undeniable loveliness that has caught Ghemma so off guard, of course. It couldn’t be. That would be silly, absurd even!

No, it must be the...fact that she is so relaxed, so at ease, at home in a way Ghemma had all but forgotten was possible. Yes, that’s it. It must be jealousy that Ghemma was feeling, a longing for the comfort that eluded her for so long. That was the feeling tugging at her guts, twisting inside of her, unfamiliar and uncomfortable (though, if she had been willing to admit it, not altogether unpleasant). It had to be.

And yet…

Before that thought could come to a conclusion the young half-orc was Not Ready For, she snaps out of her stupor.

Ghemma has no idea how long she had been standing there, staring in at the entrancing girl by the fire. It could have been a single moment, could have been minutes and minutes.

Either way, she suddenly grows aware of how intrusive her presence was here, how intensely she didn’t belong.

With one last (admittedly longing) look at the girl, Ghemma runs away.

Even the possibility of a warm bed isn’t enough to force her to knock on that door, and possibly be confronted with the girl she had unwittingly spied upon.

In her rush to get away, she is not paying much attention to her surroundings, and does not notice the wind chimes hanging from the porch until they have collided with her head.

It doesn’t hurt, but the chimes, well, they chime loudly as they clatter to the floor at her feet.

Without even a glance at them or back, she is out of there.

Ghemma finds a copse of trees on a hill not far from the farm, and decided it is a good a spot as any to try and get some rest tonight. She tells herself that it’s a coincidence that from her sleeping place, she can just see the house through the trees. She doesn’t do a great job of convincing herself.

As she drifts off to sleep, she can’t shake her attraction...er, fascination with the girl in the house, and in the final moments before unconsciousness, the ones in which you are no longer aware enough to be able to control your thoughts and feelings, the last thing she remembers is the thought of warm, soft skin against her own.

~~~~~~~~~

PART TWO

~~~~~~~~~

Ghemma wakes, as she often does, suddenly and harshly. Her body still isn’t accustomed to waking up in unfamiliar surroundings, and it always takes her a moment in the mornings to calm her panic, still her shaking hands, and slow her breathing.

*You are near the town of Bird’s Hollow,* she tells herself.

*It’s mid-autumn*

*You are Ghemma and you are safe for now*

She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, opens them, and is back to her normal state.

A wind blows past her and she shivers, it’s getting colder out here. Soon she’ll need to find a place to stay for the winter, or at least some more protective clothing than her current attire. She had grown out of the coat she had worn last winter, and traded it for some food a few months back.

As if on cue, her stomach growls. She remembers that she hasn’t eaten since early yesterday, and even then it hadn’t been much. She rummages around in her pack to take stock. Some simple supplies, a few stones she had picked up (as always), and ah! there! She reaches down to the bottom and pulls out a few coins. Not much, but should be enough to get some breakfast.

She could do some foraging and scrounge together a meal that way, but with the way the wind is chilling her bones, she decides that a hot meal is what she really needs, and that it’s worth the spending of her meager funds.

There’s another town pretty close by, and she knows that it would probably make more sense to move on from Bird’s Hollow, but….she’s just so hungry, and maybe there will be work somewhere for her today, and it’s really a nice town, and this definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the girl she saw the night before!

So she decides to go back into the town square of Bird’s Hollow, and try her luck there for one more day.

She remembers one inn in particular from the previous day in which the owners had truly seemed regretful not to have work for her. She decides to stop in there to get a morning meal.

She is welcomed into the kitchen by the warm, no-nonsense woman who owns the building, who remembers her from the day before.

“Hi! I, uh, know you didn’t have any work yesterday, but I wondered if I could maybe just have some food this morning...I can pay!”

Ghemma holds out her hand with the few coins tucked within.

“Of course, love! There’s always room for hungry bellies at our table!”

She sets Ghemma up at a small table in the corner of the dining room, and brings her a large, warm bowl of porridge.

“Did you get on down to the Laoghaire farm, like I told you to yesterday? They could always use an extra hand over there.”

“Oh, uh, no, I didn’t...I…” Ghemma tries and fails to come up with a reason that isn’t ‘I saw a pretty girl there and got scared’, so she just trails off.

“Well no matter, you can just pop down there today, after breakfast!”

She leaves to go back to her kitchen, which surely has already fallen into chaos without her guiding hand. And if she *forgets* to take Ghemma’s payment for the food, well, no one’s the wiser.

Ghemma eats heartily in the way only one whose meals come infrequently do. She finishes her meal, and thanks the innkeeper, who slips her a small pouch with some bread and cheese “for later”, before slipping out into the midmorning sun.

The town square is lovely, and Ghemma spots a sunny spot beneath a tree beckoning to her, so she decides to rest there for a while and soak in the sun while her body digests the warm meal she has just eaten.

And that’s where she is, leaning against a tree, fidgeting with a rock between her fingers, as she is wont to do, when she is startled by a voice behind her.

“Margie told me you’re looking for work.”

Ghemma turns to look toward the voice, and if asked later, would probably tell you that in that moment, she was literally deceased. No pulse, no life, just dead, for a few seconds as she processed the fact that *the girl* was standing in front of her talking to her.

After probably a few seconds too long has passed, Ghemma worked up an eloquent reply,

“Uhhh….me?”

The girl raises an eyebrow in a distinctive ‘who the fuck else’ manner.

“Yah, I mean, yes, I was, I mean, I am, looking for work, yes that’s me!”

“Good. Pop threw his back out yesterday, so Dad needs a hand around the farm for a bit. Laoghaire Farm that is. I’m Cassandra, Cassandra Laoghaire, but my friends call me Cass. We don’t have a ton to pay, but we can offer room and board while you’re helping us out, and depending on how things work out, we may need someone through the winter. Does that work for you?”

Ghemma is still struck dumb by the whole situation, but she pulls herself together enough to say, “Yes, that...that sounds great!”

“Good,” said the vision that Ghemma now knew was Cass, and promptly turned on her heels and began walking away.

She pauses, turns back, “are you coming or not?”

Ghemma stares for a second, then rushes to get her stuff together and on her back before bounding after the retreating figure of Cass.

As they walk in silence, Ghemma can’t help but reflect that this brusque, no-nonsense girl is not exactly what she expected. She had imagined a melodic voice, where Cass’ was even and to the point. She had pictured a leisurely and hip-driven gait where Cass walked briskly and straight.

She couldn’t say that the real deal left her any less flustered.

Ghemma just hoped she wouldn’t do something to screw this up, like she always does.

As they made their way toward the farm, Cass leading the way, Ghemma couldn’t help but notice that as lovely as Cass was from the front, the view from behind wasn’t half-bad either.

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