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fanaticsnail · 2 months

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Ohh, Snail, now I can't stop thinking about you writing that Corazon x AussiReader idea from the fanart you rebloged. Poor sweet baby 🥺 dealing with giant spiders and cute feral angry koalas, nooo, Cora, don't try to hug them, they may look cute, but they will eat your face 😱

Rosinante's Trip Down Under

Masterlist Here

Oh my goodness, Miss Vita! How gorgeous is it, though? Art by @rainnartt (CHECK OUT THEIR OTHER ART, IT'S AMAZING!!)

Synopsis: Modern AU, Rosinante visiting your hometown in Queensland Australia. He is overwhelmed by the cultural differences, but loves to learn the slang.

I did go a little crazy in the tags, definitely ran away with me a little here.

Could you imagine, though? As an Australian, I can confirm: if it looks like it can kill you, it can kill you. If it looks like it can’t kill you, it absolutely can kill you. Our poor, clumsy man never stood much of a chance, did he?

In this picture, he looks like could be in Bondi, the Gold Coast or Surfers Paradise by the looks of it. I am going to put him in the Queensland region for the sake of the plot. This is how I see it going.

Drabble Fic Word Count: 1,800+

Themes: rosinante x gn!reader, platonic fic, crack fic, modern au, reader is Australian, Rosinante is Spanish, Au he lives.

Tag list: @since-im-already-here @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @remisloves @mfreedomstuff @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine

Taking your new friend Donquixote Rosinante to your favorite sights in Surfers Paradise. His eyes widen in wonder, staring at sights that come so naturally to you, but are so out of the norm for him. You are happy to play tourist in your hometown, marveling at the sights as he experiences them for the first time.

Outside of your local McDonalds and picking up a common comfort breakfast food for his adult adoptive son, who elected to remain back at home in the hotel as he adjusts to the time difference, Rosinante’s shriek prompted you to turn to meet him.

“What the hell is that?” he remarks, extending his pointer finger towards the large waste bin adjacent to the doorway.

“Oh, that’s a skip, Corazon. The red is for rubbish,” you continue, pointing at the other bin, “The yellow lid is for recyclables, and the green is for food and biodegradable-.”

“No! The thing with the massive beak!” he shrieks, watching as the dark-head bird pokes its head above the bin. The large hooked beak elevates a half-consumed cheeseburger before it gulps down the burger in a single motion.

“Oh!” you laugh at your blonde friend, clapping a hand over his shoulder, “That’s an ibis. We call them ‘bin chickens’ or ‘tip chooks’ depending on your region. They’re scavengers, they won’t hurt you.”

“A bin chicken, skip bin,” he hums, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he commits the name to memory, “And you call McDonalds ‘Macca’s’, right?”

“That’s right,” you hum your confirmation with a curt nod. He hums in response before ushering you along the pathway towards the hotel.

As you continue walking along the sandy coastline, you notice he’s halted outside a petrol station. A large truck is parked beside the building: checkered blue and white painted on it’s side and large font titled “POLICE” and “0.05: DRUGS”.

“Is this your local law enforcement?” he asks you, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah, that’s our local booze bus parked next to a divvy van,” you nod in affirmation, “They do regular drug and alcohol testing for drivers to ensure their safety on the road. Weird that they’re outside of a servo, though. Usually they’re on the main roads.” He nods his head and hums.

“Booze bus. Divvy Van,” he looks over to the petrol station, arching his brow high, “Servo?”

“I know, it’s a lot,” you confirm with an apologetic smile, “I promise it gets easier to adapt to the slang the longer you practice.” He nods again.

Passing a local park with a children’s play area, you manage to see your friend David from work, his two children playing together on the looped climbing frames and plastic slide.

“Davo!” you call out to him, waving your unoccupied hand in front of you - considering the other contains a paper bag filled with the fruits of your labor.

“How the bloody hell are’ ya goin’, Darl’?!” his nasally voice cracked to you, “Who’s the fella ya got there with ya?” You smile at him, walking to embrace him.

“This is Rosinante Corazon, the friend I mentioned was visiting from Spain,” you informed him, “How’s the missus back at home? How’s the kids?”

“Mate! Howzit goin’?” he extended his hand out to Rosinante, who placed his hand within and gave it a gentle shake who mumbled a soft ‘pleased to meet you’ in response.

“Ah, and the ankle biters are doin’ great. Givin’ the missus a bit of a reprieve here at the park, tough gig bein’ an ambo driver.” He glanced over his shoulder at his children, ensuring they were safe now they’ve climbed to an elevated height.

“Oh I’m glad she’s managing to take a break. She’s a tough lady,” you nod to him, smiling over at the two children who wave at you while playing with a make-shift telescope.

“Well, I shouldn’t keep you,” he confesses, gesturing down to the brown bag clutched in your hands, “Don’t want that brekky gettin’ cold now, do we?” You laugh at him, waving him off before waving at his children.

Rosinante remained silent, only muttering a few words that stood out to him: “Darl’, fella, mate, missus, ankle biters, ambo driver, brekky,” on a perpetual loop.

“You okay there, Rosi?” you quirk up at him, a soft smile pulling at your cheeks.

“I’m alright, Darl,” he attempted, his voice falling to his nose and emulating the accent he heard moments prior, “Is that a common term of endearment here? ‘Darl’ and ‘mate’? How do you go with gender neutral titles?”

“Both of those titles can be used interchangeably, regardless of gender,” you inform him, “It all depends on context and the way you say it.” he hums again, nodding along and muttering several phrases he learnt. He reaches into the circular cup cardboard and pulls out his coffee and takes a small sip.

Your feet finally carry your way over to the lobby of the hotel where he was staying with Law, his body immediately halting in front of the surf, dive and ski shop. His head cocked to the side, staring at the large, rectangular basket outside the shop. You follow his line of sight, which remained locked on to a large, canvas sign attached to the basket.

“Ah,” you click your tongue, noticing they’re focussed on a common shoe worn in this area, “Do you and Law need a new pair of thongs? I know the bottoms melt a little when the bitumen gets a bit hot.”

“You want me and Law to wear what?” he turned towards you with his eyes wide and jaw dropped. It took a moment for you to understand the miscommunication, your eyes growing wide and your nervous laughter propelling your anxiety further.

“No, no, no, no, no!,” you managed to choke out, “No, we call ‘flip-flops’ ‘thongs’ here. Is that what had you a little confused? A basket full of shoes where you thought lingerie should be?” Rosinante laughed alongside you, shaking his head from side to side.

“You got me,” he chuckled, raising his coffee to his lips once more, “Our differences are quite vast, aren’t they?”

“I suppose they are,” you acknowledge with a shrug and a broad, tight-lipped smile. He hums once again, muttering several phrases as you step into the elevator.

Clicking the button to the appropriate floor, the doors open wide to reveal the carpeted corridor of the hotel room. You offer to hold the coffee tray in your unoccupied hand as Rosinante clumsily attempts to fish out his key-card from his pocket. He thanks you, his hand getting stuck in his pocket as he shimmies his shoulders to break it out.

Finally clutching the key card, he places it in the door and swings it wide to reveal Law sitting on the plush bench beside the large window. His left knee was bent, his right leg extended as he reclined against the window. His gray orbs draw away from watching the gentle crash of waves towards you both as you enter the suite.

Before you had a moment to greet the younger man, Rosinante’s broad grin and best nasally voice interrupted your train of thought. Rosinante gently took the brown paper bag from your hands and offered it to his son.

“Howzit goin’, Darl’! Brought you some Brekky from Maccas!” he walked forwards, thrusting the bag into Law’s hands, “Saw a bin chicken eating some scraps from the red skip, and passed a booze bus outside the servo on the way back.”

Law chose to remain silent, wordlessly taking the brown bag from Rosinante and maintaining unbreaking eye contact. Rosinante took that as his queue to continue relaying his adventure.

“Saw Davo being a good fella at the park with his ankle biters, his missus has been working hard as an ambo driver,” he continued, biting his lip as he attempted to relay the trip back to his absolutely unamused son, “Then we passed a shop on the way up. Was gonna get us a pair of matching thongs for the trip, but thought you would get embarrassed to be matching with your Dad.”

Law’s fingers stuttered their descent into the bag, choosing to take a lengthy breath instead.

“Dad?” Rosinante quirked his head up, turning to look at you over his shoulder. You were doing your best to stifle your laughter by clutching your lip in your palm, “Do you still call parents ‘mum’ and ‘dad’ here? Is there an Aussie term of endearment he could use for me instead?”

“‘Cunt’ comes to mind,” Law murmured, prompting Rosinante to snap his head back over to his son. His heart shattered as Law drew up a hashbrown and began nibbling at its golden exterior.

“L-Law-?” Rosi’s heartbreak was depicted in the quiver in his tone. You walk over to your friend’s side and offer him his forgotten coffee with a smile.

“-Rosinante,” you broke him away from his sorrow with a soft giggle, “‘Cunt’ is also a term of endearment here. Law and I had a little conversation about cultural clashes last night when we were playing cards. You fell asleep early, remember?”

“It is my favorite Australian term of endearment,” Law admitted with a soft hum, reaching up his outstretched hand to wordlessly ask for a coffee, “But your insults are far better. Quite original.”

“Okay, Champ,” you mock Law, passing him his cup of coffee, “Big words coming from a guy with a face like a smashed crab.”

“Coming from a Drongo with the personality of a dropped meat pie,” Law smirked in return, taking the cup from your hands. Your joint laughter ricocheted from the hotel walls, prompting Rosinante’s prior sour mood to pick back up.

As you all ate your brekky in comfortable silence, you gazed out onto the beach below. Law followed your eyes, looping at the large swell of the waves. The choppy waves crashed against the golden waves, the vendors beginning to set up their canopies to sell their wares along the boardwalk.

“You did well, Rosinante,” you complimented the tall, blonde man, “Using our words in the appropriate context, I mean.” Rosinante smiled at you, placing his paper rubbish in the brown paper bag.

“Thank you, Mate,” he said with a soft wink, “I appreciate the praise for my efforts.”

“No wakkas, makka,” you smile at him with a shrug. Both men quip their head up, their ears pricking and confusion written on their face.

“We’ll get into that later, I guess,” you chuckle at the two of them as their confusion deepens.

The large Australian crowd began to take out their surf and boogie boards, set up nets for volleyball, and their wickets for beach cricket. The variety of populus below in various designs bathers, placing sunscreen on their bodies to protect from the deadly UV rays.

“Beach day?” you ask them, smile drawing up over your features once more.

“Beach day,” Rosinante nods in confirmation, excited to learn more slang and cultural differences as the day broadens its rays over the oceanic backdrop.

#one piece #x reader #modern au #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #trafalgar law #op law #op rosinante #op corazon #rosinante x reader #platonic fic #australian slang #law x reader #op x reader #one piece fluff #ask snail #snail answers

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nhl-stories · 6 months

Text

midnight love – Anthony Beauvillier

Summary: Hannah was ready to accept her fate as second choice, but a newcomer just entered the picture

Author’s Note: Oh my god I've been working through this for so long and then bam that trade happens. And changed how I was going to end this so I'm a bit distraught.

Word Count: 3.9k

Album Series Masterlist

I can't be your midnight love When your silver is my gold

She wishes she had enough of a backbone to disappoint people, if only in self-preservation. But no, instead Hannah is spending another night as a stand in.

It’s not like these people aren’t her friends, but there’s a hierarchy; they’re Brock’s friends and teammates first, then Cora’s friends and fellow significant others, then at the bottom of the list is Hannah.

At least it’s just a team dinner, not some event where she has to explain over and over again that no, she is not Brock’s girlfriend, just a friend. Usually throw in a joke about taking advantage of an open bar or nice dinner.

His real girlfriend is prettier and more talented, just busy with her emergency medicine residency. Hannah is just a placeholder so he doesn’t have to go somewhere alone.

Don’t worry, Brock isn’t slumming it with the plain-looking girl who works in a fish market.

He’s with Cora: head cheerleader and prom queen in high school, first in her class in college and med school, Miss British Columbia who probably would have been Miss Canada if she wasn’t too busy studying to be a fucking doctor.

Hannah’s only a little bitter.

To be fair, she did it to herself. She spent her whole life as Cora’s less-than-impressive sidekick, she should have seen it coming.

Hannah should have thought twice before introducing Cora to Brock, should have known Cora would charm him and ask him out before Hannah could even tell her how she felt about him. And then it was a year and a half of worming her way into Brock’s heart down the drain.

Brock and Cora are good match. They look like a Barbie and Ken set and then they’re personable and kind on top of it.

Still, Brock can’t seem to take Hannah off a pedestal. It’s a little lower than Cora’s, but a pedestal nonetheless. Maybe if she jumps off, it will put her out of her misery.

“You’re Brock’s girlfriend? The doctor?”

Hannah’s head snaps up from stabbing the cherry in her drink, to see a new face. Anthony Beauvillier, her brain supplies.

“Oh no, just a friend filling in,” she bites back her initial reaction of a barking laugh, “You’re Anthony, welcome to Vancouver.”

“Thanks, so just a friend, what’s your name?”

“Oh, right, Hannah.”

“Hannah since you’re here and not a significant other, I can assume you know all the dirt.”

Hannah blushes under his gaze. His eyes are so blue she can’t seem to keep direct eye contact. So, they keep drifting to his hair, she hadn’t realized he had such soft looking locks since she mostly had seen him on TV with a helmet.

“I guess, what do you want to know?”

She tries to be coy; she definitely knows more than most. She’s so present but so unassuming she guesses she must be easy to open up to.

“Is it really a big deal that Petey brought around a girl?”

“There hasn’t been a lot of exciting off-ice news this season. But I’ve known him for almost 4 years and I’ve barely seen him flirt with a girl, so to bring a girlfriend is kind of big deal. Although between you and me I think he’s been hung up on her for a while.”

Anthony nods.

“The only thing before this was Quinn broke up with his girlfriend from back home and then just started showing up with a new girlfriend like a month later. But Samantha has been accepted into the fold so it’s not really gossip anymore.”

“You really do know the low down.”

“I can’t give you much on-ice info, but off-ice dynamics, I’m your woman.”

He gives her a crooked smile and starts to say something, when a hand grabs her elbow a bit too tight.

“Dinner is starting, I got us seats,” Brock tugs her towards the table that’s filling up.

“Nice talking to you Anthony,” she gently pulls her arm out of Brocks grip.

“Yeah, let’s do it again sometime.”

∫∫∫

“You smell like fish,” Cora says as Hannah sits down next her in the stands.

She pulls up her collar and gives it a sniff, she doesn’t smell anything, “I changed before I came here.”

“I think it’s just embedded itself into your skin at this point.”

“You smelled like a barn when we met and I still became your friend, even though everyone said you smelled like horse butt.”

“Well, the tables have turned and now you’re the stinky friend.”

“Fuck off,” Hannah laughs and flips her friend off.

Cora reaches in her purse for a tiny spray bottle of perfume, “I got you covered my fishy friend,” she gives her a spritz.

“Did I miss anything interesting?”

“I just got here, like 10 minutes before you. Had a last-minute surgery.”

“So, we were both working with guts before we came.”

“Yeah, and hopefully after this, number six will be rearranging my guts.”

Hannah laughs, but it’s hollow. They’ve been together long enough it shouldn’t still sting, but somehow it does.

Thankfully, there’s a big hit on the ice to shift their focus.

“The new guy is pretty cute,” Cora says when play settles.

“Anthony?”

“Yeah, you met him at that dinner thing, right?”

The tone in Cora’s voice makes it clear that she knows something Hannah doesn’t. That she’s toying with her food.

“Mm-hmm, he seems nice.”

“Brock said he was flirting with you. He was all worked up about it too, like ‘this new guy comes in and just charms the first girl he sees, what if Hannah was my girlfriend?’”

Hannah forces herself to focus on the puck traveling down the ice. She can’t look at Cora, let her see something she might jump on

The puck is blown dead, icing, and Hannah tries to keep her face blank when she turns, “He was just trying to meet the group and be friendly.”

“That’s what I tried to tell him. Why would he be trying to flirt with you?”

Hannah bites her tongue, she knows Cora means why would he be flirting with someone at a team dinner, when most women there would be taken. It doesn’t mean it’s any less hurtful. Like Cora isn’t digging her finger into the soft flesh of her biggest insecurities.

“Brock’s just protective of what’s his,” Cora adds like that’s not another sharp jab.

A wave of nausea rolls over Hannah.

The boys win by one in a mostly winless season, which is good reason to go out and celebrate. Hannah is wrangled into one of Cora’s dresses, and doused in her perfume, and dragged to a club.

One out of three of those things is Hannah’s choice.

“You smell nice,” Brock leans over to whisper in her ear, reaching across her body to steal a gulp from her drink.

Her body involuntarily flushes, like it always does when Brock casually invades her space. So completely unaware of the effect he has on her.

“I smell like your girlfriend,” she hates the way her voice wavers.

“Where is she anyway?” He stares out into the crowd, arm casually thrown over Hannah’s shoulder.

“Dancing with some of the girlfriends,” she waves in the direction the group went.

“Not like you to not join in,” he gives her a smile that used to be reserved for her only.

“It’s been a long day,” she shrugs, “which reminds me, Cora said certain things that mean if I want a good night’s sleep, bring her back to your place.”

“So, I’m scoring off the ice too?”

Hannah gags, “second star on and off the ice.”

Brock laughs and gives her gentle shove.

“I’m gonna get a drink, need a refill?”

Hannah gives him a thumbs up.

She watches him walk towards the bar and Cora appear out of thin air to wrap herself around him. Hannah knows she’ll be waiting on that drink forever.

“Looked like you could use a refill,” a solid wall of warmth slides up next to her, a drink placed in front of her.

She should have been expecting it to be Anthony, but she’s surprised. A warm feeling rolling over her thinking about how Brock thought he was flirting.

“Thanks, Brock’s useless,” she holds up the glass in cheers and takes a sip.

Over the rim of the glass, she catches two blondes sucking face, having their foreplay in front of everyone.

“Do you want to get out of here?” She blurts without thinking of the implication, maybe not caring.

Anthony gapes at her forwardness before Hannah’s brain catches up, “Like to a quieter bar?”

“Sure.”

Hannah takes him to a dive bar, where they drink crappy beer in tall boys and play darts. She’s too dressed up for the location but it doesn’t matter, they only have eyes for each other.

“You worked on a crabbing boat?” Anthony asks incredulously.

The alcohol is already having her run hot, but the focus from Anthony- or Tito or Beau as he said people call him- feels like a direct sunray. She’s the listener not the talker. Yet, there’s something disarming about Anthony, makes her walls fall away, makes her want to talk as much as she listens.

“Yeah, it was a quick way to make a lot of money in a few months, and it was exciting. There aren’t a lot of crabs the past few years so I haven’t had a chance to go back. And I’m not very smart so I have limited options.”

“You’re talking to a hockey player, I’m also not very smart and have limited options.”

“That’s probably explains why Brock and I became such good friends, although he did go to some college,” she grins and throws her last dart.

Anthony doesn’t make a move to start his turn, “so you and Brock were never–“ he cuts himself off with a throw.

“More than friends?” Hannah supplies.

“Yeah,” Anthony visibly tinges pink even in the darkened bar.

Hannah can’t quite vocalize her answer, worried the timbre of her voice will give away all the thoughts and feelings she’s been hiding. She shakes her head instead.

“If Brock was being weird, I think he was just vetting you. As a teammate and if you were worth my affections or something. Not that you were actually flirting with me.”

“I was,” Anthony looks her straight on, no doubt on his face or in his voice.

Something snaps inside Hannah, bursting red-hot in her veins. She’s not going to sit back and wait this time; she’s going to lean into what she’s feeling and grab it tight.

She drags Anthony towards to the back of the bar, pushing him into the bathroom and pushing him against the door once inside. She feels a little depraved, but she drives through the feeling and kisses Anthony.

He’s quick to kiss back, tongue slipping past her lips, gentling her erratic movements. He grabs her hips gently, but firm. He’s a wave of cold water crashing into her molten lava body. Nature in symbiosis.

“I don’t normally do this,” she says between kisses.

He moves his hands up to her waist, he doesn’t stop kissing her, just moves down her jaw closer to her ear, “and this is what you want?”

He sinks in his teeth into the hinge of her jaw, she gasps.

“I want–“ her voice is shaky.

She doesn’t know how to say it or ask for it. She just wants the light of his attention, on her, his whole-hearted focus directed at only her, like no one else exists.

“Cause I want more than a bathroom hookup, but I’ll take what I can get,” she can feel his smile against her skin.

There’s a bang on the door then someone yells, “You don’t have to go, but you can’t stay here!”

It’s like being dunked in the ice-cold Pacific.

She gives him one more peck, “Another time?”

∫∫∫

They find themselves in another bathroom, this time in Demko’s house while the team has a party. Hannah on the counter and Anthony in a vice grip between her knees.

“Sorry, couldn’t wait until after the party.”

Hannah can’t hold back her smile. Hasn’t been for almost two weeks now. They hadn’t seen each other again, but had been texting. If Cora asks, she says it’s Brock being stupid. If Brock asks, she says it’s Cora being dramatic.

“I like it,” digging her fingers into his hair, it’s as soft as it looks.

“But we can’t take too long,” she adds, though she doesn’t kiss like someone with an exit plan.

“I’ll take my time tonight,” he whispers against her lips.

Voices drift closer to the door when they finally decide to peel apart. Hannah fixes where she mussed his hair as best she can, before peeking to see if the coast is clear.

She makes her way through the kitchen to casually grab a drink and slides up next to Cora and her conversation with the other better halves.

She’s trying to ease herself into the conversation but her mind is elsewhere. In the future and whatever tonight is going to be and in the present glancing over to see Anthony trying to do the same.

Cora elbows her before leaning in, “Classic hot mess Hannah.”

“What?”

“Your very dumb, signature move,” Cora grins, “you forgot to wipe your lipstick off his mouth before you reintegrated back into society.”

Hannah tries to casually glance back at Anthony, he looks towards her at the same time and grins. His lips a shade too pink to be natural. Hannah mimes wiping her lips with the back of her hand, hoping he’ll get the message.

“You dirty girl, I’d recognize that nude berry on any boy’s lips, which honestly let me find you a new color, you’ve been using that for like a decade now.”

Hannah tries to smile through her worry, but Cora knows her well enough to see through it.

“I’m very proud of you for getting him while the getting’s hot, but if you’re worried about me telling Brocky babe or something, don’t worry, secret’s safe with me,” she zips her lips and throws the key over her shoulder.

The giddy nerves in her stomach start fighting the anxious nerves in her stomach.

A heavy arm drapes over Hannah’s shoulder, “There you are, Cora said she saw you but I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

That’s the thing, Hannah trusts Cora to keep a secret, she doesn’t quite trust herself.

“Almost feels like you’ve been hiding from me,” Brock laughs at the thought.

Cora joins in and gives Hannah a desperate look to join in as well, Hannah can feel her own laugh is too erratic, but Brock doesn’t seem phased.

“Babe, she’s allowed to have her own life, she’s not just our personal third wheel,” Cora pulls him into her own side.

“Technically Cora, you’re the third wheel to our friendship,” he grins and gives her a peck.

Hannah feels nauseous.

“Oh honey, you’re the third wheel to Hannah and I’s friendship, it’s been around the longest.”

They’re not even acting like Hannah is involved in this conversation, she takes the opportunity to duck out. She grabs another a drink and goes out to the unused balcony. It’s still too cold to hang out there at night, the air is the kind of wet-cold that you can feel in every breath.

“How long have you been in love with Brock?”

Hannah jumps at his voice, barely managing to keep a hold on her bottle of beer.

“I’m not really in love with him anymore,” there’s no use in lying if she’s that transparent.

“Is that why this all secretive?”

Anthony’s eyes are so big, endless blue that Hannah isn’t sure how to read. She wants to learn.

She has reasons lined up: she doesn’t want to effect team chemistry, doesn’t want to ruin her friendships if this goes south, doesn’t want to fall in love with another hockey player.

But all those reasons are logical and rational. And this is emotional in a way she’s not sure she can find room for in her body.

“It’s nice to have something that’s just mine,” she furrows her brow, feels like it’s not quite what she means.

“I’m not the smartest or the prettiest or the most anything, I’m just Hannah. But you act like that’s enough. I’m not just a consolation prize or silver you’re settling for because you can’t have gold.”

Anthony doesn’t say anything for a long time, Hannah feels like maybe they froze outside.

Then he takes a step forward, cupping her face with hands so warm they burn her cheeks. He kisses her slowly; Hannah doesn’t think anyone has ever kissed her like this. Like she’s something precious, worth savoring.

He pulls away and smirks, “I’ve kind of been wishing for silver my whole life.”

“Jesus Christ, is that a Stanley Cup joke?” her smile grows so big it swallows her face.

“Like I’ve said I’m not that smart or that clever either.”

Hannah just has to kiss that stupid smile off his face, not caring who can see them through the windows.

∫∫∫

Brock is pissed.

He acts like everyone doesn’t know what it’s about. Like they don’t notice the glares he sends Beau when he walks into the locker room or how his knuckles go white around a beer bottle when he sees Hannah dance with Anthony at club.

They all let him sulk for a week, without saying anything.

Teammates start to chirp him when it lasts longer.

It comes to a head when Brock goes to a team event alone and brings his mood home to Cora.

“You’re not even his ex or something,” Cora is pretending to be the slowest customer of all time at the fish counter while she complains.

Hannah sort of wishes it was a rush so she could usher her friend away, she’s so over dealing with Brock. The jealousy that she would have killed for a few months ago is starting to become overkill and Hannah kind find it in her to be bothered.

It’s funny that the first time she’s all Brock can think about, is also the first time she doesn’t give a shit about it.

“He’s never had to share you with someone else and now I’m like invisible or something.”

That make Hannah pause.

In all the years she’s known Cora she’s the never been self-conscious, never had a reason to be.

She has to bite back the spiteful smile, it’s nice to be reminded that Cora is a mere mortal too.

“I’ll talk to him, can’t have you feeling lesser than me.”

Cora scoffs, “Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that.”

Hannah rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious bitch, I don’t know why it took so long for it to get through your head, but I’m glad someone finally makes you feel on top of the world.”

The next night Hannah and Anthony are at Brock’s door.

He opens the door and almost shuts it in their face, but Hannah catches the door with her foot and shoves Anthony through the door.

“It’s an ambush babe,” Cora squeezes Brock shoulders, trying to make him unclench an iota.

“I come bearing the traditional British Columbian peace offering, a fillet of fish,” she nobly holds out the wrapped package in her arms.

Brock almost cracks smile.

“Brocky babe, why don’t you help her prep the fish and I will fix Beau here a drink.”

Hannah drags him into the kitchen before he can argue or pout.

She doesn’t really need prep; she knows her way around the kitchen already and the recipe like the back of her hand.

She pulls out a knife and points it at Brock.

“I’ll let you be upset for the time it takes me to cook this fish, and then you’re going to snap out of it.”

She gets to work, “You love Cora, you love that she loves hiking and boating and your dogs. You love that she’s as passionate about her job as you are. You love that she moved the fucking earth to make your dad passing as easy as possible for you.”

Brock’s face is set in stone.

“So why the fuck are you so bent out of shape about me dating someone, to the point where your perfect girlfriend is jealous of me?”

“Of all the people in the world you had to go for one of my teammates? What if something happens and I can’t even think of passing to him or it makes things weird with my teammates.” Brock snaps.

“Cause you’re doing a great job of that right now, Petey says he’s worried you’ll throw a punch soon.”

“Were you just using me until you could land the right hockey player?”

“Not everything I do is about you Brock. Sorry I let you think that for so long.”

She throws some of the fish in the hot pan, it sizzles like her nerves.

“I’m sorry it happened this way, it’s the last thing I would purposely try to do. But can’t you tell how happy he makes me?”

She feels her tears start to fall, hot and heavy. They’ve been locked and loaded for years.

“You didn’t want me when we met all those years ago, and that hurt. And then you fell for my best friend like instantly, and that hurt worse. You don’t want me that way, so you don’t get to be mad that someone else does.”

Brock looks like he might cry, too.

“I love being your best friend. I love your dumb jokes and you’re stupid fucking laugh. But I can find that somewhere else if you can’t accept this.”

Brock squeezes her tight, she can feel his tears on the crown of her head.

“I want what’s best for you,” he pulls away, “sorry I have a dumb way of showing it, is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“Pay my rent when you ask Cora to move in?”

Brock lets out one of his stupid fucking laughs, “maybe by next season you’ll also have a new place to live.”

Hannah shoves him away and plates the last of the fish, “the instant acceptance is appreciated, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She goes to the dining room where the others are waiting with bated breath, pretending like they weren’t eavesdroping on the whole conversation.

“Hope you guys are ready for some tear-brined salmon for this very emotional and awkward double date.”

Anthony takes her hand when she sits down, she can’t help but kiss him. She likes the view off her pedestal.

#anthony beauvillier #anthony beauvillier fic #anthony beavillier imagines #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks fics #not ready to tag anything else #brock boeser #brock boeser fics #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey fics #hockey fic #hockey

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christinesficrecs · 7 months

Note

Hello! Do you have any fics like “Let’s build a beehive” by GreyHaven?

Thanks for all you do!

Hey! I definitely got off track but here are a few similar fics.

Let's build a beehive by GreyHaven | 25K

Ten years after he last saw Derek, Stiles' life is in ruins and he has nowhere else to turn. He has Derek's address but will he be welcomed?

Not Quite Lost (Not Quite Found) by alocalband | 25K | Explicit

A year after the nogitsune is defeated, Derek is living a quiet life in the mountains above a small town in Colorado.

Then Stiles shows up.

The Sun Comes Crashing In by pinetreekate | 18K | Explicit

Coming back to the moment, the guy says, “So, you got a plan for all your canning? A big family, or lots of friends and co-workers?”

“Not really,” Derek says wryly. “It’s a … new hobby, I guess, and I got a little carried away.” A little, he thinks, that’s a laugh. Hugely carried away, is more like it. “I have way, way more than I know what to do with.”

“Happens,” the guy says, smiling into his eyes. Derek’s heart skips a beat as the eye contact lasts a second longer than it maybe should. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand.

Derek shakes his hand, has to remind himself to let go. “Derek,” he answers, and feels his ears warm up.

Inertia by apocryphal | 21.6K | Mature

The last thing Derek and Cora are expecting to find outside their motel room is a gaunt Stiles Stilinski, lacrosse bag on one shoulder and the weight of the world on the other.

Gracious In Defeat by yodasyoyo | 18.1K | Mature

Stiles needs to get away from Beacon Hills after the end of his senior year. Derek offers to let him stay with him in São Paulo, and they finally act on the tension that has always simmered between them.

The thing is, when it’s time to go home- Stiles doesn’t want to leave.

The Moon’s Gonna Follow Me Home by turningterrific | 82.8K | Explicit

Derek doesn’t want to call the window repair guy. He doesn’t want to sweep up the glass. He’ll inevitably miss a few shards and pull them out of the bottom of his bare feet for weeks.

He doesn’t want to try to make this place feel like home when it isn’t.

Derek stayed in Beacon Hills and tried to make it work because he wanted pack, wanted purpose. He gave his best effort and found himself back where he started: alone, with a few begrudging allies. He’s tired, and even though his werewolf body heals quickly, he feels the weary ache down to his center.

He packs his car with the few things he cares about enough to drag them from place to place. He locks the loft and calls a realtor about listing the building he’d bought in a misguided attempt to secure a future.

And then he leaves.

Pretty Melody by thepsychicclam | 30.5K | Explicit

Stiles hasn't seen Derek in six years, so when he shows up at the bar where Stiles works, claiming to be some indie rock star, Stiles can't believe it. Stiles has even more trouble believing that he and Derek are about to have a one night stand.

Soon one night turns into two and three, and seeing Derek causes old wounds to open for Stiles. As Stiles reconnects with Derek, he finds himself painting things he's been avoiding, and he thinks maybe he'll finally start to heal.

hyper heart alone by hito | 34.5K

When Stiles returns home to help his father recover from an injury, he discovers that things have changed somewhat in his absence: Derek is working closely with Stiles’ father, around the house and underfoot, generally annoying and disconcerting Stiles with his presence.

Well, Stiles isn’t sure you could call all the sex they end up having annoying, but he isn’t really willing to call it anything else, either.

The Hollow Moon by thepsychicclam | 180K

It’s the summer after Stiles’ first year of college, and he’s working a crappy job and dealing with nightmares and anxiety - but he’s okay, he swears. He makes it through most days without too much trouble. Then, a certain werewolf comes back into town. Which Stiles doesn’t care about, nope, not at all.

A Californian Werewolf in New York by dancinbutterfly, knight_tracer | 16.3K | Explicit

When Derek finally realizes that there’s nothing left for him in Beacon Hills, he goes back to New York, gets a life, falls in love and finds his home.

there's a ritual for that by Spikedluv | 34.6K

Six months after Derek and Cora leave Beacon Hills, Stiles gets a text from Cora – they’re in trouble and need help. Turns out that Derek is being wooed by a neighboring pack. The Alpha remembers his mother fondly and would love to have a Hale in her pack. Especially if that means she might breed in the ability to change into a full wolf. And she’s not taking ‘no’ for an answer, even when Derek lies and tells her that he already has a mate.

Except Derek didn’t lie. When Stiles shows up to help with the emergency, he inadvertently discovers that he is Derek’s mate. Stiles tries not to think about it (he knows that the mate bond isn’t written in stone, just look at Scott and Allison) as he (and Lydia, and Deaton) research mates and the challenges to the mate bond (because, of course there’s a ritual for that) and try to keep the Alpha of the Palmer pack from discovering Stiles’ connection to Derek.

Home Is Wherever I'm With You by aussiebee | 9.9K | Explicit

Stiles goes backpacking across Europe and eventually settles with his family in Poland to go to uni there. He's trying his hardest to forget the drama of the past, and to get over a certain werewolf he once knew, but it turns out that's not as easy to do as he'd hoped.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #derek leaves #derek comes back #stiles comes back #how stiles and derek got together #domestic sterek

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acewritesfics · 2 months

Text

Never Been So Scared | Jay Halstead

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Request: No.

Warnings: General Chicago PD warnings. Gunman, mentions of death and stillbirth. Dad!Jay. Featuring Will. The daughter’s name is Cora.

Word Count: 2,498

Jay Halstead Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Y/N had just finished brewing the coffee when Jay came up behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist and leaving a kiss on her almost bare shoulder.

“Good morning,” she smiles leaning into him as she poured the coffee into a mug, makes it how he likes it and turns around to hand it to him.

“Good morning,” he kisses her softly before he takes a sip of his coffee. He’s already dressed in a pair of jeans, and a navy blue henley. His coat is hanging off the back of his chair and he’s missing his gun and badge which he doesn’t put on until he’s about to walk out the door. “Is Cora still asleep?” He asks as he sits at the table, having time this morning to sit down and eat breakfast.

“She woke up quite a few times during the night,” Y/N sighs as she finishes making breakfast. Cora, their 6 month old daughter, has just started teething and the poor baby is having a miserable time with it. “Hopefully, she’ll sleep long enough to let me have a shower and get ready to take her to doctor’s appointment.”

“I could call in sick, if you need me too,” He offers. “I can take her to her appointment and you can get some sleep or relax for a little bit.”

“As wonderful as that sounds, Hank needs you too,” she smiles sweetly, letting him know that his offer is appreciated but not needed. “You know that team isn’t complete without you,” she adds kissing the top of his head as she places some food in front of him.

“I have the most wonderful, amazing and incredible wife in the world,” he says wrapping an arm around her waist to stop her from walking away. He smiles up at her, looking at her with some much love and adoration. “She just happens to also be the most wonderful, amazing and incredible mom in the world too.”

“Well honestly, I’m just winging this whole wife and mother thing,” she jokes as she lifts a hand and runs it though his hair. “It does help that I am married and have a baby to the most wonderful, amazing, and incredible man who just so happens to be the hottest guy I know.”

“You think I’m hot?” He smirks.

“I know you’re hot,” she confirms as she leans down and kisses him.

Hearing their daughter’s cry, she pulls away from him and goes to attend to her. Jay stops her and stands up from his seat, “I’ve got her, baby.”

He pecks her lips and moves past her to go into Cora’s nursery room. Cora’s cries begin to ease as her dad starts talking to her. Y/N smile as she takes Jay’s seat, stealing a piece of bacon off his plate as she listens to him coo at their daughter.

After a few minutes, Jay comes out of their daughter’s room holding her. She’d been changed into the clothes Y/N had gotten out for her as she got everything ready in her morning routine. “Look there’s mama, stealing daddy’s breakfast.”

“Daddy did leave it unattended,” she smiles and holds her hands out for Cora. Jay hands her to Y/N as they switch places so she can feed her while he finishes his breakfast before he has to leave.

Once everyone is fed and everything is cleaned up, Jay grabs his gun and badge and clips them on to his jeans. He makes his way over to Y/N and kisses the top of Cora’s head before kissing Y/N on the lips.

“I should be home for dinner,” he tells her. “I love you,” he says kissing her one more time.

“I love you, too!” she calls out as he leaves the apartment.

“My goodness, she’s getting so big!” Maggie coos as she spots Y/N walking into the emergency department, holding Cora.

They’d just been to Cora’s six month check up. On their way out of the hospital, Y/N decides to stop by the emergency department to see Will while he’s on one of his breaks.

“She was six months old yesterday,” Y/N smiles. “We were just on our way out from paediatrics.”

“How is she doing?” the charge nurse asks. Maggie had been one of the nurses on shift when she came into the emergency room after going into labor two months early.

“Cora’s hitting all her milestones a lot sooner than her doctor expected. She says for a premie baby she’s doing amazing,” Y/N smiles, happily.

Cora had a rough time coming into the world but now, even though she’s slightly smaller than the average six month old baby, she’s happy and healthy. That’s all Y/N and Jay wanted for their baby girl - to be healthy, happy and thriving.

“That’s great news, Y/N. I’m sure you and Jay are relieved,” Maggie smiles.

“So relieved,” she smiles, looking at her daughter, noticing she’s fallen asleep. “I would offer you a cuddle but she’s gone back to sleep.”

“I should get back to work,” Maggie sighs disappointedly. She would like nothing more than to have baby cuddles. “I’ll get Will for you. It’s coming up to his lunch break.”

Y/N thanks her and takes a seat in the waiting area as Maggie goes behind the nurses station to call Will.

As she waits for Will, Y/N makes sure Cora is comfortable in her stroller and isn’t over heating. Because of her teething, Cora’s temperature is a little higher than normal. Her doctor did give her some pain relief that should help with her slight fever as well as the pain from her teeth cutting through her gums.

“Damn, is she asleep?” her brother-in-law’s voice comes from beside her as he looks into the stroller at his niece.

“You just missed her,” Y/N chuckles. “You should come for dinner. You can get all the cuddles then.”

Even at six months old, Cora has an amazing bond with her only uncle. If Will is around, she settles for him when Y/N and Jay are unable to get her settled. He always gets her to smile and giggle, and she always gets excited when she seems him. Y/N can tell they’re going to be close as Cora gets older.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he smiles. “How’d her app-” he’s cut off by angry shouting at the reception desk. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her as he stands back up and makes his way over to the angry man and the frightened receptionist.

Y/N looks back at Cora, still fast asleep. The man shouting surprisingly wasn’t disturbing her from her sleep. “Uncle Will’s gone to play hero. One thing you should know about your daddy and uncle, is that they love playing hero.”

The shouting soon escalated and Y/N decides to get Cora out of there before it wakes her up but she freezes on the spot when a gunshot rings through the emergency room waiting area. She’s crouched over the stroller, protecting Cora with her back to the gunman. Cora is now awake and screaming.

Everyone panicking around her is is a distant noise as her focus is mostly on protecting her daughter. She remembers Will is also there and looks behind her finding him who’s sitting on the ground, holding his arm.

“Will!” she calls out him.

“I’m okay,” he tells her. “It’s just a flesh wound. Focus on keeping Cora safe, okay?”

She nods, turning back to her daughter as she hears the gunman yell something about shutting up the baby before he does it himself. Panicking even more, she shakily unbuckles Cora from her stroller and picks her up. Terrified, she starts to do everything she can to get Cora to settle. It takes a few minutes, but she finally settles, her cries turning to whimpers as she surprisingly starts settling. The gunman takes to pacing the floor back and forth, muttering to himself.

Until Y/N’s phone starts ringing, disrupting the heavy silence that’s fallen over the room. He grabs the person closest to him, placing his arm around her neck and holding the gun to her head and Cora starts crying again.

Panicking even more, she tries to settle Cora again but this time it’s not working. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whimpers through her tears willing Cora to stop crying. Her phone stops ringing and Cora’s cries get louder.

Y/N catches the end of Will talking to the gunman, “let me help settle my niece if you’re not going to let them go.”

“Fine but no funny business,” he orders Will over the shoulder of the person he has taken captive.

Will nods and stands up, moving towards Y/N with the gunman’s gun trailing him. The doctor sits down next to his sister-in-law, takes his niece and starts rocking her back and forth.

Just like every other time, Cora falls back asleep. She’s a little relieved when Will manages to get her to settle back down but the panic returns when her phone rings again.

“End that call!” the gunman yells, his hold on the person loosening as he aims the gun towards Y/N.

Shaking and trying to hold back her sobs she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone. Holding it she sees that it’s Jay who’s calling. She tilts her phone showing Will. He looks from her to the phone and gives her a slight nod. She presses the end call button only for her phone to start ringing again a second later.

Frustrated the man starts stomping towards Y/N only for Will to hand Cora back to her stand between them. “It’s her husband who’s calling her, just let her talk to him and let him know that her and the baby are okay.”

“Turn off your phone,” the man tells her.

Y/N presses the accept call button, instead of turning off her phone. She places her phone face down on her lap so he can’t see that it’s still on.

Outside, Jay, who’s never felt so scared in his life, is panicking with his phone to his ear, hearing what's happening inside the waiting room. He knew he should have taken the day off to be with them and taken Cora to her appointment himself. It was taking all his self control to not burst in there to get his wife, daughter and brother out of there.

“She can’t turn it off,” he hears Will say, “Her husband, my brother, he’s a detective with the Intelligence Unit down at 51. He can help you get whatever you want. Just let her talk to him.”

“What I want?” the man screams. “What I want I can’t have. My wife and son are gone because the people here couldn’t save them!”

“Have you got through to her?” Hank asks walking up to him, knowing he was trying to get in contact with Y/N to find out if she was still in the hospital.

Jay nods and moves his phone from his ear and puts it on speaker. “I think it’s the gunman, he said he lost his wife and son here.”

Hank calls over Adam and tells him to look into recent deaths of a mother and son at the hospital and to get back to him with what he can find.

“How-how long were you married?” Y/N’s shaky voice comes through the speaker.

“Why does that matter?” he scoffs, his voice not hiding the pain he’s feeling.

“It should matter, she, she was the love of your life, right?” she asks.

“Of course she was,” he spits out angrily before his voice turns soft. “We were married 10 years.”

“My husband and I have been married for five years.”

“Still in the honeymoon phase then,” the man says.

“She’s trying to get him to talk,” Jay says, knowing right away what she’s doing but it didn’t ease his worry. Being married to a detective was coming in handy right now.

“How old was your son?” Y/N continues to keep him talking, she can only guess he just wants someone to talk to, someone who will listen.

“He was six,” he cries. “and the sweetest boy you’d ever meet.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says looking up at him with sympathy. “No person should lose their spouse and child well before their time.”

“Your husband, if he lost you and your daughter, what would he do?” he asks her, surprising her a little.

“I don’t know what he would do,” she tells him truthfully. “When we lost our baby, he threw himself into work, we hardly spoke, he barely touched me.”

“You’ve lost a child?” he asks, his shoulders slumping.

“Our first baby, three years ago,” she tells him. “A boy. He hadn’t even been born yet.”

“Oh, God,” the man sighs, his lips trembling.

“Not a day goes by when I think of him,” she admits. “Do you think about your son?”

“Every day,” The man nods his head. As if he’s realized his actions, he breaks down into tears, dropping the gun and slides down the wall. “Oh, God. They’ll be so disappointed with me.”

“No they won’t,” Y/N tries to assure him as one of the receptionists hurries over and picks up the gun before the gunman can change his mind. “They know you’re hurting and people don’t think clearly when they are hurting.”

She jumps slightly as the doors open and a group of swat members come in and arrest the man.

She drops her phone and takes Cora from Will, hugging her close and never wanting to let her go again. Hearing her name being called, she looks up and sees Jay rushing towards her. The moment she falls into his arms she bursts into tears and holds him tightly.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he repeats, assuring her. “I’ve got you, the both of you.”

Hank had given Jay the rest of the week off so he could be with Y/N and Cora. While Y/N wouldn’t let Cora out of her sight, Jay wouldn’t let both his girls outs of his. They had spent the last two days at their apartment shut away from the rest of the world.

Today Jay thought it would be a good day to take his little family out for a few hours. After stopping by their favourite pizza joint, Jay drove them to a place they hadn’t been to in a while.

“You heard me talking about him,” Y/N says looking out towards the rows of headstones and flowers.

“Yeah, I did,” he admits. Until now he hadn’t been sure if he should bring it up. “I think it’s time Cora meets her big brother.”

“I think so too,” She smiles sadly looking back at her husband, saddened that this is the way Cora is going to know her older brother. She leans forward and softly kisses him. “I love you.”

Jay smiles, “I love you too, babe.”

#acewritesfics repost #jay halstead x reader #chicago pd x reader #jay halstead

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doe-writes-stuff · 9 months

Text

A/N - My love for the cowboy space dad, Sam Coe, has eclipsed to the point where I am now writing him fanfic...what a time to be alive, y'all. Anyway, enjoy the results of my brain rot, and let me know what you thought of it >.> More may be to come if he continues to plague my every waking thought

WARNINGS: Some angst on poor Cora's part, thanks to Lillian. Some Lillian bashing, thanks to reader. It's not specified if reader and Sam are fully together at this point in the story, but it's implied. Post 'Matters of the Hart' mission.

The bay of the Razorleaf slowly descended with a hydraulic hiss, finally clanking against the tarmac of a landing pad. From the bottom of the ramp, you watched as the dusty, endlessly sun-bleached landscape of Akira came into view. The first unfiltered breath of the atmosphere hit the back of your throat unpleasantly. How anyone tolerated such a low humidity every single day, you couldn’t guess. Akila was kind enough not to be a sweltering wasteland on top of it all, so…small victories there.

You’d not been much impressed with the sight of the planet the first time you’d landed on it, and it still gave no better impression now. Sand-swept walls and buildings rose from an equally monotone environment. It wasn’t hard to picture the planet might one day just swallow the city whole and leave nothing after to show there’d been civilization there. Perhaps through sheer stubbornness and pride, the Akila City citizens kept their place in the galaxy.

A long-suffering sigh and a set of muted footsteps approach from your right. Sam stops beside you and gazes across his home planet with equal apprehension. His arms cross and he levels his hometown’s ‘Welcome to Akila City’ archway a woeful stare.

“Never gets any easier…”

You’re not surprised by his reluctance to return home. A visit to Jacob Coe was never an occasion to celebrate, and this one would be particularly disappointing, given Sam would also be relinquishing his daughter to Lillian for that long-time-promised week vacation Cora mentioned every opportunity she could. You didn’t fault the almost-teen for being excited to see her mother, but it wasn’t hard to miss Sam’s lack of enthusiasm for the whole affair. He loved his daughter above anything else, and letting her go for such a length of time wouldn’t be easy.

This stop was a ‘two birds, one stone’ of all of Sam’s least favorite activities. His less-than-cheery mood was understandable, and you couldn’t help but share this feeling. After months of the inquisitive girl aboard your vessel, you’d gotten so used to the random questions and cringe-inducing jokes that the impending silence was admittedly quite daunting.

Akila just so happened to be the closest planet to where Lillian had finished up a month-long assignment. With the promise that she had time-off to spend, Sam had agreed to have the Ranger pick Cora up here, and it would ultimately be where you and Sam retrieved her after their time together. It ate the cowboy up inside, you could tell. But he kept quiet and put on a facade of support if only for Cora’s sake.

“I don’t see Lillian’s ship.” He added, sweeping his gaze past the entrance to the city and across to the other landing pads. Concern began to overtake the displeasure of being on Akila, and you could instantly follow where his internal thoughts were leading.

“We did get here earlier than planned.” You finally say, laying a calming hand on the man’s jacketed arm and earning his attention. It’s not like you were were defending the woman, but it was a little silly to assume anything when the Razorleaf had just touched down almost 2 hours before you’d agreed to rendezvous with the Ranger. You might dislike Lillian Hart, but you weren’t that petty. “Give it some time.”

“Yeah, yeah…you’re right.” After an affirming deep breath and a weary shake of his head, some of the tension in his shoulders eases. Some, but not all. “I’m just…not too optimistic about this.”

“I know.”

“She’s flaked before, and this one means a whole lot to Cora.” He went on, as if you weren’t already aware of the meaning behind it all. “I can’t help but worry she’s not gonna show.”

“We’ll handle that if it comes to it. For now, just take a breath.” You say, flashing him your best reassuring smile. Even he could tell it was a little forced, but he did return the gesture with a muted one of his own. At the very least, you made sure he didn’t have to face whatever might happen by himself.

Razorleaf’s airlock releases behind you, and Cora’s beaming smile leaves the ship before she does, her small suitcase of belongings in tow behind her. You’re willing to bet there are more books than there are clothes in there, but hey, you wouldn’t judge. She blunders down the ramp with an energy you’d never seen before, curls bouncing atop her head the whole way, finally coming to a breathless stop next to her father.

“Is she here yet?” She questions, eyes already darting around the spaceport before receiving an answer.

“Not just yet, string bean.” Sam gave her hair a good-natured rustle, smile regaining some of its warmth as he addressed his daughter. “I’ve got some business with your grandpa first, so we arrived a bit early. I’m sure she’ll be touching down soon enough.”

You don’t comment on the edge of uncertainty that accompanies that last part. And thankfully, Cora doesn’t ask to go with her father for a family visit. Sam always preferred her to be as far away from Jacob as possible. At some point, you assume Cora understood why, though she’d never directly voiced it.

Sam pats his daughter’s cheek affectionately. “I shouldn’t be too long. Y/N’s gonna keep you company until your mother gets here. Don’t you go anywhere until I get back to say goodbye, alright?”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Cora gives an exaggerated little roll of her eyes, but her smile is ever-present. “I promise, dad."

“That a’girl.” He says, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against the top of her head. Then, his attention turns to you. “You two gonna be alright?”

“We’ll be just fine.” Is your reply, promising through unspoken word to keep Cora safe and sound while he was away. The reassurance is what he needed most, and you were more than happy to provide it. “We’ll make sure to have way more fun than you will.”

“Heh. Yeah, well…that won’t be too hard.” Sam’s head tilted a little, eyes squinting, already picturing the impending encounter with his own father. “I’ll comm you when I’m done.”

You wave your companion goodbye, watching him disappear past the protective walls of Akila City, then turn to the girl practically buzzing with excitement beside you. “We’ve got a bit of time to kill. So…where to first?”

This earns you an amused laugh, and the two of you begin walking towards the entrance of the city. “Do you even need to ask?”

“I figured today might be the day you just surprise me.”

You’re not sure how much time you spend standing around watching Cora browse the many books in Akila City’s—woefully small, in your opinion—selection. Seeing her over the moon at each new title, eyes scanning the summaries and even skimming the inner pages never got old. Her enthusiasm for the first new book she’d laid eyes on was just as exuberant as what was possibly the 18th book that afternoon.

The girl was a talker, chatting up the bookstore owners with the passion of a scholar. You could tell the women weren’t used to having someone so forthcoming with their love of literature in their store, but they quickly joined Cora’s wavelength and discussed their favorite volumes at length.

More than content to stand off to the side and let the girl have her fun, you interjected where appropriate, but for the most part just let the conversation go without you. Cora could talk for two people, anyway.

Eventually, even she had her fill of the bookstore, stomach grumbling with the need for food. You walked out of the store only a few hundred credits poorer—a miracle if there ever was one—and headed off to the chunks establishment just down the way. Akila was a maze at the best of times, but for once you managed to navigate the streets with little trouble.

You stood in line and debated with the young bibliophile what the best flavor of chunks was, but couldn’t come to an agreement. Your own favorite was completely out of stock when you managed to get help from the attendant, so you went with Cora’s favorite instead.

With sated stomachs and a few new books for Cora in tow, you return to the spaceport to wait on the ship until either Sam or Lillian arrive. One glance around at the other landing pads confirms that Lillian’s ship had still not touched down. Sam still hadn’t comm’d you after an hour and a half, which meant his meeting with Jacob probably wasn’t going well. Regardless, you knew he’d make his way back to the Razorleaf in time to see his daughter off, even if it meant leaving business unfinished with his father.

You hid your worry behind a carefully neutral interest in whatever Cora had been talking about while you walked back to the Razorleaf, but that pit of dread began to dig its way into your stomach. Anger simmered right behind it. Cora didn’t seem to notice your rapidly worsening mood, which was all the better. If your fears turned out to be unwarranted, no need to rub it off on the girl.

When the ship’s communicator finally chimed with an incoming transmission, both yours and Cora’s heads jerked up. Being closer to the cockpit, you slid into the captain’s chair just as Cora ran by your side. Immediately, you knew it wasn’t Sam reaching out, and instead the woman you were meant to be meeting in…28 minutes. Cora’s face lit up with the prospect that it was her mother calling to tell them she was almost there.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be that optimistic.

One touch on your control panel accepted the transmission. Before you could even issue the standard greeting, Cora chimed in with a bubbly, “Hi, Mom!”

Hearing her daughter’s voice had caught the Ranger off guard. There was a pause before she responded. “Cora, angel…how are you?”

Her tone of voice made you stiffen in your seat, mouth pressing into a thin line, but Cora didn’t notice. She leaned forward against your chair’s armrest.

“I’m great! Are you almost here? I’ve got my bag all packed, so as soon as Dad comes back from Grandpa’s we can leave.”

“Ah, I was actually hoping to speak with your dad. Do you know how long he’ll be?”

Figures she’d try to speak with Sam instead of breaking her daughter’s heart directly, you think bitterly. You wondered if she even realized how selfish it was to put the responsibility on her ex-husband to break this crushing news.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon. And I found a few books we can read together while we travel to wherever we are going. I know you’ll like them.”

Your heart broke further with each new word the curly-haired pre-teen spoke, knowing what was about to happen. The taste of your chunks packet earlier was overshadowed by the bitterness of anger as it bubbled hotter under your skin.

“That’s great, sweetie, but…” Lillian’s voice trailed off, guilt or embarrassment or some equally fitting emotion coloring her tone. Perhaps she’d realized that there was no softening the blow she was about to deliver. “…listen. Something came up that I have to take care of. I’m so sorry, Cora. I’m not gonna be able to make it this time.”

A full second, maybe two, of silence passed, Cora processing what her mother had said. Seeing the girl’s face morph from elation at hearing her mother’s voice to something akin to confused betrayal tore at the deepest parts of your heart. If you could have saved her from this, you would have. But Cora being in the ship meant that she’d hear every word spoken no matter where in the craft she was.

“Oh.”

That one word, uttered with such devastating resignation. Cora straightened from leaning across your armrest and stood there with a carefully put together mask. You could see every crack and fracture in the young girl’s facade, but she put up a valiant effort to appear unaffected.

Lillian must have heard the same, and continued again before you could interject anything.

“I know how much you were looking forward to this, and trust me when I say I was too. I’d love nothing more than to take you away to a little paradise together and just spend the days hangin’ out without a care in the world.” Lillian’s attempts at smoothing over the hurt did nothing at all to fix anything about this. “I promise you, we’ll get together and have our week-long vacation, do or die, one of these days.”

Cora didn’t say anything. So unlike the chatty pre-teen. She looked down at her shoes, before quietly taking a hold of her suitcase you now realized she’d dragged with her in her rush to the cockpit.

“It’s alright, mom. We’ll figure it out someday.” Dear God, she barely sounded like Cora…all color was missing from her voice. So little life.

“I love you, you know that?”

“I know.” And with that, she turned and padded her way back to the cot at the back of the ship. Perhaps she didn’t want you to witness her misery, because she went so far as to close the hatch to the cockpit, leaving you by yourself with Lillian still connected. Even with the hatch closed, Cora might still hear the conversation, but given everything that had happened, you no longer gave a damn.

“What is it this time, Lillian?” Your voice is full of barely restrained venom as you lean forward in your chair. You can’t see the woman through the audio transmission, but you were glaring anyway. “What’s so important that you couldn’t keep your promise to your daughter?”

The sweetness present when she’d spoken with Cora was absent, replaced by cold indifference when addressing you. The contrast was so stark, if you hadn’t already known her, you’d say they were two separate women. “You talk like this doesn’t hurt me just as much as it does Cora.”

“Because it doesn’t.” You say, reminding yourself to restrain the worst of your emotions. It wouldn’t do Cora any favors by cursing out her absentee mother from the other room. That wasn’t what the girl needed right now. Your head shakes with a rueful scoff. “If you could only see, Lilian…the way that girl’s face shattered. Then maybe you’d understand just how much more she’s hurting. But no, instead you do this over comms where you don’t have to look her in the eyes. Hell, you were going to put it on Sam to break the news, weren’t you?”

Lillian, perhaps smartly, doesn’t rise to that particular insinuation. “I do what I can, when I can to be there. It’s unfortunately a lot less than I’d like, but my duty is to protect the people of Freestar Space. I have obligations I can’t just ignore.”

“You seem to have forgotten your obligations as a mother in the process.”

“I’d give anything to be there with my little girl. Don’t ever imply I wouldn’t.”

“If that were the case, you’d have found someone else to handle whatever ‘came up.’ When it comes down to it, you don’t give anything, and you need to. Each missed visit convinces her that she’s another step further down on your list of priorities. What do you think happens when she believes she’s at the bottom?” You retort, already exhausted over this whole conversation.

“Cora knows how much she means to me, how important she is.” Funny, you think Lillian almost has herself convinced.

If it kept going at this rate, you were likely to start yelling, and that wouldn’t end well. Besides, Cora needed someone to be with her right now, so things needed to end quickly.

You let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, voice growing much quieter as you reigned in your fury. “Look, Lillian…Sam already explained this to you. You can’t keep doing this. Cora can’t. She’s already 12. 13 in just a few months. Before you know it, she won’t be a child anymore. At this rate, there will come a point when she decides waiting for you to bother isn’t worth the heartache. There will come a day when you retire, when the need to fulfill a duty is over and done, and she will not be there. Because in the moments when it mattered—really mattered—you weren’t there for her. You realize that, right?”

You hear the woman sigh, and deep down, you know she hates that this conversation ever had to take place as much as you do. You know, really, that Lillian had good intentions with her promises. And that’s what made it all the more frustrating when she failed to deliver. She was well aware of how important this all was. Her damned chronic workaholic personality and inability to set aside the needs of the many just wouldn’t allow her to put anything else above it. Even at the cost of her daughter’s trust and happiness.

“You sound more like her mother than I do sometimes…” The Ranger admits tiredly. “I don’t know whether to be angry or grateful.”

“Honestly, I don’t care how you feel about it.” You say with a shrug. “She needs someone to be there for her. Sam is a wonderful father, and always there when it counts, but that girl needs a mother too. I know I’ll never replace you in her heart, it's not something I'm trying to do anyway. But I’ll fill whatever role she needs me to be, if it keeps her smiling.”

You hear a muffled beeping through the transmission, followed by Lillian’s muttered curse. “Damn it…looks like I’m about to have company.”

“Spacers?” You weren’t really concerned, or even cared, and asked only out of obligation.

“Crimson Fleet, I think.” There’s a pause, and you know that the conversation had come to an end. Nothing had resolved, but you knew Lillian wasn’t likely to change who she was after a short talk. “Listen, tell Cora I love her. I expect I’ll hear from Sam later on about this. He has every right to be angry. I am who I am, and that’s exactly the reason we never would have worked out in the end. I only regret Cora is suffering because of it. But for now, duty calls.”

Always duty with this woman. “Be safe, Lillian.” You bid, already reaching for the console button to end the transmission.

“You too.”

The audio cuts off abruptly, and you lean back in your chair with a slow inhale. Dragging your hands down your face, you release the last of your anger in a harsh exhale. Best to get rid of it now, so it wasn’t obvious when you went to see Cora. Not wasting anymore time, you stand from the chair and open the hatch.

You find Cora sat on your cot, a thousand-yard stare fixed at some point on the floor in front of her. Her smile was long gone, replaced instead by the remains of whatever facade she’d crafted to appear put together and ok. The little suitcase she’d packed with all her belongings sat a few feet away. It was zipped halfway open, as if she’d began to unpack, but then thought better of it.

A sad sigh leaves your lips. For a moment, you just watch her, calculating how best to approach this conversation. Sam was much better equipped to handle something like this, but you weren’t sure how much longer he’d be, and it pained you having to see her in such despair. You couldn’t just sit back and let her stew in whatever thoughts might be dragging her further down.

You slowly approach the still-silent Cora, electing to sit at her side just a few inches apart. Whether she wanted physical comfort, or just someone to be nearby, you weren’t sure. But you were close enough that, should she need you, she didn’t need to go far.

And for awhile, the two of you just…sit there. Words fail you, and try as hard as you might to find the right ones to say that might heal some of the hurt in Cora’s heart, nothing feels good enough. But eventually, you hear the girl sniffle. The first sign that her careful hold on her emotions was beginning to crack.

“Mom is a good Ranger. She’s out there saving lots of lives and making the galaxy less dangerous.” Cora’s wavering voice says, and you nearly want to cry yourself hearing just how hard it was for her not to shed those tears. Perhaps this was something she told herself each day as justification for her mother's constant absence. “I know she’ll make it up to me one day. She always does, eventually.”

You bite your lip. “Cora-“

“But…just once,” another sniffle breaks through, and then the first tear slides down her cheek, “I was hoping that…that it would all go right and we’d be a-able to see each other for a whole week. There’s s-so much I want to show her and talk to…to her about.”

More tears follow the first, and you lift your sleeve to wipe them from her face gently. But they keep coming, now that the floodgates had opened, and Cora openly wept as she sat beside you, her true feelings spilling over in bucketfuls. You did your best to keep up, but it only takes minutes for her to be shaking with the overwhelming sadness.

“I just want my mom…” She sobs, covering her eyes with her hands to try stopping the flow. “That’s all.”

A sharp cry has you reaching for her shoulders and pulling the girl in close, and your heart leaps when she forcefully wraps her arms around your middle and buries her tear-stained face in your shirt. What you wouldn’t give to drag Lillian here by the hair and force her to be here for her daughter…

With soothing ‘shushing’ noises, you gently rock her back and forth, one hand patting her back and the other holding her head close. You don’t know what to say to her, truly. Finding the words to tell Lillian how much you thought she failed her daughter constantly and consistently was easy. Finding the words to tell her child that she deserved so much more than what she was being given? That was much more difficult.

You sat there while Cora poured her heart out. Through the sobs, she mumbled muffled and incoherent sentences into your shirt. You’re not sure what half of them were, but if she just wanted to get it all out and vent, that was fine with you. Your shirt was damp with her tears, but that was alright too. Nothing would pull you away from offering whatever support you could while she worked her way through the many emotions.

Eventually, Cora’s sobbing began to ebb, the shaking becoming less pronounced. Her breathing evens to something less stuttered and shallow, and before too long you realize she’d managed to cry herself to sleep against your side. The poor thing…you continued the gentle rocking motion just in case, not wanting to wake her up.

A dull beeping noise caught your attention, and you look up towards the cockpit where it emanated from. Your communicator, you realized. That was probably Sam, wanting to let you know that he was done with whatever him and Jacob had needed to discuss. Part of you thinks to get up and answer, but the thought of jostling Cora awake was too much. You sat there, figuring that Sam would return to the ship to look for the two of you.

If you had to guess, it was about ten minutes before you heard the footsteps coming up the Razorleaf’s ramp. You didn’t move from your spot, listening as the airlock hissed open. Somehow, the noise didn’t wake the exhausted Cora, who barely moved from her place next to you.

Sam nearly walked past you sitting on the cot, but his peripheral vision caught your presence, and he stopped. He took in the sight of his daughter curled into your side, her posture clearly indicating that she’d been crying. You met his gaze with a stony, cold fury, one he understood wasn’t directed at him personally. That one, silent stare was all he needed to figure out what had occurred while he’d been away.

The inquisitive expression he’d worn coming in vanished, jaw setting tightly. Clearly agitated, Sam stepped a few paces away, hand rubbing along his jaw in an effort to remain calm in the face of what Lillian had put his daughter through once again. He looked like he wanted to throw something. His breathing was more pronounced, though came through in slow, methodical inhale and exhales through his nose. Truthfully, you don’t think you’d ever seen Sam so angry.

In time, he finds himself again, stowing away the anger for the sake of his daughter. He could vent his feelings to Lillian later, when Cora wouldn’t hear it, but for now the important thing was making sure his daughter was alright. That was something you would never grow tired of seeing; Sam’s absolute dedication to his little girl, no matter what.

He moves to sit on her other side, and leans down to kiss the top of her head. It didn’t matter to him if she was still sleeping. You slowly move to shift Cora’s weight over to Sam, and somehow manage it without waking the sleeping pre-teen. She stirs, but her eyes never open.

Sam takes off his cowboy hat and sets it next to him, leaning back and holding Cora closer to him. He settles in to sit there for awhile, unsure how long she’ll be out for. Then, his eyes glance up to meet your own, holding them with a look so full of…something, that you can’t look away.

“Thank you. You were there for her when she needed it.” He says, his voice raspy and quiet so as not to wake Cora. And while you know he couldn’t have heard your conversation with Lillian before, it’s eerie how similar his words were. “I appreciate that beyond words.”

You give a little shrug, eyes drifting back down to the girl in his arms. “She needs her dad now.”

“And you, Y/N.” He says, drawing your attention back up to him. He offers the smallest of smiles. “She needs you too.”

Unsure of what to say, you simply sit back and make yourself comfortable, waiting for Cora to awaken. Your hand rubs along her back, hoping that the two of you would somehow be able to fix some of what Lillian had broken.

#sam coe #sam coe x reader #fem reader #starfield #bethesda #Cora coe #scenario #starfield x reader

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ohtobealady · 1 month

Note

Love your cobert drabbles and fanfics!! Please write more!! Hope you are doing well 😘🥰😉

So I had a very, very old request for a long-lost prompt list. They requested #18 which was an angsty “All you had to do was stay.” I do not know where that request went, so I am answering this more open-ended one from 2020 instead. Thank you Anon of Bygone Times. I am doing well! And I hope you are, too.

Just felt like doing a little something! Hurt/Comfort really. Post ANE. Please forgive the clunkiness xoxox

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Angst #18 - All You Had to Do Was Stay

Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and her tongue felt dry and thick. It was over, but the taste remained: mineraly and sharp, a bitter tang. It filled up her entire mouth and nose, the taste and smell indistinguishable from each other. She needed water.

Cora opened her eyes and immediately blinked. She worked for a moment to adjust her vision, pressing her eyelids softly and then peering into the afternoon rays of sun coming in at an odd angle to the room. Oh, her head pounded and throbbed. Water; where was the water?

She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the thin pillow. She’d prayed it wouldn’t be like this. The first few times she’d done the treatment, as Doctor Clarkson had called it, she’d gagged, of course. But she managed the small measured portions of raw liver she’d been prescribed to eat over the course of the day. She could have the injections just as soon as they were shipped from London; this would get easier—less frequent. But after a week, and with the shipment still missing, she found she could no longer stomach it. She managed her portion at luncheon, just barely finding the strength to swallow the gelatinous mush in her mouth that had once been neat cubes upon her plate. But then the vomiting began at tea. And it didn’t stop. The smell of it, the vomit a dark red in the basin, set her mouth to watering and nose burning as a precursor to even more retching.

So Robert had taken her here the next morning—this morning—, in spite of her protesting, to the hospital.

Cora groaned. Whatever strength and newfound energy she’d enjoyed before was completely depleted now and what remained were aches and fatigue. She wouldn’t think of what it may mean—that the incessant vomiting of the last day and night had undone all of her progress—but instead tried her best to look at the bright side. The injections would be in soon, and there’d be less liver. Not no liver, she knew. But less. She could stomach less.

With this, she opened her eyes again. Late afternoon, she could tell. The hospital bed beneath her felt stiff and narrow. The quilt was rough. She attempted to ease herself up slowly, the blood in her head thumping and her stomach sore from its terrible labor.

But then the small creak of a wooden chair to her right, and the warm weight of his hand upon her blanketed shin stilled her.

“Lie back.”

“Robert,” her voice croaked softly, her protest pitiful and weak. “I’m alright.”

“You aren’t. You need rest.”

Despite her scoff, Cora did lie back. She hadn’t even the energy to roll her eyes. “I’m alright. Really.”

“So you said.” His voice was gentler in his contradiction than before, and even though her eyes were closed, Cora could feel the way he shifted in the wooden chair. She could feel the way he leaned closer to her, and she felt his hand move from her leg and to her arm. His fingers encircled it, and she felt him draw a soft line along the thin and fragile bone of the inside of her wrist. She sighed; her head hurt a little less. “We were pleased to see you’ve kept down the last portion.”

She hummed a reply. “Best not to speak too soon.”

“Doctor Clarkson says if you can keep down the next, he’ll send us home to bed.”

She swallowed down what she wanted to respond: She didn’t want another portion. The very thought of it prickled up beads of cold sweat upon her hairline. She did groan, but took in a long breath to steady herself. “I’ve been resting all day.”

“Yes. And he has given you direction to rest as much as possible tomorrow. That is, if you’re well enough to leave.”

“Oh, Robert,” she opened her eyes. “I don’t wish to take up a bed for anyone who may really need it.”

She felt the way his fingers moved upon her wrist. “I suppose you think you don’t?”

“I don’t need it. I’ve been ill, yes, but not ill enough for constant monitoring.” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and swallowed down the dry burn of her throat. Her voice was hoarse from the vomiting. “Besides, I’d like to see you try keeping all that liver down.”

His fingers tightened. The chair creaked. And in the absence of what she thought would be a low chuckle, Cora slowly opened her eyes to find him looking down at her.

“I wish I could do this for you.”

She sighed. “Do what?” she asked, even though she knew.

“All of it.”

She knew. Her chest ached when he looked away from her, his chin trembling. Yes, she knew. For she felt the same when he was lying in this bed a few short years ago and she was the one on the creaking chair praying that somehow they could exchange places. She’d suffer it for him, she knew. And he would suffer this for her. “Oh, darling.“

“I hate seeing you so ill. Last night. I’m so terribly sorry you must endure this.”

It took more energy than she thought she had to slip her wrist from his grasp and for her fingers to find his hand instead. She squeezed, quickly and firmly, and smiled when he at last met her eye.

“No. I don’t want that. No apologies or pity. Hmm?” She smiled wider for his sake, and she tried her best to level her voice, to not sound quite so weak. “All I want is this. For you to stay beside me. Holding my hand.”

He chuckled, softly and sadly. “You’ll have some of my pity. It can’t be helped.” At this, he brought her fingers to his lips and pressed them. They felt warm against her skin. “But I will hold your hand.”

#cobert #downton abbey #cora crawley #robert crawley #cobert drabbles

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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 10 months

Text

Daddy Duty - The Forgotten Nest AU

AU Series Based on The Forgotten Nest

Summary: Bradley watches Nickie by himself for the first time.

Additional Warnings: Referenced Past Teenage Pregnancy; Nickie Crying (he's a baby y'all); Baby Functions; Bradley Struggles; Maternal Concerns

Word Count: 2.1k

Main Master List

Series Master List

Cora didn’t think that she was going to be a helicopter mom or one of those moms who would struggle with letting other people watch her baby. After all, she was raised in a predominantly ‘hands off’ household. Carole was working a lot when her and Bradley were growing up and Maverick was often away. Cora and Bradley weren't heavily supervised during their childhood, and especially not when they were teenagers.

But maybe Cora wanted to make a few changes to how she was raised with Nickie. So, yeah, maybe she was becoming a bit of a control freak mom.

Cora trusted a select group of people to watch Nickie. She trusted Ice and Sarah and Penny to watch Nickie without concern. And after some time, she trusted her dad to watch Nickie. But she wasn’t quite there with Bradley yet.

Bradley was Nickie’s father, obviously, but that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t spent a lot of time around babies. He was still playing catch up for the months that he missed and maybe Cora wasn't fully ready for him to watch Nickie on her own yet. And she knew that made her a bad co-parent, but she thought that she had a little bit of a right to be concerned.

But it looked like she was running out of excuses these days.

“I can’t, Mara,” Cora sighed, wiping Nickie’s chin with his bib.

She was sitting in front of Nickie’s high chair while on the phone with Mara Kazansky, who was the year below her and Bradley. Cora and Mara always had a close relationship and Mara, much like her father, never shied away from telling the truth whenever she felt like Cora needed to hear it. And she definitely needed to hear this.

“I don’t have anyone to watch Nickie," Cora continued, sitting back in her chair.

“Isn’t Bradley home this weekend?”

“Well . . . yeah, but . . .”

“You don’t trust him to be alone with Nickie?” Mara guessed, causing Cora to sigh.

“That’s not what I meant,” Cora replied, holding out more food for Nickie to eat. “It’s just . . . he’s still learning and everything. And it can be a lot to watch a baby.”

“Nickie is his baby too. If Bradley can’t survive an afternoon alone with him, then he needs to get his shit together three months ago,” Mara pointed out without skipping a beat. “And it’s not like we’ll be across the country. We’ll be two hours away and my mom is still in town, so if he needs anything at all, he can call her and she’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Cora stared at Nickie for a moment. She felt incredibly guilty for even doubting Bradley’s ability to watch their son by himself, but she didn’t think it was entirely crazy either. He had spent about a grand total of two months with Nickie and for most of it, Cora was right there with him.

“Come on, Cora, you need a break. You haven’t spent more than three hours away from Nickie since he was born. And every parent needs a break. Especially you.”

“I’m turning into Ms. Mom, aren’t I?” Cora sighed quietly, holding out more food to Nickie.

“Hey, there’s a lot of worse types of moms that you could be,” Mara amended her earlier sentiments.

Mara knew how sensitive the subject motherhood was with Cora. And Mara, though she wasn't majoring in psychology, had a slight inkling that Cora's style of motherhood, the sort of helicopter and potentially excessive worry, was a direct reaction to Cora's mom's style of motherhood. Abandonment, that is.

“But you need to have fun too. And there will be times where you can't always be there for Nickie. And as much as I love my godson, I think that you can have fun away from him and it doesn’t make you a bad mom, Cora.”

“I’ll talk to Bradley about it,” Cora stated softly after a few moments, causing Mara to let out an excited noise.

Bradley returned to the Mitchell home two hours after Cora hung up with Mara. Heading inside, Bradley smiled when Nickie came toddling around the corner, dragging his blankie behind him as he moved to greet his dad. Setting down his keys and the food that he brought home for dinner, Bradley held out his arms for Nickie.

“Hey, Nickie,” he called, scooping his son up. Pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek, Bradley set Nickie on his hip. “You have fun with your mama?”

“Hey,” Cora greeted Bradley, walking around the corner. “How was your day?”

“Good,” Bradley returned, offering her a kind smile. Turning to the side, Bradley pointed at the bag of food that he picked up for Cora. “I bought dinner. Your favorite.”

“Thanks,” Cora replied, glancing into the bag. After a moment, she turned back to Bradley. “Do you have any plans on Saturday?”

“No, why?”

“Mara wanted to take me out and someone needs to watch Nickie if I wanted to go,” Cora started off with, building up to the question.

“You think that I wouldn’t watch my own kid?” Bradley asked, honestly sounding a bit offended.

“No, I just, I didn’t know if you would be comfortable with that since you’ve never watched him alone before and I didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything,” Cora listed off quickly.

“I can watch him,” Bradley stated, straightening up a bit. “He’s my son too.”

“I know,” Cora assured Bradley. “Thanks.”

“I’m pretty sure that you’re not supposed to thank me for me watching my own son,” Bradley pointed out, adjusting his hold on Nickie. "We'll be fine."

~~~~~

“Alright, it’s just you and me today, buddy,” Bradley told Nickie, squatting down in front of him. “Mama’s out with your Aunt Mara on a girl’s day. So, today, we’re having a dada and son day. Sound good to you?”

Nickie shot Bradley a one-tooth smile as drool dribbled down his chin before going back to gnawing on his favorite toy. He had been doing that for the last few days and anytime someone tried to take it away from him, Nickie threw a huge fit. So, for his own personal sanity, Bradley would not be touching that toy today.

“What should we do, huh?”

Bradley was a bit nervous that if he screwed up today that Cora would lose what little trust that they had built up over the last few months, and he would be back to square one. So, he was going to clean up the house, he was going to keep Nickie happy, and he was going to do everything that Cora managed in a day.

If only for his own pride.

And for the first hour, it was going well. Nickie was easily entertained and mostly kept himself busy, walking around the playroom area and playing with his toys. Bradley cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes before starting a load of laundry. And he was feeling confident, perhaps overconfident, in his own abilities as a dad.

And then Nickie got into the baby powder.

“Fucking shit,” Bradley whispered when he spotted the mess that Nickie made in the playroom.

The entire six-foot radius around Nickie was covered in a layer of white powder, which Bradley deduced came from the probably now empty bottle of baby powder that was in Nickie’s hands. And when Nickie heard his dad come into the room, he smiled proudly at Bradley’s horrified look.

“Nickie,” Bradley sighed, walking forward.

Forced to wade into the baby powder a bit, Bradley picked Nickie up and took the bottle from his hands. Closing it and setting it aside, Bradley held Nickie at arm’s length. Nickie, of course, was covered head to toe in baby powder.

“Oh, God,” Bradley breathed out, looking at the mess.

Bradley carried Nickie into the bathroom. Running a bath, Bradley held a squirming Nickie in his arms as he tested the temperature of the water. Adding some soap and bubbles, Bradley tossed in a few rubber ducks to keep Nickie entertained and hopefully happy. Washing the baby powder out of his hair, Bradley struggled as Nickie was getting increasingly frustrated and annoyed and was starting to fight back against his dad.

“Nickie, just hold still,” Bradley stated, dumping water over Nickie’s head.

Sputtering and waving his hands around, Nickie stared up at his dad with betrayal in his big brown eyes. Pouting something fierce, Nickie whined and pulled away as Bradley poured some more water over his little head. And in a fit, Nickie smashed his hands onto the water, splashing Bradley with a whole bunch of water.

“Nickie!” Bradley scolded, staring down at his now soaked shorts. “Alright, that's it. We're done with the bath.”

Bradley started to drain the water and scooped Nickie out of the tub. Setting him on the ground, Bradley kept a firm hold on Nickie and reached for a towel, drying him off despite Nickie’s increasingly loud protests. Getting Nickie into another diaper, Bradley turned to grab Nickie’s shirt when his son decided to go AWOL.

Nickie turned and hurried as fast as he could out of the bathroom, which wasn't very fast, but he still managed to get outside of Bradley's reach. Bradley let out a growl of annoyance and got up. Moving quickly, he grabbed Nickie before he could get too far and held him to his chest. Nickie whined in frustration, kicking his little legs out.

"Nickie, stop fighting me," Bradley sighed, opening the baby gate and heading back downstairs. "If you hadn't gotten baby powder all over yourself, you would have been fine."

Bradley set Nickie down in the gated play area in the family room and hurried to wash the baby powder out of the floor before it had a chance to set in. Bradley returned a few minutes later to find Nickie gnawing aggressively on something that wasn’t his teething toy and hurried to take it away before he hurt himself.

"Don't put that in your mouth," Bradley sighed, tossing the toy away.

Nickie immediately burst out into tears, holding up his hands for the toy. Bradley winced at his loud cries and quickly turned to grab Nickie’s teething toy from where it had been earlier. Except, the teething toy wasn’t where he left it. Starting to panic a bit, Bradley looked around frantically for the toy while Nickie screamed and cried in his playpen.

“Shit,” Bradley muttered, getting to his feet.

Tearing apart the family room, Bradley ran out to the playroom to look for it there. Nickie kept crying, flopping onto the ground as his sobs echoed around the whole house. Bradley finally found it under the dresser and after quickly washing it off, Bradley rushed back to try and pacify Nickie with the toy. But when he offered the teething toy to Nickie, Nickie simply threw the toy back at him.

“Nickie, please,” Bradley begged, really starting to lose his sanity.

Pulling Nickie out of the playpen, Bradley tried to soothe Nickie with hugs and rocks, but Nickie seemed to be content to scream his heart out. It was almost like he was trying to teach his dad a lesson there. Rocking Nickie back and forth, Bradley started to pace around the room, hoping that it would get Nickie to quiet down. Offering Nickie toy after toy, Bradley just got rejected over and over again.

"Nickie, please,” Bradley pleaded after a few minutes, rocking Nickie again as he looked around for something to calm Nickie down.

Rushing into the kitchen, Bradley grabbed one of the bottles that Cora left for him and tried to offer it to Nickie. And even though Nickie rejected it at first, eventually, Nickie latched on and started suckling from the bottle. Bradley held his breath for a moment, not fully trusting his son to actually settle, before he felt Nickie relax and curl up into his chest, happily sucking on the botte.

“It’s okay,” Bradley assured Nickie as Nickie closed his eyes slowly. “You're okay." Resting his back against the wall, Bradley closed his own eyes for a second. "We're all okay."

~~~~~

Cora walked inside after her day out with Mara and nearly dropped her purse where she stood when she saw the state of the house. There was a trail of baby powder all over the floor. Toys were strewn everywhere and it looked like most of the furniture was out of place from where she left it.

“Bradley?” Cora called nervously.

Rushing into the family room, Cora nearly panicked when she didn’t see Bradley or Nickie anywhere. And Nickie’s blankie and teething toy were right there on the floor. Taking the stairs, Cora sprinted to the nursery to find neither of them there.

“Bradley!?”

Running down the hall, Cora quickly checked her room before moving onto Bradley’s room. She pushed open the door and immediately let out a breath of relief when she spotted Bradley and Nickie together, safe and sound.

Bradley was laying flat on his back in his bed, shirtless, and with Nickie on his chest. His head was kicked back and his mouth hung open with soft snores coming out. Nickie was curled up on Bradley’s chest, breathing slowly. Nickie’s mouth was hanging open as well with some drool slipping out of his mouth. Bradley's hand rested on Nickie's back, keeping him in place and close.

Cora smiled to herself at the image and slowly slipped out of the room. Returning a moment later, Cora took a few pictures of Nickie and Bradley with her camera before slipping out of the room again, knowing better than to wake a sleeping Bradshaw.

Tags: Tags: @praline357 @luv4kani @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo

#top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun #tgm #tgm fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster fanfic #bradley rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x oc #rooster top gun #rooster #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #rooster bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw fic

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assortedseaglass · 1 year

Text

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Seventeen

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Strong Language, Smut, World on Fire Spoilers

Word Count: 4.8K

Notes: Thank you for waiting so patiently everyone! Let’s just get on with it, shall we?

In the dwindling evening light, window open and net curtain flying before the dreaded blackouts were installed, Tom read the letters Bess had written him in those months he was missing.

Bess’ naked body tucked at his side, he read pages about Cora slow yet sweet romance with Roger, Fergal’s job as an air raid warden and his increasing reliance on alcohol, the little polish boy Jan, which was accompanied by a photo of him posing in Tom’s own football jersey, and of course, the aftermath of Albie’s death. Throughout it all, the letters were peppered with Bess’ increasing declarations of adoration. The moments she thought about Tom (at the Palais, her cigarette breaks at the hospital, cycling home with Douglas), her despair at not seeing him off and the fear that he wouldn’t come back, as Albie hadn’t. What she missed (their late nights in the kitchen, they way he’d gently tease her before winking, that smile), and how much she longed to see him. Throughout his discovery that Bess had always longed for him too, she had disappeared from his side just once; to pin a note on the door telling her friends that she had caught a bug at the hospital and not to come in.

Occasionally, Tom passed Bess a letter, coaxing her into reading it aloud with tender fingers at her cheek and whispered praises of her voice that made Bess shiver. It was during one such reading that she found herself with the offending letter pressed against Tom’s chest as she fought to keep herself upright.

“Fuck,” she moaned as, with a sudden jerk of his hips, Tom bucked into Bess’ heat.

“Keep reading,” he demanded through gritted teeth, fingers digging into the plump flesh of her thighs. A sheen of sweat coated the plane of his stomach, and Bess watched entranced as the muscles beneath the letter she held flexed. Through the haze of sex, she could barely make out her own handwriting, let alone read the words out loud. A hand smacked her bottom, and she cried out as it found its way back to her thigh and dragged her across Tom’s hips. “Keep. Reading.”

Opening her eyes just a little Bess saw, beyond the knit of his eyebrows and focus of his eyes, a smirk fading at the edge of his mouth. She’d missed that fucking smirk. Her cunt clenched around him and he groaned. “I won’t ask again, love.” Bess’ eyes flickered back to the letter held at his chest below her and continued to read, her voice hoarse with concentration.

“‘On the bus to work, or in the-the-’” her head fell forward as Tom used her thighs to slowly rake her body over his cock. “‘Or in the hospital, I get scared that people can read my mind. They have paintings of St Agatha and the King on the wall, and I can feel them judging my shame. I think of you each morning, Tom.’” At the hearing of his name, Tom’s eyes snapped open and he ran a hand along Bess’ thigh to her waist. She took a shuddering breath before continuing. “‘The first thing I do when I wake up, before I remove the blackouts or put on the kettle, is read your letter.’ Tom, please don’t make me continue.”

With great willpower, Tom stopped the lazy jerking of his hips and lay still. The hands that were working their way up her naked form came to grip her hips. Bess huffed needily and tried to grind herself against him, only to find she could not; the hands that held her against him prevented her from moving. Once more, her pussy quivered around him as she tried to move. Only Tom could be fully seated inside her and still be a tease.

“If you don’t keep reading,” Tom whispered. “I won’t keep fucking you.” Bess huffed again, bouncing a little in her lust-induced tantrum and Tom had to fight not to immediately go back on his word as the movement made her breasts bounce above him.

“‘I set it against my bedside table, next to your photograph, and imagine it’s you instead of my fingers.’ Oh, Tom-” he had begun his slow torture once more, guiding her hips up and down his swollen length. “‘Imagine your mouth, your fingers, your cock, as you said in your letter. No man has ever used his mouth on me before, Tom. You’ll never know how many times I’ve seen stars, dreaming of your head between my thighs, grinning at the thought of being the first man to do so.’”

“Fuck, Bess.” Tom laughed proudly, his head against the pillow. He smiled freely, cheeks dimpling, and Bess ran her hand from the letter to the smooth skin of his chest and back. She wondered how he’d react to being called beautiful, as he was in this moment. Feeling she knew the answer, Bess resolved instead to roll her hips and continue the sultry reading of her letter.

“‘Your body on mine isn’t the only thing I think of in those shameful early hours, or at night before I drift off into a you-filled sleep. I come undone by another thought. You said you think of my fingers, of what they can do’ -fuck,” The mention of her fingers made Tom buck messily upwards and hiss out a controlled breath. He lifted his head from the pillow to gaze at Bess. First, at the delicious fat of her hips that pillowed around the hard grip of his fingers, and the delicate dip of her waist. The light through the open window lit half her body and cast the other in shadow, accentuating every rounded, scintillating curve. Just a dirty thought from where his hand lay, Bess rose slowly up from his cock and he watched, mesmerised, as he appeared and disappeared within her, his length glistening with the slick of her sex. He licked his lips, not knowing that this was the reason Bess’ movement above him increased. Blocking his view, just a little, was the hand that held her letter against his chest, straining with the other to keep herself atop him. She leant forward on her locked elbows, the angle helping her to work her tight heat over him, and her breasts, swollen and pink with arousal, heaved with her shuddering breaths.

“Fucking hell, Bess,” One of his large hands left her hip to squeeze one of her breasts and she moaned as his fingers gently passed over one of her delicate nipples. “You’re a fucking goddess.” The praise went straight to Bess’ cunt and she brought her hips down on Tom harder than she had before, the slap of their skin making Tom swear under his breath. Pushing her auburn hair away from her face, Bess raised her hips and did it again. Tom’s head hit the pillow in bliss.

“‘You said you think of my fingers, of what they can do. That you imagine my mouth on you,’” She paused and looked down at him seductively through her thick eyelashes. “‘I imagine it too.’” Bess couldn’t continue. Tom wrenched the letter from her hand, threw it from the bed and pushed her hands from his chest. Instantly, they gripped at his shoulders, his own flush on her back as he sat up. Holding Bess in place, he swung his legs out from the bed so that he sat at its edge, his head level with Bess’ chest. Her legs wrapped tightly around his small waist and this, combined with the newfound position, caused the tip of Tom’s cock brush against the spongy spot within Bess’ walls that made her wail out in pleasure. Using his hands to pull her repeatedly against him, Tom fucked Bess’ dripping heat, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

“You feel, fuck,” Tom stuttered as Bess’ hand harshly wound its way into his hair. “So. Fucking. Good.” He punctuated each word with a sharp snap of his hips. Bess could do nought but nod frantically in agreement, her mouth agape. “Say it, love.”

“It feels so good,” she panted out and he drove himself upwards and into her at a shattering pace. Bess’s grip in his hair tightened painfully and he loved it, fighting with himself not to smirk as he lathed his tongue in hot kisses across her neck and collarbone.

It was when he took one of her breasts in his mouth, flicking his tongue over her hardened nipple with a mutter of “your tits are fucking incredible,” that Bess pushed at his chest and begged him to stop.

“Tom,” she whispered against his ear as he continued to suck at her breasts. “Tom, please. Stop.” His blue eyes fluttered up to look into her dark ones. There was no hint of worry in his eyes, for he knew she adored him, and this, but his eyebrows quirked as he rested his chin against the soft flesh of her bosom.

“What is it?” The tenderness of his voice almost drove Bess to fuck him harder.

“I don’t want to-” she steadied her breath and fought to get the words out, her mind clouded with images of their lovemaking. “I don’t want to finish yet,”

Tom beamed. “Enjoying it that much, are you? Bess Vaughn, you dirty little-” Bess silenced him with a hard yank to his hair, pulling his head back and exposing the strength of his long, elegant neck. His mouth fell open as she ran a tongue from his sharp collarbone to the nibble at his ear, all the while drawing her hips slowly across his. She felt his cock twitch within her and power sizzled in her veins.

“Don’t you want to know what my mouth feels like around you? Isn’t that what you said in your letter?” Bess whispered in his ear and Tom whimpered. When he didn’t answer, she pulled his hair again. “Well?”

“Yes.” Tom hissed, impatience peppering his lust-laden voice.

Satisfied, Bess rose from her position seated in Tom’s lap, gripping the base of his cock as he slid out of her. Her heart lurched at the emptiness she felt, her body wanting nothing more than to sink back onto him. The awe-struck gaze she saw in his eyes when she looked at him, the way those beautiful blues followed her every movement, however, spurred her on. Slowly, never once taking her eyes from his, Bess lowered herself onto her knees. The lace curtain lapped at her naked back and she shuddered, drawing level with Tom’s swollen and desperate length. He was painfully aroused, that Bess could tell. Leant back on his elbows, Tom’s eyes were hazy and dark as he watched her. In contrast to the pale stretch of his abdomen, his cock was pink, angry and weeping at its gloriously swollen head. Bess still held it at its base, and tentatively ran her hand along its shaft.

“Bess,” The nerves that had scratched at her stomach dissolved the moment Tom whispered her name. He watched, transfixed, as she brought her face to the nest of curls around him and licked her way from the base of his cock to its tip. When her tongue languidly ran over his slit, licking away the her slick and the precum that gathered on his head, a fire lit in Tom unlike that which any other woman had given him. It was no longer imagination, a dream. Just like he had done in his lonely bunk aboard ship, the image of Bess with her mouth around him swam into his mind. Only this time, it was real. “Please, Bess.”

She almost laughed. Oh, to be able to make Tom Bennett beg. Queenie Warren could never. Swallowing her chuckle, Bess took Tom full into her mouth instead, marvelling at the salty taste of him and the scent of their mingled arousal. One of Tom’s hands tangled in her hair, and she half expected him to fuck her mouth as so many other men had done; roughly, and without warning. Instead, he held her hair away from her face, pulling the sensitive strands at the nape of her neck. She moaned and the hand that wasn’t holding Tom to her mouth flew to her sensitive clit. Tom didn’t miss the action and groaned in pleasure.

With each welcoming thrust into her mouth, Bess took Tom deeper and faster. The sounds of her greedily lapping at his cock filled the room and with one fist in her hair, the other at his mouth, it took all of Tom’s (little) restraint not to cry out. It would be just his luck to have the boarding madam appear at the door and turf him out while he was balls deep in Bess’ beautiful mouth. A delicate hand came to cup his taut balls and it was Tom, this time, that begged Bess to stop. Only, as Bess had pawed at his shoulders and begged to use her mouth on him, Tom gripped her arms and tugged her away from his cock.

“What are you-” Bess’ question ended with a shriek of surprise as Tom took hold of her and spun her round, pushing her body into the bed with his. Forcing her legs open, of which they easily obliged, Tom lined himself up at her dripping entrance and forced his way into her heat. Bess whimpered with pleasure, and Tom stilled as he pressed every inch of himself into her. With the languid roll of his hips, Tom made love to her, his mouth coveting every inch of skin he could. He lapped at her full breasts as they bounced beneath him, nipped at the sensitive flesh of her collarbone over and over as it made her arch into him, and tightened his hold around her neck as with relentless desperation, he fucked her.

“Tom, please.” Her hand clung to his shoulder, the other his arse as with all the power she possessed, Bess held his sex within hers. Their abandonment of worry at the kitchen table prevailed in Bess’ bedroom, for with harsh thrusts and mewled praises, Tom spilled his hot seed inside Bess, crying out filthily as he did so. Fire flared in Bess once more and, at the sight of Tom’s open mouth, scrunched eyebrows and wild, bright eyes, her walls spasmed around his cock, holding him in place as he spent himself within her.

Tom collapsed on Bess’s body, one hand tenderly brushing hair from her shoulder to place a kiss there. In no time at all, Bess was giggling, fighting to hide her face in Tom’s scarred chest.

“What’s the matter with you, woman?” Tom chuckled and nuzzled at her face so she could hide it no longer. Bess brushed some sweat-slick hair from Tom’s forehead and ran her hand along his cheek.

“I can’t remember the last time I was happy. And now, I think I’m happier than I’ve ever been.” A tear creeped along her face and Tom wiped it away.

“Don’t be soft,” he whispered against her lips, but brought his arms around her waist to hold her close. When her giggles and tears had subsided, Tom rolled onto his side and retrieved the letter from the floor. Bess tried to take it from him, embarrassment replacing her fucked-out stupor, but Tom dashed from the bed and stood at the window. Backlit by the evening light, he looked like a sculpture, all hard lines and soft flesh. His arousal still stood proud, and Bess licked her lips. She thought she had been caught in her admiration when Tom whistled lowly, only to see his eyes roaming over the remainder of the letter.

“Don’t think James would have been too happy if he knew you were writing this filth to lowly old me.” His voice was cocky, but beneath it all Bess could hear Tom’s long held jealousy.

“I’m surprised you care what James thinks,” Bess countered, watching as Tom’s jaw hardened. “I saw him today. He asked me to dinner.” Tom’s eyes stayed on the paper but Bess could see he was no longer reading.

“Your dates with the invalid going well then?” Tom bit back, trying to sound casual through his defensive cruelty. Bess laughed at him, and a flicker of fear flashed on Tom’s face. Rejection. Sighing genially at the man before her, Bess stood from the bed and sauntered into the small kitchen. Tom’s eyes followed, watching the sway and jiggle of her plump bottom as she bent over the apron he had discarded in their first act of passion. She pulled something from its pocket, a small piece of paper, and returned to him. When she was nose to nose with Tom, their naked bodies mere inches from one another, she turned the paper to face him. His own sullen face stared back at him, and Tom’s eyes flickered from his own to hers.

“I’m never without you, Tom Bennett.” A feeling unlike any he had known bloomed in his chest, and instinctively, Tom placed a hand beneath his Dunkirk scar. Bess watched with a smile, taking a step closer and looking up at Tom’s handsome face. His hand curled at the warm flesh of her waist, and he kissed her. No sooner had their lips parted, was Tom too making his way into the kitchen, retrieving his abandoned slacks and pulling something from the pocket. From the kitchen, he grinned at Bess, revealing her portrait.

“I’m never without you, Bess Vaughn.” Eyes bright and hand outstretched, Bess beckoned him back to her side, and the bed. Swept up in his arms, laying on the wind-cooled sheets, Bess placed her portrait and Tom’s with the stack of letters on her bedside table, before kissing each of his long fingers in turn.

“He was nothing compared to you,” she whispered, placing his hand on her chest. “I ended it with him after Albie died, and you went missing. He just wanted to see me today before he goes back.”

“I can’t blame him there.” Tom smiled as a blush creeped across Bess’ cheeks. “Are you blushing, Miss Vaughn? After you let a man have his way with you?”

“Twice!”

The sun had set now, and a chill filled the little flat. Tom gripped the threadbare quilt that lay over Bess’ bedframe and draped it over them. They were silent a while, content to revel in each other’s vulnerability, as they should have done so long ago, when Bess spoke in a whisper.

“I didn’t want my heart to break again. Not even a little,”

“Could James have broken your heart?” Bess laughed at this.

“Not even a little,” she repeated. “Not in the way that Albie and you did.”

Tom rolled onto his side, bring the quilt across him and running a lazy hand over Bess’ curved hips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes following the movement of his hands. “About Queenie, I shouldn’t have shouted at you the way I did,”

“It’s not about Queenie.” Bess cut across him. “I was wrong, we both were. But I shouldn’t have let my anger at you stop me from saying goodbye.” She sniffled and Tom swept a thumb across her cheek to catch a tear.

“No more of those,” he said quietly. Bess nodded and swallowed back a sob, heaved a breath and continued.

“You broke my heart when you went missing. I had such thoughts of you in some labour camp, or alone and scared in God knows where. Or worse, buried somewhere I could never reach you, like Albie.” Her body shuddered and Tom brought her close.

“I’m too stubborn to die,”

“That’s exactly what I said to Lois! The first time you left,” A smile graced her face and Tom let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, tense at the mere thought of Bess’ sadness.

“Did you tell James too?” He said with a wink.

“No, though I did enjoy the thought that you’d ‘kill any man that got in your way’ of me,” she quoted the letter once more to him. Tom rolled Bess onto her back and pinned her in with his hands.

“I knew you were a strange one with wicked thoughts, but wishing someone dead?” Tom raised an eyebrow with glee.

“Oh hush,” Bess brought her legs to wrap around his waist and pull Tom towards her. He groaned as his cock grazed at her still sodden entrance. “They were your words.”

“I wish I’d known I could pleasure you with just my words sooner,” Tom ground into Bess’ body, teasing as the tip of his length jutted at her cunt. Bess moaned.

“I used to think of you beating Walter Watson, that night at the dance. God, you looked like a wild animal.”

“Was James wild?” Tom rolled his hips again and Bess whimpered.

“He kissed me once and it was all teeth and bad breath,”

“Poor boy. It takes more than a fumble to please my girl.” A hand ran up her side and he graced a thumb over one of Bess’ pert nipples. She sighed and her hold around his waist tightened.

“There were women for you,” Bess thought of his letter. I can’t kiss another woman and pretend it’s you, calling them by your name. She couldn’t bring herself to be angry nor jealous, for he was with her now. Tom shook his head a little and kissed her deeply before answering.

“Only one, and I called her by your name.”

Bess laughed against his mouth. “You really did that?” Tom grinned. “Poor girl.”

“Poor girl.” He echoed, running his tongue along Bess’ neck and delighting in the breathy moan it produced. “To think, all those men lining up for you at the dancehall, and not a one but that poor, bastard James got to touch you. These lips were made just for me,” Tom kissed her so slowly it made her head swim, but the reality of his last words sunk in and a whisper of embarrassment prickled up her neck.

“There was someone else, actually-” Tom devotions stopped abruptly and Bess scrabbled to reach him as he made to roll away. “But it was nothing, please believe me.”

“What happened?” Tom’s voice was hard with possessiveness and despite her embarrassment, heat pooled at the apex of Bess’ thighs. Best to get this over with, and quick.

“Well, I went round to your dad’s one day. You know we’re very alike, quiet and all that, but you are too! You and your dad, I mean. Anyway, he was so upset with missing you, as was I, and he did this thing where he scrunched his nose, just like you do and-and-” Bess shot a tentative glance at Tom. His eyes were unreadable as he listened and she hastily continued. “And he looked so like you, and I missed you so much, that-fuck, I don’t know what came over me, but I kissed him.”

Silence. Tom stared at her with questioning shock. Then, as if moving in slow motion, the corner of his mouth curled upwards.

“You kissed my dad?”

Bess nodded.

“Oh my God, you kissed my dad!?” Tom fell onto his back and roared with laughter. “The sly old bastard. Always wondered if he really could be my dad, we’re so fucking different, yet here we are going after the same girl.”

“He didn’t go after me!”

“Well, no. You went after him!” Tom eyes scrunched with mirth as he teased her, his laugher filling the small bedroom. “Here I was thinking you’d tell me about some dashing pilot friend of Roger’s, and it was my dad.”

“Do you really think I’d forget you so quickly, Tom Bennett?” Bess smacked his belly and his laughter subsided into giggles.

“I can’t wait to tell him,”

“You’ll do no such thing!”

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

By mid-morning the next day, Bess and Tom were finally on the bus to Longsight. Bess planned to leave early and make the most of what was surely to be the last sunny Saturday until spring. Her plans were waylaid however, the moment Tom Bennet woke up and saw Bess at his side.

The bus moved through the city, and though there were no raids the previous night, evidence of the last still lingered. Groups of now homeless people were buffeted along by wardens, nursed and other volunteers, and Bess tried to spot her father in the crowds. He must already be home. Please, let him be home. Reading her thoughts, Tom squeezed her hand from the seat beside her.

Within half an hour, Tom and Bess were walking hand in hand along the pavement of their childhood home. Mrs Flaherty, Mrs O’Connell were stood chatting to Mrs Mason in her doorway, her children playing in the street. At the sight of Tom, Mrs O’Connell hurried to him and kissed his cheek. Dennis Warley cycled past on his postman’s bike and tipped his cap.

“Good to see you home, lad.”

“Nicest thing he’s said to anyone in ages,” Bess whispered in Tom’s ear and he laughed. A voice called out to them from across the road.

“It’s about bloody time!” Lois was pushing a pram towards the Bennett house, smiling as she watched her brother walking hand in hand with Bess.

“Keep the littlun awake, I’ll be over in mo,” Tom shouted back, and Bess felt herself glowing with adoration at his affection towards his niece. “Got something important to do first!”

“What is that, might I ask?” Bess gazed at his aquiline profile. He merely grinned at her, before stopping outside her house. He dropped her hand to knocked on the red door. It opened instantly to reveal Dot, her hair freshly curled, and holding a cup of tea.

“Hello you two,” she winked mischievously and moved away from the door, letting them in. Bess tutted at her little sister. Tom winked back and Dot giggled. In the cosy kitchen of their home, Cora stood at the sink, washing dishes from the morning’s breakfast that Fergal was finishing by the hearth.

“Hiya, dadda.” Bess gave him a gentle kiss on the top of his head. “Glad to see you safe.”

“Thank you, my girl.” He looked up with tired eyes, taking her in before moving to the man behind her. “Tom,” he stood from his seat and shook his hand. “I can’t tell you how happy I was when Dot told me you were home in one piece. Your dad was near bursting when I saw him at the pub last night.”

Bess watched Tom try to hide his pleased smile. “Thank you, Fergal.” The older man sat back in his armchair. “I only wish Albie had come home with me too. I’m sorry-”

Fergal waved his hand. “Don’t you be bringing our sadness to your good news.” Bess’ eyes found Cora’s, and they smiled sadly to each other.

“Actually, Fergal,” Tom cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. “I’ve come looking for a bit more good news of my own.”

“Is that so?” Fergal’s voice was measured, but Tom saw something in the gleam of his eye that told him he knew what was coming.

“Yes, sir.” Dot shuddered with anticipation when Tom addressed Fergal thus, and Cora smacked her on the arm. Fergal sat a little straighter, and Tom took a deep breath. “I came to ask your permission to court your daughter.” At this, Dot actually shrieked and Cora hissed a warning to her. All the while, Fergal kept his eyes appraisingly on Tom. After a moment’s silence, he looked to his daughter, stood behind Tom.

“And what do you say, my girl?” Her dark eyes shining, Bess simply nodded. Looking back to Tom, Fergal winked with a smile. Before Bess could even reach a hand out to Tom’s, Dot, bursting with happiness and no longer able to contain her excitement, hurried across the room and buried her face in his chest.

“I thought it would never happen.”

Notes: St Agatha is one of the patron saints of nurses. So pals, the next instalment will be the last for this volume of The Seamstress & The Sailor. When the next series of World on Fire is released, I fully intend to revisit these characters and/or rewrite how Tom’s story ends (please don’t make him die), for the second volume.

Going camping over the weekend so I’ll be offline for a few days, see you soon!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x ofc #ewan mitchell x reader #world on fire #the seamstress & the sailor

173 notes · View notes

donteattheappleshook · 1 month

Text

WIP Wednesday Prologue Challenge

(I should probably actually do the challenge for my own event lol)

So many WIPs!

1) Not Broken At All

Killian gives a short, humourless laugh, head hanging slightly as he works a dampened cloth over the bloodied skin of his neck. “Believe me, Swan, it’s very easy to do nothing.”

2) His

She already hates the idea of this shop being sold and taken over by someone else or turned into a saloon or a tack shop or something else less wonderful and beautiful than the dimly lit, clustered little book store.

3) Honey don’t feed it (It will come back)

"I don’t think anyone knows enough about you to warn me off… or warn me on.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is.” She pulls the empty stopper away. “Sorry, Chewie, that’s all of it.”

Oh, hell, she’s bloody named it.

4) A Swan by Any Other Name (AKA Bi!Killian fic)

The quartermaster rolled his eyes. “Aye, Captain. Just remember, killing one on the first day invokes fear; killing two invokes mutiny.”

5) Madly (a Cyrano de Bergerac AU)

“And what do you feel?”

“I feel… I feel the way I did the first time I saw the sea.”

“Go on.”

“It was terrifying”

“I terrify you?”

“Aye. frighteningly powerful, awe inspiring and strong willed, I knew that she could destroy me without even intending to. And I knew that I would never again want to be apart from her.”

“And now?”

“I’m reminded of the first time I fell in.”

6) Untitled silver Killian won’t date Emma fic

“Oi! What the hell was that for?” Will gasps, cradling his arm protectively to his side. Emma slaps it again. “Ow!”

“Are you kidding me?” Smack. “After six months -” smack. “I finally get him to ask me out -” smack. “I finally get him home. And you do this.” She lands three slaps in a row to his shoulder.

“Stop hitting me!”

“No -” smack. “Do you have any idea how much goddamn furniture I bought? For nothing!”

“Ow!”

7 & 8)How did it end up like this? (It Was Only a Kiss sequel) and Pining fic (an earlier version of only a kiss)

No words yet - just vibes.

9) Optometrist fic (I don’t think I’ll continue this one tbh)

“Fine,” she sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth the battle. “How long is this going to take?”

10) Pride and Prejudice AU

It was a bright, sunny, and perfectly pleasant afternoon when Cora burst into the room and disrupted it.

“Have you heard?” She shouted, forcing all three men to jump in their seats and take note of her. Killian set down his book, wondering what could possibly have thrown his stepmother into such a state. His brother rushed to her side, trying to urge her to sit as she panted in excitement as though she’d run all the way home from the market. Their father barely looked up from his cards. “Misthaven Castle is let at last!”

11) Remember the Night AU (I forgot about this one)

“Listen, if don’t come with me then I won’t go to Boston. I can’t let you stay in this city with nowhere to go. It’s my fault you’re in this mess and I feel a certain responsibility for you.”

“You didn’t make me steal the watch,” she deadpans.

He tries again. “If you don’t come then you’re going to make me miss Christmas with my family. Can you live with that?”

..........................................................................................................

Honestly a lower number than I was dreading!

#captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #so many wips #captainswanwipwednesdays #cswipwednesday #what have I done.....#oh boy lol

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a-cosmic-elf · 3 months

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Sunday Snippets

It’s been so long since I shared something new, and I needed to write this today. It’s just where my head needed to be.

It’s very rough, unedited, no grammar check or beta read, straight off the cuff. I just needed to get something off my chest.

No pressure tags for The Coemancer Crew. Thank you for tagging me in all your wips.

Last week I retired my Starfield OC, Calitrix. She found her forever home. This is from the end of her story. 🥲 I hope you enjoy!

What We Leave Behind

A Starborn Coemancer by a cosmic elf.

“Not far now,” said the Emissary.

Trix looked at him. Now they were here, back down on this planet. In front of the base that held the buried temple, as she had done many times before, she began to realise. There was something different about this Emissary. She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to push her curiosity to the back of her mind.

The Starborn ambush wasn’t really an ambush if you expected it. These days Trix always opted to go high. Before long, they reached the doors of the base, with Andreja in her Constellation suit, bringing up the rear.

“This is it,” the Emissary told her, “hold nothing back.”

“When have you ever known me to hold anything back?” Trix replied, without thinking.

“You have a point,” he conceded, for the first time a flicker of emotion in his voice that sent a pain of longing through Trix’s heart.

Once inside, Trix ignored the bodies, and locked doors, moving directly for the first anomaly, she ran head first into her past. She jogged past Lin and Hellar endlessly debating without stopping this time. I’ll see you again, my friends, I promise. She never reached the artifact, she stepped back through the anomaly and into the base at the buried temple once more.

“The Temple is testing you, always.” The Emissary said.

“I know,” said Trix.

The Emissary paused, “Sorry, I forgot,” his voice cracked, “Noble Starborn.”

Trix was now sure. She had heard that voice before, she recognised it even under all the modulation. This Emissary was none other than Sam Coe.

If only it was her Sam.

The next fight was long and tough, but soon, another Starborn was dust and echos.

Trix spent some time with a locked case, but found it to contain only junk. She wasn’t sure why she was bothering with it at this stage, so close to the Unity, but the thought crossed her mind that she could leave everything of value she had collected this run in the ship’s hold for her crew after she had gone. It was something at least. If poor compensation for being dumped by their captain. Again, at least from her perspective.

Trix had done it more times now than she cared to think about. Always jumping in the hope that this time… what exactly? That she would find her forever home? She feared that perhaps she had already left it behind and there was no going back.

She missed Sam so much. Missed his smile. His carefree disposition. How easy it was to be around him, to always have someone to talk to, to be hold and be held. She missed his attention, his teasing, his need for her. Why that had gone away, or when, she couldn’t fathom. She thought hard and tried to remember where it had all changed.

The first time she had reached the Unity, their time together had not been perfect. She wished that she had done things better, that they could have their time over again and that it would be different, that she would be the Trix he deserved.

The whole time, they had promised each other that they would go through the Unity together. To face whatever it was and whatever was to come, united as a family, Sam, Cora and her.

But then she fired up the drive and met herself. There was a Starborn Trix in the Unity. Trix couldn’t understand why. Were they her future? They didn’t sound like her. Maybe they were the Creators, and it was just the way her mind interpreted the information. Or maybe, Trix in another universe always did sound like that, and therefore it was her fate to jump, because she always has done. But what about Sam?

He was there. Standing in the Unity. He looked at her but didn’t acknowledge her. It was heartbreaking, almost frightening. Trix hated every moment of it, especially the confirmation that they would not be jumping together. That he, Cora and everyone else on the ship would be left behind. That he would one day, jump himself, without her, to who knows where.

Trix couldn’t take it. She could face life without him. So when her Starborn self gave her a choice to go back to him, she took it. After everything they had done and been through together, she would not sacrifice what they had for the Unity. To hell with eternity.

She turned and walked away. She walked back to him.

And, shockingly, he didn’t seem to care. He brushed off her return like it was nothing. Spoke something about how they would all reach the Unity eventually, but for now, this would have to do. He seemed non-plused and unaffected by her choice, or the sacrifice she had just made - the refusal of knowledge, all for them. She’d never felt so disappointed. Here was the proof. He would always put reaching the Unity ahead of their lives together.

That was the moment when she realised she could jump, jump and find him again. But a new Sam, a different Sam and do it right this time. Perhaps this Sam belonged to her, one that cared.

And he did, the second time around, oh how he cared. Probably too much. But now Trix was Starborn, and Sam would never understand, not unless he jumped and left her. One day, she was sure that he would. Curiosity would get the better of him, and one day, whether she jumped or he did, she would lose this Sam too.

She couldn’t bear it. The thought was too much. So she jumped on what would have been their wedding night.

And now, Starborn, several times over, she was about to jump again. Only for the first time in a long time, the Emissary had sounded like Sam. All the old feelings were bubbling to the surface. She just had to hold it all together, just this one last time.

Trix was busy emptying all the crap out of her pockets when this Emissary, the one with Sam’s voice, half-ran over to her position and startled her.

Her hands fumbled in her pockets and she dropped a key.

The Lodge Key.

It was a key like all others, but instantly recognisable to those who knew.

Trix paused, the Emissary stared for a moment down at the key. A sharp audible breath left their helmet.

Trix couldn’t stand it any more. Having become accustomed to always wearing her own Starborn suit, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she removed her helmet and looked at him. Looking for something, anything that would tell her that this is the man she knew.

The Emissary groaned, “You have no idea how long I have waited to see that look in your eyes, Trix. Jumping from one universe to the next hoping that this time… I don’t know if it’s you, I mean, my you. But…” He took his helmet off and dropped it. His face was thin, his hair and beard short and streaked with grey. His blue eyes, ringed dark with age and time, were full of tears. He held out his arms to her, “close enough!”

Trix flew into his embrace and they kissed so fiercely, ike it was the last thing they would do in this life.

There it was, the thing that had been missing for so long. The feeling she had searched for, and it wasn’t through the Unity. It was right here in front of her. They had seen and heard each other. It had caused that pull, the undeniable attraction, from which neither could escape. That divine rush of endorphins as they gave into it, the need to touch, feel, hold and taste him, and to feel that same need in return. That was what she had been looking for all along.

Her heart sang with pure joy.

Andreja caught up with the pair, and stood awkwardly off to one side, “Umm, okaaay. So… we’re kissing the Emissary now. And oh, hey Sam, good to see you, I guess… I’ll er… be just over here if you need me.”

#Sunday snippet #starfield #starfield fanfiction #sam coe #coemancer #a cosmic writes #the coemancer crew #💜✨

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the-twi-light-zone · 1 year

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When I Met You, When I Chose You

When I first met Charlie Swan he was responding to a call with an aggravated female at the local grocery store. Aggravated female in question was me and in my defense I was just getting off a long shift from the hospital when some asshole pulled up behind me yelling about how I cut him off. Needless to say he got to close and said aggravated female sent a right hook and knocked him on his ass. I don’t know when my judgment left me but between being called a few choice words and some man getting in my personal space I lost it.

I admit not my best moment and I did get my groceries and once I got out of the store and loaded my trunk the police showed up. A little more than a few witnesses described the encounter and in the back of chief Swan’s cruiser I went. As I sit in the back of the cruiser chief Swan makes way for the driver's seat. The cold air he lets in is a bit refreshing as it was stuffy.

“So chief Swan I gotta ask, is there any way we can let all this go? I just need to go to bed. I got off a long shift from the hospital and honestly this wasn’t my best moment today I will admit that” My voice fills the empty air around us as he sits there filling out paperwork. “Well miss Brax I only needed to make sure you weren’t going to be a danger so I don’t see why we couldn’t let this go. You have a clean record, and I don’t show a history of you randomly swinging on random people.” His voice is gruff but his eyes that flash into the mirror when I snort is all I needed to finish both of our thoughts. “I mean no, but he really needed that. You don’t just roll up on someone like that, but anyway, when do you think I’ll be able to get out of here?”

He looks away and continues writing down on some documents, and when he puts his pen down. He hops out of the car and opens the back door and begins to help me out. “Face away miss Brax.” Charlie asks as I am finally standing outside the vehicle. “Sir, yes sir.” I say as I stomp my left foot and turn. His fingers are warm as he handles my wrists and hands delicately and takes off the cuffs that were detaining me. I sigh in relief as I bring my hands back around to the front of me. “Thanks Chief, I’ll see you around on a better day I hope...” I say open ended as I turn to face him walking backwards towards my car. He nods chuckles and waves, “me to miss Brax, have a better rest of your day.” He says as I nod in return smiling lightly and respond with a you too.

~Two Months later~

What a day, another busy day and it only got busier as it seems the flu is going around, and a bunch of dehydrated teens and over worried parents sitting in my ER is not what I needed today. Receiving notice that I was being moved from my current position at this hospital across the US to Georgia. I had a choice to make as currently my ‘friend’ Charlie was currently waiting for me to show up at his home and go to dinner. I honestly didn’t know if I wanted to leave. Although there was nothing really holding me here, I still felt the need to at least stay for longer to see what could be.

My thoughts follow me all the way to Charlie’s and as I park my car, I look over to see him already at the front door hands in his front pockets. A grin almost shadowed completely by his mustache. I grin at him and grab my bag as I pull myself out of the driver’s seat. I walk up the sidewalk and up his front steps. The front door swings open and Charlie waves me in. “Now my day is complete.” I say as I walk in and straight to the couch where I plop down and wait for Charlie to announce if he is ready. “So, the diner in town okay with you?” He asks as he comes around and sits down next to me.

Laughing I nod, “yes Charlie, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say. Nodding he stands with a grunt and turns to offer me his hand to pull me up which I take. I begin to walk to the door and before I know it were being sat at the table in the corner by the windows. Sitting to Charlies right we both greet Cora as she sets down our menus and gives us a smile and makes some small-town talk and gossip. Charlie gets his normal steak dinner and I get my normal salmon and salad. Stealing a few fries from Charlie when he looked away, although I know he knew I took them.

“So, I got a call today from my agency Charlie.” I start off as I sip on my Soda. Charlie furrows his brow and nods, “what did they want?” He asks as he wipes his moth with a napkin and rests his hands on either side of his plate. I hesitate before I respond not knowing where this conversation might go. “They said I have one week left here before I am being relocated to Georgia. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go but figured I would talk to you about it first.” My eyes stay on his face to watch his reaction. He swallows, pursed his lips and looks down at his empty plate.

“Well, I think I would like it if you stayed, but I’ll still be here for whatever you decide.” He says and looks into my eye a small smile resting on his face. I smile and rest my hand on his, “well looks like I’ll be quitting and finding permanent residence here huh?” He chuckles taking my hand in his.

#charlie swan #twilight #charlie swan x reader #twilight imagines #twilight imagine

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christinesficrecs · 9 months

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I might be drowning in lost fic requests. 🤦🏻‍♀️ If you can help I would REALLY appreciate it. ❤️

Stiles started dating this really abusive guy, he cut off all contact with the pack, his dad Etc and the guy moves them away (maybe Chicago). Stiles eventually leaves him and goes back home and it turns out the pack and his dad have been trying to find him.

Lost River (never reached the sea) by scribespirare | 13.2K | Mature Three years Stiles has been gone. Three years, and then out of the blue he shows up on Derek's front porch, bloody and bruised and in need.

I am looking for a fic where there's the monster of the week (it's maybe an incubus?) and it shifts to look like stiles. It convinces derek to not turn him into the rest of the pack. Derek agrees just to be able to be with 'stiles.' scott i think figures it out? And tells derek that it would have slowly killed him.

Derek hates touch because of Kate and flinches whenever someone touches him. But Stiles does this thing where he never touches Derek, instead he lets his hand hover around him, allowing for Derek to initiate the contact if he wants to. Oh! And Cora’s alive and I’m pretty sure the one who notices this. She ends up confronting Stiles about it at some point. I know it’s pretty short, just one chapter/ a one-shot, and around 5,000 words. I think, I could be wrong.

i see that you've come so far [just like them old stars] by crossroadswrite | 2.3K But her big brother’s unwillingness to touch anyone, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it isn’t the only thing she notices. She also notices how Stiles doesn’t touch him. Everyone reaches for Derek in some form or another, but Stiles- Stiles is something different altogether because he reaches for Derek but he never makes contact.

Hi! Could you please help me find this fic where Derek is an alpha but of like the whole town I think? Or something. Stiles keeps getting into trouble or losing control (or something) and he goes to stay with Derek for a few weeks to help him behave/get focused because hes the alpha. Derek helps him focus better on his homework and runs exercises with him to burn off excess energy and misses him when he goes back to his dad's. That's all I remember, sorry its so vague.

Do you know of a fixk where derek and Stiles kill Gerard together but when chris ask them about it they act surprised he did? I dont know anything other than this so sorry

Basically it's young Derek x Stiles, Derek is part of the basketball team and they end up going on like a trip for a basketball game. Stiles tags along and they end up staying at a motel (they share a room). At some point it's Stiles’ Mothers death anniversary and Derek brings him fast food back from his jog. And I'm like 90% certain that there's like a bonfire at the back of the motel and Derek brings out his guitar infront of everyone and starts singing abt his crush on Stiles.

Okay sooo, young Derek x Stiles but the hale family are still alive. There's this whole thing about them both promising to have a starwars marathon. Derek also draws a lot in this sketchbook thing, he's like rlly private abt it but stiles ends up looking in it and finding a drawing of both him and Derek. Then Derek kind of wolfs out? He like loses control a bit and is afraid of hurting Stiles. OH! And then there's another bit where theyre playfighting in the Hales' kitchen and Derek pins Stiles down and stiles gets really embarrassed abt it. And then at the end there's like a really cute line abt their hearts beating as one 🥺🥺

Hey! I hope you or your followers can help me out but I've been wracking my brain on this one for awhile trying to remember this fic where everyone loses their memory of Stiles' existence but this is where I get fuzzy on the details. All I can remember is that Stiles returns to his house and his dad threatens him because he doesn't recognize him and so he ends up at Derek's. IIRC, Derek doesn't actually recognize him either (he might reveal this right away or later?) but helps him anyhow?

Hi! Ive been trying to find this fic, it was a amnesia type fic and I believe Derek went to visit his family who live out of state, he planned on finally telling them about Stiles but hes in an accident, loses his memories, and his family starts trying to set him up on dates(?). I think some of his family were wellknown or famous or someone told Stiles about Derek going out and Stiles just assumes he'd wanted out of the relationship but didnt want to tell him. Its mostly the summary I remember😅

Hi, I'm looking for a fic where young Stiles meets Derek in the woods as a werewolf, helps him get back home, to thank Stiles he writes him a letter and Derek replies that they become pen pals. That's what I remember that's how it starts. thank you!

#sterek fics #ficrecs #lost fic

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frstcorinthians · 3 months

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; angels that have no place

summary: “Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky. He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels. wc: just a tidy 1.3k notes: so i know i said i wasn't going to write for mota until it was all said and done. but that one line in e6 made my brain start firing away and it wouldn't stop until i did this. i don't know if this is going to become a whole Thing but knowing me i wouldn't be surprised. anyways enjoy!!!! its also on ao3 if you prefer that

“We have all the sports and activities you can ask for. Tennis, bicycles, croquet, riding with hounds, the list goes on. Relaxation is the order of the day here.”

“Riding with hounds” sounded like the stupidest thing Anna Marie could imagine, but she could be grateful for the upside-down minds of the British if it meant the Flakhouse had a kennel. She could curl up here, among the snuffling noses and velvety ears of the dogs, and not think about Cora or Ruby or Vera or any of the girls on the Morning Ride. These dogs – foxhounds, the woman who brought her in had told her – weren’t the same as her hounds back home, but their eyes were sweet and they bayed the same once she got them riled up. Anna Marie couldn’t find it in her to dress up and trot along on a horse, but she had come to enjoy going through the woods on foot, trying to keep up with the pack of dogs let loose on the forest. Aside from the people who worked here, she was one of the only ones who came to visit the dogs. So when she came down one night and saw an unfamiliar man knelt down, petting Goose, she almost stopped in her tracks.

She could hear him talking quietly to the dog. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, aren’t you?” His voice was soft and singsong-y, a universal tone for talking to pets. He scratched Goose behind one ear and Anna Marie felt her mouth curve up at the scene. It had been a long time since she’d had a reason to smile.

“Goose is sweet,” she finally managed to find her voice. The man jumped at the sound of her voice, spinning around to face her, surprisingly coordinated. Hardly a curl was out of place, despite her sneaking up on him and the late hour. His eyes were very blue in the low light. “He likes when you scratch him at the base of his tail.”

“I’m surprised he let me pet him at all. I’m not great with dogs.” He forced a laugh out, trying to stay casual. Anna Marie could see the shadows under his eyes. She’d bet he’d been sleeping about as much as her, which is to say, not at all.

“What are you doing down here, then?” She stepped carefully over the mass of sleepy hounds, heading for her favorite spot. She’d been here long enough that the dogs knew to leave her a space against the wall where she could prop herself up and bore herself to sleep with one of the doctor’s dense medical texts. Cora would have gotten a kick out of seeing her read through it.

Anna Marie boxed that thought up nice and neat and punted it to the back of her mind.

“Went out for a late night stroll, realized I never saw the kennels,” he turned to follow her progress across the room, looking amused at how she picked across the space. “You?”

She shrugged, pushing someone’s rump out of the way of her legs as she sat down. “I like it here. Reminds me of home.”

“Where are you from that you have this many dogs?” His eyebrows furrowed and he looked dubiously around the kennel.

“I don’t have quite this many, but we hunt with ‘em back home.” Anna Marie couldn’t bring herself to crack the textbook open now. She was surprised at how much she liked talking to this man, whoever he was.

“Man,” he rocked back on his heels. “The biggest dog we had back home was my aunt’s terrier. She used to terrorize the corner store, nipped at the owner’s ankles when he didn’t give her a treat.”

Anna Marie laughed. The sound was rusty, punching out from deep in her chest. It felt like something was coming unstuck inside her. She absently fidgeted with one of the dog’s ears, rubbing it between her fingers. The man shimmied over closer to her, finding an unoccupied spot between Goose and another dog. “I should introduce myself. Robert Rosenthal.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for her to shake.

She accepted. “Anna Marie McDowell.” His name was familiar, though she couldn’t place it at first. She kicked it to the same place as her other boxes, decided she’d worry about it at a later date. “What was your aunt’s dog named?”

“Rigatoni,” he replied, fidgeting with a spare leaf. Anna Marie laughed again, pushing her fist in her mouth to keep from startling the dogs. “He was shaped like a noodle, so the name stuck.” His smile was bright as he laughed along with her, even in the dim room.

“My favorite dog back home is named Sawyer,” she offered up, once her laughter had quit. “He snores like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Sounds like one of my crewmates,” he said. “I love him but, man does that sound keep me awake.”

“Must be nice to have your own room now, then,” she replied, then immediately tensed, worried she’d misstepped. They were both here because of tragedy – for all she knew, that crewmate was dead now, blown to bits up in the wide open sky.

He sighed, stretching out his legs and tilting his head. “To be honest, I kind of miss it.” His voice didn’t sound upset or angry. Looks like she’d dodged a bullet once again. Vera always said her lack of tact was going to get her in trouble one day, and she kind of liked this Robert Rosenthal. Or at least, she didn’t mind having his company in the kennels.

They were dancing around the topic now, the reasons both of them were here. Even Anna Marie wasn’t so bull-headed as to come right out and ask. If someone did that to her, she’d probably take a swing at them. She didn’t want to talk about her girls, she just wanted to go, to get back at it, up in the sky. She was meant to be up there; her fingers itched to adjust the dials, to keep the wings of her craft steady, to chat with Ruby about where she’d take them if she could. And instead she was stuck here, in some ridiculous dress-up fantasy house where they could all pretend nothing was wrong.

Her mother’s voice came to her now, drifting through her head: quit acting ugly, Anna Marie. Her mama was right, as always. She was being ungrateful, like a spoiled little kid. She should be basking in the sun, playing tennis with some handsome pilot or chatting about this-or-that with the other girls. But she was never one for small talk, and tennis was for rich people up north. An image came to her mind unbidden, her and Rosenthal in crisp white polos, laughing and gently batting their rackets back and forth. It was so out of character she couldn’t help but snort.

Rosenthal heard her, smiling softly when she caught his eye. “Do you spend time with the dogs during the day, too? I don’t think I’ve seen you around playing croquet.”

“I do. I usually let ‘em run through the woods, see if I can keep up.”

“Mind if I join you sometime? I’m sick to death of sitting around.” His expression seemed hesitant, like he was worried he’d overstepped some boundary. “I promise I won’t come dressed for fox hunting.”

“Sure,” she answered, leftover laughter still coloring her tone. He brought out a levity in her she hadn’t realized had been missing so long. “Come down one morning.”

“Alright,” he nodded, hauling himself up to his feet. Goose snuffled at the disturbance, before rolling over to take up the spot. “It was nice to meet you, Anna.”

“Anna Marie,” she corrected reflexively. Rosenthal gave a small wave and left, off to sleep or, more likely, explore another part of this endless home of leisure activity. Anna Marie finally opened the textbook to a section on the femur, falling asleep before she’d even gotten two paragraphs in.

#masters of the air #robert rosenthal #mota #mota oc #anna marie mcdowell #aleks.docx #im addicted to naming my ocs after counties in north carolina #theres 100 of em though so ive got plenty to work with

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