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magneto-was-fucking-right · 4 months

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The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 5

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter Summary: In which Simon's neighbor goes on a date but still ends up on his couch...

Word Count: 2.4K

One dull, oddly quiet evening, Simon Riley had decided to cook dinner for the first time in months.

Although his wound had healed considerably in the past few weeks, he knew he wouldn’t be ready to apply for medical clearance just yet, the base’s doctor preying on any sign of physical or mental discomfort like a hawk. His limp had been reduced to an occasional stumbling when his leg gave out, only problematic after long walks or if he missed his daily stretches.

The boredom of the current routine (or lack thereof) was a disease spreading through his bones, consuming his mind and slowly killing him bit by bit. He found himself seeking comfort in his neighbor's own ordinary habits, picking out singular sounds and signs of Riley’s activities in her flat: feeding the pets, the incessant scratching noises and whines from the pup, the way she sweetly comforted them even when they misbehaved. She left early in the morning, and regardless of her attempts to do so quietly, Simon’s line of work had made him a terribly light sleeper. When she returned in the evenings (seldom earlier than 18 o’clock), he unconsciously sighed with relief, happy that the usual racket would prevent him from being solely accompanied by his dark thoughts. When he finally heard her lay in bed late at night, he felt as if he was back on the field, studying the enemy, listening to either her soft snores of exhaustion or her tossing and turning on the sheets, deep sighs of frustration echoing his own.

He had barely started chopping up vegetables when he heard an anxious knocking on his door that night, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had heard her frantically move about after she’d returned from work, quick steps pacing back and forth as even Milo’s uneasiness made itself heard through constant meowing.

He wiped his hands on a clean cloth before reaching for the black facemask near the entrance, unlocking his door lazily. There, stood Riley. In a dress. With makeup on.

His body immediately stiffened at the sight, eyes drifting up and down, taking in the details as fast as humanly possible. He unconsciously took a step back, his leg faltering as he tried to pretend to be unbothered by the way the elegant garment enveloped her curves (that her oversized clothes had hidden for so long), the modest length to her knees doing poor work of concealing the soft flesh of her legs.

As his eyes quickly drifted up again, his pupils widened as he fixed his gaze on a generous cleavage, completely unprepared for the plumpness of her breasts. He gulped silently as he struggled to keep his eyes on her face, until he noticed how carefully she had drawn on some eyeliner that made her eyes stand out, mascara building long, dark lashes that somehow complimented her small freckles.

“What do you think?” she asked, smiling, giving him a shy spin before tucking her arms behind her back and shrugging awkwardly. Her heels were noisy against the old floors of the hallway.

He was rendered speechless, however maintaining his usual broody facade as he shrugged, feigning disinterest. Her smile crumbled as a deep frown set on her flushed expression

“Oh no…It’s too much isn’t it?” She looked down at herself with trembling hands. “I don’t have time to change.”

“No” Simon spoke before he even thought about it, but couldn’t find himself capable of blurting out how he actually felt about it. “It’s…You’re…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend to like it.” She laughed nervously, the awkward tension rising between the two as Simon’s breath quickened. “I’m going out and I just wanted to know if you could keep an ear out for pets…I have a cam in the living room to watch them but It’d be rude to keep checking my phone and-” She stopped herself as she observed Simon’s pensive expression. “I’m rambling ain’t I?”

“Where ya going?” He tried to sound casual, but his voice came out strained as he leaned against his door frame, arms crossed and chest tightened.

“Oh…my sister kind of forced me to go on this arranged date thing…it’s silly, really…” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and giggled nervously, avoiding his gaze.

“Hmm.” His usual grunt returned and her shoulders slouched slightly. Simon felt uncomfortable as something unknown coiled in the pit of his stomach, making him suddenly lose his appetite.

She patiently awaited his answer, looking up at him through those long lashes.

“I’ll hear out for’em” He nodded in acknowledgement before making it to turn around and flee her perfumed scent. Lavender soap and a whiff of vanilla.

“Wait.”

Her delicate fingers wrapped around his wrist softly, giving him a way out of her grip if he wished to. He felt himself shiver as he looked back at her.

“Thank you, Simon. I won’t be long.” Riley offered an apologetic smile before stepping back, readjusting her purse on her shoulder.

He couldn’t even speak as he watched her walk away.

***

Simon had been quietly staring at his kitchen wall for about half an hour, festering.

Once he had finished preparing his homemade version of chicken fried rice - his knife practically stabbing the meat before he seasoned and cooked it - he uncorked a bottle of wine, pouring himself a large glass, trying to quiet his racing mind.

Who could she possibly have a date with? The young woman was practically slaving most of her days at work or taking care of on coming and going pets she sheltered. Even if she was telling the truth, and the date had actually been arranged, he still found himself bothered with how well she’d dressed up for something “silly”.

Why do you care? he asked himself, frustration bubbling in his chest. I don’t - a part of him replied.

What if she brings him home? What if I hear them in her bedroom tonight?

He startled as he heard the glass between his thick fingers begin to crack, taking a deep, calming breath as he eased the pressure around it.

“Fuckin’ hell” he muttured, shaking his head as he made way to sit on his couch, downing the drink in fast gulps as he turned on a football match.

Just as he was about to doze off, his eyelids hanging low as the sleepiness from the alcohol enveloped his body and soothed his mind, he heard quiet, sneaky footsteps echoing in the hallway. He frowned as he heard the keys dangling next door, taking a quick look at the time on his phone. She hadn’t even been gone for an hour.

Simon groaned as he carefully stood up, reaching for his facemask as he heard the puppy whine and bark, intending to use it as an excuse to go check. His stomach knotted as he considered the possibility of catching her with someone, but he quickly buried those feelings down, his face utterly calm and collected.

Riley hadn’t even fully closed the door yet when he quietly reached her threshold, knocking softly and startling her.

“Fuck…you scared me.” She sniffled, quickly wiping away tears as she tried to force a smile, throwing her heels on the corner. “I thought you’d be resting, didn’t wanna bother you.”

Simon took a few seconds to process her distressed demeanor, stepping inside slowly and casually sticking his hands in his pockets. His head cocked at her puffy eyes and reddened, wet cheeks, her eyeliner ruined as it had completely smudged on the corners.

“Riley-” He started, his tone soft.

“It rained tonight, it was an awful idea to wear heels.” She scurried off to her kitchen, grabbing Milo on the way and kissing his forehead as he purred contently. “Were they too noisy?” She asked as Rex began whining at Simon, begging for his attention.

“No, but I-”

“Great!” She forced another smile while she refilled the pets’ bowls, bare feet on the cold floors. She wiped some snot off her nose as Simon bent over to pet the puppy, his massive hands easily covering the pup’s entire head as he scratched his ears gently. “Thank you so much for helping out.”

“S’nothin. I didn’t really do anythin’.” He shrugged, concern growing in his chest at her odd behavior.

“I still owe you that cake, you know.” She pointed out shyly “I haven’t forgotten, I promise…I’ve just been busy.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay.” He nodded gently and she sighed deeply, trying to avoid his lingering gaze. “Riley…”

“It’s nothing. I promise.” She sniffled again, smiling apologetically at him.

He stood in silence for a few minutes, weighting her words.

“What happened?” He asked, stepping closer until they were face to face, and she had nowhere to escape.

She looked down at her feet as silent tears ran down her freckled cheeks, remaining silent.

“Did he hurt you?” Simon’s voice came out colder than he intended to, fists clenched beside his body, trying to contain the anger that began boiling in his blood.

“No, it’s just…” The young woman covered her face with her hands. “So embarrassing.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter, seriously, I’m just being sensitive as per usual.” His heart sank at her trembling voice and the way she anxiously began fidgeting with her necklace.

“Tell me.”

“Simon…”

Simon took a deep breath, pondering if it was really worth pressing the matter when she didn’t seem willing to talk about it, opting for another route instead.

“I made chicken fried rice for dinner.” He felt his face warm as her smile grew, this time genuine.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He lifted a hand to her face, wiping away a tear with his calloused thumb and secretly appreciating the way she discreetly leaned against his touch, comforted. “Wanna try it?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m starving.” She sighed in relief as Simon let out an amused grunt.

“Language, kid. There’s children present.” He pointed to the pets and she giggled, two dimples returning.

“Let me get some ice cream!” She rushed to the kitchen and Simon gave Milo a pat on his fluffy head.

“I opened a bottle o’wine.”

“A recipe for disaster.”

***

“This is so good!” Riley Thomas spoke with her mouth full as she sat comfortably on her neighbor’s couch, happily savoring the warm meal he had provided.

Whereas Simon was barely teetering on the edge of tipsiness - a couple glasses of wine in - the young woman was undeniably drunk, softly moaning every time she took the fork to her mouth.

“You’re sloshed.” Simon shook his head in amusement, barely containing a chuckle.

“I’m really not!” She protested, giggling at his accusation.

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you love me for it.” She winked playfully, making his eyebrows raise in genuine disbelief at her newfound confidence, most certainly alcohol fueled.

“Feelin’ cheeky, are we?” He chuckled, entertained, as well as very relieved she was feeling better about whatever ailed her before.

Riley Thomas set the bowl down, leaning back on the plush couch and lazily pulling her knees towards her chest. Simon gulped silently, doing his best to politely avoid staring at the exposed skin of her thighs where the dress had bunched up.

“I think I feel lighter. Cozier too.” She gave him a dazzling, careless smile, eyelids low as her tiredness became apparent.

“Booze will do that to ya.” He readjusted his facemask, which Riley had begged him to fully remove each time he took a sip of wine. He had refused.

“Hadn’t had a drink or two in a while.” She slurred out and Simon snorted.

“More like a drink or five, love.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Calling me love.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m wine drunk Simon.” She hid her blushing face behind her palms.

“Hm.”

Riley sighed deeply. Loneliness was hitting her like a brick that night, and she found herself craving her neighbor’s attention, yearning for the soft praisal she often imagined he could give. Fantasizing about his warm hands placed on her tense shoulders, the curve of her hips…maybe even the back of her knees. She attributed those thoughts to the dry spell that had been bestowed upon her since her previous relationship, imagining she could easily think that way about any other male that gave her the right amount of attention.

Or maybe she wasn’t yet willing to admit that Simon rattled something deep within her.

The young woman’s gaze fixed itself on his half-exposed arms, a look he couldn’t quite decipher as it trailed up, and down, and then up again, until it stopped on his eyes. He saw hunger.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He warned softly, large hands gripping the armrest.

“Like what?” She asked innocently, voice laced with honey and the prospect of a very, very eventful evening. Such a tempting proposition.

Simon cocked his head to the right, in silent answer.

She shook her head, trying to push away the warmth that trickled down her body, hugging her knees as she rested her chin upon them.

“Sorry…Tough night.”

“Ya ready to talk about it?”

Riley’s shoulders slouched, her face heating at the memory.

“Well…” She huffed, tiredly. “For starters he was thirty minutes late,and because he made the reservation I didn’t want to walk in the restaurant first, alone…”

“Hm” He nodded, a sign for her to go on.

“I texted him a few times, thinking he was a no-show, and he never replied.” She rolled her eyes. “My heels got drenched from the rain and my feet were hurting like hell. When I was about to leave the prick finally showed up and guess what he said next.”

“Can’t possibly think of a good excuse, love.”

“Apparently neither could he. He just said that we probably lost the reservation already and asked me if I’d like to come over to his place.” She huffed angrily, shaking her head. “Then he got mad that I refused and…”

“And?” He urged her to go on, noticing her uncomfortable expression, the way her fingers fidgeted with her necklace.

“And I don’t wanna say what he said.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Riley looked up at him gratefully, but decided to open up further. He was a great listener after all.

She sighed once again “He…He told me he only asked me out because my sister kept nagging him about it…and that he thought I’d be an easy shag since I haven’t…dated, in a long time.” She exhaled the words quickly, unable to look Simon in the eyes.

She missed out on his livid expression, the way his fingers seemed ready to crush the armrest as his mind was lost in murderous thoughts.

“Hm.” Was all he could muster.

“Yep.” She looked down at the empty glass, preparing to fill it up again.

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“You’ve had enough. You’ll feel like shit tomorrow.” He advised, moving the bottle away.

“What do you care?” It came out rougher than expected, and she winced at her own words. Simon’s cold gaze made her shrink further into his couch. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.”

“I didn’t expect to be into him, or anything to happen at all. Although sometimes I do miss being touched by something other than my right hand, you know?”

There it was, the alcohol again. Simon stifled a grunt of agreement, and the sudden warmth that involuntarily gathered at the apex of his thighs again once he considered her words.

“Is it so wrong to seek a bit of warmth sometimes?” Her tone reflected her sadness, and Simon knew he was just as touch starved as she was, albeit he buried those feelings so deeply he rarely ever thought about it anymore. Until Riley Thomas had showed up, that is.

“Do you seek it?” His eyes snapped back at hers, a hand running over his blonde locks as he considered her words.

“Hm.” Was all he was willing to give.

Tense silence fell between the two as she yearned to learn more about him. What moved him. He didn’t feel capable of conceding anything yet.

“You looked…you look beautiful. That guy was a proper cunt.”

His heart melted at the sight of her smile unfolding before him, like a radiant star with dimples, a chipped tooth, and freckles.

“Thank you, Simon.” She whispered as if keeping a secret. Their secret. Simon nodded in acknowledgement and smiled too, under his mask.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad at opening up after all.

A/N: Hey y'all! I hope you guys forgive me for how long I've taken to post this! After 10 years of service my laptop decided to die, and with it everything I've ever written, which was very hard to deal with, especially considering that I needed it to finish my master's thesis. It was very frustrating to write on my tablet with a little keyboard hence why I took forever to post. Hopefully I'll find another solution soon. Thank you for the lovely feedback, keep sharing your thoughts with me ❤️

TAG LIST (I hope I haven't forgotten anyone)

@xaestheticalien @bossva @missmae3004 @yyiikes @lillysfrogsandbogs

#ghost cod #ghostxreader #cod #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #modernwarfare2 #neighbor!ghost

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frogletscribe · 8 months

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Until It Doesn’t Hurt

Chapter 4: Heaven Is Here

Summary:

20 years since the RDA was pushed off of the moon of Pandora, they are back once more. The RDA thinks their only problem is the traitor Jake Sully and his family, but as it turns out, Jake wasn’t the only ‘problem’ left behind 20 years ago.

Anthe was a child soldier, stolen from their home and forced to learn the ways of the humans, erasing any of their connections to the Na’vi from before. Finally free from the RDA’s hold after being trapped in cryosleep, they're about to make themselves everyone's problem.

---

Neteyam and Anthe spend some time together.

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Pairing: Aged Up!Neteyam X Nonbinary!Na'vi!Reader/OC (OC and Neteyam are both around 20)

Warnings: Mentions of Past Violence, Mentions of Past Trauma, Mild Claustrophobia, No Use of Y/N, Blood, Self depreciation

WC: 2112 words AO3 Link Here

A/N: Ok, I'm kinda back in the groove with this thing. I had to take a short break from this and prioritize school work and Baldurs Gate 3 but I'm more or less back on track. Updates will most likely stay at once a weekish

{ } indicate speaking in Na'vi

Masterlist

Previous Next

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A few weeks into Anthe’s stay with the Sully family in the Omaticayan Clan, they learned two things: 1. The only way out of High Camp was either by Banshee, or climbing, neither of which they could currently do on their own, their injured arm still not quite healed completely. 2. While the Na’vi overall don't particularly care about modesty when it came to their clothes, Anthe very much still did. Being raised by humans had left Anthe with a sense of shame about their body that they were still reconciling with. They had opted to keep their human clothes, too self conscious to attempt wearing anything more revealing. Jake had seemed the most understanding, offering them the fresh pair of shorts and clean ‘Avatar Program’ t-shirt they wore now.

Neteyam was a near constant companion, and since that first night, Anthe slowly started to warm up to him more. They had not spoken about Anthe’s small breakdown, letting the incident be. He was kind to Anthe in a way that they weren’t used to, always asking questions but not prying so hard that he made them uncomfortable. He talked a lot about the forest, and his siblings, and made Anthe feel more welcome than anyone else. Neteyam had been taking his time to help Anthe re-learn the ways of the Na’vi, teaching them the language they had lost and the different meanings of things. It was an effort that Anthe appreciated and made them feel almost like they could belong. Almost.

“This way.” Neteyam grinned, pulling Anthe along by the hand through High Camp. The rest of the clan had quickly gotten used to Anthe’s presence, a few people waving good mornings to them as the pair passed by. Neteyam had insisted he had a surprise for them today, but refused to give any hints as to what it was. Still, Anthe let him drag them along down the path.

They stopped by the Ikran rookerie, Neteyam quickly calling out for his own.

“Are we flying somewhere?” Anthe asked. They hadn’t flown since that first trip up to High Camp, where they had notably spent most of it unconscious. Neteyam nodded, smiling warmly as his Ikran landed before them.

“You didn’t get to meet Larí properly before.” Neteyam said, feeding the creature a piece of meat he pulled from one of his pouches.

“Larry?”

“Lah-ree.” Neteyam emphasized.

“Larí.” Anthe tried again.

“Come meet him,” Neteyam smiled, ushering them closer and taking their free hand in his, guiding their palm to the Ikran’s forehead. “Don’t look him in the eye.”

The creature felt smooth under their palm, chirping happily and nuzzling into the touch. Anthe laughed nervously, unconsciously shuffling closer to Neteyam who was grinning at them as he adjusted the saddle on Larí’s back.

“He likes you.” Neteyam said, patting the side of Larí’s neck. Anthe smiled at him, smoothing their hand down the creature's nose.

Anthe watched Neteyam hoist himself up onto the mounts back with a comfortable grace, then reach his hand back down to them to help them up. Anthe hesitated. They had come to start at least somewhat trusting the man. He exuded a confidence that set their constantly spiking nerves at ease. But flying, with only the hope that Neteyam might catch them if they fell, set them on edge all over again.

“I’ve got you, you don't have to be scared.” Neteyam smirked, seeming to read their mind.

“I’m not scared!” Anthe scoffed, pride eclipsing whatever apprehension they had before. They allowed Neteyam to pull them up onto the Ikran, settling themselves in front of him. Neteyam was making some final adjustments and connecting to the mount when sense came back to Anthe. But it was too late, as Neteyam wrapped an arm around their waist, securing them in place.

“Ready?” the warrior chuckled in their ear.

“I don’t-” But Neteyam whooped, and the Ikran launched into the air, whatever Anthe had been about to say, swallowed up by a surprised shriek.

On instinct, Anthe snapped their eyes shut, their one good arm gripping onto Neteyam’s for dear life. Wind rushed past their ears, loud and fast. It was only the second time Anthe had ever flown and they were still very unsure on how they felt about it.

“Anthe, open your eyes. It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Neteyam’s tone was soft, his breath warm on their neck. They cracked one eye open. The vast expanse of sky opened up to them, low hanging clouds clung to the floating mountains all around them, small waterfalls cascading through the air. It was beautiful. Anthe let out a breath they didn't know they were holding, relaxing slightly into Neteyam’s hold.

“See? It’s not that bad.” It felt like Neteyam was always smiling, reveling in the joys of sharing his life and people with them. Anthe couldn’t help but grin back at him, their anxiety slowly melting into that strange warm feeling the warrior always seemed to give them.

Neteyam flew them through the mountains, then down towards the forest below.

“Are you going to tell me where we are going?” Anthe called over the wind.

“Not yet. Patience, we are almost there.”

“I’ve never been known for my patience, Neteyam.”

“Then perhaps we will add it to your lessons.”

Anthe snorted a laugh, trying to relax back into the warriors chest and enjoy the rest of the flight. ‘Lessons’ were what Neteyam called his attempts at showing or teaching Anthe the ways of the Omaticaya clan. However, as far as Anthe could tell, they were less lessons and more an excuse for the warrior to show off his skills. Not that Anthe wasn’t learning anything, on the contrary, they had learned more about typical Na’vi life in the short time they had spent at High Camp then they may have ever known before they had been stolen from their own clan.

But, there was also an implication to Neteyam’s words, the idea that Anthe would stay even after they finished healing, that there would be more lessons, more time together. The idea that they could belong. That was the scariest thought, and one that Anthe could not even begin to allow themselves to entertain. As soon as their arm was healed, Anthe would leave, going back for their solitude in the Pandoran forest. Jake Sully had recovered their rifle and backpack, all Anthe needed now was to be healed enough to comfortably climb down from High Camp and they would be gone. But, the more time Anthe spent with Neteyam and his siblings, the more guilt they felt creeping in. The Sully’s had become their friends, even introducing Anthe to Spider, a human man raised in the ways of the Na’vi. In many ways, to Anthe, Spider was even more Na’vi then they were, yet still not entirely accepted. It cemented Anthe’s preemptive rejection in their own mind. They were a guest now, but they could not stay, could not join the clan, even if Neteyam implied otherwise.

It wasn’t much longer before Neteyam landed the Ikran in a clearing on the forest floor. Dappled sunlight broke through the canopy above, soft grass cushioning the pair's bare feet as Neteyam led them to a sparkling pond.

“Here we are. I thought you might like to go swimming, Kiri said it would be a good way to help stretch your shoulder while it's still healing.” Neteyam seemed suddenly bashful or possibly nervous, as if starting to second guess his suggestion.

“I’d like that.” Anthe admitted, their injury from the palulukan had been healing well, but it was still sore, and often uncomfortably stiff from being unable to stretch out.

Neteyam helped Anthe to gently remove their t-shirt and shorts, not wanting them to get wet, and leaving Anthe in only their underclothes. It made them feel exposed and slightly self-conscious, curling in on themselves in an attempt to cover up. Neteyam remained seemingly unfazed, ushering them into the cool water of the pond.

The water was pleasantly cool against their skin, a welcome relief from the humid air of the Pandoran forest. Neteyam led them by the hand, deeper into the pond, the water coming up to their chests. The pair swam together for a while, giving Anthe the chance to slowly stretch out their arms, and occasionally splashing and laughing together. It was peaceful, a sort of calm Anthe couldn’t remember the last time they had felt so relaxed, so many of their anxieties, forgotten in the moment.

They floated aimlessly on the pond's surface, arms spread and eyes closed. There was a soft thump on their good shoulder, Anthe cracked an eye open to see Neteyam bumping into them as he floated on the surface as well, golden eyes watching them softly. Anthe met his gaze, and felt a strange fluttering in their chest, their heartbeat suddenly loud and pounding in their ears. Neteyam smiled and Anthe felt their heart skip.

They wanted to look away, break the tension, but they couldn’t, entirely enraptured in whatever strange anticipation they felt building. One of Neteyam’s hands reached up, brushing lightly at Anthe’s, an invitation. They took it, holding lightly to his fingers with their own to keep from floating away. His other hand floated up to their jaw, thumb brushing back the wet hair that plastered itself to Anthe’s cheek.

The pair were nose to nose, so close, Anthe could feel Neteyams breath fanning their face. For a second, Anthe thought they saw the warrior's eyes flick briefly to their lips. Unbidden, the image of Neteyam kissing them flashed through their mind. It made their cheeks heat with embarrassment almost immediately, as they were hit with a wanting they had never experienced before. A want to be close, be loved, in a way more intimate than they had ever imagined before. Neteyam was so close, it would be so easy to just lean a little closer, close the distance. Anthe wanted to, and it looked to them that maybe Neteyam did too.

His gaze was so intense, his smile faded into a soft, almost yearning expression, looking as if he was trying to memorize every detail of Anthe’s face. He inched closer, lips barely touching.

“{Anthe, can I-}” But whatever he was about to say was cut off as the loud buzzing of radio static cut through the air around them.

Neteyam cringed at the sound, huffing out a frustrated breath as he righted himself in the water. Anthe followed suit, their embarrassment quickly consuming them as they huddled in the water, only keeping their nose above the water as they shuffled back to shore.

“{What.}” Neteyam practically hissed into the com on his neck, sounding annoyed and frustrated. It must be Lo’ak calling for him to be responding like that, Anthe thought, trying to swallow back their lingering embarrassment. They looked back at the warrior just for a second as they pulled themselves from the pond, watching his back muscles flex as he dragged a hand down his face. He caught their eye, and gave them an apologetic look, but said nothing, still listening to whatever Lo’ak had interrupted for.

“{Lo’ak, can you not do this yourself? I am busy.}” Neteyam responded, clearly annoyed at his brother’s non-emergency. There was a pause as Neteyam listened, then suddenly flushed a deep purple color.

“{They are not- That is not any or your business!}” That made Anthe perk up, watching Neteyam suddenly squirm, embarrassed. Anthe snorted a laugh at him, not on purpose, but they were so unused to Neteyam not being his smooth collected self. It was funny to watch him, as he cringed at whatever Lo’ak had said.

“{Fine. Just… Shut up already.}” The warrior sighed finally, apparently giving in to his younger brother’s whims.

“{Lo’ak being trouble?}” Anthe asked, trying to keep themselves speaking Na’vi as they pulled their clothes back on. Their nerves had started to settle, now that Neteyam’s attention was no longer solely on them.

“{For me, yes.}” Neteyam rolled his eyes as he finally exited the water. “{He needs some help with a hunt, but I will take you back to High Camp first.}”

“{You’re gonna make him wait?}” It was getting late into the afternoon. The later it got, the more likely something dangerous could come out to hunt Lo’ak instead of the other way around.

“{He’ll be fine. Waiting is the least he can do after interrupting like that.}” Neteyam was back to his easy confidence, one of his large palms coming to rest on Anthe’s lower back as he walked them back towards where they had left Larí.

#froglet writes fics #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #neteyam x reader #avatar frontiers of pandora #james cameron avatar #neteyam x oc #until it doesn't hurt

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fluff-foraxil · 1 year

Text

Until the end (Doflamingo x F!Reader) - 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 4

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - . - Chapter 5

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(Y/N) was enjoying some alone time since the kids were out on a mission with some members of the Donquixote Family. Sitting on the couch they put outside since the temperature got higher and the days were sunny and warm, she was reading a book about a particular island in the New World; she dreamed to be able to go there one day with or without the Donquixote Family.

«Having fun?», Doflamingo plopped himself beside her.

"Sometimes I think he just comes out of the ground, like a mushroom", whenever he was near, she felt anxious.

She stared at his trademark smile; it irritated her.

That day she just wanted to be alone and relax, for once she wanted to be left alone since the night before was an absolute nightmare for her. Dellinger felt sick so she stayed up most of the night rubbing his belly and making sure he threw up into a bucket and not the floor, just when she was about to go to sleep she noticed Law was having more nightmares than usual, so she slept beside him, but she wasn't able to close her eyes due to the bed being small for her, leaving her with back pain. Then, in the morning, Buffalo and Baby 5 started fighting about God knows what and left a mess in the dining area since some food had been thrown around, which (Y/N) had to clean up.

She just wanted peace.

«Haven't you got business to attend to, Young Master?», she hissed under her breath.

Doflamingo was around her too often for her liking. At first, it didn't bother her but, as time passed, the constant feeling of having a second unwanted shadow always following her was starting to irk her, but the worst was when his presence would come with unsolicited comments or remarks.

«Come on, birdie, don't be so rude», he laughed, obviously not bothered by her statement.

She scooted over, squishing herself against the armrest wanting to put as much distance as possible between the two of them. (Y/N) always tried to avoid being alone with the man or being too close to him because she could feel his eyes on her, all the time; she was starting to feel observed even when she was alone or away from him.

«Whatever, just stay on your side of the couch», she went back to her book, trying to ignore his presence.

Doflamingo let out his foxy laugh before snatching the book out of her hands, easily holding it out of her reach, before taking an uninterested look at its topic.

«Give it back, I was reading», she launched herself towards it, hands flying in all directions to get a hold of it.

She started to climb on the man unconsciously, her only objective was to retrieve the book. Her chest was resting on his shoulder as she stretched her arm while the other was keeping her stable as to not fall over; in the meantime, Doflamingo was enjoying the view of (Y/N) struggling.

«Give it», her fingertips grazed the cover.

A sudden pain shot through her body. Her eyes got wide as her body froze, her vision was blurry switching between the clear sky and her well-manicured hand to a dark cell and her bruised smaller hand. For a moment, her brain shifted from her current reality to an almost forgotten memory of her past, before going back to the present.

The man beneath her didn't miss the way her heartbeat spiked for a moment.

«You bit me», she stared at the bite mark on her hip.

Doflamingo was pushing her body against him with his free hand, she observed as his tongue collected the beads of blood before smirking as he admired his masterpiece.

«Your skin is so... inviting», he replied, mouth ready to deal more damage the already broken skin.

"This is a declaration of war", she snapped out of her trance and sank her teeth in his forearm to get him back.

He chuckled at her response. She was like a harmless puppy in his eyes, and he started to wonder how she would've looked like with a collar around her neck, he could picture it already; (Y/N) on her hands and knees, a custom collar adorning her delicate neck while he was the one to hold the least attached to it.

«Oh, birdie, that's not nice», having a power like his was an advantage in these situations.

(Y/N) knew she was fucked the moment her limbs were moving on their own accord; she flew back against the couch, the impact knocking the air out her lungs and making her head spin. Doflamingo didn't give her time to recover and accommodated himself between her legs, a hand ghosting above her neck while the other was holding her hands against the armrest.

«Look at you», he licked the beads of blood on his forearm, «Why so agitated?».

Turning her head to the side with a stern look, she tried to hide the tears that were threatening to spill out.

«Shut up», her wavering voice betrayed her.

Doflamingo switched positions; now, he was laying on the couch with her on top of him, her back against his muscular chest with one of his arms wrapped around her lower body keeping her in place. (Y/N) could hear her heartbeat in her ears, she hated feeling so vulnerable especially around him.

«You need to relax», he chuckled knowing how she was feeling.

Knowing that she couldn't argue with the man, she laid there, trying to steady her breathing. Nose tingling with an almost painful sensation, mouth dry, eyes glossy as she tried to push back her tears, hands twitching as they were interwoven with Doflamingo's.

"Breathe, just breathe", she was trying to keep her composure.

«Why are you shaking?», his mocking tone making her stop.

«I'm not», she replied.

Her stomach itching with an uncomfortable sensation, as Doflamingo's fingers were grazing her hands waiting for her to make a move.

«You know, we should get to know each other», he stated as one of his hands travelled down and put a light pressure on the broken skin, «After all, I have to be sure that I can trust you».

"After years... He wants to know about me just now? Yeah, sure", oblivious to his genuine interest in her, she thought he was joking around.

(Y/N) couldn't handle the pressure anymore, beads of cold sweat were littering her back and her neck slowly sliding down her body. She was overstimulated, his voice, his fingers and her back against his abs was too much; she wanted to cry but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction to see her tears.

Doflamingo liked taunting people, so when he sensed that she was about to jump to her feet, he gripped her face with his hand and brought her head closer to his, close enough so he could whisper in her ear as goosebumps rose on her whole body.

«I wonder what you're hiding from me», he chuckled lowly, almost seductively, «I can see it in your filthy eyes. Hurt, anger, loathing, but I wonder... towards who or what?».

She bit her lip, his strings threatening to cut her skin if she tried to move.

«Are you scared of me, (Y/N)?», she could feel the smirk on his face.

«N-no», words coming out strangled.

«You should be», he let her face go, «You're so frail, I could kill you with ease».

She didn't answer, she couldn't. Fear taking over as her eyes were glued shut, she didn't want to look at him.

He pestered her most of the time, but today he was outdoing himself.

«I'm not afraid to die», she breathed out without thinking after moments of silence.

He let go of her so she could scramble to her feet and run off as far away from him as possible, leaving the man with a satisfied smile on his face as he stared at the blue sky.

Doflamingo never took interest in many things and if he did, he would get bored of them easily, but (Y/N) was something different.

He started observing her after noticing some particular behaviours of hers; the way she would turn around whenever she sensed someone behind her when she was alone and faked being busy as she let them walk past before starting to walk again, her fingers twitching and shaking slightly moments before she awoke from slumber with wide frightened eyes, her hand resting on her neck and grazing it while reading books or writing on her journal, how she would jump whenever people touched her even by mistake, avoiding particular places, how she was always on guard. At first, he never put too much thought into those things, she was nothing more than a servant, but one night as he laid in bed being unable to sleep due to his constant nightmares, his brain started to wonder about it.

Deciding that he wanted to find out what was going on for himself, he made sure to be with her whenever he had the opportunity to, preferably alone; it could have been easier to force her to speak but where was the fun in doing that? He wanted to see if she was worth more than he thought. However, one day, something happened.

~ Flashback ~

(Y/N) was minding her business as she cleaned the children' bedrooms, they had been out for two days on a mission and would be back the next day, so she wanted them to come back to a clean space.

Doflamingo was just walking by and noticing her, decided it was a great moment to start poking fun at her.

«I'm busy», was her simple statement when he tried to initiate a conversation.

He kept quiet for a moment only because an idea popped up in his mind. Creeping up behind her, he let his hand rest on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly making her tense up.

«You should relax, the children aren't here», he noticed the twitch of her fingers as she stood still.

His hand sliding towards her neck before starting to make his way down her back, agonizingly slow.

(Y/N) was frozen in fear, but she found enough strength to turn around, ready to strike him across the face but missing due to him pulling back.

«Don't touch me», she spat out.

Her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to keep her composure, but her eyes were betraying her.

A feral gaze that Doflamingo was familiar with.

It wasn't the first time he saw bloodshot eyes like those, but he loved seeing them on someone like (Y/N); he felt a shiver of excitement running all over his body, as his fingers twitched longing to wrap themselves around her frail neck, so he did.

The way his cold hand encountered the warmth of her skin felt like a dream to Doflamingo. He admired the way she was reacting; he could feel the way her heartbeat spiked up as soon as her mind processed what happened, her nails scratching his hand as tears started to run down her cheeks as she was spitting insults at him while also pleading him to let her go. The fright was triggering her anger to make her feel in control of her anxiety.

Seeing her like that satisfied him, and the burning desire of being the only one who could reduce her in such a state was getting stronger.

What was scaring (Y/N) the most was the way he was just standing there, choking her to death, with a grin on his face.

He let her go when he saw the redness draining from her cheeks; (Y/N) didn't even try to catch her breath as she sprinted out of the room.

~ End of flashback ~

«What are you hiding, birdie?», he looked at the bite mark she left on him.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was drowning her face in cold water, she needed to calm down.

"What's wrong with me?", she hated him, but she was human after all.

Carnal lust was something she experienced even though she never made love to anyone, but there were some things that triggered her and made her horny. Doflamingo was a good-looking man, she couldn't lie, and the fact that he was a complete jerk made her attracted to him somehow; on the other hand, the way his younger brother treated her with a kindness unknown to her made her want him too. She was confused by the way her body and brain reacted.

"What am I even thinking? Me and my horny virgin ass", fanning herself she paced in her room to get her heartbeat stable.

Her eyes wondered to the bite mark; a wave of excitement ran through her as her brain made up a scenario were things escaladed after being bit by Doflamingo. She could only imagine the way his or his brother's hands would feel on her body, she just knew Doflamingo would be a complete animal in bed, marking her skin, while Rosinante would be gentler, covering her in kisses and caressing her body like it was made of glass; she imagined him getting rougher just if he was asked to or pushed to.

"Stop, stop, stop", hiding her face in her hands shamefully as she felt her core responding to such lewd fantasies.

Not that (Y/N) didn't take care of her needs, but the moments where she could do such a thing were rare. But, in that moment, she really needed to relieve herself as fake scenarios kept popping up in her mind; in one she was getting fucked so roughly, while in another she was having some gentle sex, and in another she was on all fours in between his knees.

She thought about it for a moment; the children were out, and her roommates went grocery shopping, so they wouldn't be back soon.

"Well... it has been a while", giving up she started the shower and made sure the bathroom's door was locked.

Letting her clothes fall to the ground, she looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes still glossy from before, her lips looked redder and plumper, her cheeks dusted in pink; she waited for the water to be warm enough for her before getting in and letting her fantasies run wild.

(Y/N) had her cheek pushed against the cold tiles of the bathroom, her back arched as if someone was fucking her from behind; panting as her middle and ring finger were buried inside her caressing her g spot, while her other hand was supporting her. Her mind fixated on a specific scenario; she was on the couch with Doflamingo, but this time his hand was pushing down on her lower belly, while he was fucking her pussy with his fingers as he told her that was her punishment for being such a brat to him. He kept degrading and overstimulating her, making her cry. Telling her how he loved seeing her cry and beg him to fuck her like a pathetic bitch in heat, he switched his fingers and let his cock slide inside of her; he didn't let her adjust to his size, no, he started thrusting into her.

«D-Doffy-sama», it came out as a whisper, not wanting to be caught in the act.

The scenario went on, as they switched position, he was sitting on the couch while she rode his cock like her life depended on it; his strings keeping her arms bound behind her back. He was looking at her, admiring her breasts bouncing up and down, while leaning back and just enjoying the show.

«Please», she moaned, «P-please... I want your cum inside me».

Incoherent babbling left her mouth as she got closer to her orgasm, keeping her pace up but pushing her fingers deeper, she started to massage her clitoris in circular motions to help her release. The image of him squeezing her hips while chuckling and telling her to cum on his cock like a good girl was enough for her to feel that delicious and liberatory sensation run all over her body.

«Doffy», his name slipped past her lips in a sigh during her high.

Her legs were shaking, a satisfied expression on her face.

That night she felt embarrassed as she was sitting beside Rosinante, after having such dirty thoughts not only about him, but his brother too, was shameful.

«You know... I kind of wish I'd never accepted Doflamingo's offer», she stared at the sky, «Mostly because I wonder where I would be right now. A tropical island? A desolated one? Maybe I would be dead, and no one would know».

'Why did you say yes then?', he raised one of his eyebrows.

«I was afraid, I thought he was going to kill me if I turned down his offer», realising how stupid that sounded, she facepalmed.

«Ugh... That sounds pathetic now that I say it out loud»,

'It's ok, you just followed your survival instincts', he chuckled at her poker face.

(Y/N) broke up in a genuine smile.

«Probably. However, I don't mind how things turned out», she stretched and let her legs rest on his lap, «I got food, shelter and I enjoy being around the children».

'Liar', her subconscious told her.

Rosinante made a face of disgust at the mention of children which made (Y/N) burst out laughing. He gently pinched her thigh to make her stop, which she did, making a comfortable silence fall on them.

'What happened?', Rosinante had a confused expression.

«Don't mind it, your imbecile of a brother», she looked at the white patch poking out from her shirt.

He was about to show her another note when a girl tiptoed in front of them. She was a beautiful brunette girl, slim and with long soft hair; heels in hand and legs shaking, she left the headquarters of the Donquixote's Family, not even acknowledging the duo sitting on the couch.

They looked at each other, knowing someone, probably Doflamingo, had their fun that night.

«I wonder how he gets girls with his shitty attitude», she thought out loud.

#doflamingo x y/n #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #donquixote pirates #donquixote brothers #one piece doflamingo #one piece x you #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #trafalgar law #trafalgardwaterlaw #doffy one piece #one piece

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heretostealyogirl · 10 months

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@mayuris-basement-dweller eeeee thank you so much for the tag!!

I've been on AO3 for years as a reader but only recently as a proper writer, although those of you who've been following me long enough might remember my old Star Trek DS9 fic from a few years ago that I started on a whim and ended up abandoning after like 4 chapters LMAO. Anyway, you can find me under the same name as here on tumblr :>

Oh yeah. LOTS of smut.

I used to rp on roblox for fun when I was a bit younger and spent years doing more serious rps with my ex before we split. We did all sorts of fandoms and OCs and it was really fun and really really useful for OC personality/backstory development. I really miss it tbh :/

Nothing I post is beta'd lol

*glances at my 60k+ words self-insert OOT Ganondorf x reader slow burn romance fic* ..........yeah.

ALWAYS. Fluff is good shit.

95% of all the romance/smut I've ever written was queer in some way

Not currently, but definitely in the past. Some previous fandoms I've written for include: Transformers, FNAF, Spiderman (Tom Holland movies), Star Trek DS9, and Subnautica!

Oh yes, always. I usually go through several iterations of the outline that progressively get more detailed before taking the final outline and using that as the skeleton for the fic itself. It's taken a long time and a lot of trial and error to get my writing technique down, but this method works very well for me.

Oh god it is SO nervewracking. I hate it, but the anxiety just makes it even more gratifying when I do get the feedback (and/or kudos)

Too many to count.

I mostly edit and format as I go along, but lemme tell you, getting the hoverboxes to work on AO3 the other day was such a pain!!

That's the main reason why I keep my phone near me at night. I've told myself far too many times that I'll just remember and write it down in the morning, only to wake up and remember that I had an idea, but not what the idea was.

...please?

15. I wouldn't want it to be my main job, but I would LOVE to be a properly published author one day.

Currently I'm only writing for the Legend of Zelda, specifically my BOTW AU and the aforementioned OOT self-insert fic.

I don't really know any other fanfic writers off the top of my head so uhhhh anyone who sees this and wants to join, consider yourself tagged!

Tysm again for the tag <3 <3

(Template under the cut)

#ray speaks #tag game

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dattebae · 2 years

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The middle ground (ch.4)

CHAPTERS: [ 1 ] , [ 2 ], [ 3 ], [ 4 ], [ 5 ], [ Finale]

COMPLETE WORK AT AO3: HERE.

Pairing: Sixty/Female Reader

Word count: 7.486

Rating: Explicit ( Sprays you with water if you're under 18. Please stay awayyyyy)

Warnings: Substance abuse, too much angst for a human to stand, Connor's wife being cute, Sixty being a horrible fucking person, Nines is the best fucking person, awkward family dinners, music and some sad smut towards the end.

Note: I honestly don't know what to say. I just wanna tell you guys to brace yourselves because this chapter contains a whole lot of angst. I also wanna add that Sixty sings at some point and I couldn't think of a better song than this one. Phew, okay. I have to pack my bags and leave the country before some of you come for me. Have fun!

Sixty never went to college. It wasn’t a shock to anyone around him, of course, but the idle time after high school gave him the unfortunate opportunity to experiment with the worst kind of drugs available on the streets. There was something very scary and hollow about everyone drifting away from him after high school, and while Sixty never admitted to that, he used the drugs to distract himself from that reality. One day he left the house, and then he never came back. He knew going back to his childhood home would mean that he’d have to face his past, and he was nowhere near ready for that.

During that time Nines was dragged into a tough selection process orchestrated by the CIA to see if he was fit for his current position, and it took over a year until he finally got chosen. Maybe things would’ve been different for Sixty if Nines had been around during that time, but Sixty couldn’t remember much from those years, anyway. He had vague memories of drifting off on random couches with people who were just as fucked up as him, and sometimes he could swear he had glimpses of waking up in random alleys around Detroit. Honestly, it was a miracle he’d even managed to survive after all the shit he put in his body.

Meanwhile, Connor and Suki had moved into a small student apartment near their campus, and some nights Sixty would find himself tucked in their bed with food and water waiting for him on the nightstand. He never knew how he ended up there, and they never told him, either. Somehow that made him even more bitter. Connor always had to be so fucking nice all the time, and even though Sixty had so many memory gaps from that time, he never lost the feelings those moments caused him: shame and anger.

Maybe that’s why it wasn’t surprising to find Suki loading food into Nines’ fridge when Sixty came home the morning after being with you. She was just like Connor, if not worse. Whenever she knew Nines was back from his missions, she’d come by and leave him some of her homemade food, which Sixty knew Nines loved. It was almost like God knew what he was up to, because hadn’t Suki been there, Sixty would’ve already been searching through Nines’ bedroom to find money, or something that he could sell for money.

Yeah, he knew how fucked up at that was. Even worse, he knew that getting to that point of desperation meant he was dangerously close to a serious detox withdrawal, and he had no intention of going through that nightmare. Sixty needed a fucking high, or else he’d be clawing his own skin off very soon.

He’d been staring at her from the hall for a while, watching how she unloaded box after box and set them into the fridge in the order she knew Nines would appreciate. Sixty hadn’t seen Suki for a while, and he’d never bothered to greet her or Connor at the event, either. Maybe that made him an asshole, but that wasn’t new. It was the same old: They were unbearably nice, and he avoided them like the fucking pest.

“ Are you gonna stand there and stare like a creep, or are you gonna help the pregnant lady out? ” Suki casually called, and Sixty rolled his eyes. The only difference between Suki and Connor was her sharp tongue: she didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone. And as much as he enjoyed their banter, he needed her to get the fuck out so he could steal something from his brother and snort some cocaine.

“ You’ve known me for over a fucking decade, and you still decided to ask me a question like that? ”

He’d walked into the kitchen by then, and she met him with a sneer.

“ Well, you’ve known me for just as long, and still you opted to test me. ”

Ah. There she was.

“ Don’t act like you don’t like a little challenge, Ki. I know my brother’s too much of a shrimp to have things his way, anyway. ”

“ Oh trust me, if Connor didn’t have his way, I wouldn’t be pregnant right now. ” she casually said.

Well, ew.

Suki closed the fridge and started to fold the empty plastic bags she’d carried the boxes in, and during that time Sixty realized she was observing him suspiciously.

Did she know? Did he look like was going to steal Nines’ shit for a line of the first best thing?

“ Who’s the staring creep now? ” Sixty quipped, returning her earlier sneer.

Suki rolled her eyes and turned her focus back on her task.

“ Connor’s been worried about you, Six. You have to stop avoiding him like this. ”

It didn’t take long for Sixty’s smirk to fade after that. Nines had said that to him far too many times, and it seemed like he just couldn’t escape that line no matter who he spoke to. Sixty shrugged his jacket off and threw it over one of the stools by the kitchen island. Suki didn’t react, but maybe his bitter behavior was normal to her. After all, he’d been a bitter asshole for most of his life.

“ How’s the little guy? ” he asked, avoiding the subject of Connor as much as he possibly could. Suki didn’t push on it, and that was good. The last thing he needed along with his skin-crawling urge to get high was a conversation about his perfect fucking brother.

“ Cole’s fine. He’s been asking about his uncle Seesee, though. ” she said with a puppy eyed pout, and Sixty couldn’t help but to crack a smile.

Uncle Seesee, huh?

Cole was barely two years old and he already looked like a carbon fucking copy of Connor. Some part of Sixty hated it, but he couldn’t deny the love he had for his little shrimp nephew.

“ By the way, Richard told me about your mysterious girl. “ Suki wiggled her eyebrows, and Sixty rolled his eyes. Weren’t spies supposed to be good at keeping their mouths shut? What the fuck, Nines. Sometimes Sixty wondered if his family (whatever fucked up variant of a family this was) ever had anything better to talk about than him and his messy life.

“ Don’t start. ”

“ No. No, that’s good, Colin. I’m glad you’re happy. ” She gave him a smile, and Sixty almost squirmed under her sincerity. Seriously. Why did they always have to be so fucking nice?

“ I’m glad you’re doing better. ” she added, collecting her bag.

“ I’m definitely doing better than you. I mean, you look…” His nose wrinkled a little, hand vaguely gesturing to the swell of her stomach.

Suki stroked her belly protectively, eyes practically shooting daggers at him.

“ Careful. ”

Shit.

“…Dazzling? ” he tried.

The look on her face wasn’t subtle at all: Suki wasn’t impressed, but she didn’t seem eager to keep the topic on her very pregnant figure, either. Instead, she said something that had Sixty taken aback a little:

“ Nines is meeting us for dinner next week. You should bring your girlfriend along and…you know, let her meet the family. ”

The family.

Sixty scoffed.

The last thing he’d want is for you to meet the collection of people that proved just how fucked up and pathetic he really was. The girl who rejected him in high school, his older brother who she’d chosen instead, and his heart-throb bachelor of a younger brother. No, thank you. He needed you far away from everything that pointed to his addiction: which was a lot, but mostly them.

Suki didn’t give him a chance to protest, though. She gave him a gentle rub on the arm and a smile that, once again, was too sincere for Sixty’s liking.

“ Be good, Six. ”

He looked at her for a moment, expression a little stiff and hard.

Good. The only thing he couldn’t be.

The urges may have gotten him in a bad mood, but he couldn’t deny that Suki was a walking reminder of how he was never good enough. Not for her, and not for his brothers. Not for anyone.

She’d already headed for the hall when Sixty heard her call out to him:

“ And please leave some food over for Nines. ”

Oh, he’d be stealing more than just food from Nines.

***

There was a guitar in your living room slash bedroom that bothered Sixty a lot. You barely knew how to use it, and it was clear that it was only there for decoration, but it still bothered him. He knew it sounded insane, but he could swear that it kept staring at him. Maybe it was the side-effect of that new shit he’d snorted earlier. He didn’t know what the drug was, but his dealer had told him it was new on the market and Sixty didn’t even question it. He’d bought a few doses with the money he’d gotten from selling one of Nines’ rings (which he’d stolen from his room as soon as Suki left.) It was only a matter of time before Nines would find out and probably (most definitely) confront him about it. Anywho: that drug was either fantastic, or he was really losing his mind because the guitar was still staring.

Sixty hadn’t touched an instrument in years, and he hadn’t sung in even longer. It was…scary, to dip his toes into music. Mostly because it reminded him of Hank, but also because whenever he did play, it forced him to deal with his feelings.

No, thank you.

He tried to ignore the discomfort of having the instrument in the corner, and while you sat on the couch with him after hours of lazy sex, you seemed to notice that Sixty’s gaze kept flicking over to the guitar.

“ You know you’re allowed to use it, right? ”

He looked up to find you giving him an amused look, and he tried to casually shrug it off. Maybe some part of him wondered how its weight would feel in his hands, and if it was tuned in case he pulled on the strings. No. No, that was a slippery slope.

“ I’m good. ”

It wasn’t worth a journey down nightmare lane, and he already felt content chilling with you on the couch while painting your toenails a pretty shade of blue. You were only wearing a pair of panties and Sixty’s oversized t-shirt (that was way too big and way too sexy on you), and when Sixty dragged his eyes over you, his smirk indicated nothing but trouble. You nudged him with your other foot, bringing his attention back to you.

“ Come on, I’ve seen how you keep looking at it. ”

He wanted to retort and tell you that it was in fact the guitar looking at him, but you’d probably think he was crazy, and honestly? Maybe he was. His mouth parted, and before he could think of something less…mentally unstable to say, you were already up on your feet. You brought the guitar back to the couch and handed it to him.

Sixty froze.

“ Play something for me. ”

Sixty hesitated for a moment, but then you plopped down next to him and brought your knees up to your chest, a spark of curiosity and excitement lingering in your eyes.

“ Please? ”

Well, that was just unfair. How was he ever supposed to say no to that? To you?

Hesitating, he looked down at the guitar for a moment. After a long moment, Sixty then shifted in his seat and properly rested the instrument on his thigh. You watched him give the strings an experimental strum, and a pleasant tune echoed over the room. Sixty hummed, then he adjusted some of the strings, pulling and twisting until he finally tuned the instrument to his liking.

Something about this felt very natural. Even though it'd been years since Sixty had played, his fingers hadn’t forgotten any of the chords. What started as exploratory little sounds soon turned into steady, deliberate tunes. He hummed along to it, and you gently swayed your body to the music with a smile lingering on your lips.

And then he began to sing.

Perhaps some part of him knew where this would take him, and although the journey through his memories brought him sadness and pain, they also brought him a sense of comfort. Sixty felt like he was home for the first time in over a decade. He found himself back in that messy garage, feeling Hank’s fingers guiding his smaller ones through each tricky chord. He could hear his laughter and his praise when Sixty finally managed to learn the combinations.

Something inside his throat was closing, and his voice started losing its strength for a moment. Your look of adoration slowly blended with concern when you saw the tears gathering in Sixty’s eyes. His fingers began to shake over the guitar, and then the music stopped.

It shouldn't have been a surprise to him that this ended with him in tears, but he was stubborn enough to think that maybe, just maybe, he was stronger now than he’d been in the past.

He wasn’t.

Without the music, his quivering breaths were loud, and carefully you moved over to him when he lowered the guitar and let it fall to the carpet. Sixty tried to cover the tears by hiding his face in his hands, but it was too late. He swore through his gritted teeth, feeling how you slowly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him into a tight hug. Everything inside his head was a cluster of memories: He could remember the car, his own fucking voice in the backseat: how he’d yelled at Hank for ruining his night and how Connor tried to calm him down.

The screech of the tires.

The scatter of glass.

Connor’s screams.

The faint sound of the sirens.

Sixty had no idea how much time he spent crying in your arms, but you were patient and your hugs anchored him through each wave of pain and regret washing over him. He was babbling random apologies to Hank while you held him close and waited patiently. It took a long time before he’d calmed, and when you finally asked him about it after an hour of holding him in silence, he decided to tell you about that night.

It was four days before Christmas and he’d been invited to a party outside of town. Even though Hank told him no, Sixty had still snuck out through the garage and taken the first bus he could find to Leo Manfred’s mansion. Nines had gone to bed early because of swimming practice he had the next day, and Sixty had refused to stay home to be alone with his own stupid thoughts. He remembered being in a particularly bad mood that day because Connor was spending the night over at Suki’s. Her parents were out of town that weekend, and Sixty knew exactly what that meant.

He didn’t tell you anything about the drugs, but Sixty had no idea that Leo Manfred and his shitty circle would be his ticket to addiction. They were all stoners, and he only hung around with Leo for the same reason as the rest of his shitty friends: he had money for weed. It hadn’t sounded like a bad thing then: it was just something to get his mind off Connor and Suki.

It was three AM, and after eight missed calls and three voicemails, Hank had decided to drive up to the house and bring Sixty home himself. Sixty told you about the really bad argument he’d had with Hank outside Leo’s house, and how pissed he was over his dad picking up like a fucking child while Connor was fucking Suki in the other side of town. He’d blurted out something about Connor always getting what he wanted, and Hank had given him a whole speech about how he shouldn’t compete with his brothers, and how they needed to stick together through good and bad times.

Refusing to listen, Sixty went back inside, and after contemplating, Hank decided to call Connor for help.

An hour later, the three of them were in the car on their way back to the city, and Sixty was absolutely livid. His anger might’ve been because of Connor’s presence in the car, or maybe it was the weed and alcohol fucking him up. Actually, it was probably a combination of everything, but he didn’t mention that part to you. It’d happened so fast: one moment they were arguing and the next moment the car had slid off the road and rolled into a ditch. A branch had broken through the window from Hank’s side, and impaled him from the left side. Sixty had hit his head quite badly, and his arm was stuck between the neck rest from Connor’s seat. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he heard Connor’s cries and screams from the front seat. They haunted him until this day.

Dad! No! No, no, no! Dad, please open your eyes! Please!

The next time his conscience returned, Connor was sobbing. He could hear him cursing and fighting to drag him out of the car while Hank was left in the driver’s seat.

Sixty couldn’t understand why Connor saved him. He couldn’t understand how he’d had it in him to leave their dad dying in the driver’s seat.

It made no sense.

The air was hot and thick from the mist in the shower, and you were silently peering up at him when Sixty’s story came to an end. It had been your idea to drag him in there with you, and the water seemed to calm his nerves even more. This was good.

There was a long pause between you, and then Sixty dropped his head to your shoulder, his breath hot against your bare skin as he spoke.

“ I should’ve stayed home. ” he said, voice cracking. It was barely audible over the hot water pouring down on both of you.

“ Six, you were just a kid... ” You murmured, stroking his neck soothingly.

“ Your dad loved you, and you loved him. I’m sure he knew that. ”

He hoped you were right. He hoped that argument hadn’t ruined Hank’s perception of him, and how much Sixty really loved him.

Sixty sighed against your neck, arms tightening around your waist as he pulled your bare body closer to him. Ever since he broke down into tears before you, he hadn’t been able to let you go. It was weird, but somehow holding you gave him a sense of safety. You anchored him, in a way, and he appreciated that. He appreciated you. Sixty had never spoken about that night with anyone. Not even his brothers. And yet, talking about it with you felt oddly relieving. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

He realized that you’d unknowingly forced him to face a big chunk of his trauma since the moment you handed him that guitar, and that made him question his own judgment about a lot of things. Maybe he was capable of healing, and maybe that was something worth sharing. Sixty knew that intentions weren’t entirely selfless, because he wanted to rub his relationship with you in his ‘family’s’ face, just to prove a point. Maybe that’d put an end to all their annoying obsession with his life and his sobriety. He was not sober by any means, of course, but he wanted them to think that.

Most of all, he wanted you to be in the dark about his addiction, for as long as possible.

Why? Because he was selfish, and he wanted you for himself, just like this. He wanted you to anchor him and treat him like himself: Not like an addict with selfish, impulsive tendencies: even if that was the truth. The parasite inside him, the one that made him angry, selfish, jealous, manipulative and impatient, told him to never let you go.

“ I want you to meet my family. ” Sixty murmured, stroking your cheek while he lovingly peered into your eyes.

You smiled up at him, and when you spoke again, the parasite within him practically purred.

“ I’d like that. ”

***

Sixty had reconsidered many things in his life as of lately, but one thing that he began to question in particular was the extent of his younger brother’s supposed spy skills. Nines hadn’t said anything to him about his missing ring, and even though Sixty had basically, sort of, moved in with you, he never received a call or an angry text message from Nines. It was quite the opposite, actually. Nines had gone as far as leaving him the keys to his ridiculously clean Range Rover so he could pick you up and drive you to the restaurant where the family was waiting for you both.

Sixty was waiting for you outside your apartment complex. He’d been leaning against the car with his hands tucked into his pockets and plenty of time to speculate the upcoming events of the evening. Some part of him had come to terms with the idea of meeting Connor again. They hadn’t spoken in months and Sixty had no idea what he’d feel or how he’d react to his brother’s presence. In some way, though, he felt ready. Sixty didn’t spend too much time thinking about Connor, though. Not when you walked out of the building looking like something from a dream. He pushed himself off the car, staring at your elegant dress and those soft little waves of your hair that made him want to run his fingers through them. The deep blue color complimented your skin tone perfectly, and when you walked up to him with the sound of soft little clicks from a pair of heels he was sure you dreaded to wear, he couldn’t help but to smile like a fucking idiot.

Holy fucking shit.

“ Hi. ” You smiled at him, and it filled his insides with butterflies.

“ Hey, ” he smirked. It was impossible to miss the adoration in his eyes. “ You look beautiful. ”

He watched your smile grow at those words.

Something about the way you reached to fix his collar made Sixty’s heart beat a little faster. It still stunned him sometimes, how easy it was for you to take him off guard with small gestures such as these. He realized that it’d been a good idea to dress a little more properly for the evening. After all, you deserved nothing less when you looked that good next to him. Sixty had slicked his usually messy hair back and worn a pair of slacks instead of whatever was laying around in his messy room back at Nines’. He’d even sprayed on some cologne, and opted for a white button up to appear a little more…what was the word?

Before you entered the car, you reached up on your tippy toes and brought your mouth to his ear. What you’d whispered to him then had Sixty smirking to himself for the entire car ride.

“ And you look very handsome.” you purred.

Handsome.

That’s the word.

***

Suki hadn’t told him who’d made the reservations at the restaurant, but if Sixty could guess, it was most likely Nines. The place wasn’t too fancy, but it certainly wasn’t a place you’d go to for lunch on a workday either. Connor, Suki and Nines were already sitting by the table when the two of you were escorted inside by one of the waitresses, and Suki was the first to light up with a smile before she stood up from her seat. Connor greeted you shortly after, and while you were busy greeting a shy Cole in Connor’s arm, Sixty felt Nines’ eyes on him.

The younger brother didn’t say a word, but Sixty knew what those silver eyes were suggesting. Nines gave his shoulder a small pat, and then he was next in turn to introduce himself to you. Maybe your look of awe would’ve bothered Sixty more if Nines didn’t have that effect on literally everyone he ever met, but he couldn’t exactly blame you. Nines was a handsome gentleman, and his voice was smooth as silk when he shook your hand and politely introduced himself. You were already getting along with Suki, busy with whatever conversation that’d started between you moments ago when he heard a familiar voice:

“ It’s good to see you, Colin. ”

It was hard to face Connor. Sixty only managed a glance with hands still tucked into his pockets like he had no intention of taking them out anytime soon. Connor didn’t seem surprised by his behavior, but something in his eyes showed signs of hope: like maybe Sixty would change his mind and drag him in for a tight, brotherly hug.

Yeah, as if.

Sixty lowered his gaze for a moment, giving his older brother nothing but a curt nod in response.

“ Seesee.” Cole’s hand was tiny, and it was reaching out to him in a way that Sixty couldn’t ignore. He didn’t need any convincing when it came to greeting his nephew, at least.

“ Oh you remember me, little shrimp? ” Sixty smirked, booping his tiny, button nose.

Cole was probably the only member of the family that Sixty actually liked. He seemed to like his uncle Sixty even though he was a walking fucking mess. It was nice. He came to realize that he liked Cole for the same reasons that he liked you: Neither of you knew about his horrible addiction, and that made him feel normal. It made him feel like a person, not a problem.

While Cole closed his hand around one of his uncle’s fingers, Sixty tried to ignore that Connor was holding him in his arms. There was just something about Connor observing the exchange that made something boil in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t make sense, because Connor seemed pleased. Touched, even. Maybe there was just something about seeing Connor happy and content that ticked Sixty off, and it made him realize why he’d stayed away for so long: Why he’d never bothered to come to his wedding or any of the highlights in his life.

By the time dinner was served, you’d gotten along quite well with everyone around the table. Suki was feeding Cole, who sat in his own little baby chair next to her, while Connor and Nines were discussing various people from the event Sixty had met you in. It seemed like the three of you had a few common friends and acquaintances. You know, small world and all. During that time, Sixty hadn’t said much at all. He’d find himself staring at Connor across the table more times than he liked to admit, and every time he did, he downed more of his wine. It wasn’t just that his older brother was easy to listen to, but he also had a way of effortlessly dragging people’s attention to him in a way Sixty never could. Not even Nines. It was such a stark difference from who he’d been back in high school, and the physical part of that difference was just as clear. Connor looked good, and he sure as hell sounded like felt good, too.

Sixty hated every tiny fucking bit of that.

“ I hope the food is okay, by the way. We weren’t sure what you preferred, but this place has great seafood, so we figured... ” Connor said.

“ Oh, no. It’s great. ” You waved him off with a smile. “ Actually, I wouldn’t mind coming back here in the future. ”

You turned to look at Sixty expectantly, but his eyes were hard and set on Connor across the table. Sixty had already had three glasses of wine at that point, and he’d ignored Nines’ sharp glares for longer than was good for him. Whatever. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.

“ Connor’s always had a thing for seafood. Especially shrimp. ” Sixty said, downing more of his wine.

Something shifted in the air, and a puzzled frown settled over your features when your eyes drifted between the two brothers.

“ Isn’t that right, Connor? ”

Apart from meeting Sixty’s hard stare, Connor hadn’t reacted much to that comment. Even as he stared back at his younger brother, his eyes lacked the resentment and darkness that Sixty’s carried.

“ That’s true, actually. ” Connor said, sounding a little embarrassed in a way that just made him sound…humble. He then turned to his wife with a smile that expressed nothing but his love for her, and she returned it.

“ I do love shrimp. ”

No one spoke for a moment, and while Connor had, in some way, eased the tension in the air, it only seemed to magnify the boiling anger inside Sixty. Even though he could feel your questioning eyes and Nines’ warnings on his skin, he still couldn’t tear his eyes off of his older brother before him. His perfect son, his perfect, pregnant wife: his perfect fucking life.

His hand curled into a tight fist under the table, and you noticed. Before you could say something, though, Nines caught your attention by calling your name.

“ Colin gave me a brief summary of your pitch. ” he started, face perfectly calm and collected. “ If you don’t mind, I’d love to hear more about your concept for the interface. ”

Sixty knew what Nines was trying to do, and it was working. It’d be rude for you to dismiss a conversation like that, and that meant that whatever you wanted to ask Sixty had to wait. For now. Some part of Sixty was a little impressed, because while you started talking about your work, he’d somehow managed to calm down a little, too. It was easier to focus on you when Connor wasn’t talking, or paying attention to him. He’d only murmured something in Suki’s ear and they’d shared a smile, but other than that, Connor was simply enjoying his food and listening to your conversation with Nines.

“ Interesting, ” Nines hummed, arms crossed over his chest while he observed you for a moment.

“ Connor and I are familiar with some of Elijah’s work partners. Maybe we can set up a meeting? ” Nines turned to Connor then, as if asking for his opinion.

Connor looked unsure.

“ Actually… I don’t think you should give him the pitch at all. ”

Silence fell over the table, and everyone looked a little surprised. Everyone except Sixty, of course. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like he didn’t trust whatever his brother was suggesting.

“ And why’s that, Connor? ” Sixty retorted before you had the chance to say something, and again, he didn’t meet the look you gave him.

Connor hesitated, but then he sighed and turned to you.

“ Look, your idea is pretty extraordinary and unique. It would be a waste to sell it for a quarter of its worth to a man with a massive empire like Elijah. If you started your own company and implemented that concept to your own products, you’d be making much more profit. Actually, you’d be making a fortune. ”

While Sixty downed the rest of his wine, you were meeting the pleased smiles offered to you around the table. He couldn’t exactly argue that Connor’s idea was bad, but some part of him hated that he was the reason you were so stunned about something you were so passionate about.

Shouldn’t that have been him?

“ That’s…I’ve never thought of it like that. ” You admitted, deep in thought.

Sixty’s leg had been restless under the table for a while. It was a sign of his frustration, a sign of the urges that he’d been trying to drown out with the wine, and a sign of his newfound possessiveness. None of it made sense, though. Connor was quite literally sitting before him with his wife and child, and Sixty felt the need to mark his territory like some fucking bloodhound.

“ You should give yourself a little more credit. ” Connor said, offering you a smile. “ You’ve worked hard, and that deserves a proper reward. ”

You almost jumped when Sixty’s hand suddenly found your knee under the table. He wasn’t looking at you, posture completely laid back and relaxed while you stared at him next you. He sipped on some water, and gave you a brief glance.

The evening had gone by smoothly, for most part, but Sixty knew he’d acted strange, which meant that you’d be bombarding him with questions as soon as you went back to the car. That didn’t stop his hand from slipping under your dress, and sliding up your thigh, though. You cleared your throat, reaching one of your hands down to discreetly grab his wrist. And then he felt you close your legs and push his hand away.

Sixty almost scoffed.

“ What’s the matter with you? ” you whispered harshly, leaning to his ear. Sixty could see that you were trying your best not to draw any attention to the two of you, and it seemed to be working fine, for now.

At that point, Sixty had already regretted his decision to let you meet his family. Something had been building inside him since the moment he’d laid eyes on Connor again, and whatever it was, it fed that nasty little parasite inside him. There was no wine in the world that could stop his skin from crawling, and Sixty realized there was only one way for him to deal with himself before he lost you to his own stupid, impulsivity.

So he stood up from his seat and excused himself.

And as he headed towards the restrooms, he didn’t look back.

***

Like any other proper addict, Sixty had smuggled a small dose of that weird powder into the inner pocket of his blazer. He wasn’t sure what he felt about it, but he was in no condition to be picky about what drug he was trying to survive on. This shit was his only chance to endure the night before you or someone else slapped him across the face.

He’d locked himself into one of the stalls in the restroom, and he’d been staring at the small plastic bag for a long moment: like he was trying to figure it out. It was odd that he hadn’t downed it already, because his skin was itching and his heart was pumping in a way that usually left no room for any sort of patience. Something was holding him back from snorting it, and that something was you. It contradicted everything that made sense to him normally, because he was ugly and nasty without the drugs, and yet, he couldn’t take his own version of a cure.

What if it made him worse?

What if it pushed him so low that you’d suspect him for something more than just being a little tipsy? At that point, Sixty was mentally fighting that greedy little parasite inside him. What it wanted was clear, It always was, but Sixty was more worried about what you’d want, and it didn’t like that.

He was sweating now, and he decided to take a seat on the lidded toilet for a moment while he cursed his own existence a few times. This was the part in every book and movie where he’d make the right decision and make you proud, but Sixty knew he wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the main fucking character and this wasn’t a damn movie where everything would turn into rainbows and sunshine. Reality was a bitch, and that fucking powder was the only way he could deal with it.

So he opened the small plastic bag, and fed that fucking parasite inside him for the millionth time.

***

It was unclear to him how long he’d been gone, but whatever was in that line he snorted was working wonders on him. He hadn’t felt that good in a while, and even though the aftermath usually left him looking a little rough, whatever this powder was had the opposite effect on him. Sixty looked far more awake and relaxed when he walked out of the stall and–

Saw Nines walking towards him.

“ I’m okay, I just needed a b- Hey, what the fuck!? ” Nines had suddenly grabbed two fists of his shirt and slammed him against one of the stall doors. Sixty was shocked. Not once in their entire lives had Nines ever laid hands on him like this, and that only meant that whatever he’d done was really, really bad.

They were lucky no one else was inside, because whatever anger Sixty had dulled with a line of powder seemed to have crawled inside his usually composed younger brother. Nines’ silver orbs were sharp and stern, and Sixty could’ve sworn that he was struggling to steady his breaths.

He was in deep shit.

“ I gave you the benefit of the doubt. I assumed that you were too proud to ask for money. I assumed you stole from me because you wanted to impress her. ” Nines said, voice shaky and low and so fucking dangerous that Sixty felt a shiver crawl down his spine. Of course he knew about the fucking ring. How was he ever so stupid to think that Nines wouldn’t know that he’d stolen from him?

“ I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about! ” Sixty hissed, trying to break free from Nines’ iron grip on him. He did what what every fucking addict would do: deny, deny, deny.

But whatever act Sixty had decided to put up, Nines wasn’t having it. Not tonight. Sixty saw him clench his jaw, looking more riled up than before.

“ Is this all she is to you, Colin?” Nines asked, eyes narrowing. “ A prize for you to show off and rub in Connor’s face? ”

No.

Fuck no.

“ Let go of me! ” Sixty shouted, and Nines responded by clasped a large hand over his mouth, muffling his screams.

“ What kind of man are you!? ” Nines growled, and Sixty glared up at him through the annoying fucking tears that’d gathered in his eyes. Maybe Nines knew that Sixty didn’t have an answer to that question, because he never removed that unforgiving hand and some part of Sixty was grateful for that. Sixty had asked himself that same question while you’d slept in his arms one night, and he hadn’t really come to a proper conclusion.

He’d turned completely silent, but Nines still didn’t move. He was looming over his older brother in a way that reminded Sixty what Nines did to bad people for a living.

“ Whatever game you’re playing will end right now. ” Nines said after a brief silence. “ You will stop trying to embarrass our brother in front of his family, and you will stop touching that woman without her consent. ”

Sixty was struggling to control the pathetic mixture of sobs and ragged breaths he was letting out against his brother’s palm: but his his eyes never stopped glaring up at him.

“ Have I made myself clear, Colin? ”

Sixty felt drained, embarrased and every fucked up thing under the sun. He knew Nines was right: he’d known even before Nines had confronted him about it. Sixty had been selfish with you since day one, and he’d been so good at it that he hadn’t even allowed you to notice the position you were in. Maybe this was the wake up call he needed: Maybe Nines was showing him mercy right now.

Even though he’d normally rather swallow venom than his own pride, Sixty still decided to nod.

“ Good. ”

A few, long moments passed before Nines finally decided to let him go, and at that point Sixty had no fight left in him. He stayed long after Nines left him in the restrooms, and when he finally pulled himself together and went out again, you looked more concerned than angry with him.

***

Sometimes Sixty felt like he was on autopilot. He could say and do things that he didn’t really pay attention to while his mind was taking him through a maze of thoughts. Just like he expected, you’d asked him a million questions in the car, and Sixty had answered them all in autopilot. He wasn’t sure what he’d really said, but whatever it was had been good enough for you. The details were blurry: a sincere apology, something about living in his brother’s shadow and reacting badly to red wine.

He should’ve picked up on the signs his body was giving him the moment his lips began to feel numb, but Sixty was still too stuck on what had happened in the restrooms with Nines to pay that any mind. Something about Nines, the always calm and composed brother, losing his patience with him was more alarming than his own body shutting down bit by bit thanks to that odd drug.

Autopilot was working for him, though, because even though he couldn’t feel his fingers, they still worked over your clit when he had you to himself back at your apartment. He kissed you hard, and you gasped against his numb lips when he pushed a third finger into your heat and slowly opened you up for him. Somehow that represented him in more ways than one. He’d been opening you up and crawling inside you like a parasite since the day you decided to sit with him at that bar, and he wouldn’t stop until he’d devoured you completely. Maybe not even then.

“ Sixty, please, ” you moaned, clawing at his back when he slowly pulled his numb fingers out of you. It made him remember that day you’d told him about your pitch: how the mere brush of your fingers over his own had sent sparks along every tiny little vein inside his body. And now? Now he was holding his cock in his hand and burying himself to the hilt without feeling anything.

You bit down on his shoulder, trying to muffle your moans when he started pumping himself into you at a harsh pace. Sixty didn’t know if he was in denial or if he simply refused to give up, but the truth was simple: every piece of you was being taken away from him because of that evil substance inside his body, and there was nothing he could do about it. It almost made him want to cry. To scream.

“ I… I love you, ” You were holding his face in your hands, eyes lidded and heavy with all the love and adoration you had for him while his hips kept snapping against yours like he was a machine following a loop of instructions. He listened to your little gasps, watched how drunk you were on him and what he was doing to you, and he couldn’t feel a damn thing. Sixty’s breath hitched, and his vision started to blur.

Your hands.

He couldn’t even feel your fucking hands.

“ I love you. ” he said, feeling so numb but so much at the same time and he couldn’t make sense of any of it. Sixty didn’t realize that tears were trickling down his cheeks, and even though you wiped them away with more love and affection, it still didn’t fix him. It was such a selfish thing: that parasite inside him, and now it had stolen him from you so completely that he felt like a ghost in your arms.

By the time he stopped moving over you, you’d already realized that something was awfully wrong.

“ Sixty? ” you called, brows pinching together.

His eyes had turned dull and unfocused, like he wasn’t really there even though he was staring down at you, and that made all the alarm clocks ring inside your head. You sat up, and Sixty’s body swayed for a second before it dropped like a sack on the bed.

“ Sixty! ” You tried to shake him, but no matter how much you tried, his eyes were still dull and distant. He was starting to drift in and out of consciousness, and something about it was familiar. His body was burning and his pulse was through the roof, and suddenly he could hear those familiar tunes again: Sumo’s happy barks, and the morning sun.

“ Sixty, you’re scaring me! ”

You shook him again, and his eyes opened for a moment to see your crying face over him. He tried to move his arms, but his body was a weight he couldn’t seem to carry. He drifted away some more, and when he saw you again, your phone was in your hand. That could only mean one thing.

You were calling for an ambulance.

“ No… ” his voice was barely there, but it was enough to get your attention.

“ Stay with me, Six! Please! ”

His breaths were quick and shallow, and even though it took everything within him to form his next word, Sixty knew that it was his only chance of surviving:

“ Nines… ” he croaked.

Call Nines.

#I just know i'm gonna get bombarded with messages and im ready to get punished #i honestly deserve anything you guys throw at me #i cant even deny it #phew #dbh #detroit become human #rk800 x reader #rk800 60 x reader #dbh sixty x reader #dbh sixty #rk800 60 #rk800 sixty #rk900 #rk900 nines #rk800 connor #sixty x reader #tmd

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atmilliways · 11 months

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Dreams In Which I'm Dying (3)

part 3 of 16 | 856 words | Teen +

Summary:

Eddie Munson is tired. On his way back to the trailer park last night some alarm on his watch had gone off—BEEEEP! . . . BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!—and scared the crap out of him. It had been hard to fall asleep after that.

3 - Tired

Whatever nightmares he drags himself out of on Saturday morning are fucking awful. Maybe it's for the best that he’s forgotten them already.

By the time he emerges from his bedroom Wayne is long gone to work, and something about the empty trailer gives him the creeps. His head aches too much from lack of rest to blast music, so instead he hops in his van and just . . . drives, aimless, the radio cranked down to what most would call normal volume until he gets caught in a traffic snarl out near the old Benny’s Burgers.

Hawkins doesn’t have traffic, usually. Disconcerted, he u-turns and heads into town, snags more cigarettes at the gas station before pulling up in front of the arcade.

He doesn’t have enough pocket change left to make the arcade worth it. Maybe enough to rent a movie though, he thinks as he eyes the Family Video next door. Something to drown out the oppressive silence back at the trailer. . . . That should work.

The bell over the door chimes as he makes his way inside, no time to take in his surroundings before—

“Munson?”

Eddie jumps about a foot in the air with a yelp, flailing around to glare at Steve fucking Harrington in a green Family Video vest. It somehow matches his eyes. (Eddie had always thought were brown, but upon inspection that he never expected to get close enough to make, they're hazel.) “Jesus H. Christ, you have got to stop doing that!”

Great. A stupid attraction was so much easier to ignore when the subject stayed in a completely different orbit. But now, thanks to Satellite Dustin sweeping in and swinging shit out of alignment, this is happening. These are his first direct words to an attractive, athletic guy with a great smile and a greater ass, who Eddie has definitely rubbed one out to before. (He hasn’t kept count, he’s not an animal.)

Steve blinks at him, having the gall to look like he has no idea what Eddie’s talking about. “Riiight, I’ll get right on that. Anyway—” he claps his hands with the abrupt subject change, rubbing them together for good measure “—can I talk to you about something, man?”

“Uh.” This is a pretty benign conversation starter for someone who always seemed more likely to trip him in the school hallways and laugh. Eddie glances around Steve, still trying to decide between Fantasy and the Science Fiction. (Horror is a no go in his current post-nightmare mood.) “If you must.”

“It’s about Sinclair.”

His attention snaps back to Steve like a snapped rubber band. “If this is about luring a child into the dastardly clutches of a fantasy game cult, Harrington, you’re better off leaving that to the PTA moms. Besides, Erica can hold her own against the assembled forces of Satan.”

The wry smirk he gets in response is not what Eddie was expecting. “Yeah, I know,” Steve says, hands falling onto his own hips—and the thing is, it sounds like he does know. “I meant Lucas, actually. Dustin filled me in on the schedule conflict last night.”

Eddie doesn’t have the patience for this. He shoulders past Steve to head into the shelves. “Let me guess. Something something, championship game that was only announced the night before is more important than a final campaign session scheduled weeks in advance?”

“It’s not about scheduling,” Steve says, following. “You know that Lucas came off the bench and made the winning shot, right?”

“Don’t know how I could, considering I wasn’t there,” Eddie replies flatly as he pretends to browse. Pretends that proximity to Steve Harrington isn’t making him sweat.

“Yeah, well. All I’m saying is, next time could you maybe not make the shitheads choose between their favorite pastime and their best friend? It would’ve meant a lot to Lucas if they could’ve seen him do that.”

It’s so earnest, the way he says it, that Eddie almost forgets it’s not that simple. Between Jeff’s family dinners, Gareth’s insistence on actually studying, Grant’s curfew, Dustin’s frequent orthodontist appointments, and Mike’s Spring Break flight to California, it had been like herding cats to get dates and times that worked for everybody all semester.

“And all I’m saying,” Eddie shoots back, remarkably level, “is that Lucas didn’t even bother to tell me about his sudden schedule conflict in person, he made his best friends do it. Sorry man, he got what he got.”

This would be the perfect time to select his tape, shoulder past Steve, and saunter cooly up to the desk to check out.

It would be. Instead, the front door bursts open and startles Eddie into fumbling the tape he’s pulling from the shelf.

“Steve, Robin, we have a code red!” shrieks Dustin Henderson, sweeping in like a hurricane and trailing some red-headed girl Eddie didn’t know in his wake. “I repeat, code red!”

#donnie darko steddie au #stranger music anthology #steddie fanfic #my fanfic #eddie munson lives #chrissy still dies... sorry #time loop au #eddie munson #steve harrington

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grumpygreenwitch · 1 year

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The Fairy and the Prince #27 + #28 + #29 + #30

Part 1 - Part 2 - Parts 3 & 4 - Part 5 - Part 6, 7 & 8 - Part 9 & 10 - Part 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 & 16 - Part 17, 18, & 19 - Part 20, 21 & 22 - Part 23, 24, 25 & 26 - Part 27, 28, 29 & 30 - Part 31, 32, 33 & 34 - Part 35, 36 & 37 - Part 38, 39, 40 & 41 - Part 42 & 43 - Part 44 & 45 - Part 46 & 47 - Part 48, 49, 50 & 51 - Part, 52, 53 & 54 - Part 55 & 56 - Part 57, 58, 59 & 60 - Part 61, 62, 63, 64 & 65 - Part 66, 67, 68, 69, 70, 71 & 72

I know, I know, cliffhanger. This storyline turned out longer than I expected, but then again the whole thing has turned out way bigger than I planned for a seat-of-the-pants writing exercise (thus the many, many spelling/capitalization errors).

During the apex of the Longest Night festivities, Prince Galian, thinking himself quite clever, proposed marriage to the Queen Dowager. Cold-eyed and faintly amused, she accepted, to the astonished and fairly hesitant cheering of the court. Galian was found dead in his bed the next morning, and the servants who found him had to be given poppy tea before they'd stop screaming.

Adam only felt tired at the news. He was sure Galian had believed himself very clever to come up with a loophole into the crown, and Adam could only wish it would have worked.

For the second time, he received letters and a present from home for his birthday, a slim belt with matching gloves, boots and a dagger in its elegant sheath, as well as his father's awkward, stilted invitation to perhaps come visit in the summer. He gave the dagger to Dane, unwilling to bring even steel near his friends, and the too-small boots to Beli. The belt and the gloves he kept, though neither helped him much when he got into the habit of dragging an easel and canvas out to the spring-chilly woods. He hated poetry, he couldn't sculpt, his singing, like William, was 'enough' and little else. If he was going to be forced to waste time putting smudges of paint in place in an inept attempt to make them look like something, he'd rather it be the trees and places he loved, rather than pears and uncomfortable maids tapping their feet and fiddling nervously with their hands while they struggled to sit still for the princes8.

He had spent the morning scowling at his latest attempt, and was tromping to the abandoned kelpie pond to throw the irksome thing into the water, when the glad, familiar cry came over the fresh new grass. "Adam!"

He dropped the canvas and ran. "Linden!"

They crashed into each other and went down, rolling as they hadn't done since they'd been young and wild and carefree, laughing in delight. Covered in dew and grassy bits they helped each other up. "Look at you!" Linden admired. "You're twice the wide you were before!"

"You're one to talk!" Adam felt as if his heart might burst with gladness. "What did they feed you this past year?"

Linden laughed again. Adam was shooting up, as boys of his age will; under a strict regimen of riding, fencing and the rest of such martial endeavors, the promise of the man he'd one day become was beginning to gleam bright in the boy he barely still was. But Linden, once of a height with the prince, had grown taller still by nearly a hand during the winter; they were still slim and elegant, moving like a reed in a hidden current. The gold-tipped white mop of their hair still was exactly that, an unruly mop, but the shattered glass of their eyes had grown in complexity and color, the blues and greens and browns touched with the russets and golds of autumn, the silver and white of winter. The planes of their sun-kissed face were fey, faintly inhuman, and they had lost nearly all of their childhood's green freckles. But nothing had changed of their delight in seeing at last their oldest, dearest friend.

"Boul!" Adam launched himself at the young troll, bouncing off his chest, much to Boul's delight. Few people ever met a troll with such unalloyed, unafraid glee, and he very much appreciated it.

"Adam," the troll replied in his gentle bullfrog croak of a voice, turning and bumping his head lightly to the prince's. He was nearly nine feet tall if he stood up straight, which he never did; once twice as broad at the shoulders as both Linden and Adam put together, he now lapped his friends an easy three times. There were patches of lichen growing on his cool, craggy skin, and mushrooms that would glow faintly in the darkness of a cave.

The prince wobbled under what trollkin considered a gentle greeting, only for strong hands to catch him and steady him from behind. "Ah, already hard at work chivvying all of them thinky-thoughts out of yer skull, I see."

"Needle," he hugged her tightly, and she hugged him back, chuckling low. "I don't need them, anyway. I have you all."

"Goodness, what mush is in there that this wee pack of mischief is a better option," she teased him, her mouth furling into a grin like a predatory vine. Of them all, the redcap alone had hardly changed, already having reached the nearly eternal maturity of her people. Her leather girdle carried more buttons, and her cap was a more vivid russet, with two knucklebones stitched into it, but she was very much herself, down to the earthy smell of charnel and upturned dirt.

Linden leapt and clung to Adam like a scarf; the young prince staggered, but didn't fall. "What are you doing in the woods so early, we thought we'd have to come find you!"

Somewhat chagrined, Adam showed them the canvas. None of them could agree on what it was he'd been trying to paint, and for once he was glad not to speak the language of trees, because he was despairingly sure even the linden tree would not have recognized itself in the work. But that mattered to none of them. They were together, and that was enough.

***

Climbing was tricky. Linden was awkward in their newfound, slim and slender build, and Adam outgrew both his limbs and his clothing by the hour, or so it seemed. For once he found himself in the odd situation of having to catch Linden just as much as his friend would catch him, and in the end it got more frustrating than it was entertaining.

Instead they swam in long forgotten pools in the depths of the woods, or basked under the sun, or ran wild through the green woods, shrieking like birds and howling like wolves. Adam found out that if he brought books on warfare and strategy, Needlemaw would stay with them while she read. None of them could paint, but for the first time he saw Boul's magic at work as the young troll wrought from clay and stone and bits of quartz exquisite little works of art, smaller than Adam's fist and yet precise down to the last detail. Neither he nor Linden had the voice for singing nor the patience for poetry. Needle did, and when she sang, her voice a pure and mesmerizing flute, the woods came to a halt to listen.

She would still leave them more often than not to spend her time with William, and Adam saw Linden frown in worry one such time. "What is it?"

Linden said nothing. They meandered off to where Boul was drowsing in a patch of wild snowdrops, and they sprawled along the young troll's back, mindful not to disturb the mushrooms growing on him. Adam flopped on the damp grass next to both his friends and waited, far too familiar with Linden's ways to try to hurry them.

"Adam, what do you know about fairy-wives?"

"Nothing," he admitted readily. "Well, some, but I don't know that it's the truth. It's all songs and stories about how it never ends well."

"It ends well plenty of times," Linden replied, cradling their chin in their laced hands. "But you don't hear about those because they're boring. They don't care about happy endings. I guess 'cuz they never got their own. But Needlemaw... You know what she is."

"I know she's Needlemaw," Adam said, his tone going defensive.

"To you, to me, to us!" Linden made an exasperated sound. "Adam, I don't know if she could be happy. The good fairy-wives, the ones you don't hear about, the ones that succeed, are those that could already stay home with the children and the hearth and all those things. There's nothing asked of them that they weren't already doing."

Adam popped his mouth soundlessly, at last understanding Linden's concern. "Does she love him? Has he asked?"

"I don't know. I've learned things about her people that I never knew before I met her, before you made me meet her. Else I would say 'no' and wait for her to eat him." Linden blew out a long breath. "But now, now she might try, for his sake. And if she slips, it'll be a story and a song they will never get tired of, and all at the expense of her misery."

Adam turned on his back, staring up at the pale spring sky. "He's eighteen. He turned it the autumn I was away."

Linden sighed, resting their cheek on Boul's back. "Why aren't there more princes like you? She would have been fine with someone like you. She would have been happy with someone like you. I would be."

Adam found himself suddenly unable to breathe. His blood, his heart, his muscles all thundered in his ears. His eyes couldn't focus. He couldn't speak, nothing in his body worked.

"Adam!"

His elbows slipped and he crashed somewhat forcefully back onto the ground, hissing and rubbing at the back of his head. "Sorry, what?"

"I said, can't you think of something to help her?" Linden made another vaguely exasperated noise. "And him, too, I guess."

Adam looked into those shattered, many-colored eyes, and swallowed. He knew the things that were meant to come into his mind and his body as he grew older, of course. Arditty was lovely, and he knew he'd been meant to pine after her; perhaps he would have, if he'd not seen her go through suitors like a cook goes through pots at lunch-time. Culli-maid was charming, her soft and earthy looks not nearly as appealing as her quiet wisdom and her solid, stern manner. But while he knew they were female, and he knew they were appealing, they'd never actually appealed. If he were to flip the coin, neither had Beli, for all his cleverness, or Dane and his steadfast strength.

No one in the palace ever had. No one outside the palace, either, until that moment. "I've better, I guess." Adam sighed and sat up, looking at his hands rather than at his friend, not wishing to betray his confusion and uncertainty. "For Needle's sake."

***

It proved surprisingly hard to get close to William. At first Adam had thought the older prince jealous that he'd not been able to go on the tour of the realm, which was understandable, if vexing. But as the days carried on, a much more worrisome truth began to become apparent: William was avoiding him.

Why? Adam was unsure. Needlemaw was a common link, and if anything it would have made sense for the older prince to try and maintain that link. Nothing had happened during his year away, at least nothing that Linden or Boul could tell him; the fairy maid had split her time between their world and Adam's.

Did William blame him for her partial absence? That question he did feel safe posing to Needlemaw, but she laughed and ruffled his hair and assured him William saw him as no competition, no obstacle, and no impediment.

Astonished at his own daring, Adam used what he'd learned from his friends to break into William's rooms while the older prince was attending jousting classes. From Needlemaw he'd learned the language of locks, how to whisper and flatter, how to cajole and plead so that no door or window was barred to him, and the door to the older prince's quarters was much taken with his attention. From the troll he'd learned the whispering secrets of stone and caves, of treasure buried deep in the earth, and finding the three hidey-holes in the bedroom and the study room was absurdly easy. But beyond that, he found nothing. William's letters to home were as 'enough' as the prince himself was. His family cheered him on with lukewarm interest at best. There was a small box filled with tokens; Arditty kept one such, filled to bursting with trophies from her conquests. William had two rings, one ribbon... and a black knucklebone on a sinew cord.

Adam closed his eyes tightly and opened them again to barely a squint. The knucklebone turned into a plain silver locket on a simple cord.

"Oh, Needle," he murmured at that further proof that the fairy maid, the older sister he and Linden had ended up with so absurdly, really did care for her mortal prince.

It took him several days to go through the rooms, and he had little enough to show for it. There wasn't much he could do otherwise when William would not willingly go near him for more than a stilted polite greeting. He went so far as to ask the water-spouts if they knew anything. They were the ones that directed him to the sparrows, and they in turn pointed him to the swallows that lived in the vast eaves of the royal stables. William did most everything well enough, but in jousting at least he distinguished himself a little bit. Adam could have kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

But then again, more and more as spring quickened into summer he found himself distracted, enthralled, confused terribly by Linden, by the new light that shone on his best friend. They were more beautiful, more graceful, more elegant and courtly than Arditty, wise and merry and cheerful like Beli, faster and deadlier than Dane, soothing and calm like Culli; more, they were always there, and their faith in Adam had never faltered.

No one believed in him like Linden did.

Adam was terrified of risking that, of losing that. It felt, he thought, as if he were teetering on a ledge, only he was taking the chance that he would chase Linden away and there'd be no one left to catch him.

Unable to cope with his own dilemma, and entirely willing to bury it under someone else's, he grew to carry a pocketful of dry cherries, hoping to hear something he could use from the birds of the palace grounds. The mice, unfortunately, spoke an entirely different language from those that dwelt in the woods, and the squirrels were just plain rude.

A flock of tits caught him on his way into the palace through a kitchen garden on the first day of true summer. He was sweaty and exhausted and entirely too pleased with himself; for the first time, one of his paintings was actually turning out right, though he suspected his success had a lot to do with his subject. He almost didn't realize his attention was required until one of the tits snatched his hair and pecked roughly at his head. "Ow! Alright! Butter and burrs, what, what?!"

They gave him their news and he flew back out of the kitchen garden, pausing only to tuck away his boots and his painting supplies under a broad, low bench. The flock escorted him all the way to the royal stables and beyond, past the jousting grounds. There they left him, after he gave them every cherry in his pockets.

He spoke to the brambles and brush that grew underneath the seating surrounding the grounds. He couldn't tell if they understood or spoke back, but as he slithered through the patterned shadows he found himself free of burrs or prickles, and breathed a sigh of relief.

William was there, with three of the young men that had attended his birthday party with Adam two years ago. He was the oldest of them all. They were passing along a bottle of something that looked far too old and strong for them to have come by it properly, and they were laughing as they spoke.

Adam having come more or less in the middle of the conversation, still heard them speak of a half dozen trysts or more. Arditty's behavior, which Adam had thought ruthless in the extreme, was actually the rule, not the exception. From the princes sitting above him in the rising twilight he learned that night that most of them knew they were going to die, and thought nothing of packing as much living as they could in the years they were allotted. He also heard, as if in passing, that Rickard had written to many of them and told them to renounce the crown; as with Adam and his parents, many of them had been forbidden to do so.

So they sought what pleasure they could, wherever they could, and never mind who they trampled in the process. Adam's education grew immensely in those few hours as he listened to the increasingly intoxicated princes try to outdo one another with their escapades and their casual cruelty.

Until William laughed at them. "All this effort, all this time," he chided them, "when you could have been looking for another way out."

"Like Galian did?" one of them protested acidly.

"We're not all so lucky to snare a fairy-maid to protect us, Will."

"I didn't snare her," he replied tartly. "I've courted her fair and square."

"Oh, sure, fair and square." They laughed at him. "And you love her fair and square too, do you?"

"No, of course not." William said it with such obvious disdain that Adam felt as if the words had been a blade through his own heart. "I'm not an idiot, like Lestrelle. You can't make friends of them, they're too dangerous, too wild, they're not people."

"Is that what you tell her when you bed her?" They laughed at him.

"You're all idiots," he replied calmly before his voice turned smug. "I don't love her. I didn't say anything about her loving me." William took the bottle and pointed it loftily at his peers. "It's their power that draws us into the woods. I need her power to protect me. If that means I have to play lover so she'll fall in love with me, so she'll wish to keep me safe, then of course I'll play."

"She's the Folk in the Woods, Will. You're playing with fire," one of the princes was not so drunk that he couldn't tender the obvious warning.

"Oh, what do I care," William snapped. "I'll be King. Once I'm safe I'll make me a crown of cold iron and lock her up in a tower while I find a good and proper mortal wife. I only need her the once."

"What if she can't keep you safe?"

"She's a monster," William shook his head. "It slips out every now and again. She's a nightmare. By their measure that makes her powerful." He drank and sighed, and passed the bottle. "It's a pity, you know. I keep telling her if she cleaned up and dressed up she'd make a right lovely sight," he mock-mourned. "No, she'll save me. She loves me. It might kill her, but she'll save me. You will all see."

"What do you do, then, close your eyes when you kiss her?"

They all laughed. "No, she's lovely, she really is, when she tries," William admitted. "But what can you do. She is what she is, and I am what I am. And what I am wants to live."

***

Adam stayed under the stands long after the other princes had staggered away, as darkness fell and the stars rose in the sky, tiny and glittering. Bats came by and apologized for confusing him with a large, tasty bug. He saw a few smallfolk trundle by, secure in the knowledge that no one would know them for what they truly were under their mole-fur cloaks and mushroom cap hats.

He felt wounded and empty in ways he couldn't name.

Once before he'd found himself faced with the nature of his friends, with the potential threat they represented. Back then, childhood faith had carried him through. But that night, on the cusp of adulthood, he found himself dreading that blind, sweet, easy faith.

Did he trust Linden? Always.

Did he love Linden? He didn't know. He thought so, but he'd never loved someone before. How was he to tell if the tangle of emotions inside him every time he looked into those shattered eyes was love?

Did he trust Needlemaw? Against every sensible, logical understanding of her nature, he did. She had never come to hurt anyone; her sole job had always been to protect Linden. Anything she'd offered beyond that, to Boul, to Adam, to those few that knew her for what she was, she'd offered freely and without meaning harm.

Adam was absolutely sure things would not end well for William if, when, he told the redcap what he'd heard. He wished with all his heart he'd never carried the older prince's gift or his message to the fairy maid. He would have given anything to take from her what was to come. But he also knew, as he'd known then, that the knowledge was not his to keep. There was only one person who could make a decision on it, and he was not it.

He didn't sleep that night, he didn't go back to the palace at all. He found Beli and Dane looking for him and sent them back to bed, told them in no uncertain terms to stay inside, no matter what, for the next day.

He went into the woods, climbed the boughs of the linden tree, and waited there.

#the fairy and the prince #linden and adam #linden the fairy #adam the prince #original writing #boul #boul the troll #boulders-for-brains #needlemaw #needlemaw the redcap #fantasy #fantasy writing

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lorinlondon · 2 years

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Reflection 7: Reflections on Reflections

Hmm, five to eight learning moments I’ve had that I’ve already written about? That seems a bit repetitive, especially when I’ve already written about some of these ideas several times already (ie: the Tube, monsters, the unnatural vs. the natural). However, I will attempt to come up with some new thoughts based on my current travels.

1. London’s iconic, yet not so terrific, red bus: I definitely romanticized that red bus I wrote about in my first post. That bus is in no way a romantic idea. It may look pretty in pictures, especially against the backdrop of Big Ben or the Tower of London Bridge, but it’s a freaking monster. It’s hot, it’s scary (in the sense that it might strike you down on the street), and it does NOT get you to your needed location in a timely manner unless you are riding it early in the morning or late at night, when the traffic is light.

2. The Tube–what a wondrous and monstrous invention: I never knew that London even had a Tube station or an Underground until reading Neverwhere and then coming to London. And I’m impressed by how complex and efficient this system is, not to mention all the people moving around this system at any given moment. This monstrous train may be scary, but it’s also beautiful, and necessary. The Underground keeps London running, literally.

3. Maybe I am ok with being spoiled in America, even if it’s at the cost of the environment. Ok, when I first arrived, I thought about how great this city was, with its environmentally-friendly electric cars, its wooden take-away utensils, its for-pay take-away bags in every story to encourage shoppers to use their own. But I’m beginning to miss our American luxuries, especially air conditioning. I realize much of our country’s amenities are ruining the environment for our future, but I do love the convenience of AC, of a guaranteed free bag at the grocery store, of a plastic straw that doesn’t melt halfway through my drink, of getting in my car and going. And ice; I miss ice in my water and other drinks.

4. London accepts everyone, from the monstrous to the beauteous, with no judgment, and the two are interchangeable.: If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching people on the streets, the buses, the Tube, it’s that this city has no specific standard when it comes to beauty or fashion. Anything goes. The only real commonality is footwear, and that appears to be comfort, as this is a walking city. But people are comfortable being themselves, wearing their own style, breaking out into song on the Tube, or dancing after a show. Maybe I’m out of touch with current social media trends, and fashion is following those trends. However, from my perspective, these individuals seem unique.

5. History is everywhere.: This isn’t so much a new revelation as much as just a continual recognition of how much history exists in this country and in this city. Just a visit to Canterbury Cathedral, the British Museum, the British Library, or the Tower of London reveals artifacts from past centuries. Highgate Cemetery houses the tombs of so many who lived here, including the dissenters and those with no actual stones, like the Lost Girls of Highgate. Putting the names of these historical figures and places with actual locations and items is an English or history teacher’s dream. We actually stood in a replica of the Globe Theater. That was a dream finally realized.

6. The Food is worthy.: I thought London’s food would be bland, perhaps based on stories. And honestly, the actual cuisine of London might not be the best. But we’ve primarily eaten cuisine of other cultures: Thai, Indian, Italian, Korean, Lebanese. These other cuisines exist side by side on every street and in every market; the smells are intoxicating. The food is certainly not something to complain about. And our fish and chips experience, in a touristy area near the British Museum but also in an Asian-inspired restaurant, was phenomenal.

7. The Theater scene is part of London’s culture.: I certainly wouldn’t have thought of London as a city of theater before, aside from Shakespeare’s Globe. But I’m also not a theater buff, aside from the occasional musical. This trip has shown me otherwise. With the playbill advertisements lining the Tube walls, the theaters in every district, and the constant attention to theater shown in our class discussions, I now see just how important theater is to this city.

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optimus-prime-advice · 25 days

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Blogmin (blog admin) motivation post!!

So I never speak directly here besides in my intro post, but I decided I'm gonna come out to talk for a change, because I want y'all to know:

It really does get better.

That's me. I'm a disabled man who's autoimmune in at least 5 ways, possibly more than that, I can barely walk and I mostly limp, and I usually have to use a walking stick. I suffer from chronic pain, PTSD, and far more.

But today, I got my tax return. I decided I was going to treat myself, and visit the thrift store to see what all was there, maybe get a new shirt and a plushie or something.

Yet I found something FAR better than any of that combined.

I found an Xbox 360.

I'm 24 currently. When I was a young kid, the Xbox was THE console to have. I had nothing but a computer, and some disks with games. My parents were not wealthy at all. They struggled to get money for groceries. And all my friends, all my classmates, they had Xbox 360s left and right, my neighbor had 3 or 4 of them, my friend also had at least 3, and yet there I was with... nothing. Nothing at all. No Gamecube, no Wii, no Xbox, no Playstation, no PSP, no GBA, and so on.

Eventually, years later, my parents did save enough money to buy my siblings and I a Playstation 2 for Christmas, and we proceeded to play it so much that, within 3 years tops, it broke.

I was devastated. I had no way to play games yet again.

That year, for my birthday, my friend had a PS2 that he no longer used, and his brother had bought the PS3. Thus, for a present, I got my friend's old PS2. I was SUPER happy, and my eyes lit up like Christmas lights. I spent many hours after school for a long time playing Kingdom Hearts 1 and 2.

As I grew into an adult, more consoles came out. However, I grew up mostly PC gaming, and after my little brother built himself a PC, I decided I would do the same. I worked overtime with more than 40 hours a week at a minimum wage job while in college, for many months straight, and got the parts I needed. To this day, it's my best gaming platform with top-of-the-line hardware including a 2070 super RTX graphics card, and 5TB of space, of which 3TB is on SSDs. I live for playing games on my PC, and have multiple triple A titles. I've got a dual monitor setup with one 32in monitor on the bottom, and a 24in curved monitor on top, a cheap camera, cheap soundbar that's surprisingly good quality for just $35, and a cheap standing mic.

This past winter, in December, my mother had to go in for open heart surgery. During November on Thanksgiving day, she suffered a heart attack. When she went in for the surgery, it was supposed to be a one and done situation. One "quick" surgery turned into 2 near death experiences, being airlifted to another hospital, another 2 surgeries, then 3 more, and over 40 nights of hospital stays across 4 months.

On the same day I nearly lost my mother last, I nearly lost my good friend to ending himself, and had to stay awake until well past 3am trying to get authorities to help him. That same day, too, I almost lost my sister to the same thing.

And the day after that? I lost my only job.

Weeks later, I lost my insurance coverage, and couldn't get medical help as my chronic pain flared to the absolute worst it's ever been, I began getting chronic intense migraines every morning I woke as well, and I only just got the insurance back recently.

Needless to say, I've been scraping by desperately for months now.

But today, I got my tax return. And I decided, to treat myself, I was going to go to the thrift store.

And there, sitting on the shelf amongst a bunch of printers, literally blending in to the white of the shelf itself, was an Xbox 360. I would not have known it was there had I not picked it up to see what its weird grey piece sticking out was.

Immediately, I snagged this. With the wires connected, the entire package was $14. I had a 360 compatible controller sitting around for my PC, but I never used it. So there, I had everything I needed. And I walked the store looking for anything else I might need or want, carrying that SUPER heavy console and chargers in my arms for dear life. It sincerely felt like a dream I'd wake from, only to find myself in my bed sad and empty and defeated. The impossible childhood dream coming true... Could it be?

As I checked out, the man at the line smiled and told me he played Xbox 360 himself growing up, and that I'd caught a GREAT find. I was happy. VERY happy.

Carefully, I loaded the console into my car's trunk. I drive an old black car covered in bird poop and pollen regardless of how often I clean it, and most of the time, I can't even get said poop off at all. The front bumper is busted. At any given time, I have no more than half a tank of gas. There's no fancy features, just a radio and a CD port. I've jerryrigged bluetooth with a wired adapter that's always coming out of the socket, and plugged it to a cigarette lighter with a charger so the adapter never dies. I can only play audio from my phone, but I can't make calls or answer them while driving.

Nonetheless, with this console inside my car, I drove home, fearful that I was still dreaming, and would wake any moment.

But I made it home safely, and when I opened the trunk, the Xbox was still there.

I smiled. I smiled A LOT.

Tonight, I went ahead and plugged it in to my TV. With a deep breath, I turned it on, and...

It works. The Xbox 360 works beautifully, minus the fact that it's currently black and white because I've hooked the adapters wrong. I'll fix that tomorrow since it's well past 3am now.

I'm not sure who brownie71985 is, but whoever they are, their old Xbox has now made a former poor kid, now disabled and struggling, depressed adult, VERY happy. They've made his life COMPLETE.

Though my mental health has taken many turns for the worst over the last few months, I kept telling myself it will get better. It will get better. It will get better... But when?

Today. That's when.

I lived long enough to see my childhood dreams come true. The impossible thing of all impossible things to me as a kid, is now achieved as an adult. :) And I lived to see it.

It's always worth it to make it. To keep going. Better days are ahead, and you'll keep asking yourself when they're going to come. But that day could be today! You don't know because you haven't lived to see it yet. So go. Live today. And tomorrow. And every day after that. You're going to find your better at some point if you keep living. I promise. :)

#motivation #blogmin speaks #it gets better

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littledreamling · 1 year

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Fluffbruary 50/50 Challenge: February 7 - Routine

Tags: waiting, references to depression, Hob Gadling needs a Hug, Professor Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Waits

Hob had a routine. It wasn’t much; just a few short steps, but he stuck to it more faithfully than he had kept any religion throughout his long life. He needed to; it was his lifeline. He clung to his necessary steps with a desperation he hadn’t felt in over 300 years, habitually kept, habitually followed.

1. Get up. This was easy. His alarm clock, rumbling stomach, and near-bursting bladder summarily achieved this step. He hadn’t had a pleasant dream in over seventy years to draw him back to sleep anyway. His Stranger had never arranged a meeting in the morning, but the hope that fluttered in the cage of his ribs like a trapped songbird sang anyway. So he hauled himself up. He pissed. He ate breakfast. He got dressed. He got ready. He got up.

2. Go to class. This was, arguably, the most difficult step. He had bought a flat above the New Inn as soon as it was finished for the express reason of almost never having to leave. And then he managed to land himself a job that forced him to leave for several hours every day. And while his Stranger had waited for him in the past (the long, cold decades came to mind; Hob pushed them away with a shiver), he was never sure if he would be granted the same consideration now. Especially after… Oh well. His exit out of his front door every morning was facilitated largely by the fear of losing his job and the fact that he was already dressed. Completing one step made the rest easier. The nature of a well-made to-to list.

3. Sit. Wait. This was, perhaps, the easiest step. This was, definitively, the step that he spent the majority of his life nowadays on. He felt his life slipping away, each second caught in a glittering, diamond drop, suspended in timeless and endless free fall. They would all hit the ground eventually, shattering into a million sharp shards. But for now, he sat. He waited. Occasionally, he graded papers, or drank a beer, or chatted with the New Inn staff, students (both old and new), or fellow colleagues. But not often. His time was largely spent staring, his head in his hand, an untouched glass next to his elbow, a pen dangling from numb fingers, his gaze focused on the opposite wall and much, much further away. 100 years away; 600 years away.

4. Don’t sink. It was easier said than done. He kept himself busy, though, his time taken up by reading and talking and lecturing. He kept his hands busy, his body busy, his mind busy. He held mini conferences in the New Inn, attended by professors of various persuasions from the university to gush about their current or near-future research. He took up archery and ballroom dancing and cooking classes. He did crossword puzzles and Sudoku puzzles and regular puzzles. He wrote letters that he never sent. But every diamond second captured the light, casting blinding panic from every facet. Was this it? Was this his last lifetime? Had whatever deal he had struck run out? At night, he laid awake, staring at the ceiling, and imagined a pocket watch, ticking down seconds with an echoing, ominous tick, tick ; the second hand twitched ever closer to midnight. Doomsday. The end of all things. He watched it approach with a sense of resignation. His Stranger had not claimed his life; Death would.

He kept his routine. He could not afford to lose it. He could not miss his Stranger. He could not. He could not. With the same bravado that had earned him his long life in the first place, he performed his steps, like the dances he had long forgotten. A box step. Always returning to the same place. The same seat. The same wall The same fear. Death. The end of all things.

He got up. He went to class. He waited. And he sank.

Read on AO3!!

#my writing #fluffbruary #fluff/angst 50/50 challenge #my fic #my fic link #dream of the endless #hob gadlng

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agustdakasuga · 3 years

Text

Reflection Of You | Chapter 1

Genre: Historical!AU, Timetraveller!AU / Different Dimension, Romance

Pairing: SUGA x Reader, Yoongi x Reader

Characters: Normal!Reader, Idol!Suga, King!Yoongi, Guard!Seokjin, Guard!Jungkook, RoyalAdvisor!Namjoon, Servant!Jimin, Servant!Hoseok, Prince!Taehyung

Summary: Confirming you were dating the famous Min Suga of BTS, you knew you were bound to make some enemies. But what you didn’t expect was to be cursed, going back to meet a cold-hearted, arrogant king that shares the same face as your rapper lover.

The nightmare the both of you feared had finally come true.

“Thank you, ARMY!”

“We’ll see you soon!”

“We love you forever! Goodnight!” You watched the monitor with proud eyes, your hands clasped together. After a long world tour, the boys had their final concert in Korea, their home country. You, along with the other staff, clapped as the 7 boys stepped off the stage.

“Good job!” There were exchanges of hugs and pats on the backs. Technically, you weren’t a member of staff, so you respected the distance, standing at the back of the crowd.

“There you are.” Someone said, almost like a sigh of relief.

“Great job, as always.” A smile slowly widened on your face as you opened your arms to hug him, resting your cheek against his peck.

“I’m sweaty.” Was all he said.

“Like I ever minded.” You chuckled, pulling away to look up at him. He gave a soft smile, leaning down to peck your lips. It was quick but endearing. You knew for him, doing that in public was already a large feat.

“Noona! You’re here!” You were yanked out of your beloved’s arms.

“Of course, Kookie. It’s the last show of the tour, I wouldn’t miss it.” You patted his head as he lifted you off the ground.

“Yah, look at the scowl on hyung’s face after you stole his girl.” Taehyung appeared, slinging his arm around your maknae’s neck. You giggled, shaking your head. Someone stood beside you, holding your hand. Speak of the devil. You turned your head to see him looking at his phone in his other hand, totally nonchalant about holding your phone.

“Great show today, guys. You were amazing.” You told all 7 of them as they packed up, ready to head home.

“Thank you, (y/n).” Jin pinched your cheek lovingly.

“As much as I love spending time with ARMY, I’m excited to have some time off, as well.” Jimin yawned, adjusting his hat in the mirror. You nodded in agreement. The boys deserved a nice break.

“The vans are here.” The managers informed.

“Let’s go, aegi.” He called. You walked hand in hand with him. Before you stepped out, he stopped you.

“You forgot again?” He chuckled, taking a mask out of his pocket. He gently hooked the elastics over your ears, adjusting the fabric on your face to make sure that it was comfortable.

“Thank you.” You said sheepishly.

“Hurry, love birds!” Hoseok called out, being the one to share the van with the two of you. Even if you were all boarding the van privately, you were still cautious, wearing a mask when you went out in case any fan manages to slip past security and saw you.

“We’ll sit at the back.” You were yanked into the seat, making you blink in shock. You felt your lover’s headrest against your shoulder.

“Any plans for the break, Hobi?” You asked.

“Hmm, besides going home? I would like to travel but I don’t really have a destination in mind. What about you? Are you and hyung going to do something?” He asked back.

“He’s visiting his family. Unfortunately, I have work but I’ll try to join him for a few days. After that, we might take a few days off to travel too.” You smiled.

“Must be nice to travel with a companion.” Hoseok teased.

“Not when your companion just wants to sleep and eat all day.” You giggled. There was a grunt of annoyance from beside you.

“Hey, you sleep just as much as me. We hardly stepped out of our hotel room the last vacation because all we did was sleep then nap all day. Besides, I deserve to sleep and eat all day for how hard I’ve worked.” He scoffed. You nodded your head, you couldn’t argue with that after all the hard work the boys have put into the tour.

“Touché.” You booped his nose.

“Still hard to believe hyung is the first one to get a girl. We all thought he was too much a gramps to get one.” Hoseok laughed.

“That’s part of his charm, I guess.” You smiled. Looking down, you saw that said male had fallen asleep against your shoulder. A slight frown was on his face as he crossed his arms.

When the car stopped in the gated apartment complex, the 3 of you were dropped off at the front of the dorm building.

“Hobi-”

“I know, I know. You won’t be spending the night in the dorm. Goodnight, you two.” Hoseok waved you two off. You giggled and gave him a hug before parting ways from him.

“I can’t wait to just spend the next few days in bed.”

“When are you going back to Daegu?”

“Next week. What, can’t wait to get rid of me already?” He teased. You scoffed, entering the lift together and tapping the resident card, pressing the lift button.

“If I wanted to get rid of you, I could just return to my place.” You shook your head.

“As if I’d let you.” He said from behind you. Pressing the code into the keypad on the door, you pressed your finger print and the door unlocked. The two of you shuffled into the big apartment. You turned the lights on and placed your bag on the couch. The first thing you did was put away the washed dishes from your breakfast this morning.

“You can do that tomorrow.” His voice groaned.

“It’ll take less than a minute. Go ahead and shower.” You chuckled. Once again, you were yanked away from the cupboard. He rested his chin on your shoulder, arms loosely looped around your waist.

“What’s wrong?” You whispered, stroking the back of his head.

“Is it too early for post concert blues?”

“You are such a workaholic. You’ll be on stage again soon. Besides, ARMY wouldn’t want to see all of you so tired out. They would want you to rest well and have a break too.” You comforted.

“When I’m with them, I just feel like I have the whole world.”

“ARMY is lucky to have all of you. You’re their world just as much as they are yours.” You smiled.

“You’re forgetting something. ARMY gives me the whole world. But right now, I know I am holding my whole world.” He placed a gentle kiss against your temple.

“Cheeseball.” You shook your head with a laugh. You shooed him away to shower while you finished the chores for the night like folding the washed clothes, filling the coffee machine for tomorrow and arranging the few fan gifts from ARMY around the house.

“I’m done.” He called from the bedroom. You entered, seeing him pull a plain white shirt over his head. He rubbed his wet hair with a towel.

“I’ll go shower.” You said, picking some fresh clothes and bringing it to the bathroom. You were quick with your shower, blowing drying your hair afterwards so you wouldn’t have to wait for it to dry.

“Hurry, I want to sleep.”

“You don’t have to wait for me!” You replied.

“No.”

“Alright, alright.” You shook your head, hanging your towel back on the rack to dry. You closed the bathroom door, slipping under the covers. Immediately, you were drawn into a warm embrace.

“Don’t wake me up tomorrow.” He mumbled, eyes closing.

“Wouldn’t dare to.” You joked. He opened one eye to glare at you while you smiled innocently at him. He yawned, tucking his head into the crook of your neck comfortably.

“Goodnight, aegi.” He placed a kiss against your skin.

“Goodnight, Yoon.” You replied.

You’ve known Yoongi for years now. When you worked at a music store near BTS’ old dorm when they had just debuted. He would come at night, just before closing to browse the shelves. Even if you came to know the whole group through Yoongi, you and Yoongi connected on a whole new level, you understood each other through music.

It was about 2 years ago that he had asked you out on a date. Of course, you were unsure, considering how popular he was and you didn’t want to burden him by keeping your relationship a secret.

But you trusted Yoongi. When he told you he would protect you, you gave him a chance. And you’ve been happily together ever since.

It scared you when Yoongi threatened to leave BigHit when the management found out about you. You told Yoongi that you wanted him to prioritise BTS and ARMY before your relationship together. That was your only condition.

“Why?”

“Because ARMY and BTS were there for you before I was. You need to be there for them just like how they are there for you.” You told him.

With that, the management and Mr Bang approved of your relationship. They also appreciated how you made Yoongi happier and were a positive influence when he had his low times.

It was around 4 am. You woke up, feeling the space beside you still empty. The sheets felt cold, meaning that Yoongi hadn’t returned. You sent a message to Jungkook, who you knew would still be awake since he was working on releasing a surprise song cover for ARMY.

“Yoongi hyung? He hasn’t returned.” The youngest informed.

“Thanks, Kookie.” You hung up. You respected Yoongi and his work, never wanting to interrupt him or stop him but you knew you had to step in at certain times.

‘The number you have dialled is currently unavailable-’

You sighed as you were directed to voicemail again. Putting your shoes on, you left home to visit his studio.

DING DONG

You pressed the doorbell, waiting for an answer but to no avail. Even if you knew the code, you wouldn’t just enter. Just like everyone else, you would always ring the doorbell first and wait for a reply. You pressed it again.

“Who is- Oh, it’s you.” Yoongi poked his head out.

“Hey.” You greeted.

“What are you doing here? I’m busy.” Yoongi said. It came out colder than he would have liked but after working for hours and not getting the results he wanted, he was getting frustrated.

“I know. Just wanted to see how you were doing. Can I come in?” You asked. Yoongi looked back into his studio.

“I’d rather you not. Like I said, I’m busy. I can’t have another person here, it’ll only distract me more.” He said. Yoongi wasn’t someone that dealt with emotions well, you knew that. When things weren’t working out, his defence mode was to just push everyone away and hide alone. That’s just his way of dealing with emotions.

“I understand.” You nodded, not wanting to push him any further. Without another word, Yoongi just closed the door, retreating back into his studio.

“Hmm...” You roamed around the lounge area. You smiled as you came across the famous picture of Jimin that Yoongi got as a prize during the photography episode of Run!BTS.

“Time to go home.” You went back home. Even waiting for Yoongi outside his studio, you knew he would feel guilty later on and you didn’t want that. You laid in bed but was woken up by Yoongi pressing his face into your back.

“Yoon...?” You tried to turn around to face him but his arms held you in place.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, burying his face into your back. You reached over to put your hand over his.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” You said, sleep laced in your voice. You yawned, finally turning around to face him. You cupped his cheek with your free hand.

“The songs weren’t working out, the lyrics were trash, I just... I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. After you left, I just-”

“Shh, you don’t have to explain. I understand how frustrating it must have been. Everyone has their own down times. Don’t worry, I’m just glad you’re back to rest. Maybe after a nice sleep, you’ll have a clearer mind to write better, hmm?” You smiled softly.

“Next time, be angry with me.”

“Why do you want me to be angry with you? I mean, I have times when work frustrates me too. We aren’t perfect.” You laughed.

“You’re too nice to me.” He pressed you against his body, inhaling your comforting scent. You loosely wrapped your own arm around his middle, letting out a yawn.

“Go wash up. I’ll wait for you.” You promised.

Yoongi was usually an early riser but after the concert last night, he had slept in until the afternoon. When he woke up, he realised that you weren’t beside him. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair as he looked for you.

‘Fridge empty. Went out to get groceries. Iced Americano is in the fridge. - (y/n)’

Yoongi smiled at your note, folding it and tucking it into his pocket. He never told you but he keeps all the notes you leave him, even for ones that just say, ‘gone to work’. He shuffled to the fridge, taking the glass of cold coffee out, adding ice before sticking a straw in. He sat down by the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone.

‘BTS’ Suga seen holding hands with mysterious female after concert.’

‘Insider releases photos of BTS’ rapper and a female embracing each other, said to be his girlfriend.’

‘Has the cold, savage rapper finally met his match?’

Yoongi’s eyes widened as he saw the alert news. He felt his heart stop when he clicked on one of the articles. There were blurry photos of you holding hands with him, leaving the venue last night.

“PD nim.” Yoongi called his boss.

“It seems a fan had snuck in under the guise of a staff member. We’ll handle the press for now and tell you what to do next.”

“How can this happen?!”

“Calm down, Yoongi. We have apprehended the culprit and will be turning her over to the authorities. Just make sure (y/n) is safe. The two of you should stay indoors for now.”

When he hung up, his phone rang again, it was the members. But right now, he couldn’t answer them. He was too worried about where you were and whether you were safe. Quickly, Yoongi dialled your number. Fortunately, you picked up, totally ignorant that your relationship was now public.

“Good morning, or should I say, good afternoon?”

“Aegi, are you okay?” He panicked.

“Okay? Of course, I am. Didn’t you see my note? I just finished paying for groceries, about to leave the mart.”

“Stay right there, aegi. I’m coming to get you. Don’t talk to anyone, alright? I’m coming.” He said as he grabbed his car keys, putting on a mask and a cap.

“Okay, now you’re scaring me. What’s wrong, Yoon?”

“They found out. I’m so sorry I let this happen. I’ll explain more when I come get you, alright?” He said and hung up. He got into his car, speeding to where you were. You were standing by the mart entrance.

“Yoon.” You sighed in relief, entering the car with all the groceries in your lap. Yoongi sped away, back to the gated community. True to that, as he passed the security, he saw some fans standing at the post, trying to enter. Luckily, fans didn’t know he owned this car and the windows were tinted so he could drive past without anyone suspecting.

“Let’s go. Hurry.” He grabbed the bags, pulling you with him to the apartment. Only when you reached, you finally stopped him.

“Yoon, calm down. It’s okay, I’m okay. Now tell me, slowly, what happened?” You led him to the couch to sit down. He buried his hands into his palms while you rubbed his back.

“Someone snuck in as a staff member last night and took pictures of us. It was in the press this morning.” He explained.

“Does PD nim know about this?”

“He said he will handle the press and tell us what we have to do next.” He shivered, his breathing quickening. You knew that was a sign of Yoongi’s anxiety so you pulled him into your embrace immediately.

“It’ll be okay, Yoongi.” You comforted.

“Have you spoken to the boys?” You asked softly. He shook his head. As he said that, your phone rang. It was Namjoon.

“They’re just worried and want to know if you’re okay. Let me tell them that we’re okay.” You told him, answering Namjoon’s call and putting him on speaker. As you predicted, the other boys were on the other line, bombarding the both of you with questions.

“We’re okay, just a little overwhelmed. Thank you for your concern. We’ll just wait for PD nim’s instructions.” You told them.

“Do you want us to come over?”

“Maybe later on but not right now? Just let Yoongi and I grasp the situation and calm down first. If there’s anything, we’ll be sure to keep you all updated.” You promised.

“We’ll see you later then.”

“I’m so sorry I let this happen, aegi.” Yoongi cried, cupping your cheek and rubbing it with his thumb.

“Hey, it’s not your fault. We will get through this. I know it’s a little earlier than we would have liked but we knew the risks we were taking by having this relationship, Yoon.” You wiped his tears.

“You don’t understand, aegi. Those people that could hurt you, they aren’t really ARMY. They’re crazy and obsessed. I’ve seen what they have done to others before. I will never be able to live with myself if I let the same thing happen to you.” He shook his head. You knew what Yoongi was referring to, the ‘sasaeng fans’ that the media always talked about.

“Let’s not think of the worst.” You hummed. Yoongi’s phone ringing broke your embrace. It was PD nim, along with the PR team.

“Yes. I understand… I’ll speak to her and let you know. Thank you.” Yoongi said and hung up with a sigh. You tilted your head, hoping they didn’t give Yoongi the ultimatum.

“They said I either publish a note to the fans, explaining everything. Or let them deny the photos, say that you are just a family member.” He explained.

“I see...” Those were reasonable options.

“What do you think is the right thing to do?” You asked Yoongi.

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sylverstorms · 3 years

Text

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch.7

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

Cassandra gradually starts taking up more of your time. Or, more accurately, demands it like it’s her birthright.

Every day, you wake her up with a kiss to her shoulder or neck and a whisper of her name. She comes to you when she’s bored at random times during your shifts, to either talk –complain— about her sisters or to outright distract you. There are times at night when you’ll feel the chill of her slip into your bed and press up against your back, but she’s always gone by morning light, like a dream.

She used to be just another component to your nightmares. Now… she’s what takes them away.

And you’re afraid.

That you’re growing to like the time with her while she’s just playing around, that it will cut that much deeper when you find yourself on the end on her sickle. Because how else can it end, you reason, between the two of you?

The thought momentarily makes your liplock with Cassandra taste bitter, despite the sweet strawberry taste of her lip balm -and no way she’s putting that on for you, right?

She has you pressed deep into a plush armchair with her palm on your chest, while her thighs are locked tight on either side of yours. You want to tell her that you should stop –both because you’re literally in the open and anyone can walk in on you and because it’s late—but her lips are doing wicked things to your neck and you can’t find your voice long enough.

When Cassandra starts grinding down on you though, rather impatiently too, you have to speak up before she starts something neither of you can finish.

“Cassandra.” you say breathily. A sharp nip comes over your pulse, then slippery lips close around the area. “Ah! Cassandra. You’ll be late for dinner.”

She tsks and pulls back, expression much like a kid that got her hand slapped away from the cookie jar. She dismounts you with the same sour look, smoothing down her robes.

“Walk me there.” she orders.

You rise and fall into step beside her, trying not to linger on how strange it feels. It should be nothing, really, considering all the activities the two of you nightly indulge in, but it’s… something.

Cassandra, uncharacteristically quiet, keeps gazing out the windows as though calculating or pinpointing something while you make your way to the dining room.

She comes to a sudden halt just before you reach it, turns to you, steals a quick kiss and then quickly leaves you behind, a colder aura about her as she strolls inside.

You hear Lady Dimitrescu’s voice, but not what she says. Once a few minutes have passed and you can safely blend into the background, you join the other maids on standby within.

You used to hate it here. Having them all in front of you like that, serving them wine, when they’re all to blame for taking any semblance of normalcy out of your life. You never glance at what they’re eating. You still dislike dinner time.

But.

When Alcina makes a snide comment about Heisenberg and you hear Cassandra’s laugh above Daniela’s giggle and Bela’s chuckle…

It no longer seems so bad.

“Bela, stay a moment.” Cassandra says after Lady Dimitrescu leaves with Daniela in tow.

“Oh, no.” The blonde huffs under her hood.

“I didn’t say anything. Yet.” The younger sibling raises her hands in exasperation.

“When you go ‘Bela~’” You bite your lip to keep your expression neutral as you’re cleaning the table because hearing the normally stoic sister mimic Cassandra’s voice like that is just plain gold. “It’s never good.” her tone turns flat once more.

Cassandra very pointedly rolls her pretty eyes. “I need you to cover for me.”

“See?” Bela sighs. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, it wasn’t really a question, I was just trying to give you the illusion of choice.” Cassandra shrugs. “I’m going out tonight.”

“What?” Bela damn near hisses. “Have you lost your mind?”

“It’s fine it’s, like, thirteen degrees.”

“How is that fine?”

The elder sister’s gaze then flits to you. There is no other maid in the vicinity that can overhear them, but she’s clearly uncomfortable with you picking up the implications of their conversation.

You still don’t get it. You guessed their aversion to sunlight has to do with their mutations… but why would the cold be an issue?

The survivor in you wants to know more. To know if this is something that can be used to your advantage when the time and circumstances are right for a potential escape.

Another part of you… just plain worries.

“I know what I’m doing.” Cassandra says, stern.

“Then you’re doing it alone.” Bela turns to leave…

Except.

“Oh, well. Guess mother should know about that little maid you’ve been orbiting around, lately.” Cassandra comments. “The one you even did a favor for? Just imagine her disappointment in you, the shining example of the family, stooping so low.”

Bela’s back goes rod-straight. The piercing look she sends Cassandra sends ice down your spine. You think she’s going to pounce… yet she exhales.

“One. Hour.” Bela states. “If you’re not back in one hour I’m coming to drag your sorry behind to mother. And she—” A gloved finger points directly to you, “Won’t be coming back with you in one piece.”

Wait.

What?

You didn’t know Cassandra planned to take you with her. But she didn’t deny it when Bela pointed to you. After her sister left, all she said was: ‘Dress well.’

Which brings you to your current position, pacing by the entrance hall of the castle, in a warm coat and two layers of clothes underneath. You turn to look behind when you finally hear her steps descending the staircase.

And— you freeze.

Because Cassandra is not wearing her usual robes. She’s dressed in all black, yes, but the outfit is tight on her form, fitting every curve, hugging her wonderful legs like a second skin. She’s wearing knee-high boots instead of heels and her hooded, gothic overcoat reaches down to mid-thigh.

There’s not a single patch of her skin visible other than her face… and you can’t, for the life of you, explain why it’s that hot.

“You’re staring, plaything.” she chastises, yet doesn’t sound like she minds. Rather, she’s smirking.

“Uh—” you can’t really form words.

“We need to hurry, clock’s ticking.” she says as she jiggles the very key you’ve looked everywhere during work hours for. The key to freedom. To leaving the castle.

Cassandra double-checks her clothes before she opens the door. You file it as useful information for later as you hurry to catch up to her.

The path to the village –or what’s left of it— through the forest is… difficult. Mainly because Cassandra is entirely unbothered by any and all obstacles and moves like she’s on a walkway, leaving you to fight with every rock hidden in the snow.

You manage. Somehow.

Until a distant howl makes you jump and quite literally crash into her side.

Cassandra laughs. It’s a clear, beautiful sound in the dead of night. “My, my. Scared of a Lycan in my presence?”

“I thought it was just a regular wolf!” You whisper, mortified.

Yellow eyes blink at you. Then her gloved hand raises to yours, taking it in a secure grip. You didn’t realize you were shaking, yet the tremors quickly cease when she does that. It’s just your heart that still feels like it’s going to give out on you, but for an entirely different reason, now.

Cassandra safely leads you to the village. It looks more or less the same, except empty, void of life. You don’t linger on memories. You don’t.

“Show me your house.” she says.

You never thought you’d be tracing the steps of your front porch so soon. You only have to push the door for it to open. And the inside is just as you remembered. A quaint little house. It’s simply not… home, anymore.

Nothing is.

Maybe nothing ever was.

And the thought makes a thin, cracked wall inside you finally give. Cassandra is saying something a few paces behind you, but your vision has blurred, your eyes sting and hot, salty rivers roll past your lids.

“Are you listening to me?” she asks. “...Plaything?”

You can’t talk. If you do, you’ll sob and break to pieces on the floor like a pushed glass statue.

Cassandra’s grip is tight and demanding on your elbow when her fingers curl above it, but she turns you with gentleness you’d never think her capable of. You do not meet her eyes.

Her other hand comes up to your neck.

You can’t, you can’t—

“Alexia.”

Your eyes snap to hers when she says it, from the shock. You didn’t think she even knew your name. Cassandra shifts her weight from one leg to the other, then seems to decide on something and wipes the tears beading at your chin away with her thumb.

“Pack what you wish. We don’t have long.”

As you turn into your bedroom and open your wardrobe to pack a few clothes into a bag, just to feel a tad more yourself when you’re in your room in the castle, the sound of your name falling from her lips follows you.

Haunts you.

You have half a mind to get your mp3, phone and chargers before you return to her. Cassandra is holding whatever she wanted to get from the village in a box tucked between her arm and body.

“Come.” she orders. Her hand settles on your elbow again and practically drags you along.

You don’t talk on your way back to the castle.

From one of the many windows overlooking the front yard, you spot Bela’s eyes on the two of you until she retreats into the shadows. Rigidly, Cassandra enters and immediately goes by the large fireplace to warm up. You only then notice how much more fluid her movements get. Or rather, how sluggish she was during the trip.

You shut the door and turn the key and realize it’s much easier to handle your situation when you’re the one locking yourself inside.

You take off your coat and scarf, then make to head for your bedroom —according to your calculations you’ll only get 3 hours of sleep— until… you notice how cold Cassandra looks.

She’s one step away from hugging the flames. And you can still hear her call you by your name in your head.

Great. Another thing to keep me up at night. You think as you approach her.

Slowly, so as to not scare her, you slip your arms around her slim waist from behind. She’s like a block of ice in your embrace, at first. Her body thaws gradually, to the point she’s fully relaxed against you.

“Thank you for today.” the words don’t come easy –they’re like pulling teeth— but you manage to get them out clearly enough.

“You’ll thank me in very many ways, plaything.” she says. “Having your own belongings in the castle is not a privilege any maid gets. But.” her voice, although quiet, hardens the slightest amount. “If, despite my generosity, you harbor dreams of escape… I will turn them to nightmares.”

Your blood goes cold in your veins. You can only nod against her shoulder.

Cassandra turns in your arms to look at you.

“And if you ever try to leave me alone here… I will find you and kill you myself.”

#cassandra dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x oc #resident evil village #bela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #fanfiction #because i've read on spoilers of sadness and heartbreak and we all need something soft to take the pain away #cue our fav pillow princess being mega darling to her girl

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just-a-dumb-gay · 3 years

Text

Why Are Humans Like This - Lady Dimirescu X Reader - 1623 Words

5 Times you try to scare Alcina + the time she gets you back

Prompt from Anon-R: Reader tries to keep scaring Alcina and Alcina just plays along cause it’s so cute that her partner who is barely half her height tries to scare her after all she’s the one who scares others

Tags: Reader gender is not specified, it's just soft, Daniela shows up twice and twice is bored of you, but Alcina admires your effort

1 .

You're wandering the halls of the Castle Dimitrescu, bored out your mind. Alcina had some business to attend to in the village down the mountain but with it being the middle of winter you could not go with her because she was afraid you would be too cold. Her daughters are who knows where, so you don't have anyone around to keep you company.

You're down an almost hidden corridor near the front door, and get blasted with a cold draft indicating Alcina is finally home. You decide to try and make the day more interesting to break up the boredom. Peeking around a wall you see that it's definitely Alcina who opened the door, and lucky for you she's not looking in your direction.

As quietly as you can you tiptoe behind her as she is hanging her jacket up neatly. Once you're behind her you shout "Boo" as loud as you can. But she doesn't flinch, but she does start laughing and turns around to face you, her pail skin glowing with happiness.

"You knew I was there didn't you?" You ask, a little disappointed.

"My dear Y/N, your socks squeak ever so slightly on this floor," She continues laughing. "It was a good attempt though." She says leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh but can't help but smile whenever she's so gentle with you. You decide to make it your mission from then on to scare Alcina at least once.

2 .

Another day in the middle of winter and Alcina once again went into town without you to gather some food for you along with some extra supplies.

When she arrives home you take a few bags through to the kitchen and realize this might be the perfect opportunity to try and scare Alcina again.

You look around for a hiding spot but your thinking is cut short by her footsteps echoing nearer the kitchen. You dive into a cupboard that is currently empty, there's probably better places you could have hidden but this was the closest.

The door opens and her footsteps pause for a moment.

"Y/N? Where have you gotten yourself to?" It takes everything in you not to laugh.

She begins walking closer to your hiding spot, a second later you hear bags being placed on the counter above you.

You realize you didn't have a plan for how to scare her, but that doesn't matter because the cupboard door opens to reveal Alcina kneeling in front of it, smiling from ear to ear.

"Really?!" You say with a sigh.

"You were not exactly quiet when closing this," she says tapping the door before offering a hand to help you out,

You sigh again before accepting her help.

"If it's any comfort, Daniela would have fallen for that." She laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

A loud "Hey! I heard that!" comes from somewhere nearby, followed by many meaningless threats when you both burst out laughing.

3 .

Spring finally rolls around and Alcina celebrates by taking you out into the garden and woods behind the castle for a picnic. But as soon as you both get comfortable on the plaid blanket she brought out she notices she forgot the most important part of lunch. The wine. She asks you to stay put and rushes back inside.

You pick at the grass for a moment before deciding to try and scare Alcina again. And this time you're confident it will work.

You make your way up a tree, all the practice you had as a kid exploring the forest around your home coming in handy. And there you wait.

She returns with two bottles of what looks to be some fancy and quite old wine, but stops once she sees you've disappeared. She places the wine on the blanket and begins looking around nearby for you.

After staying quiet for a few moments she finally walks under the tree you're in allowing you the perfect opportunity.

You jump down and land on her back with your arms around her neck.

"Should I start calling you a monkey from now on?" She teases.

You let yourself down from her back, confused as to how that didn't work. Alcina sits down and interrupts your thoughts by pulling you down into her lap and peppering you with kisses anywhere she can reach. Something that never fails to make you laugh.

“You will scare me one day, Y/N, I'm sure of it." She encourages, squeezing her arms gently around your waist.

4 .

A month or so passes with you struggling to find the chance to have another attempt at scaring Alcina. But finally on this fine morning another opportunity shows itself.

You wake up to Alcina having already left the bed and in the shower. Not seconds after having your idea you're sneaking through the corridors down to the kitchen. Once you have the required item, a bucket of cold water, you sneak back to your room and into the bathroom. You're relieved to see she left the squeaky door open, less chance for you to get caught.

Carefully balancing on the toilet, you attempt to pour the cold water over her. But you miss. Completely. She steps out the way of it the second you tip the bucket over.

"Seriously?!" You sigh, getting frustrated that nothing you try is working.

You step off the toilet as Alcina pulls back the shower curtain watching you with a fond smile.

"That was a good try, I'll give you that." She takes your hand and places a soft kiss on the back of it, before yanking you into the shower with her. While you're still fully clothed.

You scream slightly at the sudden shock as Alcina has her arms around your waist keeping you trapped with her. Although you can't protest much, you will never get bored of hearing seeing her so full of joy.

5 .

It's a normal quiet night in the castle, raining is pouring outside making it the perfect time to curl up and watch a movie.

You're thinking over your past failed attempts at scaring Alcina when one final idea comes to mind, something an old friend you had used to do to you all the time.

You wait for a quiet bit in the movie and glance over to Alcina to make sure she's focused on the movie. You take a second to mentally prepare yourself, before screaming loudly.

Alcina jumps beside you and turns around with wide eyes worried you're hurt. But your scream quickly turns to laughter.

Not 10 seconds after you scream Daniela barges in the room expecting danger but is only met by you doubled over laughing and Alcina looking incredibly confused and still shocked.

You take a moment to compose yourself knowing they're both waiting on an explanation. But all you can get out is "Finally!". You throw your hands in the air in celebration and that's when it clicks for them both.

Daniela rolls her eyes and leaves while mumbling "Why are humans like this?", she's never exactly been a fan of your antics. Alcina on the other hand sits patiently waiting for you to calm down but no matter how hard you try you can't stop laughing.

"Y/N please remember that you need to breathe." Alcina says with a hint of concern. Upon hearing that you have to try extra hard to calm down.

It takes a few moments of deep breathing for you to finally stop laughing. But when you do you turn to Alcina with a victorious smile.

"I had faith you would manage one day, although I will admit that is not how I expected you do to it." She says, sounding genuinely proud of your success.

+1 .

It's a horrible day outside, heavy rain and thunder. You're in your room working on a sketch of the castle you started a few days prior when it was sunny out. Alcina had sat behind you in the courtyard with her head resting atop yours watching you draw.

You've never been a fan of thunder, so you have your headphones on up as loud as they'll go. You don't know exactly where Alcina is, you assume she's somewhere around the castle perhaps checking to make sure the rain isn't getting in anywhere.

You lean back in your chair to think for a moment, you can't figure out what but something is missing from your drawing. You wind up deep in thought trying to understand what's wrong or what's missing when a strong pair of hands grab your shoulders.

You get such a freight you fall off your chair and as soon as your headphones fall around your neck you're met with the magical sound of Alcina's laugh echoing through the room.

You mumble "Holy shit" as you're trying to get your breath back.

When Alcina hears your laboured breathing she worries she may have been a little too rough with you. She helps you off the ground and over to the much more comfortable bed.

"I hope that was not too harsh, my love." She says, worry flooding her voice. She gently rubs your back, waiting for you to say anything.

It takes a few minutes but once you're sure you can trust your voice all you say is "I definitely deserved that."

Alcina is relieved at your humor and begins laughing with you.

Daniela comes into the room again, but not as rushed as last time. She sees you both laughing and figures out her guess of there being no real danger was correct. Rolling her eyes once more she silently leaves you both to your painfully cute ways.

#lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil

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fnf-amateur-writing · 3 years

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Hey! It’s Fox again! How are you doing? I just started school back up today, so I’ve been busy Xp.

Think you would be cool with writing some Pico with an s/o who is a writer, and tends to ask him about things like “hey, how long does it take someone to bleed out” or other things like that?

I understand if you don’t feel like it, and I hope you’re having fun 😊

🦊

Hello again Fox, I'm doing quite well rn. I'm cool with your prompt, especially since I need more writing material anyways.

Took me a while, because I didn't want to do a hc, but rather come up with a oneshot with a little twist to the style. Well, hope it works well.

Good luck with school, mate!

TW: Mentions of violence, swearing, slight sexual reference, and crime.

Pico with a writer S/O who asks him strange questions

Prologue:

On a chilly autumn morning, you were sitting out on your patio with a laptop and a mug of your favourite beverage next to you. Whenever you looked up, you could see the warm coloured leaves fall as the breeze accompanied you. The whole scene was an aesthetic.

When your boyfriend, Pico, came outside to see this, he knew that the nice environment you surrounded yourself with meant one thing. "You're back in your writing space already. Heh, with that bestseller you published, I thought you were comfy taking a break." You simply smiled and said, "can't waste the inspiration rush I got right now."

Pico had a good point though, with your rising popularity as an author, you were near set to retire before turning fourty. But you wish you weren't given all of the credit, since your boyfriend's stories of his dodgy job has occasionally sparked some ideas for your stories. However the books you wrote in the past were usually meant for the young adult and had few mature themes. This time, you thought maybe it's time to garner extra inspiration from those stories.

You were met with some disappointment when you realised that your mug was empty, only a drop entering your mouth. "Here, babe, I'll ya some more," Pico said, taking your mug and walking inside. "Quick question," you stopped him. "Yeah?"

"What would be the best place for a murder cemetery?"

"... What?"

Chapter 1:

"So you're doing some story about the police hunting down a mass murderer?"

"Pretty much."

"And to think you were gonna write Pixar's next script. Aight' I respect that." Pico takes a seat next to you with a refill of your drink placed next to your favourite writing laptop. "Thanks, Pico. But yeah, I want to branch out to something edgier, and I think you can help too."

"Let me show you what I've got so far." You showed him some of your notes in a little notepad document, detailing the story thus far and your current plans for this chapter. "Oh, that's it? Just looks like boring police preparation mainly," Pico commented. "Yeah, it's not much right now. But it'll get juicy later." "And bloody?" "And bloody."

"Welp, I'm gonna head back in," Pico got up, "let me know if you need anything." He head back inside, closing the door, but then opened it almost immediately afterwards. Pico stuck his head out, "by the way, the guy should use some strong alcohol or something to throw off those sniffer dogs."

Chapter 2:

"And then, because they used a silencer, the police don't immediately notice the--"

"Nope! I'm calling bullshit (Y/N)!" Pico had suddenly interrupted your explanation of the scene you were currently working on. "Silencers can help prevent some hearing loss, sure, but they're not magic."

"Alright," you reply, "no silencer, but the killer still has to kill in a way to not get blood on them, so I thought shooting and killing them from a distance would work." "Well, they're alone. Instead, have the guy get shanked in the neck or something, and have the killer use a plastic bag as a glove. It saved my ass one time."

"Woah!" you exclaimed with a giggle, "you used a knife once? What happened to my trigger happy boyfriend, huh? That's pretty sus."

"I forgot to reload the Uzis, alright?"

"What an impostor would say."

Chapter 3:

"What would be the best way to muffle the scream of someone you kidnapped?"

You two were sitting on the couch together watching a show. You didn't have your laptop on you, so Pico didn't expect you to still be thinking about that book. "I can't say from experience, really," he said as he paused the show. "However, shove a rag in their mouth and duct tape it in, and you should be good."

"Thanks Pico, also one more thing." "Yeah?" "What if our killer also wanted to..." God, this one was gonna be awkward, but you had to say it or else no help. "You know, cut off this victim's willy. How would you do that?"

"Wai-wha-uh-ga," Pico started fumbling his words like never before. He stopped, then took a deep breath. "YO, WHAT THE FUCK?!" "It'll make sense in the story later, I promise!" You watch Pico begin to lose it, breaking into laughter. "Ladies, gentlemen, and others," Pico dramatically stood up, pulling a little Showcaster impression and directing his arms towards you, "my famous 'young' adult novelist partner!"

Chapter 4:

It was in the dead of night, but you awoke to Pico on his phone. His vpn was on and Tor was up. As per usual, he was checking up on his little hitman service, where others could request for a certain someone's guts to fly if they paid him a hefty sum first. Though tired, you ound this to be the best time to ask him some more questions.

"Pico, how do those sites work?"

"Oh, you're awake," Pico blankly stated, sleepy too. But he still answered you. "Basically, some anonymous rich guys in the area give me money and a target, then I just do the thing and send a mission accomplished email." "Do they pay you in person?" "Nah, we use always use Bitcoin. It's a lot harder to trace than real money."

"Thanks Pico. Goodnight," you wish him, yawning and going back to sleep. "You too... So this guy is a hit man too?" "Hush. Tomorrow." "Okay." Pico puts his phone away, leaving it on a nightstand. You then spoon the night away, peacefully thinking of murder as you drifted off.

Chapter 5:

On a morning similar to before, you two sat on the patio with your drinks and laptop at the ready. Pico watched rather awkwardly as you typed away, wondering why you haven't entertained him with another question yet.

"You gonna ask anything else?" "What? Oh, nah," you plainly state. Inevitable, sure, but he was kind of saddened. He liked being able to share his messed up wisdom. "So, you're done?" "Almost." You turn to look at him, "want the spoilers?" Pico smiled, "sure thing."

In the novella you and Pico crafted together, the main character is a cop who hunts down a killer. They eventually notice that there would be two murders at a time for unknown reasons. Well, it was unknown until one victim had left up a dark web hit man for hire site. They that the hit man not only kills the target, but the client as a hidden price for the service.

And any request will be fulfilled, according to the hit man's site.

"Do they catch 'em?" Pico asked. "Well, ANY request is granted. So, if our hero were to... hire him to kill himself..."

"No way!"

"He did. They find both of their bodies in his bedroom."

Pico was a bit impressed with the ending you came up with, but then he remembered something. "Why did that guy get his thing cut off?" "Lol, I forgot," you giggled. "He sent a message to the hit man, saying he wishes the target would choke on his dick."

"That's my favourite part."

Epilogue:

After everything was finished up, you sent the book off to your editor. After the initial joy of knowing how the story ended, you saw that Pico was still in thought. "What's up with you?" "Oh nothing, well it's just... I'm probably just biased, being that I'm a bit of a hitman myself, but it's kind of sad to see the guy go."

"Then I should spoil the epilogue I came up with." Rather than being excited, Pico nervously asked, "what's an epilogue?" He didn't get an answer, only you staring at him. "Sorry, school held too many bad memories for me to pay attention."

"Anyways," you continue, "the rest of the police gang did some background checks, and find that our killer was a normal guy with no criminal history."

"Penilian?"

"No. But I did decide to take a more supernatural approach here. Somewhere across the country, another string of double homicides occur and that site is active once more. And the story kind of repeats itself."

"Penilian."

"You joker," you give him a playful little kiss on the cheek, one that definitely caught him off guard. "So is it canon?" Pico smirked. "Nah, just thanking you for being my cute little co-author." "Oh," Pico started, "so we're flirtin' now, huh. Come here babe!" He tackled you onto the ground, giving you several kisses in exchange.

"Actually, I think we call that 'making out'," you chuckle out, flustered. "But that doesn't mean I said stop'!" You pull him in for more, accidentally bonking your heads together rather painfully. "Nice double kill there, (Y/N)."

#fnf x reader #fnf imagines #pico x reader #fnf pico

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grumpygreenwitch · 1 year

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The Fairy and the Prince #27 + #28 + #29 + #30

Originally posted 11/30/2022

Adam only felt tired at the news. He was sure Galian had believed himself very clever to come up with a loophole into the crown, and Adam could only wish it would have worked.

For the second time, he received letters and a present from home for his birthday, a slim belt with matching gloves, boots and a dagger in its elegant sheath, as well as his father’s awkward, stilted invitation to perhaps come visit in the summer. He gave the dagger to Dane, unwilling to bring even steel near his friends, and the too-small boots to Beli. The belt and the gloves he kept, though neither helped him much when he got into the habit of dragging an easel and canvas out to the spring-chilly woods. He hated poetry, he couldn’t sculpt, his singing, like William, was ‘enough’ and little else. If he was going to be forced to waste time putting smudges of paint in place in an inept attempt to make them look like something, he’d rather it be the trees and places he loved, rather than pears and uncomfortable maids tapping their feet and fiddling nervously with their hands while they struggled to sit still for the princes8.

He dropped the canvas and ran. “Linden!”

They crashed into each other and went down, rolling as they hadn’t done since they’d been young and wild and carefree, laughing in delight. Covered in dew and grassy bits they helped each other up. “Look at you!” Linden admired. “You’re twice the wide you were before!”

“You’re one to talk!” Adam felt as if his heart might burst with gladness. “What did they feed you this past year?”

Linden laughed again. Adam was shooting up, as boys of his age will; under a strict regimen of riding, fencing and the rest of such martial endeavors, the promise of the man he’d one day become was beginning to gleam bright in the boy he barely still was. But Linden, once of a height with the prince, had grown taller still by nearly a hand during the winter; they were still slim and elegant, moving like a reed in a hidden current. The gold-tipped white mop of their hair still was exactly that, an unruly mop, but the shattered glass of their eyes had grown in complexity and color, the blues and greens and browns touched with the russets and golds of autumn, the silver and white of winter. The planes of their sun-kissed face were fey, faintly inhuman, and they had lost nearly all of their childhood’s green freckles. But nothing had changed of their delight in seeing at last their oldest, dearest friend.

“Boul!” Adam launched himself at the young troll, bouncing off his chest, much to Boul’s delight. Few people ever met a troll with such unalloyed, unafraid glee, and he very much appreciated it.

“Adam,” the troll replied in his gentle bullfrog croak of a voice, turning and bumping his head lightly to the prince’s. He was nearly nine feet tall if he stood up straight, which he never did; once twice as broad at the shoulders as both Linden and Adam put together, he now lapped his friends an easy three times. There were patches of lichen growing on his cool, craggy skin, and mushrooms that would glow faintly in the darkness of a cave.

The prince wobbled under what trollkin considered a gentle greeting, only for strong hands to catch him and steady him from behind. “Ah, already hard at work chivvying all of them thinky-thoughts out of yer skull, I see.”

“Needle,” he hugged her tightly, and she hugged him back, chuckling low. “I don’t need them, anyway. I have you all.”

“Goodness, what mush is in there that this wee pack of mischief is a better option,” she teased him, her mouth furling into a grin like a predatory vine. Of them all, the redcap alone had hardly changed, already having reached the nearly eternal maturity of her people. Her leather girdle carried more buttons, and her cap was a more vivid russet, with two knucklebones stitched into it, but she was very much herself, down to the earthy smell of charnel and upturned dirt.

Linden leapt and clung to Adam like a scarf; the young prince staggered, but didn’t fall. “What are you doing in the woods so early, we thought we’d have to come find you!”

Somewhat chagrined, Adam showed them the canvas. None of them could agree on what it was he’d been trying to paint, and for once he was glad not to speak the language of trees, because he was despairingly sure even the linden tree would not have recognized itself in the work. But that mattered to none of them. They were together, and that was enough.

***

Instead they swam in long forgotten pools in the depths of the woods, or basked under the sun, or ran wild through the green woods, shrieking like birds and howling like wolves. Adam found out that if he brought books on warfare and strategy, Needlemaw would stay with them while she read. None of them could paint, but for the first time he saw Boul’s magic at work as the young troll wrought from clay and stone and bits of quartz exquisite little works of art, smaller than Adam’s fist and yet precise down to the last detail. Neither he nor Linden had the voice for singing nor the patience for poetry. Needle did, and when she sang, her voice a pure and mesmerizing flute, the woods came to a halt to listen.

She would still leave them more often than not to spend her time with William, and Adam saw Linden frown in worry one such time. “What is it?”

Linden said nothing. They meandered off to where Boul was drowsing in a patch of wild snowdrops, and they sprawled along the young troll’s back, mindful not to disturb the mushrooms growing on him. Adam flopped on the damp grass next to both his friends and waited, far too familiar with Linden’s ways to try to hurry them.

“Adam, what do you know about fairy-wives?”

“Nothing,” he admitted readily. “Well, some, but I don’t know that it’s the truth. It’s all songs and stories about how it never ends well.”

“It ends well plenty of times,” Linden replied, cradling their chin in their laced hands. “But you don’t hear about those because they’re boring. They don’t care about happy endings. I guess 'cuz they never got their own. But Needlemaw… You know what she is.”

“I know she’s Needlemaw,” Adam said, his tone going defensive.

“To you, to me, to us!” Linden made an exasperated sound. “Adam, I don’t know if she could be happy. The good fairy-wives, the ones you don’t hear about, the ones that succeed, are those that could already stay home with the children and the hearth and all those things. There’s nothing asked of them that they weren’t already doing.”

Adam popped his mouth soundlessly, at last understanding Linden’s concern. “Does she love him? Has he asked?”

“I don’t know. I’ve learned things about her people that I never knew before I met her, before you made me meet her. Else I would say 'no’ and wait for her to eat him.” Linden blew out a long breath. “But now, now she might try, for his sake. And if she slips, it’ll be a story and a song they will never get tired of, and all at the expense of her misery.”

Adam turned on his back, staring up at the pale spring sky. “He’s eighteen. He turned it the autumn I was away.”

Linden sighed, resting their cheek on Boul’s back. “Why aren’t there more princes like you? She would have been fine with someone like you. She would have been happy with someone like you. I would be.”

Adam found himself suddenly unable to breathe. His blood, his heart, his muscles all thundered in his ears. His eyes couldn’t focus. He couldn’t speak, nothing in his body worked.

“Adam!”

His elbows slipped and he crashed somewhat forcefully back onto the ground, hissing and rubbing at the back of his head. “Sorry, what?”

“I said, can’t you think of something to help her?” Linden made another vaguely exasperated noise. “And him, too, I guess.”

Adam looked into those shattered, many-colored eyes, and swallowed. He knew the things that were meant to come into his mind and his body as he grew older, of course. Arditty was lovely, and he knew he’d been meant to pine after her; perhaps he would have, if he’d not seen her go through suitors like a cook goes through pots at lunch-time. Culli-maid was charming, her soft and earthy looks not nearly as appealing as her quiet wisdom and her solid, stern manner. But while he knew they were female, and he knew they were appealing, they’d never actually appealed. If he were to flip the coin, neither had Beli, for all his cleverness, or Dane and his steadfast strength.

No one in the palace ever had. No one outside the palace, either, until that moment. “I’ve better, I guess.” Adam sighed and sat up, looking at his hands rather than at his friend, not wishing to betray his confusion and uncertainty. “For Needle’s sake.”

***

It proved surprisingly hard to get close to William. At first Adam had thought the older prince jealous that he’d not been able to go on the tour of the realm, which was understandable, if vexing. But as the days carried on, a much more worrisome truth began to become apparent: William was avoiding him.

Astonished at his own daring, Adam used what he’d learned from his friends to break into William’s rooms while the older prince was attending jousting classes. From Needlemaw he’d learned the language of locks, how to whisper and flatter, how to cajole and plead so that no door or window was barred to him, and the door to the older prince’s quarters was much taken with his attention. From the troll he’d learned the whispering secrets of stone and caves, of treasure buried deep in the earth, and finding the three hidey-holes in the bedroom and the study room was absurdly easy. But beyond that, he found nothing. William’s letters to home were as 'enough’ as the prince himself was. His family cheered him on with lukewarm interest at best. There was a small box filled with tokens; Arditty kept one such, filled to bursting with trophies from her conquests. William had two rings, one ribbon… and a black knucklebone on a sinew cord.

Adam closed his eyes tightly and opened them again to barely a squint. The knucklebone turned into a plain silver locket on a simple cord.

“Oh, Needle,” he murmured at that further proof that the fairy maid, the older sister he and Linden had ended up with so absurdly, really did care for her mortal prince.

It took him several days to go through the rooms, and he had little enough to show for it. There wasn’t much he could do otherwise when William would not willingly go near him for more than a stilted polite greeting. He went so far as to ask the water-spouts if they knew anything. They were the ones that directed him to the sparrows, and they in turn pointed him to the swallows that lived in the vast eaves of the royal stables. William did most everything well enough, but in jousting at least he distinguished himself a little bit. Adam could have kicked himself for not thinking of it before.

No one believed in him like Linden did.

Adam was terrified of risking that, of losing that. It felt, he thought, as if he were teetering on a ledge, only he was taking the chance that he would chase Linden away and there’d be no one left to catch him.

Unable to cope with his own dilemma, and entirely willing to bury it under someone else’s, he grew to carry a pocketful of dry cherries, hoping to hear something he could use from the birds of the palace grounds. The mice, unfortunately, spoke an entirely different language from those that dwelt in the woods, and the squirrels were just plain rude.

A flock of tits caught him on his way into the palace through a kitchen garden on the first day of true summer. He was sweaty and exhausted and entirely too pleased with himself; for the first time, one of his paintings was actually turning out right, though he suspected his success had a lot to do with his subject. He almost didn’t realize his attention was required until one of the tits snatched his hair and pecked roughly at his head. “Ow! Alright! Butter and burrs, what, what?!”

He spoke to the brambles and brush that grew underneath the seating surrounding the grounds. He couldn’t tell if they understood or spoke back, but as he slithered through the patterned shadows he found himself free of burrs or prickles, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Adam having come more or less in the middle of the conversation, still heard them speak of a half dozen trysts or more. Arditty’s behavior, which Adam had thought ruthless in the extreme, was actually the rule, not the exception. From the princes sitting above him in the rising twilight he learned that night that most of them knew they were going to die, and thought nothing of packing as much living as they could in the years they were allotted. He also heard, as if in passing, that Rickard had written to many of them and told them to renounce the crown; as with Adam and his parents, many of them had been forbidden to do so.

So they sought what pleasure they could, wherever they could, and never mind who they trampled in the process. Adam’s education grew immensely in those few hours as he listened to the increasingly intoxicated princes try to outdo one another with their escapades and their casual cruelty.

Until William laughed at them. “All this effort, all this time,” he chided them, “when you could have been looking for another way out.”

“Like Galian did?” one of them protested acidly.

“We’re not all so lucky to snare a fairy-maid to protect us, Will.”

“I didn’t snare her,” he replied tartly. “I’ve courted her fair and square.”

“Oh, sure, fair and square.” They laughed at him. “And you love her fair and square too, do you?”

“No, of course not.” William said it with such obvious disdain that Adam felt as if the words had been a blade through his own heart. “I’m not an idiot, like Lestrelle. You can’t make friends of them, they’re too dangerous, too wild, they’re not people.”

“Is that what you tell her when you bed her?” They laughed at him.

“You’re all idiots,” he replied calmly before his voice turned smug. “I don’t love her. I didn’t say anything about her loving me.” William took the bottle and pointed it loftily at his peers. “It’s their power that draws us into the woods. I need her power to protect me. If that means I have to play lover so she’ll fall in love with me, so she’ll wish to keep me safe, then of course I’ll play.”

“She’s the Folk in the Woods, Will. You’re playing with fire,” one of the princes was not so drunk that he couldn’t tender the obvious warning.

“Oh, what do I care,” William snapped. “I’ll be King. Once I’m safe I’ll make me a crown of cold iron and lock her up in a tower while I find a good and proper mortal wife. I only need her the once.”

“What if she can’t keep you safe?”

“She’s a monster,” William shook his head. “It slips out every now and again. She’s a nightmare. By their measure that makes her powerful.” He drank and sighed, and passed the bottle. “It’s a pity, you know. I keep telling her if she cleaned up and dressed up she’d make a right lovely sight,” he mock-mourned. “No, she’ll save me. She loves me. It might kill her, but she’ll save me. You will all see.”

“What do you do, then, close your eyes when you kiss her?”

They all laughed. “No, she’s lovely, she really is, when she tries,” William admitted. “But what can you do. She is what she is, and I am what I am. And what I am wants to live.”

***

He felt wounded and empty in ways he couldn’t name.

Once before he’d found himself faced with the nature of his friends, with the potential threat they represented. Back then, childhood faith had carried him through. But that night, on the cusp of adulthood, he found himself dreading that blind, sweet, easy faith.

Did he trust Linden? Always.

Did he love Linden? He didn’t know. He thought so, but he’d never loved someone before. How was he to tell if the tangle of emotions inside him every time he looked into those shattered eyes was love?

Did he trust Needlemaw? Against every sensible, logical understanding of her nature, he did. She had never come to hurt anyone; her sole job had always been to protect Linden. Anything she’d offered beyond that, to Boul, to Adam, to those few that knew her for what she was, she’d offered freely and without meaning harm.

Adam was absolutely sure things would not end well for William if, when, he told the redcap what he’d heard. He wished with all his heart he’d never carried the older prince’s gift or his message to the fairy maid. He would have given anything to take from her what was to come. But he also knew, as he’d known then, that the knowledge was not his to keep. There was only one person who could make a decision on it, and he was not it.

He didn’t sleep that night, he didn’t go back to the palace at all. He found Beli and Dane looking for him and sent them back to bed, told them in no uncertain terms to stay inside, no matter what, for the next day.

He went into the woods, climbed the boughs of the linden tree, and waited there.

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