#first my post about moonshine and now this. head in hands. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lokisremainingsanity · 5 months

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soappup

This was inspired by this post by @sunshine-and-moonshine

content: John "Soap" Mactavish x reader, reader is his superior, crushes and feelings, fluff and some horniness, he lick the kitty hehe

~ava!🍓

The men at the 141 base got glimpses of a new womanly figure around, but never a full picture. They had questions as to who this new mysterious person on their base was, but they never got answers, until Price finally formally introduced you.

You stood with perfect posture and a serious expression with a hint of a smirk as you observed all the men.

"This is your new superior, who was our former arms weaponry trader and military tech researcher, Major Y/N Quest."

"Good morning, boys, it's a treat to be working with you."

You operated the base smoothly, and your reputation demanded respect. You had a few young rebels that were always needed to put straight, whether it be mowing the front base lawn with scissors, with every grass blade cut at a specific angle and height, or using buckets to empty the pool while it was raining. But beyond that, you also noticed someone who was always on top of each task you gave him. Ghost also noticed Soap's infatuation with you, and teased him about it the next time they were together.

"You got a crush, Johnny?" he interrupted his staring session at you.

"Wh-what?"

"You fancy Major over there don'tcha?"

"Oi, you feeling funny now, you boggin gowk? I ain't got no crush" he defensively crossed his arms.

"I'm simply stating a fact."

"Shut yer trap, Ghost."

Truth is, he was the first person to be at your service whenever you needed one, just because he liked you. A knock at your office door made your head turn up from your paperwork.

"Come in"

Soap came strolling in with some files in his hands.

"uh Major.. I got the intel ye' wanted printed out, I can send a digital copy as well if that-"

"The autospy records? You already got a hold of them?

"Yes"

"Goodness, Soap how'd you do it?" You got up and walked towards him, and he let you take a look at them."

Soap stood silently, enjoying your satisfaction.

"That's a job well done, thank you darling." As he bashfully looks down, you absentmindedly ruffled his hair as well.

"Ah thank you, ts nothin'" He felt like a schoolgirl having a crush on his teacher.

When he left your office, he went straight to the mess hall and started rambling to Ghost about his interaction with you. At this point, there was no denying the crush he had on you.

"She did that alright. I felt like a schoolgirl Ghost, oh my gosh. She called me darling. I'm her darling ya hear?!"

Ghost stared at the Scottish man who was no longer the Scottish man he knew.

"You know what that means, Ghost?!"

".. What?"

"I fucking won. I shall die a happy man."

Ghost didn't understand what he was saying but that didn't matter to Soap anyway.

A few months of Soap's undying affection for you passed and at this point, EVERYONE on base knew he was your favorite. The touches, eye contact, and smiles between you were strictly for him. On one mission where you all were at a safe house, you decided to sleep on the couch in the living room rather than share a room with the men. You woke up from your slumber when you heard lazy footsteps and a looming shadow over you. You slowly blinked your eyes and saw Soap with sad tired eyes looking down at you.

"Johnny? Darling what are you doing here?" you squinted your eyes at him in confusion.

"I got cold :( "

"... that woke you up?"

"mhmm"

*sighh* "C'mere then darling, can't have you freezing up tonight can we?"

You rolled over onto your back and he plopped his body right on top of yours, with his face snuggled into the warmth of breasts.

"sanks youu mmm" he was out like a baby.

The rest of the guys woke up to an interesting sight that shouldn't have surprised them anyway. There you lay with your hands holding Soap's head while he snored on the cushion of your chest. His hands wrapped firmly around your waist as if you were a Teddy.

"You gonna wake up him?" Gaz spoke up first.

"Not a chance." Ghost replied. The two glanced towards Price next.

"Now don't look at me. Get him up somehow, Captain's order." And he walked out.

nOW things were getting interesting. You didn't know when the lines of professionalism blurred as Soap kept bringing it intel or files you needed, but somehow it's gone from pets of affection to Soap kneeled in between your legs-

"Ah fuckkk that's it, good pup you are. Holy shiiiit Johnny do that again AHH" His tongue was lapping at your wet cunt without any pattern or rhythm. You let him grind against your boot to relieve himself a little, but he was still going feral. Tight wet circles were made by his tongue on your clit and your legs started to shake.

"ohhh ohh my god I'm close, yessss ugh just like that honey- OHH"

One of your hands left the armchair and went to grab at his mohawk as you grinded against his tongue through your orgasm.

You slumped on your chair and your face faced upwards to the ceiling as you caught your breath. He stopped licking but his face was still next to your cunt and he was panting like a dog. You opened your eyes and looked down at him, he literally looked like he had his tail wagging and was waiting for your praise like you would for a dog after doing a trick.

"Did.. did I do good?" He asked when you said nothing for a little too long for him.

"Oh you idiot." You laughed and rubbed your hands over his head once more.

"Darling you did wonderful, you never cease to fail me."

He laid his chin on your lap and smiled up at you as you kept petting him.

"Anything for you m'lady"

Now one thing you did not consider before continuing this little secret ya'll had going on behind your office doors was the possibility of literally training Soap to get turned on. Petting him in public was not out of the ordinary to anyone else. But what slowly happened is that you've now conditioned him into getting hard whenever you pet his head. You have literally classically conditioned Johnny to have a reaction every time you stimulated him by touching his head.

Holy shit

That's your reaction when you realize what you've done. Now you stand in front of a flustered and hard Johnny that can't seem to explain what's going on.

"m'sorryyy, im really sorry I don't know wh-"

"Shhh calm down Darling." you stood chest to chest with him to help him hide his erection. To anyone else, you looked like you were chatting about a secretive mission. You looked around and saw an escape for both of you.

"Just follow me, m'kay? You're alright."

You two manage to get to the bathroom at the end of a hall where no soul is present. You quickly pushed him in and you followed right behind. The sigh you let out from relief stressed him out even more.

"Please don't be mad at me, I didn't mean to, swear it! I-"

"I'm not mad at you Johnny." You looked at him sternly to shut him up. "If anything, it would be my fault..." your eyes softened as you looked at the poor man.

"Let's get you relieved, yeah?" Your voice lowered with your hand that left his shoulders to unbuckle his pants. He said nothing and watched as you pulled down his garments to free his leaking hard cock. "Please ma'am, I'm going insane now" He whined when you stared a little too long.

"Sorry, sorry"

Your hands gripped his cock and you pumped him from tip to base, and when you got back up your thumbs swirled at his leaking opening. "Ah shite-"

His hips started thrusting up into your hands unapologetically, and you let him. You rotated your hands and tightened them around his length to pleasure him more.

"Fuckkkk 'm close... Oh gosh Bonnie that's pe'fect... ughhh"

He groaned and tilted his head to the crook of your neck and you could hear his panting against your ear get more strained and whiney.

"Ah fuck 'm comingg, im coming im, ohhh yess"

His cock twitched as ropes of cum shot out and painted your uniform. You let him take his time and he held you waist and stayed in the crook of your neck while you slowly caressed his head.

"Feeling okay there, darling?"

"Mmmhmmm"

You chuckled at his childish response and you tried to gently coax him away to clean up.

"don' wanna move yet."

"We can't stay here all day Johnny"

"but Bonnieee"

"Johnnyyy" you equally whined.

"Tell you what, I'll reward you later at my office if you help me get cleaned up right now. That sound like a fair deal?"

"Yes ma'am." and he jumped at the tissues.

Classical conditioning and now more positive reinforcement? You're sure you fucked up but you could now care less

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

hehehehehe (￢‿￢ )

we can make out in the dark if you reblog luv youu 🥰

#cod fanfic #cod smut #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish smut

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its-in-the-woods · 13 days

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Chapter six (Final for now), Life's Too Short

Chapter one , two, three, four, five, <- if you missed it.

Cooper howard/The Ghoul x Lucy Maclean

Post end of season 1

No beta.. I tried to edit 🫠

Leaving it here from now.

⚠️ Warning ⚠️

This is fluffy and a lot of smut. Biting, riding, finger fucking, leaving marks, screaming.. it goes on. V and P. Deviates from canon clearly.

🚨+18 only - MDN🚨

Slow burn is over!

Please be nice this is my first fic in almost a decade 🫣

Will eventually post on AO3 once I can get access... or where suggested 🤷🏻‍♂️ Like please tell me I am old and don't know things anymore.

Getting out of the Deathclaw’s territory proved to be tricky. Particularly with a Brahma, the beast was not really happy about being dragged along. There was also the Deathclaw’s head strapped to it. Making sure it got water and something sort of like food was difficult. It made the traveling slow. By the time they got to the next outpost, Lucy was out of water and Cooper was dangerously low on chems. They had gotten a lot of looks as they walked through the big pieced-together gates. Most went back to whatever they were doing. But some stared. Lucy made sure to keep herself close to the Ghoul. They hadn’t really discussed anything since the warehouse, much too busy trying not to die. But something had changed, the leather-cladded man didn’t scoff when she ran into him. Didn’t mind when she snuggled up to keep warm overnight. The idea of a bed and not being hunted by giant damn monsters sounded amazing.

The head of the Deathclaw that Lucy had blown up hit the front desk of the outpost hotel. Well if you could call the two-story pieced together building that. The small man looked at the head for a moment, then back at the two of them.

“I am guessing you want a room?” He raised his eyebrows at the two, his glasses perched on the end of his nose.

Cooper also grabbed a paper from beside the hotel manager's head and slammed it down beside the head. “Also take the caps for its bounty, and where we could offload a Brahma.”

“Well,” The man looked up over his glasses at Cooper. “The bounty is for the full body of the Deathclaw, and the beast can go to the farm east of the town.”

Cooper leaned closer to the little man. “Want me to ‘ive yah directions to the thing? Or should I walk yah over to the corpse ‘yself?”

The man had tried to lean away from the Ghoul but he had followed him. Making sure his face was within the inches of the man. Lucy bit her lip, something about watching him take charge did-. Well, it made things get hotter in the room.

The man stammered, “Let me get my manager and we will sort your caps.”

Cooper stood up and gestured dismissively at the small man, as he scuttled away. Coop leaned against the desk as Lucy watched the door hand on her pistol. The man came back looking flustered and plopped the bag of caps onto the desk along with the room key. Cooper snatched it up, tipping his hat at the man.

They walked back into the town, Lucy bartered some of her bits and bobs with a merchant getting herself some radaway and a few stimpaks. As well as some better-fitting clothes, and a new poncho. Then she and the Ghoul walked a little ways outside the camp to trade the Brahma. The farm had looked a little flustered but offered to give them a good supply of dried foods and moonshine. They didn’t want to owe Ghoul but a Brahma was something sorely needed. Cooper had accepted the offer as he was not interested in hauling the animal around.

Then they were back in town with all the eyes on them. Cooper had disappeared into a particularly shady spot. Dogmeat standing guard in the dingy alley. She made sure to keep her wits about her. The place wasn’t bustling but it wasn’t quiet either. Women sneered at her muttering about Ghoulfuckers. It made her stomach flip again. Was it that obvious? After being on the road for weeks, being beaten to shit by various creatures. She figured she’d had to have started to blend in a little. She looked around again. A couple more men had walked out to look at her. She moved closer to the alleyway entrance, her finger on the pistol.

“Come on Coop, get the chems.” She muttered her hands mindlessly running over Dogmeats soft fur.

The longer she stood out there the more people she saw looking at her. She licked her lips, they had become permanently chapped at this point. Maybe they'd be callous over time, like the rest of her. The wounds in her back and thigh still ached. The mark on her shoulder had healed, for the most part, but it still aches if she overused it. A hand touched her hip. She jumped hands on her pistol as she turned Cooper’s crooked grin greeting her. Her shoulders sagged as she leaned against him.

“Come on Vualtie, let's go see what accommodations we got.” He guided her back toward the hotel.

***

Coop locked the door behind them as they got into the room. It was more of a closet with a somewhat functional toilet and standing shower. But at least they weren’t hiding from any deathclaws tonight. Maybe some pissed-off townsfolk but they’d take that as they came. Right now his eyes were on her. He had gotten a nice stash of Chems from the backdoor pharmacy, they had water and some decent food. As far as wastelanding went they were better off than most. Dogmeat had already settled into the bathroom closest to the door.

Lucy had placed all their weapons within reach and laid out some food. She had even drunk a good slurp of water, and they could get more too.

“What do you feel like? They said this was mole jerky, but I don’t know how reputable the vendor was. Plus I haven’t seen a mole that wasn’t glowing in a long time.” Lucy rambled, waving the offending jerky in the air.

“Not really feeling like eatin’ food,” Cooper stated licking his lips.

Lucy turned her brows furrowed, she looked up at him. “Oh. Well.” She looked back down at the food and then back up at him. He could see her piecing it together.

“Oh. Oh. Do you mean?” Lucy blushed and looked down at her feet.

“Don’t get bashful on me, killer. You nearly blew me up with a grenade and dragged me across the desert barefoot. Stripped me down to my unmentionable and pulled out a damn piece of bone out of my chest. You don’t get to play coy with me anymore.” He stated plainly as he walked towards her, his hand tilting her chin up so he could look at those big doe eyes.

Lucy licked her lips looking up at him. He didn’t know what she saw in him but whatever it was had her melting in his leathery hands.

He couldn’t fuckin take it anymore his free hand grabbed at her hips pulling her into him. His mouth clashed against hers as he kissed her. Not gentle like the first time, or even the second time. No, this was hungry. The months of being together, watching her move and change. Her lying on the floor of that fuckin warehouse. No, not anymore. He wanted her and he wanted her now. He wanted her more than he had wanted anyone in two centuries.

She started pulling at his duster fingers, shaking as she pushed the leather off of him. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and dragged it up off of her. She untucked his shirt and pulled it up over his head. Hat falling onto the ground behind them. Lucy giggled and snatched the hat placing it onto her head, before leaning back into kissing him. She pushed him down onto the mattress sliding herself onto his lap. He groaned as she ground her hips down onto his crotch. He grabbed her hips rocking up against her, eyes rolling back in her head as she felt him press.

He grabbed one of her breasts in his hand rubbing against the smooth flesh there, fingertips rolling nipples that had Lucy biting her hand trying not to cry out. Cooper batted her hand away.

“No, no, I want everyone to hear you.” He hissed, pulling her down so he could bite at the top of her breast.

A small cry squeaked out as he left an indent on her skin. She ran her hands over his head holding it against her skin. He rolled her so he was on top, leaving a trail of fresh bite marks that had the Vaultie rolling underneath him.

His hands trailing along the edge of her pants, she tried to wiggle free of her pants but he held her firm. Licking and kissing along the top edge. Tomorrow if her shirt rode up everyone would see the marks. He wanted them to see the marks. To know that her screams came from him. He bit hard right below her navel and she bucked

“Oh, Oh, dang it that hurt.” Lucy groaned and pushed his head down.

“Come on darlin’ tell me whatcha want.” Ghoul grabbed at the edge of her pants pulling them slowly down.

“Just-” Her voice cracked.

“Come on. Say it.” He growled, pulling them a little further down. Her hips moving and wiggling trying to get him to take them off.

“I want you to lick me.” She swallowed looking down at him eyes so dark

The man grinned, yanking her pants down. Leaving her underwear on, he pushes his shoulder in between her knees pressing his face against her. Breathing her in, she smells so good.

Lucy lets out gasp her knees pushing against the side of his head as her ankles lock behind his head. His tongue flicked out to go over the thin fabric.

“Come on, tell me. Tell me what you want me to do.”

Lucy let out a few strangled sounds as her hands grasped for purchase. He sucked at the wetness coming out through the underwear.

“Say it.”

“Ohmy, if you-” She choked again as he kept sucking. “Please- ughn- I want to feel your tongue in me please.”

“Good girl,” He grinned using a finger to push the thin fabric aside he leaned in and ran his tongue along her. She tasted so good, he groaned and sucked on her lips. Before sliding his tongue down using his fingers to separate her folds, she was dripping as licked in there. Her fingers gripped the sides of his head, as her back arched up pushing him forward. He moved his hands under her ass, lifting her hips towards his face.

“Oh, don’t stop.” She trembled her body, vibrating as he licked inside of her.

He pulled his head away licking at his tattered lips and sitting back to admire her. Lucy’s legs trembled as he pulled her underwear off, leaning in to nip at her thighs. She cried out as he left a line of marks up where her thigh and hips met.

Lucy pushed herself up, staring at him, her eyes lidded, lips red and swollen. “If you don’t-”

“Don’t what?” Cooper hummed, taking his fingers to run up and down between her lips.

Her eyes rolled and she shuttered,” Torturing me,” Her words were stuttered and hardy formed as a finger sunk into the wetness.

“Not torturing you,” He hushed, “No gulper bait here.”

She gasped as he pushed back and up, hitting a soft spongy spot that made her toes clench.

“Motherfucker,” Lucy gasped as her hips started to push down onto his finger.

The Ghoul leaned forward sucking at her clit as he pushed another finger in slowly. Purposefully dragging it out, making her keen and grabbed at the bed as he scissored and edged her. He watched her for a moment more before he began to a steady pace the wet sounds filling the tiny room. Her hips rolling with him, insides sucking him further in and squeezing tightly.

“That’s it, let it go.” He murmured licking and sucking against her clit.

Her legs began to shake as her fluids gushed forward as his fingers kept going until she was trying to push him away.

—

Lucy was a puddle, and there was actually a puddle under her ass at the moment. The damn man between her legs was going to kill her. Nothing in her very small sexual history had felt like that.

Cooper rested his bald head against her thigh as he lazily made circles around the bruises. Then he was moving before she had time to recuperate, his pants clattering to the floor as he snatched that hat off her head.

“Think this belongs to me, little lady.” He grinned down at her, gold eyes almost black as he pushed his hips forward against her.

Reaching up she pulled him down on top of her, she was so overstimulated but the hard line of his cock against her was making her want more. Damnit if she didn’t want it right now. She rolled her hips up and kissed along his jaw. She could taste herself on him, they tasted so good together.

“Fuck me,” She whispered into his ear taking the lob into her mouth, her hand found away between them fingers running over his hard length.

“Come again,” He grinned and sucked at a new mark along her neck.

Her toes curled as she stroked him, fingers pushing at the slit on top making his hips stuttered forward.

“Fuck me, Cooper,” She said into his ear as her hand tried to get him where she wanted him to be.

He leaned back looking down at her like he had never seen her before, as if he was trying to memorize her features. Then he pushed his way in, and both their mouths opened slightly. The girth made her inside ache as he seated himself as deep as he could go. They stretched a hot fire that made her inside shiver.

“Fuck, you are so beautiful.” He groaned and began to pull out, Lucy immediately wrapped her legs around his hips trying to get him pushed back in.

“Nuh-uh,” He grinned as he grabbed her legs and bent her in half. He slid back out and then slammed himself back in making Lucy see stars as he bottomed out. “I am in control here.”

Each word was punctuated with a snap of his hips, Lucy felt like her brain had gone foggy, her mouth hanging open as she pushed back against him. His pace started to increase as he held onto her hips bouncing off of her hips, her breast bouncing. She let her fingers grab at her nipples pulling at them, how was she so close already? Heat spills into her stomach as another orgasm builds up again.

“I am gonna-”

He pulled himself out, making her scrambled to try and get him back. The Ghoul placed one large hand on her stomach holding Lucy in place. Cooper grinned from under his hat the tip of his penis sitting right at the entrance.

“Told you, Princess. I am in control.”

Lucy growled fighting herself up from under him rolling so that she was on top of him. She grabbed his cock without a second thought and pushed it back in.

“Oh, oh yes,” Lucy groaned, tipping her head back as she started to move her hips in circles. His hands grabbing at her breast, squeezing, started to move his hips up against her. She tucked her legs a little, hands on his scared stomach pushing herself up and ridding him as he fucked her.

The heat built as the man’s fingers rubbed at her clit. There was no stopping it now heat uncoiling as her hips moved wet making his dick slip in and out with slick wet sounds. Lucy’s voice came in as she called out his name, her second orgasm making her tremble and bite her lip hard enough that she felt blood.

Cooper took the opportunity to roll them again, one hand grabbing both of hers and pinning her to the bed. He bit onto her collarbone hard enough to make her wonder if he was going to take a chunk out of her. His hips snapped so quickly as his other hand held her hips close, his eyes rolling close as his own pleasure slipped deep into her. Hips stuttered from overstimulation in jerky motions till he stilled. The Ghoul let go of his bite, a deep mark blooming, his head resting over her pounding heart. His tongue licked out over his lips.

Then he was up, Lucy groaned. Trying to get him to come back, she watched as he walked over to his saddle bag. Muscled body moving swiftly as it dug around for something. She sighed staring up at the ceiling. Her body hurt in many different ways. The marks would be visible for days. Lucy’s fingers came up and felt at the one on her collarbone, clear indents where his teeth had sunk in. Her face flushed realizing that everyone would be able to see that.

The bed dipped and Cooper handed her a bottle, the label was barely readable ‘Rad-x’. Reaching across he also grabbed the flask with water.

“Take two,” He said firmly before getting up again despite her small whines of annoyance.

She looked the bottle over and uncapped it, taking out two of the pills. They smelled awful, not nearly as awful as some of the bugs she’d eaten. She popped both in and swallowed, they burnt a little but it could have been worse. Sighing she stared at the ceiling, it was stained. Lucy rubbed her face as Cooper came back in with a towel.

His hand grabbed her ankle and he dragged her to the edge of the bed. She squeaked as he spread her legs and started to clean her. Biting her lip she watched as he carefully wiped her down. Leaning in to kiss the bruises before he tossed the rag into a corner.

“Thank you,” She giggled, reaching for him, he climbed in dragging her to his chest.

“Anything for you. Life's too short."

I may come back to this, I haven't decided yet. But I like it where it is fo now.

Let me know! Thanks for reading. More to come <3

#cooper howard x lucy maclean #cooper x lucy #fallout #fanfic #the ghoul #ghoulcy #fallout tv #vaultghoul

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waitmyturtles · 9 months

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THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 2 ("I PROMISED YOU THE MOONSHINE") EDITION

Being a day late to watching and writing about Only Friends allows me a little airspace away from the gasps and dopamine of the collective community first watch of each episode, and lemme tell ya -- my dash yesterday was so hot, it was like melting Tupperware on a stove. Unfortunately for many in the fandom, the ships are going to sink. That shower scene got some folks wrecked. Many folks on my dash have a sudden disdain for Neo Trai (poor kiddo). For anyone who reads around here, you might remember my implored begging of the Tumblr family to watch Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends premiered, and I still stand by it. The Only Friends team -- Jojo Tichakorn, Ninew Pinya, writers Den Panuwat and Best Kittisak -- are playing with a lot of concepts that I thought were just FABULOUSLY explored in this second episode, and these concepts ARE going to lead to further innuendos and endings that the shippers are just not going to like. (I think GOKB primed us for this.) And frankly, by the way this episode played out (as we were talking about a couple days ago, @lurkingshan) -- I think that's a hell of a point that the team is making in our faces.

I'm going to get to this more in a moment. Let me explain more, by way, of all things (!) -- plum wine.

So a bunch of us meta clowns (cc @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan) were talking about a theory I had on Friday regarding the theme of ephemerality in the first episode. How Cheum indicated to Mew that there's a lot in Thailand that'll bring them down, from pollution to radiation. She wanted Mew to nab Top -- she indicated that life is fickle, so what did her homeboy have to lose? Go get yer man, she said.

@ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan and I took this conversation further yesterday (please read all the reblogs on this link, folks, it's a great conversation!), exploring the many more references to the ephemeral, fickle nature of time and life that Only Friends is referencing. @chickenstrangers clocked that Yo's bar is called YOLO. @ranchthoughts clocked that Sand's bag of plum wine read "you only live once." @lurkingshan noted that Jojo's played around with the ephemeral before -- in Gay OK Bangkok, examining the impact of HIV on Bangkok's gay male population.

The reblogs of the post linked above also capture some common mentalities about the "future" for our current crop of young folks today (I... am not young, lol), particularly for the young queer community. That through climate change, the slow-snail-paced fight for equity (like the legalization of same-sex marriage in Thailand) (and even comparing it to the roll-back of rights for the LGBTQ+ community in the States) -- as @ranchthoughts wrote, there seems to be a stronger sense of "live fast, die young," among younger cohorts than when I was a young lass, born in the 1980s, when a middle management career could get you everything you needed, with a unfettered retirement in sight.

To me, the most wrenching references to the ephemeral in this second episode focused on death. "Do you want us to die?," Sand asked laughingly as Ray played around in the car. Top can't sleep alone because after a childhood trauma, he's afraid he'll die alone. Ray's deceased mom is shown with a glass in her hand.

And how are these young folks behaving? In the face of literal death, as they themselves are referring to it: they're living life very riskily. Top's a player. So is Boston. We hope they're playing safe. (Gay OK Bangkok had condoms all over the place. I haven't seen any yet in OF.) Ray's blood alcohol levels are clearly through the roof. Sand's committing a crime.

Say what now? Committing a crime?

I hope folks clocked that. What's REALLY making me shake my head is how slick the non-sexual commentary was in this episode.

Going back to my original post on ephemerality that I let loose on Friday: I talked about the metaphor of plum wine and the passage of time -- how plum wine tastes sweeter and better as you let it age.

Sand was pissed that his bottles of plum wine broke because he's making it himself. That's why he wanted Ray to pay him back for the lost supply. Sand lost both product AND time.

Making and selling plum wine is illegal in Thailand. It's like the selling of rotgut during Prohibition.

SAY WHAT? For real. Thailand's laws around alcohol are wild, y'all. The display of alcohol logos is weirdly regulated (I laugh at how bottles are often blurred out in Thai dramas), brewing alcohol within Thailand is insanely complicated (some people brew alcohol in Thailand, then bottle it elsewhere and import it BACK into Thailand to skirt these laws), and -- you cannot buy alcohol from 2 pm to 5 pm.

Remember we saw Ray sneaking some sips from a flask outside the hostel site? That's a major flag for confirmed alcoholism (drinking alone during the day). But also, if Ray wanted a drink during the hours of 2-5 pm -- he had to have the booze on himself to have a tipple.

We know Jojo does NOT shy away from political commentary. We saw it in spades during Dirty Laundry.

What I love about Jojo's work is that he's unafraid to call out the hypocrisy of these kinds of laws. The making of plum wine is ILLEGAL? In Japan, making umeshu is traditional. (It's also the easiest and most delicious thing ever, please try making it!). For many of us around the world, making umeshu is a hobby, and a perfectly safe one at that. Considering Thailand's economy is so dependent on tourism, and that Bangkok itself is a world-class city, you would think that the selling of alcohol wouldn't be so complicated, and yet... 'tis.

This leads me to what I saw as the second Big Theme of this episode, besides ephemerality: I saw a lot of hypocrisy in this episode.

We got the liquor laws bullshit. We got Boston. Boston strikes me as a hypocrite for setting up his friend Mew with Top -- all while Boston's still wanting to get with Top, to the point of sneaking into Top's shower.

And Mew strikes me as a hypocrite, too. He wants to "redo" the start of his relationship with Top?... on his own terms? So, they're not boyfriends anymore? After already....having dated? Believable, my dude. The guys are in a PatPran-esque battle of... something, and I don't think it's wits, because neither of them seem to have many wits about them. They seem to be more interested in just winning a goal that (except for sex for Top) seems wholly unclear. Does Mew not know that Top may very well NOT respect Mew? Is Mew aware that his read on Top may not be at all accurate? And.... does Mew actually care? I'm not convinced of it.

Live fast, die young. What does it matter to be a hypocrite if the future is unstable, if time is speeding by -- and if no one is holding these young folks accountable for their behavior, as I put into the tags of @ranchthoughts's post yesterday? As Nick says to Boston: "you're a rich guy -- you don't care much for things." What, exactly, would make these rich kids care about being ethical human beings?

Accountability is around the corner for this group. Nick is starting to catch feelings. Boston is wondering why he's getting rejected by Top. Sand's recognizing that Ray's sniffing out something between them (cc @neuroticbookworm) (and, who knows, as NBW first referenced in her post -- Sand might be catching feelings, too). All of these friends -- it's mindblowing! -- leave Ray alone, often, wasted off his ass, to get himself home, as Sand himself notes.

These characters are going to get hurt, and it's only a matter of time until we begin seeing it happen. At the micro-level, human to human, they will hurt each other. And society, Thai society, is doing these young people no favors by not helping to equalize the inequity between rich and poor -- as Sand has to take risks to sell illegal hooch, of all things, to just get by.

Wrapping this up with what I was mentioning up at the top about the jibbles that the fandoms are starting to feel towards the established GMMTV ships of this show slowly sinking. Isn't there a bit of hypocrisy there as well? This show is NOT going to be pretty for the ForceBook/FirstKhao established ships. What are we, as fans, going to do when that time comes? Will we condemn Jojo? Will we stop watching the show? Will we equivocate by way of blaming other characters?

This show should be celebrated already for the risks it's taking, and the risks it will take. (Remember: fans protested at the GMMTV building in 2019 when the KristSingto ship was broken for He's Coming To Me.) Only Friends deciding to take on the toxicity and hypocrisy of shipper fandom? Bring it on. We cannot only enjoy the performances of these actors when they're paired up with one repeating partner. As the life of Gay OK Bangkok depicted, as the life of Only Friends is depicting -- life is a whole lot more complicated than just a dreamlike, over-organized monogamy between two people (ahem, Mew). Life -- and TIME -- will bring complications and change, sometimes unwanted change, that we have to learn to handle and manage. I'm not colored surprised in the least that Jojo's making this experience for us jump out of the screen and into our own hearts, as we see our beloved actors take risks upon themselves by their breaking of their own ships. I am all here for it, and I hope the shipper fans can be, too.

(BIG UPS to the small meta army family -- @ranchthoughts, @lurkingshan, @chickenstrangers, @neuroticbookworm -- I'm so thrilled to continue being thoughtful with y'all!)

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ofstoriesandstardust · 1 year

Text

so long, daisy may (lt. bradley “rooster” bradshaw)

a/n: anti-hero belongs to rebel but so does you’re on your own kid and i won’t change my mind. @struggling-with-delia has been here for every step and evolution of this piece and i’m truly posting this for her because i honestly never thought this would see the light of day. i am going to hide under a rock until further notice bye.

summary: It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

originally inspired by taylor swift’s “anti-hero” and “you’re own your own, kid”

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist | same mistakes-verse | same mistakes-verse timeline

warnings: nightmares, blood, swearing, jealousy, insecurity, alcohol, brief brief brief reference to an ED if you squint, we were introduced to Petals in the my tears ricochet piece and there was popular demand for me to bring her back, i took some stylistic risks with this one, and it’s that this has no point of resolve and a very abrupt ending, if you hate this don’t tell me because i’ll cry

word count: 3,325

Picking up Bob’s wrist where his watch sits, you glance at the time, rolling your eyes. He looks down at your curiously, sipping his drink.

The last thing you expected to be the topic of conversation tonight was her. You’d made the mistake of leaning over to your best friend’s phone, being nosy about what he was looking at on Instagram. There’d been a picture of your old teammate, Moonshine, as she’d taken a leave trip to New York City after the Green Vipers short trip to Miramar.

It’s how you learned she’d been at Top Gun with your best friend the first time around, and subsequently your boyfriend. And apparently most everyone else too.

The group had now been trading stories of their experiences will her, all glowing. It’d been at least a half hour of this, and you slowly felt like you were losing your grip on your sanity, what with the whiplash Coyote was giving you. He’d been there, watched her follow everyone else and treat you like shit, so where did he get off talking like this?

“Take it you’re not a fan?” Hangman smirks as he raises an eyebrow at you. You shake your head, running a hand through your hair.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Really?” Phoenix asks, leaning up against the pool table.

“Why?” Your boyfriend asks incredulously and you glance at him, shrugging.

“Just... didn’t have a good experience with her.”

You didn’t talk much about how awful everyone on the team had been. They knew you didn’t like your old squadron but you were unwilling to detail just how badly they treated you.

“Gonna need more reason than that, babe.”

You turn to him. “Well, why do you like her so much?”

He looks away. “You know... she’s a good pilot. Funny. Life of the party.”

“Pretty too.” Hangman comments, looking between you and Rooster.

You glance at him. “What? Why do I get the feeling I’m missing something?” Coyote nudges Hangman, shaking his head. Phoenix coughs awkwardly, looking up at the ceiling. “What?” Your boyfriend shifts, setting his drink down next to the pool table, game long forgotten.

“We... hooked up once or twice when we were at Top Gun the first time.”

Oh.

He carefully watches you, waiting for a reaction, but you don’t have one to give him, trying to not squirm from the slimy feeling slithering up your spine.

“But that’s not why I like her. She’s cool, really good pilot. I don’t know, you don’t meet pilots as genuine and level-headed as her. She’s just.. she’s really... I don’t know, she’s cool.”

There’s a prickling sensation, something you want to recognize as jealousy.

You pick up your drink, knocking the rest down your throat. You swallow and set the glass down with a little bit more force than necessary. The noise the movement makes echoes in the silence of the group. “If she’s so cool, you should go date her instead.”

You pull yourself from your boyfriend’s arm, slipping off the bar stool and moving away from the pool table.

“Oh Rebel, c’mon, I didn’t mean it like that.” He calls after you but you ignore him in favor leaving the bar. Crossing your arms, you take a deep breath as you walk towards your car.

Only a month or so in, and despite the years you’d known him, you wouldn’t call your relationship with Bradley anything short of new.

At times, it felt like no place had ever felt more right than being next to him. At times, it seemed like everything had happened to lead you to be right here, right now.

Other times though, it felt like one misstep would take you hurling back to the years of animosity. One misspoken word, one argument, would fracture the happy family and fragile peace, leaving your hands littered with glass as you did what you did best.

Hurt them first, right?

As gross as the two of you were (Fanboy’s words), always so blatantly in love with each other, you were still unsure about if you belonged here. Belonged here, belonged with them, belonged with him.

It had little to do with Moonshine as a person. You did have to admit, that when her head wasn’t up Ghost and Shadow’s ass, when she wasn’t constantly seeking the approval from others, she was cool. She was funny, was genuine. If she could get away from her “follow the leader” mentality, the two of you probably could’ve been great friends.

But... You hadn’t been around for Top Gun with this crew. Most of them had known each other since then, and hell a few of them went all the way back to flight school. You were just as new as Bob and it still sometimes felt like you were fighting to earn your place here.

You still weren’t sure you were cut out for this team, for what the Navy expected from you all. You still weren’t sure that one day you’d be turning around and heading straight back to the Green Vipers. The only two ties you had to this group were your best friend and your boyfriend and if they changed their minds about you... well, you weren’t a fool to think these people would still be friends with you.

It had little to do with Moonshine as a person. It was what she represented. If she was so great... well, maybe she belonged in your place instead.

You certainly didn’t disagree.

You sit at the bar, head propped up on your hand as you watch Rooster clap Bob on the back. He’s startled by the movement, dropping a few peanuts, but smiles the toothy grin at him nonetheless.

You’d retreated to the bar twenty minutes ago under the pretense of getting more beers and it doesn’t seem like anyone had noticed your disappearance from the group. Hell, they probably wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t shown up tonight.

Why had you shown up tonight?

Penny’s making polite conversation with you as you sit there, and you thank your lucky stars she doesn’t comment on the fact that you are clearly uninvested in the discussion. Looking back to the group, you make eye contact with Rooster and you immediately look away.

“Someone’s coming to talk.” She whispers and someone is as the bodies of Rooster and Hangman appear on either side of you. Your boyfriend sighs, settling down in the seat next to you, arm moving to settle on your back. You ignore him, continuing to sip on your drink.

“You’re mad at me.” He says as Hangman orders different drinks from Penny.

You swallow as Penny eyes the two of you, handing the beers over to Hangman. “I’m not mad.” You finally settle on.

“Course she’s mad Rooster, it’s not cool to bring up a girl you used to bang in front of your current girlfriend.”

“You instigated that Bagman, so shut up.” You say, taking another sip of your drink.

Hangman raises his hands in surrendering, retreating the the pool table. Rooster nudges you, nodding his head back to the group. “C’mon, come play.”

You shake your head, swallowing the last of your drink. “’M good.”

“Honey, I’m sorry I brought her up. Know it must not feel good to hear about that.”

“Quite frankly, I don’t care that you hooked up with her.”

He nods slowly. “Okay... then why are you mad?”

“I told you, I’m not mad.”

He sighs, leaning his head up against your shoulder. “Honey, please just talk to me so we can fix this.”

“I’m not mad; do you want me to create feelings that aren’t there?” You ask, feeling yourself starting to get defensive.

“You’re jealous.”

And he’s not wrong, not entirely, because you had been for a moment, but only before the insecurity had set in.

You shake your head. “Not jealous.”

“Well, you’re something because you’re been sitting over here for half an hour talking to Penny and you’ve barely talked to me all day.”

“How do you know I’m not having an engaging, intellectually stimulating conversation with Penny?” He gives you a look that has your defenses rising up even faster. “Would you just drop it?”

“Are we gonna be good if I do?”

You stand up from your seat, turning towards the pool table. “Yeah, we’re fine.”

He groans. “That does not sound like we’re fine.” He calls, catching the attention of Fanboy. You slip in between him and Payback. “Rebel-”

“I said, I’m not mad and we’re fine. We’re dropping it.” He watches you for a moment, assessing if that’s really what he wants to do, but must decide from continuing the conversation, deflating down into a stray bar stool. You turn, grabbing your keys and jacket that had originally been thrown over the railing near the pool table as the team watches you. “I’m going home.” You say to no one in particular. No one protests or follows you as you make your way out of the bar, and it takes everything you to not let that sting as you walk to your car.

Shutting the locker door, you shoulder your bag and slip your phone into you back pocket.

“Hey, you coming to the Hard Deck tonight?”

You turn to see Halo sitting on the bench, looking back to you. Phoenix turns at the comment, wet hair from her shower falling over her shoulder. Tentatively, you grip the straps of your bag and shake your head. “Nah, I’ve got a friend in town. Going out to dinner to catch up with her.” Phoenix raises an eyebrow but says nothing. “What?” You ask, turning towards her.

Most days, you weren’t sure if you and Phoenix would ever be friends. Maybe the two of you could be amicable, friendly even, a few years down the road. Still, she’d grown on you and you had hoped you had grown on her but... it was tough.

You knew she kept you at arms length, that much was obvious. Knew she was still Rooster’s best friend, didn’t trust you to take care of him, to not break his heart. She didn’t trust you and damn if that didn’t sting.

Phoenix shakes her head. “Nothing, you just... don’t seem to be doing a lot of spending time with us lately.”

You sigh, shifting your bag. “That’s not true, you guys were at my house on Saturday.”

“Okay, let me rephrase: you don’t seem to be wanting to spending a lot of time with us lately.”

“That’s especially not true, considering game night was my idea.”

She eyes you for a moment and then glances back to Halo before dropping down to the bench. “Does this have anything to do with the Moonshine thing-” You huff, readjusting your grip again as you move your eyes to the ceiling “-from last week, because truly Bradshaw didn’t mean it-”

“-like that. Yeah, I got it Phoenix, thanks. Look, I really gotta go-” She sighs, cutting you off. “What?”

Once more, she shakes her head, rubbing her fingers over her temples. “Nothing. Have fun with your friend.”

You nod slowly, feeling your throat dry. “K, well, I’ll- see you all tomorrow then.” You wave, bidding them goodbye, as your back turns and head for the door. You blink back the tears threatening to fight their way over as you walk towards the parking lot.

That couldn’t even be considered a fight, barely a disagreement between teammates. Still, you wanted her to like you so bad-

There was a sickening feeling of deja vu crashing over you.

You never learned.

The laughter ringing out made your soul feel lighter than it had in weeks as you sit across from your friend in some Mexican restaurant Google had recommended. She smiled at you as you looked down to your phone, seeing a text from Bradley, telling you that he missed you and wished you were there.

“Lover boy?” You nodded as you lock the device and slip it back into the bag, returning your attention to your friend.

“I wish you were staying longer than a night.”

She sighs. “Wish I could too, but I’m out on deployment for six months at 8 am sharp tomorrow.”

A silence falls over the table as you fiddle with your fork, avoiding her eye. “Can I ask you a question?”

She hums an affirmative.

“You went to Top Gun with them all, right?” She nods.

“A few of them, yeah. Why?” You sigh, leaning back in your chair as she reaches across the table for another chip. “Uh-oh, is this the part of the night where you’re honest with me and tell me there’s trouble in paradise?”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “What did you think of Phoenix?”

“Of Phoenix?” She asks, pausing as she raises an eyebrow. You nod. “I liked her. Very intelligent, very clever. Good pilot. Earned everything she’s gotten. Why?”

You shrug. “I just don’t think she likes me very much.”

“I doubt that. She sticks to the other female pilots. There aren’t many of us. And even if she doesn’t, what does that matter?”

“She’s Bradley’s best friend and I don’t- I don’t know.” You mumble, cheeks going red.

“What’s really going on? C’mon, out with it.”

You sigh. “Um, last week Moonshine-” Petals makes a noise in her throat, rolling her eyes. “-got brought up and I found out she and Rooster hooked up a few times at Top Gun.”

“Thought he had standards.”

You shoot her a look. “And I just- I’ve sort felt like I’ve been on the wrong foot, with this whole team since I got here, and I just- I don’t think I belong here P. Maybe she belongs here instead.”

“Belong with this team or with him?”

You groan, reaching up to rub your eyes. “Both, maybe? I don’t know.”

She eyes you as you fall silent. The silence grows as she waits for you to continue but no words find their way to the surface. The waitress comes over, asking if you want dessert. She looks to you as you down the last of your margarita.

“I don’t know about you, but I kind of want one of everything.”

You laugh as the alcohol warms you. “One of both? Sure, why not.”

You didn’t acknowledge the little voice in your head screaming at you that you didn’t need one of both, let one of any dessert, because you didn’t do that anymore-

Petals closes the menu, smiling at the waitress. “Can we also have another round of margaritas? Thank you so much.” The waitress walks off and Petals turns to you. “Why do you feel out of place?”

“I just- I don't feel like I’m good enough to be here. And I don’t know, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop with him, to fuck things up like I always do-”

“First of all, no you don’t. He is equally, if not more, responsible for your falling out. Second of all, and I’m sorry to be so frank with you, but the idea that you are not good enough to be with this team, or don’t belong with this team, is bullshit.” She puts her elbows up on the table, clasping her hands together. “If the Navy wanted Moonshine on this team, wanted Moonshine called back for that mission, they would’ve called back Moonshine and Coyote. But they didn’t. They called you back because the Navy wanted you. Bradshaw doesn’t want Moonshine, he wants you.”

You look at her, struggling to allow her words to ring true.

You deserved to be here.

You were good enough.

He wanted you.

“I just-”

“Rebel, he loves you. Loves you more than I’ve seen another person love someone. Even back then, I knew. I know now. He loves you so honestly, so openly. He’d bleed open if it meant you’d accept his heart. Why can’t you trust him with yours?”

You make a noncommittal shrug, avoiding her eyes. “I don’t know... things are good right now, I’ll admit it. But they’re delicate. If I fuck it up, I lose everything.”

She raises an eyebrow. “This isn’t just about Bradshaw is it?” You shake your head and she sighs. “Okay, here’s what I know. I’ve had my issues with Bradshaw. We’ve talked about it.” You nod. “Hangman’s an ass and I can’t stand him.”

“Yeah, fair. valid. I don’t like him either.”

“And for however much I like Phoenix, I know she’s still loyal to Bradshaw.”

You nod, bottom lip catching in your teeth. “Yeah.”

“But I know Coyote to be good people, but I also know you know that too.”

You duck your head. “Of course I know it P. They’re all good people, I think Hangman might even have a heart in there somewhere.”

“But?” She prompts.

“But I know that I have a reputation. And you know, how do I... how do I ask them to keep taking hits because of it? How long can they put up with me before they get tired of it? I mean, you know it, it’s got to be exhausting defending me all the time, to have to have my back, to carry the brunt of my shit.”

“What reputation do you think I’ve got exactly?” She asks sharply, eyes narrowing.

“For being a rule-breaker. For-”

She waves a hand, cutting you off before you can even finish. “You earned your callsign. And if anything, you’ve earned a reputation because you’re a good pilot. For being a good friend, for always having your wingman’s back. I know you think you’re asking a lot of these people but you’re not. You’re not asking a lot of them to be there, to be your friend. What you fail to see is that they want to be your friend. Bradshaw doesn’t want to be with anyone but you. And I consider myself damn lucky to call you my close friend.”

She settles back in her chair, eyeing you as the dessert arrives at the table. There’s silence as she continues to stare at you, even as you reach for one of the plates, ignoring her.

Finally, she sighs. “You heard from your Mom lately?”

You pause, eyes snapping up to hers at the sudden change in topic. “No and I don’t care to. Why the fuck are you bringing her up?”

She shrugs, leaning over the table to take the plate you’re holding from you. “Don’t let her dictate your life. You’re not on your own anymore.”

The white of your dress was stained, blood seeping through the material, turning the creamy color to one that made your stomach turn. You wiped your hands against it, leaving streaks of blood behind, but never able to fully get them to become clean.

You swallow, getting frustrated as you try so hard to rid yourself of the stain, of your mistakes.

You had sworn your wouldn’t do this again.

“I knew you’d break his heart in the end.”

It’s Phoenix’s voice.

Your head shoots up, searching for her, begging for her to forgive you for hurting him first.

You didn’t mean to-

The only one who’s there in this room of white though, is a figure you never thought you’d see again.

“Mom?”

She smiles softly at you. “It happened, didn’t it, honey?”

“I tried, I promise, but now-” You look down again to your hands, realizing how red they are. Red with his blood. It had been his heart you’d broken. “I’m sorry, so sorry-”

“Oh, honey, don’t you know?” You shake your head, eyes searching hers. “They never cared in the first place. All the bridges burned.”

You swallow, fighting to stand to your feet. “No, they like me, they’re my friends-”

She lets out a laugh that sends cold straight through you, echoing and ringing out for miles through the space.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw fics #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fics #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fics #same mistakes

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frostbitepandaaaaa · 5 months

Note

tell us about day 31 😌

lol so i guess you may have noticed that it may have perhaps resembled a Whumptober prompt? i never actually wrote/posted the last prompt i was responsible for for that month of prompts, but that doesn't mean i don't have a 5k+ word draft for it in my WIPs!!

i started and restarted on that prompt about 4 times until i landed on something i was pleased with. hopefully once i'm done with my RCSS, i can finish that prompt and all will be well with the world.

this fic borrows its premise from an old max/furiosa fic by @sacrificethemtothesquid that i am obsessed with, called Glow. basically, jyn and cassian are on a mission and Cass comes down with radiation poisoning. pain ensues.

snippet, for your pleasure/pain:

“Was it something you ate, you think?” she postulates. He shakes his head, shoulders heaving under his coat. Her blood stops in her veins when he finally looks at her. His eyes are wide and wild, his face pale and strange-angled in the odd, bloody light of Tilo’s brilliant sunset. He looks ghostly, haunted, an animal caught in a trap. “The parts—“ he pants, something in his voice breaking in fear. “You didn’t— you didn’t go near them…?” Jyn hesitates, shakes her head. First in confusion but morphing quickly into hasty confirmation as the fear in his face takes on an edge. She had not touched the half-rusted, nearly unrecognizable pile of parts they had traded for this morning. The man who had traded with them had claimed the parts were from some ruin of an outer-rim rock, now defunct and lost to knowledge. Old Republic and rare as kyber. Or something like that… Jyn hadn’t paid much attention. Cassian had handled the whole transaction (he had more patience for and much more experience in haggling) and she had hated every minute of the exchange. The queer look in the trader’s rheumy eyes, the swiftness of his acceptance of their offer (a stack of Jilib leather and a bag of local moonshine that could strip the paint off a speeder—certainly lowball barter). Jyn had tried to protest, but Cassian had insisted: these fledgling rebel cells they were here to infiltrate traded in scrap and salvage— the more foreign the better, to attract potential collectors and the deep pockets that came with them. Cassian had assured her it was, indeed, a scam as they left, but they could still promisingly trick any rebel leaders for long enough to get what information and recruits they needed before getting the hell off world. “Jyn,” Cassian prompts sharply, eyes growing wider, a bit wilder, as he looked her up and down. “No,” she finally croaks and Cassian collapses in relief on the runner board. “But, Cassian.. what does that have to do—“ He shakes his head, waves a stalling hand so he can cough and sputter between his knees again. Jyn’s very bones are tingling with heightened awareness. She’s never quite seen him this scared, this… dire. Cassian Andor is a constant, a non-variable. Steady, reliable, a force of nature that couldn’t be stopped or diverted. But here he is, her Cassian, cut off at the knees and spilling his guts into the blowing sands of a foreign planet. Looking at her as if she might disappear at any moment. As if he might. If she’s being honest, it’s fucking terrifying. She kneels next to him again. “Cassian… what’s going on?”

#frost has mail #astromechs #muahahahahaha #wip game #rebelcaptain #my writing

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spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

SOG Blurb: On my Love Life?

summary: the team notices a difference in hotch after his weekend with you.

pairing: aaron hotchner, the BAU team, mentions of fem!reader

warnings: betting?

an: wasn’t planning on posting these little blurbs but thank you to @kryptonitejelly for the encouragement a while back <3

word count: 498

state of grace masterlist | cm masterlist | requests are open

Aaron’s on the plane to some small town in South Dakota, trying to look over some reports but he can only think about you. Rossi has noticed him glance out the window a total of 6 times over the last hour and plops down in the seat across from him, pushing a cup of coffee across the table.

“You seem…distracted,” He comments, voice monotone.

“I’m not,” Aaron replies quickly, taking a sip of the coffee and muttering a thanks.

“You’ve seemed distracted since we came back from vacation.”

“Have I? I didn’t notice,” Aaron keeps his expression neutral, taking short drinks of coffee as he looks back down at the file.

“Anything new to report?”

“Dave.”

“You only say ‘Dave’ when you’re avoiding,” Rossi says knowingly.

With a reluctant sign, Aaron looks up at him, “I may have…reconnected with someone.”

“The girl from the library?”

“The girl from the library.”

“She took you back,” Rossi says with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.

“We weren’t…we never were together then, I was with Haley. The reason we stopped talking,” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “We don’t need to get into it.”

Rossi nods, not pushing for information knowing Aaron will share when he’s ready, “Does she love you too?”

“By some miracle.”

“You deserve to be happy Aaron. I’m glad that you two made it back to each other.”

“Yes, I am too. Thank you, Dave.”

“I told you he got some. Pay up,” Morgan says from behind them, sticking his hand out at Spencer.

“It was completely reasonable for me to deduce that his mood had improved because he was over the first stage of grieving his marriage. According to research,” Spencer’s ready to spew a perfectly sound statistic but is interrupted.

JJ puts her hand up to stop him, “Spence, just open your wallet.”

Aaron frowns, turns around to look at his team who all have sheepish looks on their faces, “You all we’re betting…on my love life?”

“And we’re happy for you sir,” Penelope’s smile is infectious, and though he’s a little annoyed he can’t help but smile back.

“I, for one, am a little unhappy because I’m out of 50 bucks,” Emily had sided with Spencer, putting faith in his knowledge.

Aaron rolls his eyes at all of them before looking over at Blake, “Blake?”

She grins but puts her hands up in surrender, “Oh, I stayed out of it. It’s none of my business.”

“Thank you.”

“But I am happy for you, Hotch.”

Aaron gives her a warm smile and nod, before turning back to the rest of the team. “The rest of you need to take a page out of Blake’s book. Evidence, read, now.”

There’s a series of grumbles and complaints, exchanges of money, and then they’re all neck deep in figuring out victimology and m.o. Aaron’s still distracted, thinking about how you’ll react to hearing about his team placing bets on your existence. He can’t wait.

if you’d like to be on my hotch taglist let me know!

nsfw tagged: @ssahotchsbitch, @azenpal, @chelseyjoyce, @dadbodhotch11, @ssamorganhotchner, @kuolonsyoja, @heliotropehotch, @averyhotchner, @zetasaturno99, @art-and-thoughts, @akira-155, @laurensprentiss, @ssa-montgomery, @thinking-bucky, @silvermercy, @fightingdragonswithreid, @ashhotchner, @moonshine-evelyn, @emlynblack, @ssahotchnerxx, @sunshinemunchkin, @angelfxllcm, @wheelsupkels, @jaspxr, @sadgirlml, @gspenc, @hotchs-bitch, @hotched, @crowfootwrites, @reidselle, @strange-mischief, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @scargarcia-magshotchner, @honeybrowne, @aaronhotchy, @rousethemouse, @my-rosegold-soul, @mayasreadingnook

#fem!reader x aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem! reader #aaron hotchner/reader #reader x aaron hotchner #fem!reader x hotch #hotch x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #state of grace series

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probably-a-plant-thing · 2 years

Text

Explaining that Tasty OC Info

So I got this ask a while ago, and while I'd like to post one massive comic series to explain them, I kinda can't lmao.

BUT I CAN RANT IN A BLOG POST.

SO LETS GET THE BALL ROLLIN.

So the story with Ivanushka (who this ask is referring to, I believe) doesn't really have a name yet just because I'm bad with that kinda shit.

What I'm gonna do is slap a height chart here:

Then explain each character left -> right

Ivanushka 29: [Peach] Ivan starts the story as an immigrant from Russia, living in San Francisco with his boyfriend Vladislav. He works as a bridge tollbooth operator on the Golden Gate Bridge. So one night on the bridge, it's near the end of Ivan's shift and he gets into an argument with a guy about being short ten cents and gets shot in the argument (because America)

Then when he wakes up in the hospital perfectly fine, naturally he's confused as hell but turns out he got an emergency blood donation from his lovely boyfriend who just "happens" to have his exact rare blood type. But WHOA HEY Vlad has been a shapeshifter this whole ass time? Holy shit-?

Anyway so long story short, Vlad's shapeshifter blood in Vlad caused him to turn into a human/shapeshifter hybrid I call a "Form Morph" and he can only change his head because that's where he was shot, blah blah. Now he's in debt with the hospital and Vlad knows just who to talk to.

Vladislav 30: [Blue] Vladislav immigrated to the states with Ivan and he's basically the biggest dumbass with the biggest confidence and the least impulse control. In order to immigrate cheaply, he made a deal with a gang in San Fran to smuggle them into the city and make them papers for the low low price of doing whatever the gang leader wants. Pretty easy, huh?

So when Ivan is shot and Vlad takes him to the hospital, he's basically now trying to help Ivan understand his new shifty powers and also confine his boss it's a great idea to let the emotionally unstable wreak into the crime circle.

Cowboy 35: [Green] Cowboy is more a nickname he forces everyone to call him, but basically, this is the southern son-of-a-bitch that shot Ivan over ten cents. He's a gun-loving, all-proud Texan that ran over to Cali because his family was busted for illegal moonshine.

He has more relevance to the story, but I don't wanna spoil everything for these guys.

Fox 25: [Orange] Fox is yet another nickname, he's a mutant like Vlad and 1/3 Ivan except instead of a shapeshifter, he can use mind control! He's been a thief for the majority of his life on the streets, so he started collecting gang members to make his little adventures more exciting.

Though through years of living in his own mind and the minds of others, he's gotten pretty arrogant and gets easily pissed when things don't go his way. He's a big man-child except with the ability to make you do whatever he wants. Normally he's "nice" but he does get his scary moments.

Styles 35: [Purple] Styles is the oldest/first member of Fox's gang and is basically the guy's right-hand man. He doesn't have any powers other than the power of alcoholism and common sense. He used to work at a rodeo derby until he met Fox

Frank 20: [Red] Franky is the youngest official member and he's basically the gang handyman. Again, he's just your average guy (I realize I forgot to color it, but Franky is supposed to be Latino-Japanese)

But yeah that's the main info I can give about these dorks right off the top of my head, but please! If you bothered to make it this far then thank you a lot! I love talking about my OCs. Never be afraid to ask for further info on these guys! I have even more lil guys I could talk about in different universes/stories.

I plan on making little comics to go into these guy's dynamics more, but like. Motivation n shit, ya know

#original character #long post #masterpost #oc masterpost #oc #oc artist

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tetsuuji · 3 years

Note

Hello congrats on getting 1k followers!! 🎊may i also request for nsfw albedo 12 ? 🙏💕

Pairing: Albedo x fem!Reader

Prompt: “Is there a reason you are naked in my bed?” 1k Followers Event Post

Style: Scenario; Smut

Word Count: 549

Warnings: Masturbation, fingering

Notes: To be honest, Albedo was actually more fun to write than Diluc. I like it a lot, hopefully you do too! NSFW under the cut! If you are a minor, please do not interact with this post!

Muffled moans coming from Albedo’s bedroom drawn his attention from writing down the notes for his next research. At first, he thought his neighbors might have a night for themselves, but he decided to ignore distracting noises and continue with his work. But as the sound got closer, he knew he was not alone in his house. Curious about what he might find, he left his office carrying the notebook with himself and stepped into his dark room.

Lighted with only moonshine breaking through the curtains, his eyes locked onto Name’s glowing skin, sweat covering every part of her body. Drool that escaped her mouth made a wet trace down the puffy red cheek and heavy pants caused her chest to bounce up and down in fast motion. Albedo leaned his head to a side when he noticed Name’s fingers buried inside her soaked folds, thrusting inside in very sloppy movements.

Her body trembled from the friction she was getting, another climax approaching its highest.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was groggy from the lack of sleep, but it made Name suddenly stop everything she was doing due to the shock of being discovered. Earlier that night, she crashed inside Albedo’s room, forgetting to let him know she was there. But once she woke up, a burst of desire to touch herself hit her, making her dense to anything else.

She has been enjoying her session for hours now, worshiping her own body the way it deserved to be treated. Much later did she think of her fingers being replaced by Albedo’s cock ramming her cunt.

“No, resume.” Before she could say anything else, Name subconsciously started fingering her walls briskly again. The words to justify her embarrassment for being caught faded away as she noticed ignited sparks in Albedo’s eyes. No way could he not be turned on by the sight in front of him. And part of him knew she was imagining him with her, but he wanted Name to chase another orgasm once more.

Or multiple times, depending on how long it would take him to execute his idea.

Albedo approached the bed and slid his finger across Name’s inner thigh, resulting in shivers rushing to her core. A lustful mewl left her throat as she arched to his touch, but he swiftly removed his hand from her and headed back to the center of the room, making sure to brush the swollen bud hidden away by Name’s hand before. The wanton act inspired him to sketch her alluring posture, all the while ignoring the growing stiffness inside his pants. Albedo could wait patiently.

He had the whole night on his hands.

“Please, A-albedo…” The moans became louder, yet he shook his head as he sat on the chair in front of the bed. Placing the notebook on his crossed legs, he started outlining Name’s figure across the cream paper. Multiple wet sounds echoed through the room, as her fingers found the right spot to chase her pleasure, making Albedo pause for a second.

“This is your penance for not including me,” he stayed calm, not even lifting his head as she desperately whined on his words. His voice was calm, too calm for the situation he was witnessing. “Now slow down your movements.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact albedo #genshin x reader #character x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin smut #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #albedo #genshin request #oli scribbles #spicy scribbles #1k followers event

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justanobsessedfangirl · 3 years

Text

The Sacrifice Part 1 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 2

Warning: Some mature language

Author’s Note: Thanks for waiting! I changed up the request a little (I think?) but there will probably be a part 2 so I can do the stuff outside the Glade. Hope you like it! Also, I know it seems like my requests aren’t open because I take forever to post, but I swear they are. :)

Word Count: 4.6k

The Box came up every month like clockwork. Half an hour before its arrival, a blaring alarm would sound. Gladers would trickle in from the Gardens, the Med-jack Hut, the Homestead, and gather around the hole. Those who had requested items would push their way to the front. Others lingered around the edges, hoping for a glimpse of the new Greenie.

“Maybe it’ll be another girl,” they’d whisper.

“Maybe it’ll be another shank,” their friends would whisper back, and the boys would shove each other and laugh and make jokes until the Box slotted into place and the roof slid away, revealing the Glade’s next victim.

You were an unnatural fit to the routine. You’d disrupted it right from the beginning, with your arrival as the first female Glader. Now, months later, you still hadn’t formed many strong bonds. It was hard when you were rarely in the Glade during the day, spending most of your hours mapping the Maze. No one was directly cruel when you had a day off, but it was clear that this was a brotherhood, and you did not meet the requirements. You were an “other.” You were a girl. You were something to be looked at and talked about but you weren’t necessarily someone.

You didn’t feel like an outsider when you ran with Minho. He treated you like a person. Like a friend. So did Newt, although your time with him was limited to bonfires, where you drank Gally’s moonshine and talked.

Just the memories of those nights made you feel warm, even as you stood apart from the boys around the Box and prayed for another girl to appear. You stood on your tiptoes and tried to peer over the crowd. Through gaps and over heads, you caught a glimpse of a boy in the Box. He was younger than you, probably younger than most of the people in the Glade, with curly brown hair, round pink cheeks, and wide, fear-filled eyes.

Alby jumped down into the Box. Laughter rose from the crowd as the young Greenie backpedaled so wildly that he tripped over his feet and slammed onto his butt. Next to you, a group of Gladers jeered. You frowned at them, watching their smiles slip into sneers. They looked away from you. Inside the Box, the Greenie cried, “Please don’t hurt me!” His already high, youthful voice was pitched even higher with terror.

You felt a stab in your chest. He sounded so young, so alone, so scared. Taking a step forward, you came to the edge of a thick knot of Gladers. They catcalled and hollered and cackled, slapping each other on the backs. One noticed you and quickly jerked away like you were contagious.

Cheeks burning, you stepped back again. You gave the crowd one last look, heard the Greenie blubber one last time, and headed for the Homestead, where there was no one to make you feel unwelcome or weak for feeling sympathy for the new Greenie.

Besides, you thought bitterly, they might make fun of him now, but he’ll still be one of them.

A few Gladers saw you go; most were focused on the Greenie, who Alby was trying to coax to his side of the Box, where someone had dropped a length of rope.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Alby said. Impatience wore thin on his voice. “Just come over here.”

The Greenie stayed curled in a ball in the middle of the Box.

Alby shook his head. Turning to the pair of boys above him, he lowered his voice and said, “Do you think Y/N could try to get him out?”

The Gladers looked at each other.

“Isn’t she running today?” one asked.

“I haven’t seen her all day,” the other added.

Alby frowned. “Fine,” he sighed, “we’ll do it the hard way.”

At that, the two Gladers joined Alby in the Box. The Greenie’s eyes bulged as they approached. He tried to scoot back. In seconds, the pair was on him, lifting him as easily as if he weighed nothing. They toted him to the rope.

The Greenie gasped. “Wait! Wait! I dropped it!”

Alby waved the boys on before they could stop. “I’ll get it.” While the Gladers hoisted the Greenie out, Alby walked to the center of the Box. Laying on the metal floor was a card of paper, pristinely white save for the 10 grimy fingerprints of the crying Greenie. Alby knelt, picked it up, flipped it over, and froze.

It seemed like an eternity before he stood again. Around him, the Gladers still talked and laughed. Around him, the Gladers still thought they were following their routine.

Holding the note in his hand, Alby commanded, “Gathering in the Homestead. Now.” After a beat of silence, he added, “If Y/N’s here, bring her.”

The Glade burst into a flurry of activity. Boys scrambled, yelling the news. Their Keepers chastised them and handed out work orders like candy. Feeling brave and uninhibited and a little frenzied, Gladers complained and groaned and manhandled each other and ran. The new Greenie was handed off to a Builder, then a Slicer, then rescued by a Gardener. A pack of Gladers took off for the Homestead.

You’d barely made it inside before your moment of alone time was shattered. The boys whooped and hollered and shouted as they sprinted toward you.

“Gathering!”

“You have to go!”

“Alby called for a Gathering!

Their voices came at you like bullets, one after another after another. Your questions fell on deaf ears. “Why a Gathering? Now? Did you say I have to go?”

They kept talking to each other, ignoring you even as they pushed you farther inside, pushed you toward the meeting room, pushed you like you couldn’t even walk by yourself. You shoved away from them and entered the room on your own two shaky feet. Only a few of the Gladers followed, taking their seats as Keepers.

With a sick sludge of anxiety swirling in your stomach, you looked around the room. You’d never been to a Gathering before, although you’d listened to Minho complain about how boring they were many times. The room was small, the only furniture a crudely made table surrounded by twelve seats, one for each Keeper plus Alby and Newt. There was no seat for you. You were not supposed to be here.

“Clint, what’s going on?”

The Keeper of the Med-jacks looked up at the sound of your voice. He’d been staring at the tabletop, tracing his finger along the wood grain. His hands were thin, his fingers long, and they held a delicate strength, accustomed to wrapping wounds and sewing stitches. “Alby called a Gathering,” Clint said.

“Yeah, I figured that part out. Why? And why am I here?” You tried to keep your emotions under control. Clint didn’t need to know you were a little annoyed, a little angry, a little worried. Clint and the growing mob of Keepers filing into the room didn’t need to know you were scared.

Clint looked to the head of the table. Two empty chairs sat waiting. “Alby didn’t explain much. I think it was something to do with the Greenie.”

“The Greenie?” you asked, just as someone gave you a harsh nudge to the side. You whipped around and found yourself staring up at Gally.

“Don’t block the doorway,” he snapped. Before you could reply, Gally was walking past you, settling into the seat closest to the head of the table.

Most of the chairs were filled now. Some Keepers looked at you, others talked with their neighbors, and a few, like Clint, seemed like they’d rather be anywhere else but here. You lingered by the door. After a couple of minutes, Alby and Newt entered together.

You knew something was wrong immediately. Alby’s face, stoic at the best of times, was downright grim, like he’d just witnessed a terrible crime against humanity. Newt wouldn’t even lift his eyes to yours. His skin had taken on a pallor, pale white tinged with sickly green.

“Alby-”

Alby interrupted you. “Where’s Minho?”

You weren’t sure if he was asking you or the Keepers, but you answered anyway. “He’s running. What’s going-”

Cursing under his breath, Alby strode to the head of the table. “Someone got the schedules mixed up,” he fumed. “They thought you were running today. Minho is supposed to be here.”

“Maybe we should wait-”

“This can’t wait, Newt. You know that.” Alby shot Newt’s suggestion down before it even had time to breathe. “Y/N, take Minho’s seat. And someone shut the door.”

You didn’t like the way Alby was barking out orders or the way Newt had slumped into his seat like an admonished puppy. The whole world was off-kilter, just slightly, but enough that you felt nauseous and hyper-aware. Clint was still picking at the table. Winston was sitting next to Gally, who was staring daggers at you, and Zart, who had his arms crossed and was sitting straight in his chair, looked disgusted at something Doug, the Keeper of the Sloppers, had just said. Frypan was the one to get up and close the door, giving you a reassuring smile as he walked. You slowly made your way around the table to the only empty chair. It was across from Gally, right next to the side that Alby and Newt sat behind.

Newt flinched away from you as you sat. Alby eyed you, waiting, waiting, waiting, and, finally, with the door closed and you perched on Minho’s chair, ready to bolt, he said, “We’re holding a Gathering because of this.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “The new Greenie was holding it.”

Down the table, Winston smirked. “Is that why he was crying? Poor thing can’t read?”

You frowned. One of the Keepers, Billy, chuckled lightly.

Alby ignored them and continued, “It’s a note from the Creators.” A few murmurs arose; Alby didn’t speak until it was silent again. “It says,” he cleared his throat and, next to him, Newt looked as if he might puke. “It says, ‘The Glade is failing. Show you can follow instructions and you will be released.’” Alby paused.

Unlike before, the Keepers stayed quiet. You were on the edge of your seat, listening with bated breath, like all of the others. Maybe the instructions involved finding something in the Maze? You knew you could help with that, and maybe Alby knew it too, and that’s why he’d made you attend the Gathering. You could nearly taste the freedom on your lips. Under the table, your legs shook with excitement, energy, adrenaline -- everything that made you feel alive. What would life be like outside the Glade?

“Tell them the instructions, Alby,” Newt whispered, voice strained.

Your hopeful heartbeat faltered.

Alby’s eyes flicked up from the paper, met yours, and shot back down.

Something like dread filled your chest.

“‘Show you can follow instructions and you will be released,’” Alby repeated. He drew a deep breath before continuing. “Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Tonight.’”

One second passed. Inside that second, there was an eternity, an infinity, a lifetime. Your lifetime. Every limb of your body became paralyzed. You felt liquid. You felt insubstantial and invisible, only you were the farthest thing from invisible, because every single person in the room, all ten Keepers and Alby and Newt, even Newt, who wouldn’t meet your eyes before because he’d already condemned you to death, was staring.

And then the room roared.

“They’re lying!”

“That’s insane!”

“They can’t ask us to do that!”

“We can’t trust them!”

“I’m not doing that!”

“What if it’s true?”

The last voice, soft, barely audible, silenced everyone.

You stared at Gally, jaw dropped. “What?” You could barely speak above a whisper. Your vocal cords were constricting, choking you. Every breath felt like your last.

Gally’s gaze stayed on the letter in Alby’s hands. His eyes were glazed and his whole demeanor, normally stubborn and stand-offish, had shifted into quiet contemplation. “What if it’s true?” he murmured. “What if this is our way out? What if this is what we’ve been waiting for?”

The other Keepers began to speak. Instead of ardent protestations, you heard questions. So many questions and no definitive answers, except for Gally’s. The room spun around you, swirling, swirling, swirling. Your skin was flushed and cold and sweating and freezing all at the same time.

“He might be right,” you heard.

In an instant, you shot to your feet. The chair that Minho should have been sitting in clattered to the floor, silencing the Keepers. “Guys, this-this is insane,” you pleaded. Every face was a blur, a smear, no distinguishable people anywhere. You didn’t know a single boy in this room. “The Creators have never asked us to do something like this. They locked us in here! They-they...they put monsters in the Maze to kill us!”

“Maybe not to kill us.” Billy, the Keeper of the Baggers, was a boy of few words. He never seemed to have much to say, maybe because he’d gotten used to such solitary work. Most of the time, the only Gladers he was around were dead. “Maybe the monsters are there to kill you.”

Panicked tears burned in the corners of your eyes. Gally was nodding. So was Winston. Too many of them were nodding or looking down, pretending they didn’t have a say, hope gleaming in their eyes and betraying their thoughts.

You turned to your leaders. “Alby, this can’t--we can’t--”

“We’re going to vote on it.”

You switched tactics. “Newt. Newt, please, please look at me. This is crazy. We can get out without doing this, we can--I’ll run more and we’ll...we’ll figure something out, just, please, don’t--please just look at me.”

Newt slowly lifted his head. In the background, the Keepers talked, rising from their seats, growing more animated, more determined. Unshed tears glimmered in Newt’s eyes. “Y/N,” he said, and in your name you heard an apology. “This could be our only chance.”

“It can’t be.” You moved forward, desperate. “It can’t be our only chance, we’ll figure something out, I know we can, we just need to--” You were babbling and stepping closer and your hands reached out to grab his arms, to shake him, to knock some sense into all of them, and then Alby’s low, commanding voice rang out, ordering everyone to sit, and you were left standing, crying, terrified, and so, so, so alone.

“If anyone wants to see the note, there.” Alby dropped it onto the table. Across from you, Gally picked it up, scanned it, and passed it to the boy next to him, Winston. From Winston to Billy to Clint to Frypan to Ozzy to Doug to Zart to Leon. To you. With trembling hands, you held the note, saw the words, tried to read them and make sense of them, only nothing made sense at all.

Sacrifice Y/N to the Maze. Sacrifice Y/N. Sacrifice sacrifice sacrifice.

The more you repeated it in your head, the less real it sounded. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening.

“We have to make a decision,” Alby said.

Lungs squeezing painfully, you tried to speak. No words came out.

“I think it’s obvious,” Gally said. “Everything changed as soon as she got here. Now the Creators want us to do something, so we should do it.” He sounded more certain the more he spoke, his voice and words building to a persuasive, powerful crescendo.

“We could get out,” Winston added eagerly.

Clint pushed back his chair and slowly rose to his feet. He looked uncomfortable being the center of attention. One of his hands stayed on the table, scrambling for support. “I think it’s important,” he said, “that we think this through and give it the weight it deserves. This is someone’s life we’re talking about.”

It’s my life, you wanted to scream. I’ve tried to be a part of your group! I’m a Glader!

Clint continued. “But we also have to think about everyone else, too. I’m sorry, Y/N, I really am. But your sacrifice could mean that everyone else here can live.” Clint sunk back into his seat. “My vote is to obey the Creators.”

“Clint--” You were drowned out by Gally and Winston and Billy agreeing, formally voting to kill you. Gally nodded down at Ozzy, the Keeper of the Bricknicks, and then Ozzy said, “I vote to obey the Creators too.”

Leon agreed next. Leon, the Keeper of the Maps, who you’d spoken to nearly every day since becoming a Runner. Leon, who you’d sometimes traded jokes with and complimented for his drawing skills. Leon, who, after voting, said, “I’ve spent all of my time in the Glade trying to get out,” like it was an explanation you wanted to hear. Like it would mean it was okay for them to throw your life away. He wouldn’t look at you, still standing, half-slumped against the table as your legs wobbled with each vote that damned you to being ripped apart by Grievers.

“Guys, please,” you said, or you thought you said, but maybe they didn’t hear because now Frypan was standing up.

“I haven’t seen a Griever up close, I don’t know what it’s like in the Maze, and I don’t know what it’s like to patch up people who have done all of that. I know that Y/N’s a Glader. That’s all I need. I vote no.” Frypan nodded at you and sat back down, his normally easy-going face creased in deep thought.

One voice. One against six. But one was all you needed; one gave you a shot of strength, enough for you to straighten up, to open your mouth, to instead hear Doug say, “I haven’t done any of that either but I know that I don’t want to spend another goddamn minute in this Glade. I vote yes.”

The room spun. You looked down at your hands, found them in your lap, realized you were sitting but couldn’t remember ever doing so. Everything was slipping through your fingers so fast, too fast, impossibly fast.

Seven.

“My vote doesn’t matter much now,” Zart began, his words ponderous and slow. “But I vote no.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, as if daring anyone to question him.

Gally turned his attention to Alby and Newt instead. “So we’re doing it?”

Alby frowned. Newt buried his face in his hands. You thought you might pass out.

“Seven is a majority. It doesn’t matter our votes,” Alby said. “Or Minho’s.”

“Or mine.” The table turned to you. “I don’t get a say in any of this? It’s my life.” You knew your voice was too high-pitched, too warbled, too girlish to be taken seriously. You swallowed and it came out even more panicked. “You can’t just kill me with a one-vote difference, you can’t just--”

“It wouldn’t be a one-vote difference. I vote to obey the Creators.” Alby stared unwaveringly at you. “Newt agreed before the Gathering. That makes it nine to four, assuming Minho would vote not to obey.”

“Why?” It came out strangled and mangled and desperate.

“For the Glade,” Alby responded.

Newt suddenly looked up, shaking his head. “No, no, I take my vote back. I vote no. We can’t do this, Alby.”

“Eight to five. The majority says to obey. It happens tonight.”

“Alby--” “Alby, please,” You and Newt protested together, but Alby’s voice boomed over both of yours. “Gathering over. Gally, Winston, take Y/N to the Pit until tonight.”

Newt stood up too fast and stumbled, nearly crashing into the table. “We can’t put her in the Pit!”

The sound of arguing and chairs being pushed back washed over you, filling your ears with white noise. Chills raced up and down your spine, sending a clamminess to your hands and feet. You were going to die. You were going to be torn apart by Grievers, the very monsters you’d spent so much time running away from. It was almost ironic, really, and you almost laughed until you realized it was a sob, until you realized there were tears streaming down your face and there were two sets of hands grabbing you by the arms and hoisting you up and leading you out of the room and down the hall, practically dragging you for all of the good your feet did. And then you were in the doorway of a dark, windowless room, and Newt was standing in front of you. He enveloped you in a hug, spewing apologies about the vote and the room and your fate. All too soon, he pulled away. You saw his brown eyes and tear-streaked face. You saw the door close. You saw darkness.

You sagged to the floor and cried.

Hours passed. The room had no windows for you to watch the sun move across the sky, silently counting down to the end of your life. You had tried a few times to shove the door open, but you only succeeded in bursting out between two strong Gladers. After the first time, they were ready for any attempt of yours to sprint past. Sometimes their voices would seep through the cracks in the wood. Apologies and excuses and pleas for you to please, just please, do this one thing for the Glade and help them all survive.

Part of you thought they were right. What if your sole purpose was to be a sacrifice? But then you thought of Minho and running and laughing and the few flickering memories you had from before the Glade, of an older couple smiling at you or the warm feeling of being loved, and you remembered how it felt to be alive. And you knew that it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, for anyone but you to get to decide your death.

Your time alone helped you think. It helped you settle yourself, calm your mind, and dry your tears. But as soon as the door opened and you saw the sunlight fading from the hallway, all of your carefully planned entreaties faded from your lips. Your throat went dry with impending doom.

“It’s time. Alby’s waiting by the Maze,” one of the Gladers said. You didn’t even know who he was. Why hadn’t you gotten closer to him? To all of them? Maybe if you hadn’t been so solitary, maybe you could have...or they could have...or maybe...

“What’s your name?” you heard yourself ask as the guards flanked you down the hall.

He gave you a look of confusion. “Rob.”

“Rob,” you repeated. Rob led the way outside. You glanced over your shoulder at the other Glader. “What about you?”

“I’m David,” the one behind you answered. He hastened to walk beside you. David had stubby legs, two of his steps matching one of yours. You picked up your pace. Rob matched it easily; David lagged.

Over the Glade, the sun was nearly below the horizon. Gladers milled about but kept their distance from you, trying not to stare at the doomed prisoner. It was like you were already dead. And no one cared.

The wall loomed high above you, growing as your entourage got closer and closer. Huddled near one of the entrances was a group of Gladers. When you neared a hundred feet away from them, you slowed. David followed suit immediately. Rob’s lengthy strides shortened.

“David, Rob,” you addressed them by name, not looking at either even as they faced you. “Thanks for walking with me.” Then you bolted for the Maze.

David had no chance of catching up to you, Rob was just stunned enough to give you the head start you needed, and the group of Gladers only shouted as you closed the distance to the door.

My choice, the pounding of your feet seemed to shout. My choice. My life. You may have been minutes away from death, but you had never felt so alive. Adrenaline flooded your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. All of the cold fear had been replaced by the warmth of energy. One last choice, you thought. The open door called to you. 20 feet. 5 feet. You’d just crossed the entrance when one voice made itself known above the crowd.

“Y/N!”

Every muscle tensed, you spun around to see Minho sprinting after you, the group of Gladers following, none as fast as your partner. He crashed into you with the tightest hug of your life. Your body reacted before your mind knew how; you hugged him back.

“I couldn’t let you go without seeing you,” Minho blurted, his lips an inch from your ear. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t…” he trailed off. Loosening his hold, he pulled back enough to see your face. He stared at you like he wanted to memorize you. “I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am, Y/N, I can’t let you do this yourself. With two of us we could--”

“Die. We’d both die.” You pulled him close again, burying your head back in the crook of his neck, hating the fear in his eyes. You’d wanted your last memory of him to be a smile, not this.

He spoke more softly now. “If we had supplies, I bet we could do it. I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons. We could find the way out. You don’t have to die. You can’t die.”

You wanted him to stop talking, because you couldn’t extinguish the little flame of hope blooming in your chest if he kept feeding it. “Minho-”

Minho cut you off. “You can do this, Y/N. You’re fast, faster than me, and a hell of a lot smarter than all of these shanks combined. Survive the night. Survive the night and I can bring you supplies tomorrow.” His voice had an edge to it, a fierce desperation you’d never heard from Minho. Inside his encouragement, he was pleading with you. “Fuck, Y/N, please survive the night. Meet me at the intersection past the west door when the sun rises. I fell there the first time we ran together, remember? I said it was because you ran funny and it made me lose concentration but it was actually because you looked so beautiful in the sunrise that I couldn’t think.” He took a deep breath. Your heart beat too quickly, running on hope and support and maybe a little bit of love. When Minho spoke again, his voice was solemn, “I’ll find you, I swear to God. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.”

“I’ll survive.” You were lying. “I’ll try.” Was that another lie? Everything was moving too quickly.

Alby’s voice stopped you from thinking any further. “It’s time,” he intoned.

From your place in Minho’s arms, you saw that the group of Gladers, composed mostly of Keepers, had surrounded you in a semicircle. The way forward was blocked; your only way out was the Maze.

You and Minho separated slowly. Behind you, the Maze rumbled. Still, Minho held your hand in his, looking physically pained. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, hoping, desperate, pleading.

You nodded.

Minho shook his head. “Please say it back, Y/N. Please.”

You glanced at the door starting to close, then at Alby, who stared hard-eyed at you and motioned for the Gladers to press in. You couldn’t find Newt in the crowd. Minho’s hand was heavy and warm in yours. Comforting.

With your last moments in the Glade, you darted close to Minho, pressed your lips to his cheek, and then slipped away from him, entering the Maze. The door thudded closed behind you. The sun had set. You were alone.

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dutchvanwinkle · 2 years

Text

Have You Ever Sinned, Father? - Dutch x Reader

I didn't mean to get so carried away with plot, I just wanted to fuck Dutch in a church. But here we are. Inspired by this post from @simmehs of Priest Dutch.

First time putting any of my writing on tumblr, here's the ao3 link if you prefer.

Word count: 5,979

Content warnings: Smut, mention of past assault and blood

Summary: You seek counsel from a priest in Saint Denis.

“You’re desperate for a purpose. You want something you can serve.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to become a vessel for God?” you huff, amused at the lengths he’ll apparently consider to increase the number of churchgoers in his parish.

He shakes his head once and steps towards you again until the warmth of his chest is pressing into you. His fingers cup your chin and he holds your head to meet his gaze.

“Not for God,” he whispers against your lips and brushes his over them.

The man had you cornered, baring his teeth and sneering so close to your face you could smell the stench of moonshine even when you held your breath. You tried to duck out from under his arms, planted either side of you and it only stoked the sick fire within him while simultaneously sharpening the spikes of fear protruding from underneath your skin.

---

It hadn’t been your fault.

“There’s no point trying to run.”

Panting, you splash your face with freezing water from the outdoor bucket in an attempt to stun the memory out of you. It works until you re-open your eyes and jolt at the hand reaching out to you.

“Relax, it’s only me.” The familiar face of your friend steadies your stuttering breaths, bringing you back to the cornfield where you spend your working days.

The pay isn't fantastic, but the repetitive movements of pulling up the crops are monotonous enough to alleviate the whirlpool of thoughts occupying your head for most of the day. The fresh air is good for you too, you suppose.

“Sorry, I just... needed a minute.” You provide a nod to reassure them that you’re okay and they can go back to their work, turning your torso away to do the same.

“It’s that guy again, isn’t it?”

You nod hesitantly, blinking away the light that’s now too bright for your eyes.

Their hand rests on your shoulder, a comforting pressure that doesn’t relieve the existing weight that already resides there. “It’s over, whatever happened – it's over. He won’t do that to you again.”

That’s right, he won’t. Because you killed him.

♱

Saint Denis is known for its deep, dark corners where hidden secrets lurk. Including yours.

The early morning walk you’d elected to take hadn’t done any favours. Why would you go for a walk in the city where your nightmares live? You can’t run forever; it hasn’t worked so far and maybe you need to face it head-on.

It’s hardly like he was a man anyone cared about, which wasn’t surprising considering his affliction for abusing women. Good riddance, you thought; a sentiment you still stand by. He deserves what he got but you wish you hadn’t been the one to bring that justice. Taking a life is something you never thought you’d do, something you shouldn’t have been able to do. That’s what made it so scary, just how easy it was.

You just wished that the image of his blood on your hands could be washed away in your mind as easily as it had done in real life, when you plunged your hands into the nearest body of water and scrubbed until your skin began to blister.

It didn’t matter in your mind that it was self-defense, it was him or you. You’d be a fool not to choose yourself.

The sound of rushing water from the fountain in town calms you somewhat, enticing you to take the load off your feet and allow yourself some rest. Rest, incidentally, is all you want.

Maybe you’d feel this way forever. Maybe all your dreams would be haunted for the rest of your days. Maybe.

A deep breath in, not helping one bit thanks to the muggy air of the city, you tip your head back slightly and close your eyes to allow the sunlight to kiss your lids. Upon opening them, the cross atop the church steeple is centred in your gaze. Knitting your brow slightly, you look down at the small crowd of people making their way into the building.

The usual Sunday service. Not something you had attended in the city before.

As your legs carry you towards the entrance, you aren’t sure what you hope to find inside. Clarity? Forgiveness? Penance?

The room is welcoming, warm with the buzz of small conversation between what you can only assume to be regular worshipers, and beautifully lit thanks to the large windows and generous sunshine. If anything, it’ll be something to busy your eyes with for a short while.

You sit near the back, small and alone. Hopefully telling enough to those around you that you aren’t there for conversation, just as a silent observer. Definitely not someone who had recently committed a major sin.

It isn't long before the room’s conversation dies down and its occupants minimise to rousing in their seats.

You lower your gaze slightly, wondering why on earth did you decide this was a good idea and is it too late to leave?

Instead of scouting out an escape route, your eyes wander to the small bible on the seat beside you. You don’t pick it up, just run your hand over the cover with a perturbed sigh. It’s hard to imagine this book will be able to cleanse you.

“Welcome all, to the service of the ‘The Church of the Holy Blessed Virgin’.” You look up at the source of the deep voice, from the priest standing behind the lectern. He isn’t at all what you expected, tall with dark hair pushed back and a thick moustache above his lip. It’s hard to tell truthfully due to his cassock, but his body looks broad from what you can see of his shoulders and chest.

“I am Father Dutch van der Linde,” he nods around the room, his baritone carrying beautifully around it. There’s an odd sagacity about the man that makes you very interested in what he has to say.

“Before we read our first passage, I would like to extend my thanks to our donors, without whom these services would not be possible. If you are able, we have a donation box towards the back; any contribution big or small is appreciated, as always.”

Shit. You didn’t have any money on you for a donation. Hopefully, nobody will mind.

The service passes pleasantly, him reading various passages and the congregation standing for a few hymns – sadly no communion since you could really do with some wine – which was all well and good but you don’t hear any whispers of forgiveness from the heavens just yet. Sooner than you expect, he’s at the end of his closing passage.

“May we become useful vessels that bring glory to your name. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

The light passing through the window hits his hand, revealing the glittering of gold rings.

“Amen,” you murmur, the priest bowing his head to the room.

When he raises it, he blinks his dark eyes up with it to meet yours instantly. He lingers there for a beat before turning away, walking from the podium and through the door to wherever, you aren’t quite sure.

The look on his face is difficult to read, but you fear some part of it is borne from uncertainty. Like he can sense the sinner in his midst.

You stand, hiding in the departing crowd until the outside air fills your lungs.

♱

Whether or not your soul had been somewhat cleansed by your attendance at the Sunday service, you found you had spent most of the week longing to return. Perhaps it was the tall, decorated walls, or the shelter of the curved roof, or the beautiful colours that bled through the stained-glass windows when the sun hit them at just the right angle. Or perhaps it was the priest.

No, it can't be the priest.

Whatever it was persuaded you to return the following week.

The service is more or less the same, the words spoken by the priest going in one ear and out the other despite how soothingly they roll off his tongue.

“The Lord lift up his face toward you, and give you peace. Amen.”

With the end of that closing prayer, he doesn’t look your way this time. He walks down as you suspected he normally would while his audience makes their way out of the church. You find yourself glued to your seat, if anything sinking further into it at not feeling any part of yourself turning pure. Not able to get the bloodstains out of your mind or heart.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your mind to just forget. If you weren’t forgiven you could live with it, but you would rather live in the dark than spend another day feeling the torment from your actions.

You remain there, hoping at any moment the weight will be lifted and you’ll be free. Free to go back to the mundane of everyday life that you hadn't expected to miss quite so much. For a while, you remain like this, an impending sense washing over you that if this doesn’t work, nothing will. It’ll be over and you’ll just have to learn to live with it.

The feeling remains.

You finally open your eyes, breath hitching at the sight of the man in front of you. Leant against the raised platform where he was speaking earlier, one foot over the other and arms crossed at his chest. A slight wrinkle between his brows as he studies you, his soft gaze boring into your startled one.

“Sorry,” your voice comes out as a whisper as you instantly stand to your feet. “I didn’t mean to linger.”

“Don’t apologise. The chapel doesn’t have opening hours; you are welcome to come and go as you please.”

You nod slightly, pressing your fingertip on the bench and averting your gaze to stare at the wood.

“I get the sense that right now, you do not want to go.” His comment is more of a statement than a question.

“Unfortunately, Father,” you clear your throat of the new word to come from it and look up, “I don’t think I know what I want.”

“Would you like to tell me what brings you to me?”

“I... I did something bad.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

You hesitate slightly, but shake your head in the negative.

“It’ll be difficult for me to help you if you don’t tell me what’s plaguing your thoughts, but I will do my best.”

“Thanks,” you swallow, only now realising that you’re quite nervous. “I’m not... I don’t come to church, usually.”

“I know.”

You tilt your head slightly in questioning and he shrugs.

“Not this one, at least.”

With an accepting nod, you turn your attention to the stained glass of the windows behind the raised platform. “It’s nice.”

“Would you like a closer look?” he’s no longer leaning, instead standing with his hands clasped.

“Sure,” you shrug, perhaps the beauty of art will provide some release.

He holds his hand out and beckons you once to come to him. The walk through the rows of chairs feels longer than you expected, with each step you’re unsure if the room is expanding or you’re growing smaller into yourself.

“You are safe here, my child.”

He must’ve noticed. Thankfully, the soothing tone of his words relaxes your shoulders along with a tension in your brow that you hadn’t yet registered. He gestures his head slightly in the direction he then walks in, you following until you’re up on the platform.

“Am I allowed up here?” you look back at the room, now looking much smaller from this point of view.

He chuckles softly. “You think I would lead you somewhere you weren’t allowed?”

You aren’t sure about that, you don’t know him even if he is a man of the cloth, but you shake your head anyway.

The two of you stand in front of the window. It’s beautiful, if a little harder to depict up close. It feels almost criminal to be in the presence of something so exquisite when you feel so dirty, as though you’re insulting the building just by being there. The warmth of the priest resonates to you and you find yourself choked up, trying to discretely swallow the feeling.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, and you can feel that he’s now looking at you. You turn your gaze to your hands, picking at your fingernails. “It’s okay,” he repeats.

You look at him. Really look at him. The man looks like he’s seen his fair share of sin himself. A dark aura to this priest that you hadn’t regarded before in the few others you’d come across. Unless... now that you had welcomed darkness into your life, taken the breath from the lungs of another, you could recognise it in those around you? Almost as though their sins radiated from them like the rays of the burning sun when it bounces off the windows? Could he see yours coming from you?

“Have you ever sinned, Father?” you hadn’t had time to think about the appropriateness of the question before blurting it out.

A smile creeps onto his lips, one that almost seems like it belongs to a different man from a past life. “I have.”

“But you’re a priest?”

“Correct. Our Lord is a forgiving one.”

“When was the last time you sinned?” you shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling surprisingly comfortable around the man.

“You know, when people look for guidance, they usually talk about themselves.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

You nod, pressing your lips together to stop another apology for apologising breaking past them. The choking feeling rises in your throat again and this time reaches your eyes, tears stinging that you desperately hope don’t start to fall down your face.

His hand is on your upper back then, reassuringly placed which only makes you feel like it’s reassurance you don’t deserve. You don’t deserve his time or his kindness. “Anything you say to me is confidential, you understand?”

It’s enough to convince you. You feel as though you’ll explode otherwise. “I killed a man.”

The silence that follows your monotone confession isn’t deafening, and his hand on your back doesn’t falter which makes you question if he’s even heard you. The weight on your shoulders doesn’t lighten, but it shifts slightly at the expression of your guilt.

“May I ask why?”

You bring your hands to your face and huff, as though smearing the blood on there now that he knows who you are. What you are. You bring your hands down and splay them in front of you, staring at the apparent murder weapons. If you tell him your motivation, perhaps he won’t think of you as such a monster.

“He... I didn’t know him, but he tried to... to...”

“You don’t need to say anything further.”

His tone calms you somewhat, but not enough to barricade against the tears which have now flown freely down your cheeks.

The hand on your back is removed, and he raises his other to take both your hands in his, turning you towards him and turning them over in turn so your palms face upwards. He runs his finger, which happens to be very calloused, from the centre of your wrist to the tip of your middle finger.

“These don’t look like murderer's hands to me.”

“You can’t see the blood,” you mumble.

He nods, almost empathetically. “Come with me.”

You follow where he goes, him dropping one of his hands and now holding one of yours with his other. His hold is soft, making it the easiest thing in the world to follow him wherever he’s leading you.

The destination is a mirror, leant against the side of the wall beside the platform. He positions you in front of it.

You look at yourself, the dishevelled look in your eye inescapable. And there he stands behind you, big hands now holding your upper arms with a gentle strength.

“Tell me what you see.”

You observe your reflection, not really seeing anything and once again your attention diverts to the man behind you. You shrug. “I just look lost.”

He blinks slowly, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. “That’s right,” you aren’t sure when he lowered his head, but his mouth is now beside your ear. “Let me guide you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at that. Somehow, you trust him. Religious or not, you trust him. You give him a nod.

“Good. I unfortunately have other matters that require my attention right now, but do you think you could come back three evenings from now? You can just give my door a knock when you arrive.” He flitters his eyes to the left at a door a little further down from where you’re stood. You give him another nod.

You watch him walk away in the mirror until he’s out of sight. When you turn round to the room, he’s nowhere to be seen.

♱

The church looks different at night. Even with permission you still feel like you shouldn’t be here.

There isn’t any light bleeding through the windows, nothing to illuminate the beautiful architecture and instead shrouding it in darkness where one can only attempt a guess of what lurks in the shadows. The altar is the only place harbouring any light, where a few candles flicker with that natural flow of air. Everything is still, eerily quiet except for your timid footsteps that walk down the aisle. Each one echoes in some corner of the building, which now feels far too big, despite your best efforts to tread lightly.

You avoid your reflection when you walk past the mirror.

Reverend Dutch van der Linde

You spend a moment looking at the plaque which appears to be well taken care of, recently polished despite the dust that settles on the other various surfaces in the room. There aren’t any noises coming from inside, hopefully, your arrival isn’t going to wake or disturb him. Your hand creeps up, knuckles just inches away from the wood. You knock.

There’s a pause, then a few muffled steps that grow louder as they approach. The door opens and the man behind it almost appears taller than when you last saw him.

“Evening, Father,” you make your best effort to sound casual.

“Hello, my child. Would you wait up there for me?” he points to the lectern.

“Sure,” you shrug and he closes the door.

It feels even more wrong to be up here without him, making the wait for him to join seem longer than it is. Thankfully, the door opens and he strides out with a bottle of something in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“You drink?” he says, placing them down on the lectern.

“You drink?”

He smirks. “Priests are allowed to drink, you know.”

You shrug, unsure why you thought they weren’t. There’s something bizarre about a priest drinking alcohol, but there’s something bizarre about this priest in general.

“What are we toasting?” you ask as he hands you a glass.

He holds his glass up, pondering it as he turns it in his hand. “Faith.”

“To faith, I guess.” You clink your glass against his and down the whisky, him doing the same. “Can I ask why we’re drinking?”

“You could do with loosening up a little.”

You shunt a laugh, averting your gaze to the surface of the lectern and running your finger along the wood.

“The Lord forgives you for it,” he says soothingly.

“He tell you that?” you continue to watch your finger trace the lines in the wood.

“Not explicitly. But I am his servant and I forgive you.”

“Well, I can still feel the weight,” you sigh, looking back to him.

“What weight is that?”

“The weight on my shoulders.”

“May I?” his hands reach out, hovering over your shoulders and you nod indifferently.

“Yes, you’re very tense.”

“That’s because you’re touching me.”

“You were tense before I started touching you.”

“Then why d’you have to touch me to check?”

A smile, one that seemed to have an underlying intrigue grew on his face. Slowly, his warm hands brush up to the base of your neck – not pressing down, just there. If he moved any muscle in his hand upwards, he wouldn’t be touching you at all. He runs his thumbs from the side of your chin and along your jaw, the calloused tips delightfully relaxing as he sighs slightly, taking in the view of your face.

“What’s your diagnosis?”

That smile again.

“You need to let go.”

The slight eye-roll you didn’t mean to display feels rude, but he doesn’t comment or react. “And how do I do that?”

His left shoulder shrugs slightly. “That’s for us to figure out.”

“Us?”

“Mhm. I’m here to help you. I told you I would.”

He tilts your head up towards him, taking a small step forward until his torso is inches from yours. “Faith, my dear. I need you to have faith.”

“How can I have faith when I’m not sure if I even... believe?” the look you give him is hesitant but apologetic. The last thing you want to do is offend the priest in his own church.

“We’re nothing without faith,” he finally removes his hands and clasps them in front of himself.

“Easy for you to say, you’re a priest.”

“I had faith before I was a priest,” he turns to fill the glasses again. “It doesn’t matter if your faith isn’t in God, but you have to have faith in something.”

“What should I have faith in then?”

He appears to ponder this for a moment. “Me, if nothing else.”

“Well,” you clear your throat, “right now, you’re my only hope so I don’t think I have much choice.”

“It is my duty to guide people.” The word duty sounds thick on his tongue as he turns your attention to the bible he’s placed down, flicking through it while you sip at your drink. He taps on the page. “Can you read something for me?”

You look at the page, at the passage he’s pointing at. “John 3:12. We should not be like Cain, who was of the evil one and murdered his brother. And why did he murder him? Because his own deeds were evil and his brother’s righteous.”

“Good girl. And that man you killed, were his deeds righteous?”

You shake your head. “That doesn’t stop mine from being evil.”

He hums. “Cain was a wanderer, his punishment to wander the earth and wait for someone to find and kill him.”

“What does that mean for me?”

“You wandered, and you found me. You sought me out. If God thought you deserved the same fate as Cain, you’d be dead already.” He finishes the last of his drink, positioning himself behind you and putting his hands on either side of the lectern. You’re blocked in by him, but no part of you feels trapped. Instead, you feel safe with his arms around you.

He flicks through the pages again, musing until he finds what he was looking for. He taps another passage. “Read to me.”

“Timothy 2:22. So flee youthful passions and pursue righteousness, faith, love, and peace, along with those who call on the Lord from a pure heart.”

“Your heart,” he moves his hand to place his fingertips to the centre of your chest. “Feels very pure to me.”

Maybe he’s right. Or maybe he’s just choosing verses that’ll make you feel better.

His breath is suddenly hot on your ear. “Do you have faith in me?”

You nod minimally.

His warmth envelops you, torso pressing into your back after he takes a small step forward. It’s then that you realise... he’s hard. You can feel him against the curve of your ass, large and demanding.

“Father?” you ask, voice quieter than you’d hoped.

“Hm?”

“Isn’t lust a sin?”

His chest vibrates with a small laugh. “Yes, my dear. Even the best of those amongst us sin sometimes.”

“Even if it’s against the rules?”

“That’s why we repent,” his hand moves down tentatively from your chest, stopping at your stomach and holding you to his frame. Your knees begin to feel a little weak at the embrace and you use your hands to steady you, placing them on the lectern in front.

You sigh slightly, remembering the issue at hand. “But what’s the point, father? Even if I feel better, what then? My life serves no purpose as it is.”

“How nihilistic of you,” he murmurs.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

You’re silenced involuntarily at the raise of his other hand. He slowly places it back down.

“You’d like me to give you purpose, is that it?” his fingertips draw circles on your midsection.

“I suppose,” you swallow.

He hums, and his moustache makes contact with the top of your ear. After the next circle, his fingers trail down your abdomen and stop when they’re in line with your hip bones.

“Perhaps,” he plants a light kiss on your ear and your breath hitches, “your purpose is to serve me.”

With that, his wandering hand travels further south and cups you, your hitched breath releasing at the delightful pressure from his strong hands.

“That’s it, let it go.”

You bite down on your tongue and tighten your grip on the surface in front as he starts to circle his fingers over you. “Father,” you breathe.

“I know,” he hums, bringing his fingers back up and sliding them under your waistband.

“What if someone -”

“Don’t worry about that,” he interrupts, “we’re only reading.”

You blink your eyes up to the still-empty room in front as he slides his fingers into your garments, making contact with the wetness that already resides there. He tuts. “You are quite the sinner, aren’t you?”

The only thing you can think to do is nod, his finger circling your clit once again and you lean back into him. You aren’t thinking about your crimes, the sinning you’re currently doing or the place you’re doing it in. Everything is hazy and the only thing you want to focus on is the fire of bliss that’s been lit in your lower abdomen.

His fingertip brushes over and you whimper as it travels down to your entrance, the cold of his ring pressing over your clit. You tilt your head to the side instinctively and his lips find your neck, sucking gently. “So good for me,” he murmurs against your skin, entering just the tip of his finger.

“Oh God,” you breathe, letting your eyes fall close.

“Using the Lord’s name in vain, that’s another sin,” his teeth latch onto your neck and he pushes his finger in to the knuckle, you whimper as his cool ring presses into your opening and his palm holds your mound. His own hips press into your ass, small thrusts that he’s clearly holding back on. If it’s possible, he’s even harder than he was before.

He curls his finger, almost reaching that spot when he pulls back out to add another and moves them in again with another curl. You moan from your chest and roll your hips subconsciously, chasing the pleasure that’s caused your skin to turn hot and moisten.

Then the fingers are gone. So is his warmth on your back and the erection that was pressing into you. Your eyes snap open to see nobody, the view of the church is enough to remind you of what you’re doing. Slowly you turn, the priest stood a few steps behind you with a few strands of his pushed-back hair now falling on his face while he tries to control the rise and fall of his chest.

You open your mouth to speak, apologise, say something when he interrupts.

“I don’t think the problem is with the act you committed.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

He juts his jaw out slightly, swallowing before his tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip. “You’re desperate for a purpose. You want something you can serve.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to become a vessel for God?” you huff, amused at the lengths he’ll apparently consider to increase the number of churchgoers in his parish.

He shakes his head once and steps towards you again until the warmth of his chest is pressing into you. His fingers cup your chin and he holds your head to meet his gaze.

“Not for God,” he whispers against your lips and brushes his over them.

Your eyes widen, understanding exactly what it is he’s referring to but not quite able to believe this is happening.

“But, you can’t -”

“Since I kept your secret,” he pretends not to have heard you, “will you keep mine?”

“What’s yours?”

His hands meet your hips and run up to your waist, gripping lightly at your flank. “That I’ve broken my oath.”

“You’ve broken your oath?”

“Well,” he plants a kiss on your shoulder, “not yet I haven’t.”

His head comes up to meet your gaze, eyes half-lidded and hungry with desire. He sighs slightly as he tilts his head, his breath skimming over your cheek.

“The way I see it,” he looks down at his hand which is running up and down your side, “you need a purpose. God surely won’t mind me providing you with one.”

With that, he looks back at your face to gauge your response. You chew your cheek; this is the only idea so far that’s made you tingle with excitement at the prospect of finally moving on.

And if you’ve already got a signed ticket to hell, you may as well have some fun on your way down.

Before you can take a moment to reconsider, your hands are on the sides of his face and you’ve pulled him forward to meet your lips with his. You kiss him greedily until he groans and wraps his arms around your waist, devouring you completely. He bites down on your bottom lip, demanding your mouth to open to allow his tongue to enter. Doing your best to keep up, you note how much better the whisky tastes when it comes from his tongue, accompanied by a hint of tobacco.

You moan into his mouth when he grips at your thigh, pulling it up until your leg is wrapped around his hip and he grinds into you, ridiculously hard and you know there’s no going back now.

“Father,” you moan as he kisses your neck, pushing your skirt up and you lean back on the lectern and rest your arms over his shoulders after he’s removed your undergarments.

“Damn thing,” he mutters, hitching up his own robe and pushing himself against you.

You didn’t have a chance to see it, but you can definitely feel it threatening your entrance as he twitches against you. He holds his cock with his hand, running along your slit as he mixes your wetness with his precum and all you want to do is squeal with how good it feels.

“You want a purpose?”

You nod eagerly, breath catching in your throat.

“Then serve me,” he asserts, stilling his motions at your entrance. “Think you can do that?”

“Yes, Father... please,” you whimper.

He grunts at that, pushing his cock in until you break his gaze and roll your eyes back into your head. You’re mouth-wateringly full, pulsating around him as his hand moves to hold your ass to keep you in place.

Some sound comes out of you, you doubt it’s a coherent word and more of a babble but whatever it is, it pleases him and his chest presses into you as he moves his hips back before pushing in again. His other hand moves past your shoulder so he can steady himself before he starts thrusting in and out.

“I knew you’d be worth it,” he mumbles, kissing you lazily and rolling his hips into you. “So fucking good... so warm and tight...”

You can only moan in response, hand moving to grip at his shoulder. You muse at his clerical collar, it feels like a crime to have such a beautifully thick neck covered like that. Bringing your head forward, you nip at the parts of his neck you can see. It spurs him on to fuck you deeper, bottoming out with each snap of his hips and accompanying grunts.

It’s then that you realise your cacophony of noises is echoing around the room, each slap of skin returning to your ears as the next one is generated. How can something so sinful sound so wonderful?

While you can already feel his grip on your ass starting to bruise, he angles himself differently and fucks you with animalistic desire. You throw your head back and cry out, all your nerve endings vibrating.

“Look at you,” he mutters and you tip your head forward to meet his gaze that’s watching your reactions with intent. “Serving me so well.”

The fire within is roaring now, burning you from the inside and you want nothing more than to put it out. “Father, I’m close...”

“That’s right, let it all go my dear,” he kisses you, passing the sweat from his lips over to yours.

He continues to kiss you when the burn travels lower and lower, your shoulder blades pulling together to brace for the release. Your eyes squeeze shut when you come, arms clinging to the priest’s neck and for that moment you feel as though you’re suspended in the air, no longer caring about any of your past worries. Who needs heaven when you can create your own?

His hips snap one last time and he lets out a deep moan of ecstasy as he warms your insides completely, not surprised when you feel it drip down your thighs; you were so stuffed to begin with there was never going to be any room for anything else.

Your head drops to his shoulder, the sweat from your forehead moistening his robe while his arms coil around your waist. His torso puffs as he pants, holding you while you both return to earth from whatever cloud you’d reached. He moves his hips out slowly, and it feels like a part of your body is missing now that he’s no longer inside you. He pulls a cloth from his pocket and attempts to catch the fluids, not wanting them to make their way to the floor of the holy building the pair of you just filled with debauchery.

He smooths his hair back when he stands, face glistening with sweat while he looks you over.

Somehow, you do feel lighter. Maybe you’ve just replaced your sin with a worse one but the abundance of pleasure coursing through you makes it so you no longer care. “At least neither of us has burst into flames,” you say, hoping to alleviate any worries, if he has them.

He smirks. “I’m sure if God has an issue with our arrangement, he’ll let us know.”

You nod. “It helped.”

His eyebrows raise almost comically, as though he’d completely forgotten about your prior concern and reason for visiting him in the first place. “Well,” he steps towards you and holds the side of your face, “then we best make sure we continue our practice regularly.”

You lean into his hand, the smile on your face feeling natural, unlike all the forced ones you’ve conjured since that awful day.

He kisses you and lingers there, before pulling away and dropping his hand with a sigh. “I think I have my fair share of prayers to do now.”

You laugh, wanting nothing more than to curl up in your bed for a nightmare-less sleep. “Thank you, Father.”

He nods with that same smirk again, leaving you to compose yourself before your journey home. Once his door is shut behind him, you scan the floor for your undergarments and realise they’re nowhere to be found. Eyes flitting to his door, you think you have a good idea where they wandered off to and make a mental note to return for them in the future.

Perhaps sinning isn’t so bad after all.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #rdr2 #priest dutch #my stuff #writing

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lilacsnid · 3 years

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『✔』 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲: — 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒕 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

In which way you are always putting others needs and happiness before you’re own. It’s slowly starting to take it’s toll on you & Newt notices this.

A/N: ask permission to use or re-post my work, please do not steal or plagiarize my writing x

©lilacsnid

— “HEY, there you are,” You hear a voice softly call behind you that you instantaneously recognized as Newt’s, “I was looking for you.”

Glancing over your shoulder, you find him standing inside the doorway, a jar of Gally’s moonshine in his hand. You force a quick smile before turning back around to face the cabinet, “Here I am.”

“Thought you might’ve been hanging out with Minho or Chuck,” Newt spoke as he started walking over to you, not stopping until he was standing right beside you.

He leaned against the wooden counter top, his back resting against the shelf as his body faced the opposite direction as yours. You could almost feel the heat radiating off his body, making you want to curl up in his arms, but you couldn’t. Shouldn’t, you thought; correcting yourself.

You simply shrug your shoulders in response, trying your best to ignore the painful throbbing in your temples as a result from the lack of sleep.

Newt knew straight away that something was wrong. Not only could he tell by how blunt you were being, but he also knew by observing the way you worked in The Glade. Always offering others your support on top of the medical assistance. You’d skip meals and he’d usually find you working late into the hours of the night in the Med-Jack hut to stay back with injured gladers, as well as stocking supplies. You were known to your fellow gladers as a good listener, always willing to try and brighten someone’s day whenever they were feeling down.

You had been doing it for so long, letting others rely on you, that you had forgotten to take care of yourself. Newt noticed this above all else. But he also knew that you cared deeply for all those around you, and would stop at nothing to put their needs before your own.

The sleep deprivation was slowly starting to make you irritable and lose focus. It wasn’t healthy.

You could feel his gaze on you, watching you as you rolled up bandages.

He looked down at your hands, spontaneously mustering up the courage to take your hand in one of his own. The sudden action made you gasp slightly and you were quick to stop what you were doing. The first thought that popped into Newt’s head was how cold your hand was against his.

He furrowed his eyebrows before speaking, “You don’t seem yourself. Talk to me, please?”

You found it difficult to respond to him as you felt his thumb start to rub small circles into the back of your palm, your voice getting caught in the back of your throat. You opened your mouth to talk several times, but nothing came out. For the first time tonight, you met his gentle brown eyes. The light from the bonfire outside dimly lit the hut into a deep yellow luminosity, making his pale skin look toned like honey, as well as his gorgeous blonde locks.

A few short moments was all it took for the tears to start welling up in your eyes, and after blinking a couple times in attempt to stifle them, they started to stream down your rosy cheeks. Newt’s facial expression softened even more at the very sight. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, his head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he watched you, his hand still holding your own. He set his half-empty jar of alcohol down, leaning off the counter to take a step closer to you.

“Love,” he cooed, his other hand reaching up to rest on your shoulder, “What’s the matter?”

He felt stupid for asking such a question when he already knew the answer. But he was curious about what you might say in response. Now, more than ever, he could tell how hard you were struggling to keep your puffy eyes open as the tears kept coming.

A defeated sigh left your lips, as you stared at the ground while taking your hand out of his grasp to assist the other in rubbing over your eyes with your knuckles, “I’m just so tired.”

That was all Newt needed to hear before he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he cradled your body with the upmost care. You leaned up to brush your cheek against his before letting your body collapse into him, not really noticing how weak you were until now. You couldn’t contain the chocked sobs that started to overwhelm you. It broke Newt’s heart seeing you in such a state.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his lanky figure, absolutely loving the way he rubbed soothing circles into your back and the way he rested his head of top of yours as he rocked the two of you from side to side slowly. The warmth of his body enveloped you; he felt like home.

“I know baby, I know,” Newt spoke in a hushed tone, trying to calm you down. However, he couldn’t help but freeze momentarily at the choice of pet name that had just slipped from his lips.

He pulled his head away, glancing down at you, instantly meeting your surprised glance, eyes still filled with tears.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know where that came from,” he stuttered helplessly, as he felt his cheeks heat up quickly in embarrassment, “It was uh, the first thing that popped into my head, I’m sorry I won’t-”

He stopped speaking as you started to shake your head in disagreement. You buried your head back into his chest, finding his scent addictive.

“I liked it,” You replied quietly, pursuing to grasp onto him tighter.

Newt breathed a sigh of relief in one short puff, placing his head back on top of yours. He couldn’t stop thinking about how cute you were; cuddled up into his chest, all shy and timid.

He swayed the two of you from side to side once more, placing a kiss to the crown of your head, “Why don’t I take you to bed, yeah? You a need a break, you really need some sleep.”

He tilts his head back down to meet your gaze, before continuing, “Does that sound okay to you?”

You nod meekly against his chest and let your eyes flutter shut as you struggle to keep them open. You were grateful that Newt had found you when he did. He was the one you trusted the most to see you in your most vulnerable state.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Newt didn’t need to ask anymore questions. He picked up your frail body, making his way over to the Homestead.

He carefully walked up the stairs, and down to the end of the corridor to his room. Kicking the door open with his foot, he shuffled over to his bed, placing you down onto the sheets, being cautious not to trip. He retreated to go over and close his door, also walking over to the other side of the room to close the window.

It was one of the colder nights in The Glade. You tried to hide the goosebumps starting to rise on your skin, but Newt had already seen them. You’re breath hitched as you watched him yank off his jumper, to which he proceeded to bend down in front of you and offer it to you. However, you shook your head at the sight of the newly exposed skin on his arms, “You’ll be cold.”

He placed the jumper in your lap, “I’ll be alright, anyway, looks like you need it more than me right now.”

You continued to eye the jumper, feeling slightly guilty. Newt rose to his feet, brushing off his pants and staring down at you with a smile.

“Y/N,” He laughed, lightly tapping you on the shoulder, “Come on, just put the bloody jumper on.”

Soon following his request, you tugged the white jumper over your body, fitting your arms through the sleeves. His smell that had grown accustomed to you filled your nostrils instantly. That musky boy smell, as well as grass and the scent of his deodorant.

“Thank you,” You whispered, no longer trying to hide the fact that you were staring at him as he grabbed two more blankets from his small wooden dresser.

He met your gaze once he turned back around. You noticed how his mouth fell agape as his eyes dragged over your figure, hunched over on the side of his bed.

“It’s no problem,” He grinned before continuing, “It suits you more than it suits me.”

You returned the smile, breaking your gaze to take off your combat boots. As you bent down, you felt the same throbbing pain return in both of your temples. You squeezed your eyes shut for a mere second, trying your very best to ignore it. You grumbled in annoyance as your fingers worked to try and get your shoe laces untied.

“Argh, for shuck sake!” You cursed, slamming you feet against the floor. You probably looked like a child throwing a tantrum, but at this point you couldn’t care less. You were exhausted and every muscle in your body was aching. The tears started streaming down your cheeks once again, making you even more irritated than what you already were. You weren’t usually like this, and everyone knew it.

Newt crouched down at your feet, his hands going to the back of your calves, halting your movements completely, “Hey, darling. C’mon, stop.”

You hid you head in your hands, harsh sobs escaping your lips as Newt began to untie your laces and remove your boots in a gentle manner. Once he was done, he set your shoes down on the ground, placing a hand on one of your arms in order to comfort you from where he was still crouching down.

His calm demeanor brought you back down to earth. There was something about him that made you feel warm inside. Something that drew you to him.

“Time for bed I think,” Newt said wholeheartedly, gesturing you to lay down on the bed.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You had passed out as soon as your head hit the pillow. You were unsure of how long exactly you had been asleep.

Waking up unexpectedly during the middle of the night, you noticed the drop in temperature around you. Goosebumps littered your skin, and you felt yourself shivering. You turned over, in search for Newt. Butterflies erupted in your stomach when you found him laying next to you on his back. His half of the blankets that the two of you were sharing were pulled up to his chest. His head faced you, his eyes were closed and his chest rose and fell with each steady breath he took in. One of his arms was also folded behind his head as he rested. You noticed that Newt now wore another jumper, it was dark blue. His eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheeks. A smile made it’s way across your lips at the sight of the blonde.

You didn’t want to wake him from his peaceful slumber, so instead you turned back over, facing away from him. Your arms reached to pull the blankets further up your torso and you clutched onto Newt’s jumper that you still wore.

Absentmindedly, you leaned back further into Newt, your body craving the warmth of his own.

To your despise, your teeth began chattering. You shook head as a way of trying to stifle it but it was no use. You pulled the blankets up to your chin and closed your eyes once more. Barely a few seconds later, you felt the bed shift beside you as Newt sat up on his elbows, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes.

He stared over at you quizzically, “Are you alright, love?”

You sighed, feeling guilty for potentially waking him from his slumber, “Yeah, I’m okay. Go back to sleep.”

“No your not,” Newt hovered behind you, his eyes scanning over your body, “I can feel you shaking.”

“I didn’t want to wake you, I’m sorry,” You whispered, teeth still chattering between breaths.

Newt laughed softly, “Don’t be silly, come ‘ere.”

Before you could say anything else, Newt had shuffled closer towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he situated himself behind you. You couldn’t help but repeat your previous action, leaning back into his touch. His breath fanned over the back of your neck, sending tingles down your spine.

“You’re so warm,” You mumbled happily, reaching down and grabbing his hand. You laced your fingers with his, clutching your intertwined hands to your chest.

Newt grinned in response, his body relaxing into yours.

“Just rest baby,” You felt him nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck, his plump lips placing a kiss to your skin, “I’ve got you.”

You bit your lip in surprise, a sudden feeling of urgency rushing over you as your heart thumped against your chest. You were almost certain the Newt could hear the sound of it.

Turning your head slightly, you looked at Newt from the corner of your eye. Just then did you realise how close the two of you really were.

“Could you call me that again?” You whispered, clutching his hand closer to your chest and over your heart, loving the feeling of his arm wrapped around you, keeping you safe.

You could almost feel Newt smirking against your neck. He lifted himself up, using the arm that was wrapped around you to turn you over in one swift motion. You were now laying flat on your back with Newt hovering above you.

He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to contain a smile as his eyes wandered across your face. His warm hand that was situated at your side made it’s way underneath your shirt and jumper you were wearing to start tracing patterns into the skin of your hip.

He took a deep breath in, leaning in closer to brush the tip of his nose against the bridge of yours before whispering, “Baby.”

Then he closed the gap between the two of you, pressing his lips against yours, to which you eagerly accepted. He worked his lips slowly against your own, finding a slow and sensual rhythm between the two of you as he pulled you closer, still tracing patterns into your warm skin that was once cold, but no longer.

You reached up, running your hand through the sandy blonde hair on the nape of his neck, kissing back with just as much passion.

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motelgirl · 3 years

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Nothing to Lose- Aldo Raine x Fem!Reader

Request: @inglourious-imagines

Prompts 11, 33, 40 of @inglourious-imagines list :)

I didn’t really know whether to do something angsty or not for this, but i’m not a huge fan of writing angst myself so I decided against it. Sorry it took so long but i’m finally back on it and will be posting regularly again soon. Hope you enjoy it <3 Sorry it’s so short by the way.

Y/n Y/l/n and Aldo Raine. Back in Tennessee, the two had been inseparable ever since they where children. If you saw one, you knew the other wasn’t far behind. They joined the army together, however what they didn’t know is that they would have been deployed in completely separate countries. That’s why when the news got through to Y/n that she was required for Lieutenant Raine’s group, she was more than ecstatic.

Y/n trudged through the rainy night in Paris. She had been dropped in the city just half an hour before and told the name of the hotel she was to rendezvous with the party. Now she was miserable, tired and hopelessly lost. Just when she was about to give in and continue her mission in the morning, she saw a wooden sign with the name of the hotel illuminated by a gas lamp in the distance. She grinned to herself, walking speedily towards it.

The door opened, ringing a bell above. A bald man of around forty looked up from the bar, his eyes following the girl as she smiled at him and greeted him with a simple ‘bonjour’ to which he returned, before she walked up the stairs on the hunt for room three. It wasn’t hard to find it as she heard the all too familiar voice from behind the wooden door.

“She’ll be here in a second, it’s dark out there maybe she lost her bearings,”

Y/n decided this was her cue and pushed on the unlocked door. Immediately, her eyes went towards the only two men awake, sat at the table in the middle of the room. She couldn’t conceal the huge smile on her face at the sight of her old friend. On instinct, she pulled the now standing man into a hug. He let out a light ‘oof’ noise at the unexpected contact, before smiling, rubbing the girls back. They pulled apart and Aldo looked towards the other man in the room, his hand now draped over Y/n’s shoulder.

“Y/n, this is Donny Donowitz, you might know him better as the Bear Jew. Donny, this is Y/n Y/l/n, one of the greatest fighters the Basterds will have. Guaranteed.”

The girl threw Donny one of her charming grins as he stood up and shook her hand. His eyes darted between Aldo and Y/n, before they landed on his arm on her shoulder.

“Y/n Y/l/n! The girl i’ve heard so much about. You know, ever since we met, Aldo hasn’t stopped talking about you,” he smirked, sitting back down in his seat. Y/n followed, placing herself in the spare chair around the table as Aldo sat where he previously was.

“Oh really?” She laughed quietly, trying to keep her voice down as she noticed the rest of the men around her and in the other room sleeping.

“Says you’re the best girl he ever known. I’ve never seen him even lay eyes on another girl before,” Donny continued. Judging by the empty bottle on the table, Y/n could tell Donny had a bit to drink beforehand and maybe she should take this information with a pinch of salt. However when her eyes met Aldo’s, who was glaring daggers into Donny, she realised maybe it was true.

“Anyway, we got a mission tomorrow night, but I’m sure you’ve been told. Nice to meet you Y/n, I’m off to bed,” Donny smiled at the girl who returned a slightly amused one back before watching him leave the room. She was left sat at the table with her old friend.

Standing up without a word, she slowly made her way to the balcony on the side of the building, closely followed by Aldo, who’s eyes hadn’t left her since she entered the room. She pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and offered it to Aldo, who accepted. The pair stood in silence on the balcony.

“I’ve missed you, you know. Life just wasn’t the same without having you around to annoy the shit out of me, I gotta say,” Aldo broke the silence. Hearing this, Y/n let out that angelic laugh that he had spent years imagining, trying to recreate in his head. Nothing compared to the real thing.

“So,” she paused, thinking of the right words to say, “what did Donny mean?” Her eyes looked at his with innocent curiosity. He watched as she flicked her cigarette butt over the side of the balcony.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb. ‘The best girl he ever known’” She quoted the man. He looked at her unimpressed as she sat on the chair perched on the corner of the balcony, crossing her legs and leaning her head on her hand. “Is he lying?”

For just a moment, when he looked at her, he felt all his defences go down. He felt the way he did about her before the war, when they where still living the simple life in Tennessee. Bootlegging moonshine, running from the law and laughing their asses off most of the time. Back then, the two moved into their own tiny house in the smoky mountains when Y/n ran away from her house at seventeen. Being deployed in different countries for god knows how long may have hurt Y/n, but she didn’t know it hurt Aldo ten times more.

“Donny ain’t a liar.” The simple sentence caused a cheeky grin to make its way onto Y/n’s face. “Oh God, why you looking at me like that. I ain’t seen that smile for years,” he joked, however seeing her after all these years made him feel a way that, in the most cliche way possible, he had never felt when she wasn’t around.

“I’m never letting go of the fact you think i’m the best girl you’ve ever known,” she continued to grin up at the man. He shook his head, turning back away from her and looking out at the Parisian skyline.

“Do you ever shut up?” Y/n couldn’t see his face, but she could hear the smile as he said these words. She waltzed over to him and leaned beside him on the balcony, taking a deep breath and letting out a louder sigh than she was meant to.

“You’d hate it if I shut up I just know it,” she continued to grin at him. Her eyes tried to make contact with his but he continued to look out towards the city.

“No I wouldn’t,” he retorted. The pair where reunited, for that one half an hour slot, they felt like they did before. Unworried, bouncing off each other, joking and making fun of each other and always an underlying feeling that something was going unsaid. She was so desperate to find out what it was.

“Are you trying to start a fight or are you flirting, because to be honest I known you for all my life and I still can’t differentiate the two,” she tried her chances. She hoped deep down that he would choose the second option.

“Well let’s put it this way, I wouldn’t ever wanna start a fight with you,” he found his way around saying it directly, but truth be told he loved the girl and she loved him back. Donny could tell the moment she walked in and he was sure that the rest of the men would feel it in the morning. There was a brief silence as Y/n figured out what he meant. For what felt like the thousandth time that night, she felt that smile grow on her face.

“Well if Donny never lies. Does that mean you actually haven’t laid eyes on a girl?” She was now in extremely close proximity of the man. He didn’t need to reply for her to find out everything she needed to know. “Well, what will you do now I’m here?” Y/n needed answers to her questions, and the best way to get them was to ask directly and straight to the point. In her logic, she’d probably end up dead before the end of the war anyway so what did she have left to lose.

No words exchanged, Aldo took her face into his palms and kissed her. Softly at first, pulling apart only momentarily before she pulled him straight back in, now kissing his harder like it would be her last one ever. She had waited all her life for this moment and now it was finally here she could never let go. I’m a matter of seconds, she went from having nothing to lose to having absolutely everything.

#aldo raine x reader #inglorious basterds #aldo the apache x reader #aldo x reader #aldo raine x fem!reader #aldo raine #inglorious basterds imagines

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archerdaryl · 3 years

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London in Your Eyes.

After pulling your name for Secret Santa, Daryl comes and finds you at the Christmas fair. Inspired by Last December by Nina Nesbitt.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: cute christmas vibes, sfw, a lil sad a lil fluffy a lil slow burn?? Word Count: around 3k Notes: This is my very first fanfiction I’ve written in literal years -- I’d love to hear what you guys think as I’m a little nervous but I hope you enjoy it!!

Against the soft blankets of snow that had long settled since the beginning of December, flashes of red and green could be seen wherever you looked from the guard tower. Amongst them were shadows you recognised, the figures of the people weaving themselves in and out of various stalls that had been set up for the Christmas fair.

You wanted to object to it the first time The King brought it up, especially after the events that occurred at the original. It seemed futile, you weren’t sure you could take another massacre, and it was too God damn cold to be lingering outside. And yet, you folded.

You couldn’t argue with hope. And if Ezekial was good at anything, it was inspiring just that.

Snowflakes had begun to dance in the evening air once more as you diverted your attention back towards the forest that surrounded the walls. You could hear Luke sing what sounded like a song you used to know but couldn’t quite make out as he made his way to his stall where he had wooden instruments up for trade. Down the same lane were various baked goods and crafts made by different members of the community. The kids even had their own art stall, endearingly decorated with looped paper covered in paint and cotton wool shaped into snowmen.

Ezekiel had asked if you wanted to contribute anything. You declined, not because you didn’t want to help but because playing pretend had never been something you were good at -- even as a kid yourself. And especially at Christmas time.

Of course, you played it off a lot more casually than that. You weren’t one to divulge the details of traumas that no longer mattered in the grand scheme of things. After making fun of your lack of artistic talent you insisted on keeping watch for the majority of the evening so that everyone else could enjoy what the fair had to offer. You knew where you stood in that tower. You couldn’t feel the tip of your nose and you had to keep bouncing your knees to maintain circulation, but you felt secure.

You brought your gloved hands up to your mouth and huffed, allowing the warmth to wash over your fingers. You had been up there for several hours now and the most exciting thing to happened was a walker in a hard hat causing a scene by clanging its head against the metal walls. Someone else manning the perimeter had dealt with it, taking what little entertainment you could have had away from you, but at least no one had to worry about an oncoming herd.

“Hey.”

You turned swiftly towards a voice drenched in a Southern drawl, eyebrows raised in surprise knitting themselves together.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Doin’ wha’?”

“Sneaking up on me.”

Daryl Dixon was one of few people who got the jump on you and it was equal parts annoying and endearing. You stood upright from the post you had been leaning on and took a couple of steps towards him, eyes adjusting to his height as you did so.

“Didn’ mean to.” He confessed, “Thought you might be bored.”

“Maybe a little.” You sighed, “I’m mostly just cold.”

He watched you carefully, one hand fiddling with something in his jacket pocket while the other swung at his side holding a large flask. Your cheeks and nose were pink and he found himself indebted to the harsh winds that were to blame.

“Is that-”

“Mulled wine.” He interrupted, “Whatever tha’ is.”

The pair of you had been dancing around something unspoken for the past year, aware but unwilling to cross a line that could ruin the comfort you found in each other. That and you had both seen what happened to people who got attached to others. It was uncharted territory neither of you had ventured into with anyone for a long long time, and though he often daydreamed of you like a teenager and you were constantly worrying about him, the risk seemed too much.

“You’ve never had mulled wine?” You asked curiously, taking the flask he handed to you and shivering slightly as you wrapped your palms around it, “It’s really good actually. And hot.”

The question may as well have been rhetorical. The pair of you hadn’t shared a great deal about your lives before the dead took over, but he had told you enough that you knew Daryl was raised on beer and moonshine. You cared for neither, admittedly. Gin had always been your vice.

“Besides, I thought you liked to drink alone Dixon.”

He exhaled in amusement but didn’t offer a retort. Instead he stepped towards the cabinet at the back of the watch tower and retrieved a large blanket. Your mouth practically dropped to the floor and he fought a smile from creeping onto his lips.

You hadn’t even thought to check. Your cheeks grew even pinker.

“C’mon. Ain’t’ nothin’ happenin’ in the next ten minutes.”

With furrowed brows you looked back out onto the forest, studying its movement and mystery. Chances are, he was right. Nothing had happened so far and nothing likely would, but that didn’t stop you from worrying.

“Don’ make me take back tha’ wine.”

“No! Don’t you dare.” You whipped your head back towards him and narrowed your eyes. “It’s warm.”

“So’s this blanket. Come on.”

You made a point of rolling your eyes as you followed Daryl out onto the deck. Before you could complain about the cold (which honestly wasn’t that much worse than inside the tower) Daryl had shook out the blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders. You mumbled a thank you as he lowered himself to the ground and allowed his legs to swing free over the edge of the deck. You followed suit, the flask of hot mulled wine still between your hands acting like your own personal furnace.

It was darker now and hundreds of lights had been switched on so that people could still find their way around the fair. Even you couldn’t deny the wonder and whimsy of it all. Kids were throwing snowballs, families were laughing and making memories that were worth something. There was makeshift tinsel and decorations all over the place and the rich scent of pig and apple sauce hung in the air. In the sweet silence you shared with the archer, there was a moment you forgot where you were. The world you now lived in was an afterthought, and the Christmas fair was an almost perfect picture of somewhere you yearned to be.

Daryl noticed the unmistakable twinkle of mourning in your eyes before you could even try to force a smile. He reached for the flask and took it from you, unscrewing its lid and pouring you a cup of mulled wine. He took a swig straight from the bottle and though he furrowed his brows and smelled the contents immediately afterwards, he didn’t complain.

“Ain’t ever seen nothin’ like this.” He offered.

You took a large sip and closed your eyes, savouring every note that swam across your tongue.

“I have. A long time ago.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes flit open and you looked right at him. In what little light was left you could see his lips were already slightly stained red. You didn’t doubt your own were the same. He watched your mouth as you took another sip.

“My family was close. Always saved up their holidays so we could get a long Christmas together.” You found yourself lowering your gaze as you spoke, soon returning it to the hustle and bustle before you, “Spent a couple years in London. They had markets just like these. Winter Wonderland I think they called it. Never thought I’d see anything like it again.”

It was abundantly clear from the very beginning that the pair of you had led very different lives before the world went to waste. He liked talking about his past even less than you did and for very different reasons too. You never pushed like some of the other’s did. In the end that was likely what pushed you both together.

“It’s funny how shit like that sneaks up on you.” You continued, “Every time I think I’ve moved on or let something go it just… I don’t know. None of this should even matter anymore.”

“You got a past worth rememberin’.” You felt a large hand tug at the blanket hanging around you, pulling it to make sure it didn’t fall, “Ain’t no shame in that.”

In truth, Daryl enjoyed listening to you reminisce. It was a rare gift you offered him, one that he would have found annoying from anyone else considering the stark differences in your upbringing. But you spoke about your past like you were telling a story, keeping that little bit of distance so it didn’t wash over you all at once. Whether you knew it or not, you handed him another puzzle piece every time you let him in. He could sit there and listen to you for hours. He wanted to.

A calloused hand found its way into his jacket once again, fiddling with a small object wrapped in aluminium foil. Now didn’t seem appropriate. They still had time.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah.” His cheeks said otherwise, “Wines doing the trick.”

You pulled your legs up and shimmied a little closer to him to him anyways before forcing your arm through his. He didn’t object, not even when you leaned on him a little.

“What other shit did they have in London?” He pushed.

“Mulled cider. That’s probably more up your street” You took your last sip before nudging him to top the cup up, “I used to love these little pancake balls covered in Nutella, strawberries, and icing sugar. Wasn’t Winter Wonderland unless I was covered in chocolate by the end of it.”

Daryl slowly lowered the side of his head down onto yours. It didn’t feel like too much, like you’d suddenly catch yourself and make excuses to go back on watch. Instead, you kept talking, and Daryl kept fiddling with the gift in his pocket.

“I remember it being loud. Music and people everywhere. And it was cold, but never as cold as this. Didn’t really snow there, which I always thought was weird.”

“If you wan’ loud I heard Luke and Jerry were gon’ go carollin’ later.”

A chuckle escaped you as you took another gulp of wine, “You know what, I think I’ll stay up here.”

Comfortable silence took over as you both watched the fair. It had barely quietened down, even though a lot of people had begun their ride back to Hilltop or Alexandria. It was the first time in a long time that there wasn’t a human threat to worry about, so why wouldn’t people make the most of a time like this? You only wished you could let go like others could.

“Oh, shit.” You sat up suddenly, “I forgot about that Secret Santa thing Jerry made us do.”

“Who’s name d’ya pull?”

“It’s supposed to be Secret Santa.” You paused and sighed, “I pulled Jesus. Is this irony? It feels ironic. I’ll figure it out.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he leaned forward onto the wooden barrier keeping them from falling if either of them were to take a wrong step. He felt something gnawing at him in the pit of his stomach, and he swallowed hard in a futile attempt to get rid of it before clearing his throat.

“Who’s name did you pull?”

“Like ya’ said, it’s Secret Santa.” He grumbled.

You rotated yourself slightly to face him, allowing just one leg to hang free from the deck whilst the other was bent at the knee.

“Don’t be an asshole, Dixon.” You pleaded, “Tell me!”

“Mind ya’ business.”

“Unless it’s me I don’t see why you can’t tell me.”

Daryl stayed quiet and you couldn’t help but laugh in both amusement and disbelief.

“You’re kidding. Did you really get me something?”

“Will you shut up? You ain’t even s’posed t’ know.”

He finally turned his head to find you unable to suppress the grin spreading across your face. Your eyes were twinkling again, but not with the sadness of earlier. That paired with the blush on your nose and cheeks from the cold and your little hands clinging desperately to the blanket around you made it impossible to say no. That gnawing feeling grew and he took a large breath before retrieving his hand from his pocket.

“Don’ tell Jerry.”

He passed you an strangely shaped object covered in aluminium foil. You took it from him and beamed. You weren’t sure why you were surprised he actually got you something. Maybe it was the fact he thought to wrap it at all, or that he was trying to follow the rules so it really would be a surprise. Would you have ever known it was him if you hadn’t pestered him in this moment? You held the gift in your hands as if it could break at any second whilst your heart was attempting to beat itself out of your chest.

“Do you want me to wait?” You asked, just in case, “I can open it later.”

Daryl shook his head and grabbed the flask again, taking several gulps to warm up his insides. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, studying your features carefully waiting for a sign of repulsion or embarrassment. It never came and without realising it his own features softened.

“It’s yours. Sorry I couldn’ find any paper.”

“It’s shiny and it serves its purpose.” You responded without hesitation, “It’s perfect.”

You carefully unfolded the foil in a futile attempt not to tear it and destroy the fantasy Daryl had created for you. The intricate motions felt painfully slow, and with every layer you tore away the nastier the self-deprecation in his head got. He felt stupid for trying. Was it too much? Was it not enough? He had no fuckin’ idea. Even before the world went to shit he didn’t come from the kind of family that exchanged gifts. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t. All he could do was drink and bite at the skin of his lips until they bled.

“Oh my god.”

He swallowed hard and braced himself for the worst. Your eyebrows were drawn together as you studied the object in all its detail. Eventually you shook it, and you grinned again.

“Where the hell did you find something like this?”

It was a snowglobe, somehow perfectly intact despite the number of years it had been collecting dust in a world full of violence and filth. Daryl had stumbled upon it on a run where he had found a strip of houses to loot. It was sat on a mantelpiece, and though Daryl didn’t know much about England or even London, he knew about Big Ben.

You shook it again and laughed. He watched you gaze at it in wonder, eyeing the details on the clock tower as plastic snow danced around it. Most of his anxieties melted away at the sight of that alone, but he still felt uneasy, as if he had done something wrong.

“I love it, Daryl. I didn’t even realise I’d spoken about London before.”

He nodded, his words stuck in the back of his throat. You had only mentioned London once before, something in passing, but he remembered. He remembered everything you said to him over the years. Maybe that was why this felt so wrong, as if he had taken this -- whatever this is -- too far.

Your heart was still thumping. Daryl had never been a talker, but he’d also never failed to show you that he cared. Even just by doing little things like making sure you ate properly or were sleeping okay. This was a different kind of show and tell and you weren’t sure what to do with it.

Your affection for the archer had snuck up on you a long time ago and you usually found it quite easy to push it down and away. There were other things to concern yourself with, things to do to make sure not just you but your community could survive. But right now you were stuck in a loop. Behind his grouchy disposition was a warmth you desperately wanted to wrap yourself in.

The blanket wasn’t enough. Not right now.

“It’s nothin’.” He finally responded, and this time you were lost for words.

You turned back towards the fair, avoiding his blue gaze as you thought to yourself. Neither of you knew what the hell this was or what the hell you were doing. You had spent so much time ignoring or rejecting the possibility of something more that now it had slapped you both across the face you were dumbfounded.

Was it supposed to be this complicated? This confusing? Or was it actually not at all and you were both just useless at all of this?

Tomorrow things would likely carry on as normal but right now, things were different. Something had shifted and it was entirely possibly you had been forced into the uncharted territory you were both so scared of.

You swallowed hard shimmied closer to him again. Using your free arm, you tried to fling half of the blanket around his broad shoulders. It fell off of him immediately, but he didn’t question it. He picked it up, nudged closer to you, and wrapped it around himself.

A sigh of relief escaped you. Not just because he took the blanket but because he was practically a radiator.

“I knew you were cold.” Your words were soft, almost hesitant despite being teasing.

Daryl looked down at you, his tongue flitting across his bottom lip as he watched you watch the world go by at the Christmas fair. He carefully sought out your hand with his own, and without even thinking about it you allowed your fingers to intertwine with his.

“You’re the one wi’ blue fingers.”

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder again with a smile and allowed whatever excuses he made to comfort him. The fact you didn’t pull away was enough, and though he always knew you wouldn’t be as rough and calloused as he was, he couldn’t quite get over how soft your fingers were.

“Did you want to look around the fair?”

He allowed his thumb to glide across the back of your hand.

“Nah. I like it up here.”

#the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fic #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #the walking dead fanfiction #mine #christmas #walking dead

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tunedtostatic · 3 years

Text

truths and dares

After the Iris 2 crew spends a wild night celebrating together, Sana is wishing through a pounding headache that certain crewmates hadn’t dared her to drink straight from the bottle. Meanwhile, Park seems more concerned with the truth part of the night.

2.5k, Sana/Park (and Iris 2 crew)

Also posted at archiveofourown dot org, /works/33560497 (I’ll put a real link in a reblog)

CW: Drunken shenanigans, excessive alcohol consumption, mostly played for laughs but not totally. Suggestive language, though nothing beyond T-rated if that.

The hangover/coffee storyline is a retread of the premise of @iffeelscouldkill’s wonderful Sana/Campbell fic “Strong Coffee and Sourdough,” because my brain went “What if THAT but with PARK?”

Sana opens her eyes and immediately wishes she hadn’t. The sunlights in her cabin on the Iris 2 have come up, and Sana decides she wants to go back in time and kidnap whichever IGR engineer decided, doubtless to optimize personnel efficiency, that cabins should default to scheduled natural lighting. Anything to stop the photons now stabbing into her very soul.

Memories come back hazily: The first batch of moonshine on the new ship. A patch of the Deep familiar to the former Rumor crew, but days away from the more populated routes. Things feeling steady for the first time in a while. A crew dinner and a night of drinking to celebrate.

A lot of drinking. Sana groans, trying to put images together as her head pounds. She remembers sitting at the mess hall table with the others, singing. She remembers racing up and down a hallway with Krejjh and…McCabe?...with some kind of objective in mind, passing a ball back and forth, as the rest of the crew cheered. She remembers sitting in a circle on the floor of the darkened mess, Krejjh dramatically taking shelter in Brian’s arms as someone…Violet?...told a spooky story.

After that, she draws a blank, though she does have an odd sleepy memory of waking up, in this bed, to the sound of…Arkady giggling?

With a frown of confusion, Sana groans again, then sighs. She normally tries to watch her limits a little better than this. Oh well. Deep or no Deep, as Captain, she should probably go check on her ship.

Rubbing her eyes, she steps out of bed, and immediately has to pinwheel her arms to avoid tripping over the sleeping form of Violet, who is stretched out on the floor of Sana’s cabin. Arkady is twined around her, an arm slung around Violet’s chest and her face in the crook of Violet’s neck.

It’s extremely cute, though Sana can’t for the life of her guess why it’s happening on the floor of her cabin. She frowns, noticing that both of their eyes look puffy from lack of sleep. Well, Arkady and Violet awake in here at what Arkady would call “shit o’clock in the morning” would at least explain that last memory. Kind of.

As soon as she steps into the dimlylit hallway, she is hit by the welcome aroma of coffee. Feeling like a bloodhound on a scent trail, Sana heads toward the mess hall.

As she passes the bathroom, she sees what looks like an empty mug on the floor next to the doorway, along with someone’s—Brian’s—glasses. Sana picks up the glasses and polishes them absentmindedly on her shirt, tucking them into a pocket.

There’s also a bedraggled feather boa hanging off the sign on the supply closet door, and Sana squints groggily at it. Since when did the Iris 2 even have a feather boa?

As she comes up on the mess hall, Sana can see that its sunlights are up as well, but at least the mess hall makes up for them with a noticeable increase in coffee aroma. Rubbing her eyes again, Sana gingerly makes her way through the doorway, but before she can step around the corner to the kitchen half of the space, she is stopped by a sight not unlike the one in her cabin.

The hammock Sana rigged up—this one not from safety harnesses—is empty in the bright sunlight, but under it, three of her crewmates are sprawled in a sleeping pile. Krejjh is lying on their back, snoring loudly. Brian seems to have taken it upon himself to act as a human pillow for their injured knee, lying with their leg draped over his shoulder. And, a foot above him, the person who inflicted that injury is lying with their head pillowed on Krejjh’s stomach and Krejjh’s arm around their waist. McCabe is snoring almost as loudly as Krejjh is, their cheek squished against Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana stares in bemusement for another second before shaking her head fondly and inching around the tableau, making her way around the corner into the kitchen.

Park is standing at the counter, fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sana blinks at him for a second before the rest of her brain kicks in. “Park! Good morning.”

Though Sana is sure she made plenty of noise rounding the corner, Park looks oddly startled to see her, keeping his eyes directed at the mug and coffeepot in his hands for a long second before turning to meet her gaze. “Captain. Good morning.” His eyes drop momentarily away and he clears his throat awkwardly. Meeting her eyes again, he asks, “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would love some coffee.” Sana stares greedily at the steaming hot liquid in the mug in Park’s hands. Park has very nice hands, strong and sure as they set the coffeepot on the counter and pass the mug…to her?

Sana stares at the mug for a second before her brain kicks in again and she stretches out a hand to take it. “Park, being the captain doesn’t give me coffee priority,” she tells him, amused.

“It will be a hardship to take another thirty seconds to pour my own,” Park intones, deadpan, as he takes another mug down from the cabinet, “but no sacrifice for my commanding officer is too great.”

“Point taken.” Sana chuckles as she raises the mug to her nose, sniffing it blissfully before taking a sip. Oh, that’s good. “Thank you, Park.”

“You’re welcome, Captain.” Park replaces the coffeepot in the coffeemaker, raising his own mug to his lips. “You look like you need it.”

Sana eyes him suspiciously. Was that a drag? His voice is as bland as ever, but of course with Park that doesn’t mean anything.

Setting the mug down on the counter, she raises a pessimistic hand to her hair. Sure enough, she can feel it escaping its former ponytail to form a chaotic frame around her face. Glancing down, she can see that her shirt, which was already stained with engine oil, is crooked, Brian’s glasses still poking out of her pocket. At least she wasn’t wearing any makeup last night. “I must look a disaster.”

Park snorts into his coffee. “Don’t worry, Captain, you always look—” He blinks, as if his own brain is suddenly catching up with his mouth. “Like a captain,” he finishes lamely.

Sana smirks, wondering what he was going to say. “Like the undisciplined captain of a scrappy smuggling ship, you mean?” She eyes Park’s tidy button-down shirt, pilfered from one of the storage lockers onboard. “I guess to your discerning eye, a hungover smuggler captain with hair from here to Neptune isn’t that different from a smuggler captain at her glossiest.”

“Something like that,” Park says drily, taking another sip of coffee, and Sana laughs.

“Thanks for the coffee, Park. I definitely needed it.” She winces. “It seems like last night got a little…wild.”

“I think certain members of the crew, including you, may have…imbibed a little more than originally planned.”

“Yes, I’ve been getting that picture,” Sana says drily, wincing again. “Park, I…do usually try to watch my limits a little better than this. I’m not sure exactly…” She trails off.

“Well, you can lay part of the blame for that on that final, uh, drinking game.”

Park’s voice has turned suspiciously sheepish on the last words. “Drinking game?” Sana prompts.

“Truth or dare.” Park’s voice is mild again. “Specifically, the part when your pilot said, ‘Time to get Cap’n Tripathi wasteeedddd—’ Park’s Krejjh impression is eerily on point. “To which you said, ‘Someone needs to be able to keep an eye on the emergency alarms,’ to which Patel said, ‘Violet and I already agreed to stop for the night, Sana can get fucked up if she wants to.’” He sets his empty mug on the counter, reaching for the coffeepot. “At which point Liu said something to the effect of, ‘Go, Captain, go! Woooooohoo!’”

Sana groans.

Park looks amused, though this fades a little as he adds, “Uh, I think the thinking was that those who were a little more sober would keep an eye on the rest of us, but after McCabe dared you to drink straight from the bottle, things got a little…out of hand? If, uhm, memory serves—” He winces, the first visual indicator Sana has seen underlining his self-categorization in ‘the rest of us.’ “If memory serves, that was when Liu did think to spirit the booze elsewhere. She and Patel went to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t, um, stop breathing, and things here—” He nods toward the pile of crew under the hammock, “wound down to their natural conclusion.”

Krejjh, Arkady, Violet, RJ, I am going to kill all four of you, Sana thinks, though she has to concede that the person she’s actually mad at, or maybe rattled by, is herself. Getting drunk is one thing; passing out too drunk to be left alone is a different story.

For right now, she just sighs. “Sounds like we need to revisit our protocols for how much booze gets brought out in one night.”

Park has raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth at ‘protocols,’ but Sana premeditates him. “Informal protocols. The word ‘protocol’ was probably never spoken.”

Park snorts again, taking another sip of coffee.

“Anyway, thank you for the update, Park.” Sana leans against the counter. “At least no harm was done.” She thinks back to Arkady giggling in the early hours of the morning, and the puffiness of her and Violet’s eyes. They must have stayed awake until morning keeping an eye on her. Well, at least they seem to have kept each other entertained.

“Yes. Um.” Park sounds uncharacteristically uncertain. “About that. I’m…uh, I’m glad I happened to catch you this morning before the others…Well. Alone.”

Sana frowns curiously at him.

When he begins again, his voice is professional. Too professional.

“Captain. I’d like to apologize for what I said last night.” He winces. “Uh. Even if you don’t remember what I’m apologizing for, which it seems you don’t. But if you happen to, or someone mentions it…I thought I should apologize.” He squares his shoulders. “It was a tactless thing to say and I give you my assurance that it will not impact our working relationship going forward.”

Sana eyes him, deciding on a gentle, “It sounds like we were all pretty drunk, Park. Whatever you said, unless it was a confession of…I don’t know…” She tries to think of a crime that would actually set him apart from the rest of her crew. “Killing…a planet…for fun, I think we can overlook some less than tactful words.”

“It wasn’t,” Park mumbles into his coffee. “That kind of confession.”

Sana frowns again, confused.

“During the ‘Truth or Dare’ game.” Park’s voice is a careful monotone. “Krejjh asked me, ‘Former Agent Park, if you were to smooch anyone on this ship, who would it be?’ and I said, well, you.”

“Oh.” Sana takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She can see why Park is freaked out, but, she tells herself, it all sounds fairly standard for a drunken crew escapade. It didn’t—doesn’t—mean anything more than that. “Well, it sounds like they didn’t give you the option of saying ‘Absolutely no one aboard, thank you,’ so picking the first crewmember you could think of who wasn’t in a committed monogamous relationship sounds like a very reasonable…”

“I also said,” Park continues miserably, “that you were not only the smartest criminal I’d ever tracked but also the sexiest captain I’d ever met, that Roderick Quincy Cresswin Junior didn’t know what he was giving up when he betrayed you and left you and everyone you cared about to die horribly on Cresswin Landing, that if Ignatius Campbell loves you as much as it sounds like he does then he was an idiot not to kiss your beautiful face last time you were on Telemachus, and that anyone lucky enough to love you should strew nuts and bolts and rivets and flowers in your wake wherever you walked. Or flew.”

Upon finishing this recounting, Park stares into the middle distance, and Sana leans against the counter, staring at him.

“Park,” she says feebly, “You know I’m not technically a captain, right? I don’t have any accredited training—”

Park, who still looks like he wants the kitchen floor to swallow him up, gives this the non-answer it deserves, and Sana takes another few seconds to compose a less inane response.

“Well,” she says, in her best captaining voice, “Sometimes when a group of humans drink together, some, uh, horny language happens. People find other peoples’ bodies attractive; booze removes some verbal filters around that. You were too far gone to have the filters you would have wanted to have; you clearly didn’t mean it in a creepy way, and it doesn’t have to affect anything in our working relationship.”

Park relaxes. “Thank you, Captain.”

He hesitates, still looking a little uncomfortable. “While we’re discussing this, I should add for the sake of completeness that I feel a certain attraction to you all the time. It wasn’t just finding you, uhm, ‘sexy’ while I was inebriated. But I assure you I won’t let it affect our working rel—”

“You do?” Sana interrupts. She can feel herself staring at him as several weeks’ worth of pieces finally fall into place.

She’s definitely blushing.

“I do.”

“Park,” Sana says gently. “For the sake of…completeness…I’ll add that I feel a certain attraction to you. All the time. As well. But—”

Sana looks at him, really looks athim: this attractive man who three weeks ago was an IGR agent representing everything Sana is against, who calls her Captain and still flinches at sudden movements in his peripheral vision.

“But,” Park finishes for her, “there are a lot of ‘buts.’”

“Yes.”

“Whatimesit?” Across the room, Brian is blinking in the faux morning light, looking bemused to see his fiancé’s leg draped over his shoulder. “Wheresmglasses?”

At his motion, Krejjh starts to stir. RJ blinks and makes a face at the sunlights, squeezing their eyes shut and trying to bury their face in Krejjh’s sweater.

Sana smiles at Park. He gives her a small smile back, and Sana feels as though they have settled themselves onto the same team, two people facing a universe of strangeness both external and internal.

“We’ll talk about this more. Sometime.”

Park nods, his usual taciturn motion.

“Good morning, crew,” Sana calls as she makes her way toward the pile of hungover crewmates under the hammock. “Good news! Park made coffee!”

#tscosi #the strange case of starship iris #alcohol #sana tripathi #jin-seon park #park/sana #my writing #fic

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