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daphnefisherofficial · 7 months

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - MOON MAGIC AND MYSTERIES OF THE NIGHT WE MET.

“Who in their right mind would name themselves ‘Jake Lockley’?” Marc sneered, prompting Jake’s astral form to abruptly rise, about to throw fists at the Chicago man a few meters away from him.

“If this hijo de puta doesn’t shut up–”

“Will you two shut it?!” Steven finally shouted, acting as the middle ground between his mental brothers before turning his attention to you who is now sporting a bewildered look. “Mira? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, Steven, don’t worry. Just trying to wrap my head around all of this”, you finally spoke, nodding gratefully to Steven as you grasped Jake’s hand in his astral form to physically express your gratitude. “First thing’s first - it’s nice to finally meet you, Jake Lockley”

“The honor is mine, princesa”, Jake chuckled, placing a gentle kiss on your hand as Steven prevented the currently frustrated Marc to launch himself at his suave, Spanish-speaking New Yorker alter. “Hola a ti también, Steven, Marc.”

Hello to you too, Steven, Marc.

“Hello, Jake”, Steven greeted politely, waving an awkward hello. Marc, on the other hand, merely grimaces before flipping the bird, prompting Jake to chuckle at his host’s childishness.

“Looks like this is going to be more chaotic than I thought”, you shook your head as you couldn’t help but smile at the amusing interactions happening before you. This is proving to be a very strange day for you, no Sorcerer Supreme pun intended.

The room seemed to hum with energy as you circled around, absorbing the revelations that had just been thrust upon you. The three men in their respective corporeal forms simply observe as you work your moon magic, placing a protective spell to prevent any other spiritual forces from taking possession of their unconscious body.

“You’re some kind of witch, then?” Steven wondered aloud while witnessing your magical prowess before his eyes, while Marc and Jake were looking inquisitively at you as you took a seat at the foot of the bed. “Like Wanda Maximoff from the Avengers? Or was it Doctor Strange?”

“The politically correct term is a priestess, or babaylan in my mother tongue”, you started to explain. “I’m not a witch, but I did train to control my moon magic from Kamar Taj. It’s where Doctor Stephen Strange was taught with the mystic arts by the Ancient One. His mentor and I have been good friends for centuries”

“Centuries, bloody hell”, Steven exclaimed, not yet realizing the weight of your words. “And how old are you exactly?”

Jake snorted at Steven’s choice of words. “Pendejo, it’s rude to ask a woman her age–”

“He’s asking the right questions, so it’s fine”, you waved away, throwing a small smirk at Jake that he couldn’t help but return. “If you really wish to know the specifics, I was born in the early 900’s, so you do the math”

“You certainly haven’t aged a day”, Marc spoke mainly to himself. Upon hearing his thoughts aloud, you smiled serenely at his silent compliment.

“I’m amazed you can still flirt with me at this stage”, you chuckled before shifting your gaze between Marc and Steven, straightening your posture before jumpstarting to your most pressing query. “So, my turn to ask you the questions. I’m guessing you two are not really twins, are you? Triplets, maybe?”

“I like your sense of humor, hermosa–”

“Zip it, Jake, this is serious”, Marc interrupted, clearly exasperated at his third alter’s quip as the latter made a face, rolling his eyes in derision. His astral form then reached out, a spectral hand brushing against your shoulder. "Steven and I - and apparently Jake too - we’re all facets of the same person sharing the same body”

“We suffer from a mental health condition known as Dissociative Identity Disorder” Steven spoke next, prompting you to nod slowly as the astonishment slowly painted your facade. “Have you ever heard of it?”

“Only read about it in clinical studies and theory”, you spoke softly as you absorbed the factual truth they’ve laid out to you. A myriad of emotions coursed through you as you absorbed their words: surprise, empathy, understanding. The truth was like a jigsaw piece that finally fit into place, and though the revelation was jarring, it also felt right. You couldn't fault them for keeping it hidden, for their fears and concerns were as genuine as the bond you had formed with them.

It was a lot to take in, and your mind whirled with questions. "Were you ever planning to tell me?"

"We plan to tell you, love, but we just don’t know how”, Steven stepped forward, his presence less domineering than Marc's but equally sincere. “We were afraid of how you'd react, of what you'd think of us."

“I know it’s not an easy matter to tell anyone”, you whispered, nodding slowly as you understood their reluctance. “I’m sure you haven’t meant for me to find out this way, but I’m glad to hear that you weren’t intending to keep this a secret from me”

“Of course not, baby”, Marc shook his head, his voice measured and somber as his translucent hand took yours as a symbol of reassurance. “We should’ve told you ages ago. I’m sorry you had to find out this way”

“We all are”, Steven chimed in, while Jake nodded thoughtfully in silent agreement.

“It’s alright, you don’t need to apologize”, you interrupted, much to the trio’s collective surprise. They knew how complicated their situation is, but your verbal acceptance was everything to them. “I can understand, I mean, you’re not the only ones guilty of keeping secrets, am I right?”

“I’m sure you had your reasons too”, Marc, of course, was the first to understand your hesitance to let them know of your other life. “But I want you to know that I’m here for you, Mira - we all are. You can confide in us, whenever you’re ready to tell”

“Thank you, Marc”, you smiled appreciatively. Steven, on the other hand, offered you a giddy smile at the realization that you were no ordinary woman.

“Your secret’s safe with us”, Steven chuckled. “I mean, we really don’t have anybody else to share it with. But it’s just bloody cool to know you’re a magical person. And coming from an ancient time too, I… wait, hang on a moment–”

“What is it, Steven?” you asked, indulging the curiosity of the British man hovering before you.

“When we talked back then about your history”, Steven started, recounting your earlier conversation on the first day you met. “You’ve actually lived during the times when your country’s colonizers discovered and invaded your homeland?”

Your knowing smile and multiple slow nods prompted Steven’s eyes to almost pop out of their sockets, his mouth agape as he slowly connected the dots with your creative storytelling that night.

“Bloody hell-”

“I’m sorry to cut the storytelling time short, querida”, Jake’s voice was heard next, his tone apologetic but his expression meaning business. “But I have to tell you about what really happened last night. I’m assuming you would want to know that, sí?

"Yes, that’s right," you began, addressing the man who had saved you during the new moon, "Tell me what happened. Do you know who shot me last night?"

Jake Lockley leaned back against the room's battered wall, his rough-hewn features etched with a certain heaviness. "They were assassins, sent to eliminate you for good. They work for Set’s avatar, and it seems that they know you well, given their weapon of choice."

His revelation sent shivers down your spine, and you pressed further. "Knew me well, huh? I’m assuming the bullet was made of wolfsbane?"

“Yeah, that’s right”, Jake nodded, his voice low and gritty. "They took advantage of last night’s new moon, which weakened your innate ability as an avatar to a moon goddess to heal and be impervious to harm."

“That’s why you fronted. To save her”, Marc said, trying to piece his own memories together. “But how on earth did you survive that attack?”

“I’m curious to know that as well”, Steven added, his mind working to solve the imminent puzzle of Jake’s heroic act that night. “As far as I know, wolfsbane is also toxic to humans. We shouldn’t be able to survive that”

“About that”, Jake started, now avoiding everyone’s gaze as he kept his eyes directed on the wooden floor of their flat. “Mira’s healed wounds should answer that question”

“What do you mean by my healed wounds?” you echoed, pulling the sleeve of your white t-shirt once more to reveal the spot where you’ve been shot. Your heart quickened as you slowly pieced together the puzzle, arriving at the most feasible conclusion you could only think of. "It can’t be. You mean to tell me that you serve a moon god too?"

A sharp intake of breath echoed from Marc and Steven. They exchanged panicked glances, clearly rattled by your revelation.

“Es cierto, cariño”, Jake sighed, finally admitting his long kept secret. "I'm still serving Khonshu as his avatar, as the Moon Knight"

That’s right, honey.

Marc Spector and Steven Grant exchange incredulous glances, their collective disapproval resounding in the room. The room was immediately filled with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife as you watched the tumultuous battle unfold before you. Jake Lockley had just dropped a bomb of revelation that had left his two alters reeling, and a cacophony of outrage erupted from them both. Their voices overlapped, and their collective disapproval reverberated through the room like an ominous drumbeat.

"I can't believe you'd keep this from us, Jake!” Marc was the first to speak as he leaned forward, his hands clenched into fists. The anger in his voice is palpable, and Steven's expression mirrors his outrage.

"So, you're telling us that you saved our life as Moon Knight that night in Cairo", Steven's voice was laced with disbelief, his eyes narrowing at Jake. “And you're still serving that lunatic god, Khonshu?!”

“I am”, Jake Lockley nods, his eyes unwavering. "It's the only way to truly protect all of us."

“This is fucking insane!” Marc gritted, barely containing his anger any longer as his face contorted with frustration. “Khonshu had us trapped in his service for years, and we barely got ourselves free. How can you do this?!”

“Jake, why?” Steven, ever the voice of reason, sought understanding amidst the chaos. “Why continue to serve as Moon Knight?"

"I serve because I have to, not because I want to”, Jake shifted uncomfortably, but his tone remained firm. “It's the only way I can do my job: to protect you both."

“We do not need protecting –”

“Maldito idiota, do you even know how many enemies you have, pendejo?” Jake rolled his eyes at Marc’s side comment, prompting the other to shake his head in pure disbelief. “Besides, I wasn’t just protecting you two”

“What do you mean?” Steven inquired, not understanding what other possible reason would Jake have to still take the mantle of Moon Knight. Jake's gaze then flickers to you, as if he's seeking your support. You meet his eyes, trying to understand the turmoil in his soul.

"It’s the only way I can protect you, Mira", Jake replied, his voice filled with a mix of regret and determination. His answer brought a brief silence to the room as you stood in the midst of it all, your mind whirling like a tempest as you tried to make sense of his current revelations.

Suddenly, Jake Lockley's eyes softened, and he revealed something that shocked you to your core. "I've known you for a long time. Even before all of this."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You stand in the center of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around your own body as you struggle to absorb this revelation.

"What do you mean, you've known me?” you took a deep breath, stepping closer to Jake. “How is that possible?"

“I remember the night we first met”, Jake's resolute gaze met yours as he nodded solemnly. "I wasn't the one who was fronting that time, but I remember seeing you. It was the night when Khonshu enlisted your help in shifting the night skies to find the right constellation leading to Ammit’s tomb.”

The room grew quiet as your mind processed Jake's words. You struggled to remember that night, but everything was shrouded in fog. It felt like a distant dream, something you couldn't quite grasp.

“I don’t understand”, your mind raced, trying to grasp the implications of this revelation. “If you remember me, why Marc and Steven couldn’t? Why couldn’t they remember any of it? Why can't I remember you?”

“I was supposed to forget too, but Khonshu retained my memories of that night since I still serve as his avatar”, Jake sighed, his eyes a mix of sorrow and frustration. "As for Marc and Steven, those memories became recurring dreams that do not make sense”

"Wait a minute," Marc interjected, his eyes narrowing. "Jake’s right, we've had countless dreams about that night."

“That’s right, yeah”, Steven nodded in agreement. "Just like what he says - moving stars and shifting constellations. But it was always blurry, nonsensical."

Jake Lockley's gaze softens, and he begins to recount the dreams that Marc and Steven have been experiencing, helping his headmates remember what they could. These were the dreams that you've never been privy to, until now.

In the midst of their quiet recollection and Jake's revelations, you continued your restless pacing around the room, your mind racing like a wildfire amidst the buzzing tension in the room. Something about all of this didn't sit right with you, and you require a direct line to the truth.

You needed answers, and you needed them now.

"I wish to speak to Khonshu," you declared, your voice unwavering. "Summon your god. I need to hear the truth from him, to explain all of this to me."

END OF CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

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dewdrop-writes · 2 years

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Hello!! It's my first time doing this, and I'm not sure if I'm doing this right. I really loved your venti x reader sagau where we take refuge in Monstadt instead of Liyue or Inazuma. I would like to ask, will there be more parts to that story?

Like what will happen if zhongli and Ei found out that the reader is staying in monstadt under venti’s protection?? and both of them are still under the impression that the reader is an impostor and is tricking venti?

i hope my ask does not annoy you feel free to ignore it if it does😣😣

Freedom's wings

I've also gotten multiple requests about continuing the Venti storyline and boy oh boy it's time for that lil bard to have some spotlight time since Zhongli has dominated my blog...

PS You're not annoying me at all! Don't worry about it, I love getting requests

Part 1 HERE

Length: 2.38 words

cw: mention of past injury, m

Gentle fingers plucked the strings of a lyre, weaving a soothing melody out of seemingly nothing. The highs and lows of the musical piece matching the unpredictability of a warm breeze - flowing through you like one during a hot summer day.

The chair - or rather throne, that you'd been seated upon, was plush, a warm coat of cotton and fabric covering the otherwise grandiose stone monument of grace, cushioning your tired form. You'd spent the day exploring the wilderness of Mondstadt with Venti and the knights on your tails, and it left a mark upon you - you were completely exhausted.

That was why you'd been eagerly dragged to sit upon the chair you'd at first deemed as entirely unnecessary, with the Archon of Wind sat at your feet.

You allowed a tired smile to tug at your lips weakly, taking in the sight of the youthful Archon, whose eyes were trained on you, awe sparkling within the lakes of his eyes. He had no need to glance at the strings dancing underneath his fingertips, the art mastered by him eons ago. All he needed to keep going despite the ache pooling into his fingers, was the sight of you - healthy and safe.

Kaeya and Rosaria were stationed at the door, watching the scene unfold with a fondness within their cold hearts. There was something soothing about your presence. And after what they'd learned of your treatment by the other nations, the knights and church of Favonius were weary to leave you alone - even if it was with their very own archon.

You suppressed a yawn behind a loose palm, your eyelids beginning to grow heavy as the warmth from the lit hearth ebbed and flowed into your joints, putting you more at ease. With a soft sigh, you began to nod off - the land of dreams reaching out its hand for you to graciously take.

When you awoke, you found yourself back in your lavish chambers. What awoke you, however, was something that raised concern within you. There was a barely hushed commotion building right outside your door - something that got the involved parties heated enough for you to hear the raised voices of Jean and Venti themselves.

That got you to your feet. Ignoring the coldness of the marbled floor, you followed the source, pausing as you heard silence suddenly befall the people crowded outside your door.

With a hesitant inhale, you reached out to open the door.

"Your Grace! Good morning!" Venti smiled in a strained manner, the cheerful tone of his voice clearly forced.

You frowned, your gaze flickering across the high ranking officials of Mondstadt, who had all coincidentally gathered right outside your door.

"What's going on?" you asked, anxiety bubbling up in your chest.

"There's a bit of a political problem," Jean was the first to admit.

You frowned, looking towards her to coax and answer out. Her stony blue gaze shifted aside, seeming to be in a wordless correspondence with the various captains of the knights.

Venti seemed to buckle underneath the weight of the situation, his shoulders slumping as though the tense air itself was weighing him down.

"We've received word from Liyue. And Inazuma," he started, looking pained as he attempted to get the words out. He seemed to dance around the subject in a manner similar to how his nimble fingers glided across the strings of a lyre.

"And...?" you asked, preparing for the worst. Even the names of the nations themselves sent chills down your spine, raising the hairs on the back of your neck as you relived phantom pain of the injuries their citizens had bestowed upon you.

"Well. The Liyue Qixing doesn't exactly believe us. That you are...well, the creator," Jean spoke up, seeming to sense the tenseness of the situation.

"Oh..." you muttered, shifting your gaze to the marbled blacks and whites of the floor beneath your feet, focusing on the coldness seeping into your frame from the soles of your feet over the creeping sense of dread threatening to overtake you.

"And the Shogun...well, she seems to agree," Venti added, a bitter edge to his tone as he fiddled with the embroidered hem of his shorts.

"I...see." was all you could manage to utter, shuffling around awkwardly as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

"Don't worry, your Grace! We'll keep you safe and sound here!" the archon exclaimed, straightening up his posture. You could feel the faint energy of a breeze emanate from him, leaving his little cape fluttering behind him proudly.

"Thank you, Venti."

You glanced at the other knights crowding your door.

"Thank you all."

However, things were not quite so easy. Political tensions were at an all time high. And it was only a matter of time before envoys of Liyue and Inazuma arrived at Mondstadt's door, pushing their way into your somewhat peaceful life.

"Your Grace, I advise you stay in your quarters today," Kaeya suggested, his whole form more tense and irritated than you'd ever seen before.

"Why?" was your automatic response, your gaze studying your surroundings.

"Rex Lapis and the Raiden Shogun are here today - and we'd rather not have you-"

"They're here?"

He nodded curtly.

"Lord Barbatos is currently dealing with them."

You shuddered.

"I...I need to see them."

"Your Grace?"

You straightened your form and conjured up your most convicting expression.

"I need to see them. I don't want Venti to deal with them on his own."

"Well, if that is truly what you want..."

You heard the sound of raised voices before you even saw anyone. Angry accusations flew across the hall and tensions were high. You could sense a faint earthy scent and an electric feel tingling in the air before you even set foot into the room.

"They're a fraud, simple and clear. I can't believe the anemo archon himself has deluded himself into believing their lies."

"Clearly he's grown much too foolish in his old age to make educated decisions. Such an archon is a danger to us all."

"You're the ones being foolish! You condemn an innocent for their resemblance to the Creator, when they are the creator you revere!" Venti defended himself, a fierce passion interwoven between his words. He seemed not to care about any insults aimed at him, but determined to fight for you til the bitter end.

You felt your blood boil as more and more accusations against yourself and Venti were thrown out.

Finally, you made your presence known - a sudden commanding aura emanating from yourself. You could feel the winds outside shift, picking up speed and strength as they raged against the glass windows surrounding the room.

"That's enough!" you exclaimed, stepping forward - your shoulders squared.

"Is it not enough to try and kill me - to tell me that my mere existence is a crime? You have to bring the only people who've been kind to me into this?"

You could sense heat pooling within your chest, blood coming to a simmer as you stared down the two who'd previously liberally berated Venti.

"The impostor dares to show their face. A brave move," Ei's commanding tone jeered, her cold lilac gaze landing upon you - sending a tingling jolt of fear across your spine.

"Brave indeed," Zhongli added, the golden glow of his gaze zoning in on you, a cold judgement burning within his sharp features.

Despite the warm sun having blazed outside mere moments before, there was an air of coldness hovering throughout the room, bleeding into every corner of it.

Your shoulders tensed, the injuries you'd been treating for weeks now, aching dully as though the mere presence of your previous tormentors was enough to pluck them apart and bring forth the pain once more.

"The imposter has made themselves comfortable here. Much too comfortable," Ei spoke once more, her fingers twitching as she reached towards her chest - eager to grip her weapon.

You flinched, taking a step back while your wide eyes searched the room for an escape.

Venti was quick to dash to your side, taking a protective stance before you as he conjured up his own bow before Ei could even draw her spear.

He strung it quickly, a cold glare glinting within his childlike eyes - for once looking like a true archon.

Zhongli's eyes narrowed at the display of hostility, being quick to pull out his own weapon, aiming it towards the two of you.

"Knights of Favonius!" Venti's voice boomed - something that was quickly followed by the large doors bursting open and said knights storming in - their own weapons gripped tight and visions casting a colourful glow across the room.

You shrunk into yourself, your gaze searching for an escape from this situation. The winds outside howled loudly in unison with your frightened heartbeat.

Tension arose quickly as the two opposing archons both had their weapons drawn. You could feel the walls closing in on yourself quickly, as did the wall of knights behind you. You felt compressed between the two opposing forces, Venti being your only anchor. The air seemed to vanish from your lungs, leaving you heaving for breath.

"I said it's enough!" you bellowed, curling in on yourself as you wrapped your arms around your frame, stumbling backwards and almost bumping into one of the guards stationed behind you.

Venti whipped around quickly, his brows furrowed as he studied your shaking frame.

There were two audible gasps as their eyes locked with your form - taking in the golden glow of the scars littering your skin. You screwed your eyes shut, forcing the tears lining them to stop their course. You could feel yourself growing lightheaded, forcing you to finally take in a deep inhale, gasping for air.

As a silence fell upon the room, you could finally force the air into your lungs, grounding you gently. When you finally felt brave enough to open your eyes, you were greeted by a strange sight.

The two archons who had previously threatened your safety and that of your companions, were now kneeling before you, their gazes lowered to the marbled floor, heads hung low in shame.

"Your grace...it truly is you..." Zhongli spoke first, not daring to meet your gaze.

You gulped heavily.

"Please forgive our transgressions - we were simply trying to protect your image," Ei spoke quietly, her hair falling in front of her face in a dark curtain.

You blinked away tears, taking another step backwards.

The gazes of the two archons followed you, leading you to feel much too exposed.

"I'll...be in my room," you muttered, turning on your heel and fleeing the scene - ignoring the gazes locked on your form.

With that, you were gone - your flowy robes fluttering behind you as you gained momentum - ignoring the hollow echoes of your footsteps clashing against the cold floor below - eager to escape the panic clawing its way out of your chest. You crashed against the heavy door of your room, gulping in a fresh wave of air, suddenly feeling the exhaustion coming down you in waves. With shaky movements, you jiggled the doorknob, managing to sloppily open the door before slipping inside. You closed it behind you softly - not too keen on making any sound.

With a deep sigh, you leaned against the door once more, allowing yourself to slide down it. A choked sound escaped your lips as you pulled your knees close, desperate to make yourself small. Everything seemed much too dangerous - like it was out to get you.

The display the archons had put on was making you fear for your life once more.

Were they simply acting? Did they still hate you?

Would they convince Venti you were a fraud too?

You choked back a sob.

You sure felt like one.

Before you could allow your mind to spiral into another hurricane, a soft knock on the wooden door tugged you free from those thoughts.

"Your Grace..." you heard Venti's soft voice from behind the door.

You inhaled shakily.

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?"

"Yeah...sure..." you shuffled to your feet, wiping off the tears forming in the corners of your eyes before finally daring to open the door.

Venti looked slightly dishevelled, a couple of strands of his hair having escaped their confines in his braids. He fixed his cape and set his hat straight.

"They've left, your Grace," he stated, his brows furrowing as he took in the sight your own messy form.

"Oh...that's....a relief..." you muttered, your gaze shifting aside, unable to meet his as the thoughts haunting you kept churning around in your mind.

"Are you alright, your Grace?" he asked, taking a careful step closer.

You managed a noncommittal shrug.

"I don't know. I guess so."

"I don't think that's quite true, if I may be so curt," Venti spoke, slowly reaching out a delicate hand towards you.

You latched onto his soft hand as though it was an anchor on a stormy sea.

"I guess I'm not much of a liar," you muttered, taking a step closer to the archon.

You could feel his piercing gaze drill into you.

"You won't have to interact with them as long as I'm here. I'll make sure they stay out of Mondstadt. Away from you," he promised.

You choked back a sob.

"Thank you, Venti. I didn't think I'd be so easily upset by them," you whispered, wrapping your arms around the Anemo archon. Gently, his own arms enveloped you. A gentle open palm stroked your upper back in a comforting manner.

You breathed in the scent of fresh cecilias and fresh grass that seemed to emanate from the man before you, burying your face in his chest, cushioned by his soft clothing.

"There's nothing wrong with being upset over this," Venti spoke in a surprisingly serious tone.

"Anyone would be, if they were in your shoes, your Grace."

You breathed out a dry laugh.

"Thanks, Venti."

"Anything for you, your Grace."

You nuzzled your face closer to his chest.

"Just (Y/n) is fine, you know."

"I...see. Alright then, (Y/n)."

You allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips at his gentle words.

Perhaps things would turn out alright, after all.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #sagau #genshin sagau #genshin cult au #self aware genshin #venti #venti x reader #lord barbatos #barbatos x reader #venti x gn reader #venti x gender neutral reader

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deepspacedukat · 7 months

Text

Misfit Toys - Part 2

I know it’s taken me a while to get part 2 out, but I haven’t forgotten this story, I promise! Have some more Tokath! 💖 There’s only one part left after this!

Part 1 here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Tokath (ST:TNG) x Reader

[A/N: Another chapter, now with more fluff! And angst! And emotions!]

Warnings: Discussions of previous injuries but nothing graphic, a dash of survivor’s guilt, mutual pining, angst, emotions, interspecies romance, Human/Romulan romance, they both think it’s unrequited love but it’s very requited.

~*~

After three weeks of using the crutch that Tokath had made me, I’d almost completely healed. I’d relied on it heavily in the beginning, along with help from the man himself, but as time wore on, I regained most of my strength.

The way the rest of the residents of the settlement had treated me when I first hobbled out into the courtyard was nothing short of warm and inviting. Most stopped what they were doing to watch as Tokath escorted me out into the afternoon sun. To be entirely honest, I’d expected them to look at me as some sort of an oddity, but to my surprise there were wide smiles on most of their faces. Several Romulan officers even gave me polite nods.

Some of the younger people who were grouped together near a small garden rushed over and introduced themselves, offering to give me the grand tour when I was well enough. Tokath had smiled widely as he watched me interacting with them. Was I mistaken or was there a hint of pride in his expression?

The days in which I felt stronger were never filled with quite the same things. Sometimes, the children would lure me out to the garden under the pretense of seeing new growth amongst the plants, intending truly to beg stories from me. What could I do but indulge their curiosity? They didn’t ask too many questions about the crash, but they were all very curious about my homeworld.

“Are there monsters on Earth?”

“Is it true that all you eat are nuts and berries?”

“Do Human children play with toys?”

They were all so curious. I couldn’t blame them, really. The Klingons knew a little about our culture, but the Romulans...all their knowledge of our culture came from their government’s propaganda. Needless to say, I had to do a bit of damage control, especially when it came to myths about several of our beliefs.

More often than not on those days, I’d find Tokath listening in from a nearby doorway. I found myself sitting up a little straighter every time I spotted him languidly reclining against one of the stone walls or a wooden door frame. He always had an encouraging smile for me.

On the days where I wasn’t feeling quite as energetic, he always welcomed me into his study for a relaxing conversation. Literature, art, the mysteries of the universe, differences in our cultures - nothing was off the table when we got talking. Most of the time when we engaged in these long, private discussion days, we’d only emerge from his study for meals, and often we talked so late into the night that we’d fall asleep together on the plush sofa adjacent to his desk.

The first time I’d awakened to find myself curled up in his arms, it had taken me an extended, sleepy moment to process where I was and who I was using as a pillow. The scent of his cologne and the large, gentle hands resting on my hip and slowly rubbing my back had told me everything I needed to know, and I almost drowned in the apologies that came pouring from my lips. Tokath had just hushed me softly and held me closer. I’d been so surprised that he wasn’t angry that all I could manage to do was submit to his encouragement and hide my face against his chest.

In truth, I discovered that I slept best during those nights where we curled up together on the sofa and talked ourselves to sleep. The amount of comfort that Tokath gave me was astounding, yet he didn’t even know how much he was helping just by being there. Once or twice, he’d addressed my unspoken fears and uncertainties without even knowing it - the guilt of being the only survivor of the crash and my fear of becoming a burden were the most prominent among those feelings.

Tokath had been so patient with his encouragement, even going so far as to promise that I’d be back to my old self and ready to travel home sooner than I could imagine.

And yet...over the time I’d spent on this odd planet, I couldn’t fathom being anywhere else. I knew he was trying to help just as he had been ever since the crash, but just the thought of being on another planet without the rambunctious Klingons and sly Romulans - one without Tokath - made me wish my recovery was progressing more slowly so that I wouldn’t have to leave.

I had no doubt that if I asked, Tokath would politely tell me that this place was not for me. After all, he’d spent so much time assisting me that he’d likely be glad to see the back of me. There were times that I’d managed to convince myself that he would be secretly glad to have me stay, but every time I plucked up the courage to ask him if I could stay, my doubt would come surging back stronger than ever.

Just because he enjoyed conversations with me, that didn’t mean he’d want me plaguing his existence long-term. After all, he was Romulan. Speaking to a Human for long stretches was likely just an opportunity for cultural study which he’d never before been afforded.

But...surely if that was the case, he would’ve objected to my falling asleep in his study with him so many times...?

This war of opposing thoughts had been waged repeatedly in my thoughts since Tokath and I started getting to know one another. Hope and doubt took stabs at each other in turns, making me one very confused Human. What was I to do about my feelings for this place? How was I supposed to reconcile my feelings for Tokath with my desire to be less of a burden than I had already been for him and his people?

One sunny afternoon after helping Ta’lana mix up a fresh batch of one of her miracle ointments, I wandered slowly through the compound, enjoying the sights and sounds of the society I’d come to treasure so much. The golden rays of the impending sunset streamed across the courtyard, illuminating the smiling faces of the people chatting and taking advantage of the beautiful weather.

The scent of the bright, multi-colored flowers that Centurion M’Ven had been tending so carefully rolled through the compound carried upon a slow, luxuriant breeze, bathing the area in a fragrant, heady cloud of floral delight.

I was so caught up in the simple sensation of being in a place as unique as this that I heard him before I saw him. A warm, familiar laugh drew my gaze, stopping me in my tracks when I caught sight of the man who always made my heart flutter.

The sunlight cascaded across his brown hair, giving even the grayest of his strands a radiant champagne-colored glow. As I stood watching Tokath speak to his men, a gruff voice muttered my name. Glancing beside me, I saw the wizened face of L’Kor with a smile stretching his lips.

“It has been good to see you up and about. We were not certain whether you would survive when M’Ven brought you back,” the Klingon said moving to stand at my side. We stood in silent company for a few moments, taking in the sight and sounds of the day. “I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“What? But I’ve not earned such a thing,” I stammered in confusion, but the Klingon gave me a toothy grin.

“Oh, but you have. He has been despondent since the day his wife passed three years ago,” L’Kor said nodding in the direction of the Romulans. “He stopped smiling...drew into himself...until you came along.”

Following his gaze, I was just in time to catch Tokath’s eye and receive a dazzlingly warm smile from him. I couldn’t imagine a man like him going a single day without allowing his joy to show on his face. It seemed so wrong to think of him as a solemn, withdrawn man. He was reserved, of course, but despondent? Tokath? Never!

“You have restored my friend to his former self, and for that I thank you most heartily,” L’Kor murmured as he placed his hand on my shoulder. He withdrew as the Romulan Commander began walking in my direction, leaving me to blink confusedly up at Tokath as he approached.

“You look much stronger today, lhhei. I...Are you alright?” The concern in his voice snapped me out of my musings.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I’m perfectly fine. L’Kor just gave me something to think about, that’s all.” Seemingly reassured by my answer, Tokath stood straighter and offered me his arm.

“Do you feel up to taking a walk with me?”

I laid my hand on his sleeve without hesitation, allowing him to guide me away toward solitude. We made our way down the path toward the outer gardens, a comfortable silence enveloping us as we wandered toward a little pond with a bench beside it.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve arranged a feast for you tonight. It would be unconscionable for me to allow you to depart without acknowledging how far you’ve come,” Tokath murmured, and I felt my heart clench in my chest.

“Before I depart?” I echoed his words pointlessly as he turned to face me.

“Yes, you see...I have good news for you. Ta’lana has informed me that you’re well enough for travel, and I’ve managed to acquire passage for you on a supply transport,” he said said lifting my hands to his lips. “You will be able to go home tomorrow.”

Home? But...Earth wasn’t home. Carraya Four had become my home. Tokath was my home.

But he’d worked so hard to secure me passage. No doubt he’d probably needed to bribe the pilot to keep the secret of their existence, as well as compensating them for agreeing to take me in the first place. How could I tell the sweet, hopeful Romulan in front of me that all I wanted was to stay here in this secret place with him?

How could I admit that more than anything I wanted to stay with him?

So I forced a smile, wrapped my arms around him, and murmured my gratitude against his shoulder to hide how downcast I’d become. The knife of despair twisted in my gut, and I wondered vaguely if this was how it felt to be thrown unceremoniously from paradise.

The banquet was a roaring success, in Tokath’s opinion. Everyone in the compound had attended to congratulate their Human patient on her swift recovery and to wish her a happy future.

If he was entirely honest, there was a rather selfish reason that Tokath was grateful for the amount of the Carraya Four residents had shown up. He no longer able to ignore his lady’s imminent departure, and deep within him something was cracking - the same something that he’d only just begun to heal after his wife’s death. He found it increasingly difficult to smile as the evening wore on.

At one point, L’Kor tapped his shoulder and leaned in to ask quietly if he was feeling unwell. What could he do but lie?

“No, old friend. I’m...perfectly alright,” he muttered, forcing a smile before focusing on his plate once more. He’d just begun to lose himself in the buzz of conversations all around him when a small hand rested on his forearm and made his heart pound faster in his side. The very woman who’d been on his mind was looking at him with concern.

“You look troubled,” she whispered, and before he could think better of his actions, he laid his larger hand over hers, dwarfing her pretty fingers with his own.

“Think nothing of it, e’lev,” he breathed, but for the rest of the evening, her hand remained on his arm, as if she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. He doubted that she needed comfort, but Tokath was selfish. In an effort to reassure himself and her, he told her one of his stories, aiming to pull some laughter from her throat both to assuage his own aching heart and to help boost the enjoyment of her evening.

Eventually, the meal ended, and after receiving many emotional handshakes, tearful hugs, and sincere well-wishes, Tokath couldn’t help but notice that his lovely charge looked as though her smile was dipped in just as much sadness as his.

No, surely he was wrong. He must be projecting his own emotional turmoil onto her. No doubt this charming woman would be excited beyond all comprehension to get away from this strange place and return home.

But how could his poor, battered, old heart handle such a significant loss? She was a ray of burning, bright light after years of darkness. The impact she’d had on his heart made him feel like a new man. Would that effect remain after she’d gone? Or would he turn back into that brooding old man he’d been in the months following the loss of his wife?

More importantly: how could he possibly tell this lovely little Human how he felt without making her feel obligated to stay when she undoubtedly would wish to return home?

When the hall began to empty out, two gentle, familiar hands grabbed one of his hands and tugged him outside into the night. Like an insect drawn toward the light, Tokath couldn’t help but smile as he followed the woman he’d grown to love coaxed him into the courtyard beneath the glowing light of the heavens. Moonlight caressed her cheeks and shone in her eyes when she turned to look at him.

The Commander’s voice deserted him in the face of such beauty. She seemed equally lost for words, settling finally on wrapping her arms around him and sighing contentedly when he hugged her back.

“We will be much diminished by your absence,” he finally murmured against the top of her head, “and I cannot help but feel...envious of Earth’s good fortune.”

Her grip on his torso tightened somewhat. A distinct dampness made itself known where her head was resting on his chest, and Tokath ran his fingers gently through her hair. He was tearing up himself, so how could he judge her?

“I wish...” The words nearly crept from his lips, but he stopped them mid-sentence. She looked up at him curiously, but he just shook his head. “Forgive me. Just an old man’s fanciful whims.”

“Oh hush, you. You’re not an old man,” she sniffled as she cupped his cheeks so carefully in her palms. “You’re amazing.”

He needed all of his restraint not to drag her into his arms and ravish her right there where anyone could come across them. She thought he was amazing?

“As are you, lhhei.” Not trusting his voice’s steadiness, he spoke in barely a whisper. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so many stories and hopes he had yet to share with her, but it was too late now. He settled instead for holding her close one last time and savoring the feeling of being so close to the woman he loved.

After he’d bid her a final, tearful goodnight, Tokath made his way back to his quarters and dressed for bed, but he couldn’t seem to rest.

He’d been pacing the length of his study for he didn’t know how long, stuck in an anxious fog, when his door chime sounded. Pausing in front of the window and staring out at the stars, he called for whoever it was to come in.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you so late.” The Commander turned at the sound of the soft, gentle, Human voice that he’d grown so fond of. “It’s just, I...I couldn’t sleep.”

“Dear lady, you could never bother me,” he murmured taking a few steps closer to her. He was acutely aware of his state of dress. He hadn’t anticipated seeing any guests, so he was only in a loose pair of black cotton sleep pants and an unsecured emerald robe. “What’s troubling you? If it’s anticipation of your departure in the morning, I’ve been kept awake by such feelings, before. I know how difficult it can be when something long-desired is finally just around the corner.”

“No, it’s...” she trailed off and bit her lower lip. “I need to talk to you.”

“Of course. Please, sit and speak to your heart’s content,” he said guiding her to his sofa and sitting beside her. Noticing her fidgeting hands, he covered them with his own. It was then that he noticed she was also in her pajamas, seemingly in the same predicament in which he’d found himself. “Sweet girl, what is weighing so heavily on your mind?”

She looked up at him, and to his horror he saw that she was genuinely afraid.

“Tokath, you and your people have done so much for me,” she murmured gripping his hands lightly. “I want you to know how grateful I am to you for saving my life and taking me in.”

“Oh, e’lev, believe me, I know. You’ve thanked me countless times,” Tokath assured her, but her brow furrowed and she rose to her feet, pacing silently over to the window where he’d been only moments before.

“But you’ve given me so much more than you could ever know. Your kindness and patience during my recovery, your constant companionship and willingness to help me...”

A deep, heavy breath escaped her, and the Commander stood slowly. What was she getting at?

“I...I’ve never really felt like I belonged anywhere. No place has ever really felt like home. At least, not until I crashed here on Carraya Four,” she admitted quietly, making the Romulan’s breath catch in his chest.

“But, there are no other Humans here–”

“I know, but I’ve never felt this at home anywhere else,” she said turning to face him with a frantic sort of desperation in her eyes. “I know I have absolutely no right to ask any more of you after all that you’ve done for me, and I know that the transport will be here in the morning, and that securing passage on it probably cost you more than I could ever be worth, but please...”

She dropped to her knees in front of him as tears poured down her lovely cheeks.

“I don’t want to leave. I love living here. Even though I’m different, nobody treats me as though I am. I know I wasn’t able to contribute very much when I was recovering, but I’ll do anything I can to earn a place here.” As she rambled and tried to justify her request, Tokath knelt in front of her. “Please, please, I know it must be strange to have a Human here, and I don’t want to inconvenience you, but I don’t want to leave my new friends. I don’t want to leave you, Tokath. You are probably eager to see me go, but, please, don’t make me–”

“I won’t. I would never make you leave, lovely girl,” the Commander said silencing her fears as he cupped her cheeks and looked into her tear-filled eyes. “I have no wish to send you away. In the time that I have had the honor of knowing you, you have become dear to me. I didn’t want to lose you, but the thought of trapping you here in a life that you had no desire to lead by asking you to stay was so abhorrent to me that I chose silence instead. I am so sorry, lhhei. I never meant to appear as though I was awaiting your departure so that things could go back to the way they were before. Whether you go or stay is entirely up to you.”

“I want to stay,” she practically sobbed, and Tokath gave her a warm smile as tears of his own began trickling from his eyes. He drew her into his arms in a tight hug, savoring the feeling of her in his arms.

“Then stay,” he murmured against the top of her head. She clung to him, burying her face against his shoulder as she sniffled and tried to catch her breath. Rubbing soothing circles onto her back, Tokath felt relief crashing through him. He wasn’t going to lose her! He wasn’t going to have to figure out how to live without her! Even if she never loved him like he loved her, he would still be able to see her beautiful, smiling face every day! “Stay as long as you like. Stay the rest of your life, if you desire.”

After a few moments, the Commander gathered her in his arms and carried her to the sofa. Reclining with her in his lap, he cuddled her closer than he had ever done before, tangling their limbs together and holding her as close to him as physically possible. She nuzzled into the segment of his bare chest where his robe had fallen away and grasped at the edge of the emerald fabric.

“Would you like to stay here with me tonight?” When he felt her nod her head and snuggle into him more completely, he relaxed. Tokath was selfish that night. He stayed awake listening to the sound of her steady breathing for much longer than he needed to, simply for the pleasure of reinforcing the knowledge that she was staying. In the morning he’d pay off the transport pilot, but right then, his place was with her.

~*~*~

Romulan Words:

lhhei = my lady

e’lev = darling

~*~

Taglist:

@akamitrani @android-boyfriends @attention-bajoranworkers @bigblissandlove1 @darkmattervibes @emilie786 @horta-in-charge @live-logs-and-proper @slutty-slutty-vulcans @starrynightgardens @toebeans-mcgee

#deepspacedukat fic #Tokath x Reader #Commander Tokath of Carraya IV #Human x Romulan romance

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nerevarswritingstuff · 8 months

Text

Line (Albedo/Reader) Pt. 2

“An assistant??” You turn from your easel to Sucrose, tilting your head. “For who, again?”

“Mr. Albedo—he’s an alchemist. He has a few official titles… Kreideprinz, Captain of the Investigation Team, Chief Alchemist…” Sucrose plays with her hair, twirling and twirling and twirling it around her finger.

You hum, turning back to your easel to continue painting. The name was familiar, you’ve heard it before while traveling around the streets of Monsdstadt and overhearing conversations during your sketching breaks. Actually meeting the guy was a different story. You’ve heard plenty about his accomplishments in alchemy and apparent charming personality.

Already your mind is painting a picture of what he could possibly look like, but you quickly bring a white brush to that canvas to keep it blank. For now you’ll just imagine him as a stick of chalk for now—considering one of his titles. No face, no personality. Just a blank canvas with a simple line that can be added to however you wish.

“I remember you were leaving soon for Sumeru for your project with the Amurta scholars—is this why you're offering me the position?” You ask, eyes glancing at her before going back to your piece.

No one really asked you to paint it, you just felt like doing something after so long of unpacking all your things. With your artist supplies finally out of the endless pile of boxes, your painter’s hand was itching for something. You decided to settle on painting the statue of Barbatos from memory first before actually trekking outside to do a more proper one.

“Essentially speaking, yes.” She takes a seat beside you, keeping arm’s length to stay out of your way. “At least—it could be a—uh—a trial run for you both.” She plays with her hair again, looking to the floor. “That way, if it doesn’t work out, there'll be no hard feelings… I hope that’s okay?”

“I don’t see an issue with it so far. What’s he like—if you don’t mind my asking?” Best to go in with a base idea of what his personality is before you go jumping in. You’ve gotten screwed over too many times by going in completely blind and would prefer to have at least one eye able to see.

She plays with her gloves, then her collar, her hands never able to sit still for long. “Well—his accomplishments in alchemy are nothing to laugh at, it’s because of him that Mondstadt was able to thrive in so many new discoveries—and also why so many people from around the world come to meet him.”

“Mhmm…” You hum to indicate you were still listening to her, leaning back in your stool to look at the whole canvas, eyes flickering over the piece before catching a small mistake and going to fix it. While it didn’t fully answer your question, it certainly gave you an idea to what level his intelligence was at with alchemy.

“He’s a very kind and intelligent man—oh, and he also is an artist as well!” She perks up at remembering the little detail and offers you a smile. “He’s… well, more into sketching, but has painted a few pieces before.”

Ah, a fellow artist. You can’t help but wonder what his style would be like—is he the type to stay realistic or go abstract, or just go with whatever weird mixture he thinks looks nice to him?

“So he’ll be a mixture between my boss and an art buddy?” You chuckle, catching the blush on her face at your teasing. “He’s not the type to talk down on you… is he?”

Sucrose quickly waves her hands and shakes her head. “Oh no, no, no! Never! He actually is very patient and understanding, even if talking to people isn’t his strongest suit, he still is extremely polite.”

Alright, that’s good to hear. At least he wasn’t a stuck up know-it-all. You nod, keeping your smile gentle. “I was just checking. Maybe teasing a little. Just a bit.” You laugh at the look on her face. “Hmm, I suppose we can work out a meeting. Is he available to discuss it right now?”

“Ah—I believe so. But—aren’t you busy? I can go let him know—he asked me to anyway—”

“Not busy enough to keep me from setting up a meeting at least. I’d hate to use you as a messenger back and forth because a) it’d make you tired and b) it’d be inconsiderate of both of us to assume you’d be okay to do this when you still need to pack your things for a long trip to Sumeru soon.” You do one final stroke of the brush on the statue’s wing and go to stand up.

“Well… I might have… just told him about this before coming to you to tell you…” She pokes her fingers together, unable to meet your gaze. “It was—a bit of a—uh—last minute decision, since the plan kind of got a rock thrown in the way, and—and I was trying to find a way to make it work out, and—”

“It’s okay, Sucrose. I understand, and I’m sure the Chief Alchemist wouldn’t mind either.” You give her shoulder a pat and a reassuring smile. “It’s not in your control when things get changed around, so the most you can do is try to work with it, yeah?”

“Ah... yes… thank you for understanding. Then, I suppose I can show you where his lab is in the Favonius Headquarters…” She stands as well, fiddling with her hair all over again. “Are you sure it’s no trouble? I can take you there later, if you’d like. I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

“It’s not an inconvenience, it’s best both of us know what time and place we’ll be meeting at in the next day or so—that way we can prepare our own questions and whatnot.” You smile, then frown and ask, “He won’t care if I’m covered in paint, will we?”

“Hmm, I don’t think so. Besides, you’re not that covered in paint, at least.” Even as she says that, she’s already grabbing a wet cloth to give you and pointing to her cheek. You take it with a chuckle and wipe your face.

You take a moment to stretch, hearing your back pop in several different places, before heaving a sigh. Grabbing your hat with your Dendro Vision, you secure it to your head and smile. “Alright, lead the way.”

“Of course.” Sucrose takes you outside, making sure to lock the apartment before hurrying down the streets towards the Knights of Favonius Headquarters. Already several people were giving you a look of curiosity—mainly because of your clothes being covered in paint. Your pants were the worst of it, absolutely coated in a mixture of colors from you brushing your paint covered hands or your brushes onto them.

Not like you minded anyway, it was no different from all the other places you’ve been to and needed to go out in the middle of painting to get errands done. You just walk with Sucrose, ignoring the looks, but unable to ignore the feeling of someone staring at and through you. Yet when you look there is no one to be found.

Weird, if not slightly unsettling.

Entering the Knight’s Headquarters is when you start to feel very underdressed. The knight’s armor looks pristine, secretaries and messengers alike dressed to the nines. But you quickly push the feeling away, no need to fret over something so trivial. Not like this was a fancy gathering or anything.

You glance at your painting of Jueyun Karst hanging in the main hall and smile. Ah, what wonderful memories of several days camping out in the wild, keeping your painting safe from the wind and rain alike, and dealing with hilichurls trying to eat your paints, thinking it was some kind of food paste. Sure won’t be the last time that happens.

You follow Sucrose down a hallway towards a door that has a sign on it, reading No Experiments in Progress. You raise a brow, looking at your friend but she says nothing as she knocks twice on the door, stepping inside after a gentle, masculine voice says, “You may enter.”

You step inside, eyes roaming about the area. Yup, it’s your typical alchemy lab. Plenty of beakers, tables, notes, and a lot of things you know absolutely nothing about. You keep your hands to yourself, despite the desire to poke and prod at a few funnily shaped beakers and look forward to the source of the voice—whom you safely assume is the Chief Alchemist.

The first thing you’re met with is a pair of eyes that remind you of two chips of glass with the sea behind them. His blonde hair held such a stark brightness to it, it could be mistaken for white if the light hit it just right. It was askew in several different places, haphazardly tied back but several strands still lay in his face. You tilt your head, eyes taking in each detail as the blank canvas in your mind of his appearance continues to paint it and put it to memory.

He’s only a couple inches taller than you, from what you can garner. He somehow manages to look young, yet mature. Perhaps your age, give or take a year? A soft curve of his cheekbone, but a strong chin, a short nose that seemed to detail his face well, his eye shape round and giving it a gentle appearance. His outfit was as you expected any alchemist to be—white lab coat and all. A bit more detailed than you expected, but you suppose that’s because of his standing as Chief Alchemist. Your eyes linger on the Geo vision nestled on his collared shirt, then the star shaped birthmark on his neck. A curious sight indeed.

Your eyes flicker back to his, noticing he was taking in each detail of your appearance as much as you were with his. He takes in your face, your paint-stained clothes, your own messily brushed hair, to your Dendro Vision clipped to your hat. His expression didn’t change by an inch as he committed your appearance to memory, yet when he noticed your Vision, there was a shine in his eyes that hinted at curiosity.

You can hear the wheels turning in his head, but can’t think of the thoughts that could be going through that mind of his. Perhaps he was curious on how Visions work for every wielder and wanted to find out what yours could do. Maybe it was something else.

During his examination of you, somehow he manages to keep his expression blank yet serene. Then his eyes meet yours and you offer a smile, asking with a light lilt in your tone, “Chief Alchemist Albedo, I presume?” You step forward, offering a hand to shake and telling him your name.

He nods, a smile easily falling into place on his features that somehow makes him look more tranquil. You can’t help but wonder just how many people crush on him just for his looks alone. He takes your hand and gives it a single shake. “Yes, though you may simply call me Albedo. I’ve no need for such official titles,” he says, making your brows shoot up.

Admittedly, you weren’t expecting such a voice to come from him. At least not one that mature, given he looked so youthful. Yet it seemed to add the finishing touches to his entire person. Gentle like the padisarah’s from your homeland, yet also firm and sturdy like the mountains of Liyue. It fits him well, you feel.

Shaking off your initial shock, you mentally pen down his request. “Alright then, Albedo. Well, I won’t beat around the bush—Sucrose said you needed a new assistant since she’s leaving for Sumeru soon. I wouldn’t mind giving it a shot, but obviously we’ll need to arrange a meeting so we can get down and dirty with the details.”

A pause, your eyes roaming his face. There was a slight twitch in his shoulders, relaxing some. Hmm, curious, but you make no comment. He says, “I believe it would be best suited for us both to go over the details of the arrangement, yes. I’m assuming you being here is to arrange the time and place of the meeting?”

“Mhm,” you pocket your hands and shrug, “I’d hate to use Sucrose as the messenger between us since she has her own schedule, so I figured she could show me to your lab and we can discuss from there.” You turn to Sucrose with a soft smile. “You don’t have to stay, I know the way back home. You should get your stuff packed up.”

“Ah—are you sure?” Sucrose looked between you and Albedo.

“When is your caravan leaving, Sucrose?” Albedo asks, putting his thumb and index finger to his chin.

She doesn’t answer immediately, eyes darting around as she recalls the details, then says, “It’ll arrive in… three days, and will be leaving at noon.”

“Then it’d be best to ensure your equipment and supplies are packed post haste then,” he tilts his head to her, saying in a soft tone, “There’s no need to fret over either of us, Sucrose. This project is important to you, therefore it should be number one on your list of things to prepare for.”

“It’s exactly as he says,” you pat her shoulder, “you’d say the same to me or him. So go on, I’ll meet you back at home.”

She looks like she wanted to argue a bit more, but after a moment of giving it some thought, she relents, “Alright. Thank you so much, both of you.” She gives you both a smile, adjusting her glasses, before hurrying out the door.

You face Albedo again. “So—about our meeting, I’d like to make sure we at least have a time and place set up before anything else.” You hum, tapping your chin, then ask, “Would you prefer it to be private, or somewhere in an open space?”

“I was actually going to ask you the very same question,” he chuckles, “I have no preference for either, truly. Though, giving it more thought, perhaps a private setting would be best for this situation—it would be less likely for us to be interrupted, as… admittedly, many people try to converse with me on the streets about new alchemy findings.”

You can tell just from the way his voice dipped and shoulders drooped that he’s not the biggest fan of interruptions. It’s possible he’s too polite to say much about it, but that remains to be seen. You smile, saying, “Alright, so a private setting then. Perhaps here in the lab, or my apartment, or is there a specific place you’d prefer?”

“Hmm… I wouldn’t wish to impose on you or Sucrose and the lab has too many volatile things sitting about right now… Ah, there’s plenty of meeting rooms within the Headquarters we could use to discuss the terms of this contract, if that sounds reasonable to you?” He gestures to you, brows raised in question.

“That sounds fair to me. How does… two days from now sound, around noon? I can bring us coffee—or do you prefer tea?”

“Coffee, please. Just a simple two cream and two sugar.” He takes a pen, writing something down on a piece of paper, then faces you again. “I’ll meet you within the main hall of the Headquarters—there’s many meeting rooms here so it would be beneficial to ensure you didn’t get lost within.”

“My thanks for that, I’d like to not get lost in such a big building,” you laugh and he shares a small chuckle with you. “Alright, then two days from now, noon, coffee—two cream, two sugars. Sounds like an appointment.” You hold your hand out to him again. “We’ll obviously discuss everything else in further detail during the meeting, but I’ll get out of your hair now since you’re most likely busy.”

“Ah—yes—that is much appreciated.” He takes your hand, gives it one shake, and then pulls away. “Until then, I look forward to our meeting.”

“The feeling is mutual. Until then.” With that, you step out of the lab. Remembering the path Sucrose took with you in tow, you follow it towards the main hall and exit, beginning your trek back to your apartment.

Alright, so first impressions of Albedo were a mixed bag. Nothing negative so far, but it certainly looked like he wasn’t expecting you to just show up and arrange a meeting. Nor did it seem like he was the type to enjoy long-winded conversations just from his mention of people stopping him in the streets.

A bit introverted, isn’t he?

Even so, just from the way he spoke to Sucrose, you could tell there’s a kind soul in him. Much like she said, Albedo has this air about him that radiates patience and understanding for unexpected situations—such as Sucrose’s impromptu offering of you being his assistant. Even if talking to people didn’t seem to be his strong suit, it looks like he still does what he can to accommodate others.

Such an interesting guy. You find yourself growing more and more curious about him.

Well, you have two days to wait—might as well utilize that time to help Sucrose pack and get some sketching done.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #x reader #albedo x reader #albedo genshin impact #albedo kreideprinz #albedo genshin x reader #my writing #more of that side project for y'all to see~ ;)

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hello-nichya-here · 6 months

Note

Inspired by a fic on AO3- Only Love on Offer (not mine but it’s a work of art)

Diverges at the bedroom scene:

“You really don’t understand me at all do you?”

Azula was confused and opened her mouth to respond, when Zuko decided to throw caution to the wind and kissed her.

Shes’s stunned speechless for a long moment and he is nervous waiting for her to respond, when she takes a step forward and hesitantly presses her lips against his.

This progresses to a sweet first time, it’s a little painful for Azula but Zuko is so gentle with her and takes it on himself to please her as much as he possibly can. Afterwords they’re cuddling, neither really believing what they just did.

“How long have you…?”

“Always really. But I didn’t figure it out until a couple weeks before I was banished.”

“And you- even after-“

“Always LaLa.”

Flash forward and the two of them haven’t slept apart in days/weeks, not always sex but always in love. They use secret passages in order to make sure no one finds out, Zuko tells her about the spirit water and the assassin he hired to try and make sure the job was done. She leans on him, finally having someone who loves her and isn’t afraid to make sure she knows it.

Then two things happen:

Ozai decides it’s time to find a his daughter a husband, and Azula misses her period.

They have to move fast, Zuko is not going to let Ozai burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground, take his sister-lover away from him, or be a threat to their baby. Azula is totally willing to kill Ozai, but for plot reasons they decide to go with the help the Avatar route.

When Zuko goes to the Gaang he admits that he’d already been having doubts, but ultimately finding out his lover was pregnant, and due to it being both out of wedlock and the nature of their relationship, the only way for them to be together would be if he was Fire Lord.

They all come up with their own theories as to who the mystery woman is and general consensus is that she was either not Fire Nation or a servant.

Despite Zuko’s assurances that at the very least Azula was on his side and wouldn’t go against them with him there, they still go to the palace to make a claim for Fire Lord and Katara is ready for a fight.

Azula has had the palace evacuated and fired most of her maids so her pregnancy stayed a secret, she’s now Fire Lord and to everyone’s surprise but Zuko’s warmly welcomes her brother home. As she’s the Fire Lord no one can argue with her. She admits that she doesn’t want to be Fire Lord, that all she wants is to live her life as she pleased with whom she chose, and has the stunned Fire Sages crown Zuko. The second the coronation is done he hugs her, Katara is wary but relieved that everything has gone so well and is happy to see the two of them so happy for each other.

They take things inside and Zuko asks how Azula is doing and she smiles says they’re both fine and puts his hand on her bump. At this point Katara puts the pieces together and is completely disgusted, but Azula points out this is the least terrible thing the royal family had ever done, and the two of them were still the best option the world had.

Things are a nightmare of post war dealings and the wedding winds up being ‘quiet’ by royal standards- only the ambassadors and the entire royal court attended. Aang managed to get the rest of the Gaang to show up in support (he’s the only one who out and out does not care about the incest).

Iron is completely against the relationship, he doesn’t try to hide that fact, he’s polite enough to attend the wedding and keep his mouth shut during it, but loudly says at every other opportunity that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea nor does he approve.

That all changes the second an ecstatic Zuko, practically vibrating with excitement as he holds his newborn daughter, sets Izumi into his arms.

“This is grandpa my little turtleduck.”

After that he is completely on board and their staunchest defender. He spends the rest of his life happily drinking tea surrounded by his many grandbabies.

It is a work of art indeed, and once again, WHY does the zucest community just not post their stuff? Thank you for sharing it, anon.

Also, I think it'd be pretty in character for Azula to not kill her dad even if she ever grows to feel he deserves it. I even imagine Zuko not being able to go through with it. They were both so dependent on him emotionally and for validation for so long, it makes sense that even if they grew to not want him in their lives at all, and maybe had some pretty ugly confrontations with him too, they still wouldn't feel right about killing him.

#zucest

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spaceclefairy · 3 months

Text

The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, Ch. 17

Pairing: Michael de Santa/ OFC; Trevor Philips/OFC; Michael de Santa/OFC/Trevor Philips; Michael de Santa/Trevor Philips

Summary: Los Santos is a hellscape, but if you’ve got brains and a little determination, it can be a real hell of a playground. Michael needs money, Trevor needs whatever Trevor wants, and Franklin’s moving up in Los Santos. Jen’s just along for the ride.

This is gonna be fun.

Author’s Note: I’ve been writing this beast of a thing since 2013. It’s been through a thousand different incarnations, but it’s been in my drafts for the last six years. I realize this fandom isn’t as popular as it used to be, but I might as well have a little fun and finally start posting it.

Also, not to be that bitch, but this is on Ao3. I would very much appreciate kudos/comments, if you’re so inclined!

Tagging: @verbo-volant for being an inspiration always

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 || Part 11 || Part 12 || Part 13 || Part 14 || Part 15 || Part 16

--- --- ---

Senora Freeway, Three Years Ago

Michael’s flying down the Senora Freeway, Jen’s in the passenger's seat, Night Moves is playing gently in the background, and life is fucking good.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Jen asks, leaning over to card her fingers through the back of his hair. “What's your curfew?”

“Haven't got one tonight,” Michael says, leaning into her hand. “Amanda's out of town for the weekend. We can do whatever you want, baby.”

“Really? Whatever I want, huh?” Jen teases, rubbing his neck. She can see one of his tattoos peeking just over the edge of his collar, and she runs her finger across it. “We could… go see a movie? There's a drive-in on the edge of the canyon right before the county line. We could grab some greasy takeout and not pay attention to whatever they're showing.”

“And what would we be doing instead of paying attention?” Michael shivers from the brush of her fingertips, a full-body shiver that runs from his shoulder to his toes.

Jen laughs. “Fucking in the backseat, duh. That's what drive-ins are for.”

Michael chuckles to himself - that sounds like a good plan to him. “What if we get caught? Don't want you to lose your job or anything.”

“Please, we're so short-staffed, that old codger wouldn't fire me if I set the mayor's house on fire,” Jen says with a grin. She kicks off her shoes and crosses her legs up in the passenger's seat, relaxing against the door. “He’s gone senile anyway. We’re all just trying to stay afloat.”

“You should run against him, bring in some new blood.”

“Me? DA?” Jen snorted. “I'm not really much for leadership. Or politics.”

“I think you'd be good at it,” Michael replied. His hand settled on her thigh, squeezing her knee briefly. “You’re smart, you’re hard-working - you’ve got the Los Santos look. Good face for politics.”

“Maybe I'll think about it,” Jen shrugs. She’s never one to get sheepish, but she can't deny she's flattered. “Hey, turn here - let’s grab Cluckin’ Bell and head to the drive-in.”

--- --- ---

Present Day

Thanks to Michael, Jen had been in a bad mood all weekend.

Saturday had been little more than a nuisance - a formality of time enforced by the sheer ticking of a clock. Jen had given up calling or texting Michael not long after he'd bolted Friday night, leaving Saturday an open wound. She passed the irritable hours by sticking her nose in her laptop and coming up for air for coffee, and coffee alone.

Sunday was just another twenty-four hours of blind irritation stemming from hurt and confusion. Sunday was spent on the couch watching reruns of old mafia movies and nursing a bottle of wine.

Monday, well… Monday was not a good day to be this angry. It was a status hearing for Jen’s serial killer trial - the trial that would last at least a month. The hearing was a formality - little more than standing up to tell the judge that, yes, the State is ready for trial, and, yes, half the LSPD and FIB are witnesses on said trial, and, yes, it will take at least a month to try.

And, while Jen prided herself on etiquette and professionalism within the courtroom, that Monday was not her finest day. Jen was seething, and everyone could tell. Therefore, no one would talk to her, nothing was getting worked out, and nothing was getting done - at least, not for her cases.

When Jen’s case was called, she stood in her tall, tall heels, the spiky ones she wore specifically on days like today, and stood at the podium in front of the judge. "The State is ready to proceed with trial."

The judge, a curmudgeonly woman in her late sixties, similarly, and perhaps impossibly, was in a worse mood because a month-long trial wasn’t going to be enjoyable for anyone. The judges - especially this one in particular - did not like it when Jen announced that a trial would take place, as Jen's trials generally took a week or more.

The judge sighed. "How long do you expect this to take, Ms. Dixon?"

"Three weeks, maybe four. There's eight counts of murder in the first degree and nearly forty witnesses."

The judge, deadpan, asked, "Seriously?"

Jen nodded, tapping her pen against the podium. "Serious as a heart attack, Judge. This is the serial killer the FIB arrested last year."

The judge looked as if she'd like to retire immediately. "Alright, we'll set it down for trial. I'll send out the scheduling order this afternoon."

Jen stepped away from the podium, click-clacking back to the State's table. The other attorneys hastily made room for her, careful not to scoot too close. With the exception of MaryAnn, they all seemed to be mightily preoccupied with the files in their hands. MaryAnn, on the other hand, stared her down with every step.

Leave it to MaryAnn to be the only person unafraid to ask. She leaned over to whisper in Jen’s ear. "What crawled up your ass?"

Despite Jen’s irritation, she almost smiled. "Nothing."

MaryAnn rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, I haven't seen you this angry at work since the morning after you went on that date with Haines."

That had been an exceptionally bad day, after an exceptionally bad date. They did not speak of that date. Nor the day that followed.

"We agreed never to talk about that." Jen crossed her arms and watched another lawyer stand up for his case. "Mike's being a dick."

"Did you have a fight?" MaryAnn asked. She watched the judge out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her next case to be called while she chatted with Jen.

"More like he fucked me seven ways to Sunday and ran out of my apartment before he'd even zipped up his pants. And didn’t bother to answer the phone."

"Ouch," MaryAnn winced. "Want me to cover for you so you can go home?"

Jen shook her head. "No, I've got too much to do, and we need to keep prepping for trial. I'll take care of it tonight."

"I feel sorry for him…"

"I wouldn't if I were you."

As Jen sat at the table monitoring the goings-on of the courtroom, her phone vibrated. She frowned down at it when Michael’s name flashed across the screen.

Michael: dinner @ natalias @ 6

How eloquent. Michael wasn't known for his hip-and-happening texting skills.

Jen: okay

She received no further reply, which wasn't unexpected even on a good day. Nevertheless, she spent a few too many seconds glaring down at the screen. Two of her employees (who had been watching carefully to make sure a blow-up wasn’t imminent) vacated their seats and scurried away, pretending to discuss a case they were working together. She rolled her eyes at their retreating backs, but she could admit it wasn’t their worst idea to go run and hide.

Jen chewed on her lip, deep in thought, until she tasted the rust of blood. Dinner could go one of several ways. Michael could ignore the problem - that was the most likely possibility. He could bring presents and buy her dinner and expect that to fix things. Or, equally possible, he could finally run the other way. That… also wouldn’t be entirely unexpected. Whatever method Michael decided to try, Jen had already determined a conversation needed to be had.

Once court had adjourned, Jen grabbed MaryAnn and led her back to her office.

“We have to call Haines and Norton,” Jen said. “They worked the last of the murders before his arrest, so we need to start working on their testimony.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want to take your anger out on your favorite punching bags?” MaryAnn asked, curling up on her favorite chair in Jen’s office. She stared up at the whiteboard where Jen had drawn out their trial plan. “You’re not going to have one of them sit with us, are you?”

“I was planning on Haines sitting at the table with us. He has public appeal with that dumbass TV show,” Jen replied, tapping out a message on her phone. She usually tried to warn Haines before she called him. She dialed after she sent the message. “As much as I don’t want him there, he has good ratings - might help with the jury's perception of us.”

Both Jen and MaryAnn were well-known for being rather… contentious during trial.

“I hate it when you’re right… sometimes,” MaryAnn said. She quieted when Haines answered the phone on the third ring.

Haines’s voice rang loud and clear over the speaker. “How can I help you, Jenny?”

Jen’s eye twitched. “That serial killer you and Norton arrested last year is electing to exercise his constitutional right to a trial. Clear your schedule - you’re sitting at the table with us.”

“I guess you need a pretty face for when the camera’s come rolling in,” Haines commented loftily. “I don’t know… I’ll have to check my filming schedule.”

“Well, when I serve you your subpoena and you don’t show up,” Jen started as MaryAnn snickered quietly in her seat, “I can have you arrested on your own TV show. How's that for ratings?��

“Eh, I guess I could use some more screen time,” he corrected quickly. He wouldn’t put it past her to actually do it. “I’ll make sure to let my makeup artist know.”

“If you fuck up this testimony and this guy walks, don’t forget your home address is public…”

Haines scoffed quietly. “Calm down, Jenny. When have I ever fucked up testimony?”

Irritatingly, the answer was never. Haines, for all his flaws and despite his patriarchal athleisure wear, was actually fairly good on the stand. He was somehow able to charm a jury, despite the glaring surface flaws and deep-seated jackassery.

“Just be prepared. You’ll be on the stand for a couple of days,” Jen said, "And wear a fucking suit. I don't want you up there looking like you're going out for a round of golf."

“Yeah, fine.”

Jen hung up. MaryAnn was still snickering quietly in her chair.

“Well, if all goes poorly with your old man boyfriend, there’s always Steve Haines.”

“I would genuinely rather die, MaryAnn.”

--- --- ---

Michael was late. Of course, he was late. Even neutral ground for a conversation wouldn’t make that man deal with the consequences of his actions in a timely fashion.

Jen took a sip of her wine. It was good wine, she determined. She’d already asked the hostess (a woman she’d become incredibly friendly with over the years of being a steady and dedicated patron) to bag up an extra bottle to take home. She had a feeling she was going to need a tall, stiff drink when she got home.

Jen already knew where this date was going just by virtue of Michael being late, and Michael was clearly having trouble getting himself together to do it.

She could tell him that it was okay, that she was expecting it. She could tell him she'd always known it would end like this - that they'd had a good ride together. She could be kind and make this easier for him, just get up and grab her bags and forget that he existed. And make him pay for the meal, obviously.

But Jen certainly wasn’t known for being kind. If Michael was going to do this, she wasn't going to make it easy for him.

Michael finally arrived, dressed in his usual suit and tie. Judging by the pink flush on his cheeks, he’d had a couple of drinks before he’d walked in - a little liquid courage. Jen watched him idly as he sat down and adjusted his tie, though it didn’t need to be adjusted. He was looking anywhere but at Jen, though she’d fixed him with a cool, even stare.

Finally, Jen spoke, tone flat. "Explain."

"I don't really know what to say…"

She cocked her head to the side. "Take your time."

"I- uh," Michael trailed off as though words had entirely escaped him. He paused, trying to hold himself firm against Jen's colder-than-death stare. "I'm- well, I'm- fuck - I'm sorry for runnin' out the other night-"

"I didn't ask for an apology, Mike. I said explain."

Michael knew his choices were limited. He could take what he determined was the chicken-shit way out: apologize and keep on doing this with Jen. Or, he could do what he figured was the right thing to do if he wanted Amanda back - break it off right here and now.

Begrudgingly, Michael admitted Trevor was right - he had to let one of them go. And he'd chosen Jen.

Time to pony up.

"Jen, I can't keep doing this," Michael said, his voice hollow. It's like he couldn't hear the words coming out of his mouth - like he was trapped in an icy bubble. "I mean, we had a good ride. It's been a good six years-"

"Seven years."

Michael coughed. Right. "Seven years. But we knew we'd have to move on from this eventually."

Jen crossed her arms. "Uh-huh."

"Look, you deserve someone who can give you a good life."

"I have a good life as it is, but keep talking if you’d like,” Jen said, raising an eyebrow.

“I'm still married, Jen.”

That, despite Michael's attempt at a hushed whimper, caught the attention of the table next to them. Two blondes, one tall and statuesque even sitting, the other squat and muscular, ducked their heads together and traded sideways looks.

“Oh, I'm aware, but did it ever cross your mind that you’re married when you were getting your dick wet?” Jen asked, tone getting icier by the minute. “Or when you dragged me into your new bank-robbing 80's movie reboot?"

Michael struggled to keep his temper in check. If he raised his voice, which he knew he shouldn’t do, she’d lose her shit on him (which was not something he ever wanted to experience and would ultimately make things worse). And then he’d lose his shit on her (again, not something he'd ever done nor wanted to experience). He didn’t want to have a screaming match or some knock-down, drag-out fight in the middle of this restaurant. He’d wanted this to be as quick and painless as possible, but he had a short temper and a bad mouth.

"Yeah, I’m sure you really hated the money you got from those jobs. You're really gonna pull the morality card on me right now?" Michael snapped. “You knew I was married from the get-go. I never hid that from you.”

And with that, quick and painless fell out resolutely out of reach.

Jen sneered. “Morality got thrown out the window seven years ago when I fucked you on my couch. You don't give a shit about me or Amanda. You just want your idyllic little life back, with your white picket fence and wife and two-point-five kids and all that shit."

Jen had never spoken to him like this before - not this icy, toneless clip. Screaming was one thing, yelling and cussing another, but this emotionless, icicle tone was downright terrifying. Michael thought he might prefer yelling.

"We never agreed on anything more than strictly casual and you know it!” Michael snapped. He wanted to disengage, he really did, but he was notoriously terrible at backing down.

The neighboring table was outright staring now, more out of the Los Santos love for drama than any real concern.

"Doesn't matter what we agreed to at this point, especially considering the past few months. This arrangement is no longer strictly casual, Michael,” Jen said. “Whose bed did you sleep in when Amanda left you, huh? Who’d you come running to?"

Michael leaned in, trying to keep his voice down, and failing. "Why are you making this harder than it has to be?"

Jen pointed at him, her long, tapered nail ending in a point. "Because you know how I feel, and you know how you feel, and you’re just blindly fucking ignoring it."

"I've got to take care of my family."

"I’m not telling you not to take care of your family,” Jen hissed, “I’m telling you not to go back to someone who made you miserable for twenty years, and who, I’m sure, you made equally as miserable.”

Michael didn’t have an answer, because Jen wasn’t wrong.

"The fact of the matter is, you want this to be easy for you. This is not easy for me, and I am not going to make this easy for you, Michael," Jen snapped. This was an absolute promise. “You’ve always walked away from everything you’ve done scott-free - not this time."

"Well, don't worry, you'll get your wish. I gotta carry this with me every fucking day."

"And I hope you carry it with pride."

With that, Michael stopped and took a deep breath. He cared, he really did. And Michael, in his infinite capacity to make everything worse, went for the final blow. "Look, I care about you, Jen. I lov-"

"Don't." She uncrossed her arms and stood up. "Don’t say another fucking word - I don’t want to hear it. You are such an asshole."

"Jen, come on-"

Jen grabbed her bag and coat, retrieved her bottle of wine from the hostess station, and left, the restaurant door swinging shut behind her. Michael could pay for the fucking waters and the bottle of whiskey he was probably about to order - Jen was out of there. The valet, taking a quick look at the expression on her face, wasted no time retrieving her car.

Of course, Michael would pull that card. Jen wasn't stupid - and neither was Michael. Both emotionally stunted, stubborn fools - but not stupid. That had manifested years ago, but, of course, the end would be the moment Michael decided to pull it out.

Asshole.

Jen revved her car and turned out into Los Santos traffic. God, it would be weeks before she’d be able to go back to Natalia’s after that blowout. She couldn’t stop herself from letting it get out of hand, and there was no way Michael wasn’t going to make a scene. How embarrassing. She’d have to leave an extra tip next time.

She didn't want to go home yet, not after that. She needed someplace to cool down, get a clear head. Some catharsis.

Tequi-la-la’s would be a good place to cool down. Have a couple of drinks, grab some bar food since she’d never actually ordered at the restaurant. Find someone to take home with her. Yep, that was the best plan. Alcohol, food, and a quick fuck. Mends broken hearts, does the trick every time. Well, probably not this time, but self-destruction was the only option Jen would consider right now.

Yet, rather than taking the exit for Tequi-la-la’s, Jen found herself turning right onto the Strawberry exit. A short drive later, and the glow of the Vanilla Unicorn sign flooded the dark streets. She’d driven around aimlessly until she’d seen the giant neon sign and cut into the parking lot.

Catharsis. She could get catharsis here, too. She cut the engine on her Jester and sat staring up at the flashing lights.

“Fuck.”

Jen slammed the Jester door behind her and locked the car. She was greeted at the door by the bouncers by name, asked if she wanted her usual table by the hostess. She declined and headed straight up to the bar.

Tiffany, blonde Tiffany - one of Jen's favorite girls at the Unicorn - was bartending tonight. Jen didn't prefer blondes, but Tiffany was undeniably gorgeous and surprisingly quite sweet. And she made a great cocktail. And gave great head.

Jen leaned against the bar and waved Tiffany over. “You busy?”

“Kind of,” Tiffany snorted. She looked around and saw that she was not, in fact, all that busy, so she shook her head. “Actually, not really. Mondays are slow. Speaking of which, why are you here?”

“Bad day,” Jen responded. “Came in for a drink and… to say hi. Take a break?”

Tiffany raised an eyebrow and called over her shoulder. “Jill, I’m going on break. Be back… eventually.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jen grinned. “Hey, have you seen Trevor tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, I think he’s in the office. Why?”

“Got a problem with using the office?”

“With him in it?”

“Maybe, if he’s lucky.”

Tiffany shook her head. “No problem at all.”

“Good girl,” Jen said with a wink. “Let’s go.”

Tiffany ducked out from behind the bar and led Jen back towards the office, pulling her by the hand past the private rooms where thudding music filled the dark hallway. Bouncers lined the wall, standing guard past the curtains in case customers got too rough with the girls. Judging by the soft sound of panting, some of the bouncers had been paid extra to look the other way.

Trevor's office was down at the end of the hall, but the girls didn't quite make it there before Jen pulled Tiffany into a heated kiss. One of the bouncers gave them a look, more out of curiosity than concern, then went back to monitoring the couple past the curtains. It wasn't like the bouncers didn't know what was going on - they'd all seen Jen with a girl or two before - but what happened at the Unicorn, stayed at the Unicorn.

Jen shoved a hand up Tiffany's cropped shirt, finding no bra to impede her in her goal, and busied herself playing with Tiffany's nipple. Tiffany wound her hand into Jen's hair and shoved her back against the wall.

“How do you want to do this?” Tiffany asked, panting in Jen's ear.

Jen tweaked her nipple until she moaned, thumb circling the nub relentlessly. “Whatever happens, happens. You okay with Trevor joining in?”

Tiffany nodded. “Fine with me. You give the word.”

“Safe word is pineapple if you get uncomfortable,” Jen said. “Now, come on, I want to stick my tongue in your pussy.”

They didn’t bother knocking on the door - it was unlocked anyway. Cue Trevor doing whatever it is that Trevor does in this vacant office (currently, snorting coke off the desk). ‘

He looked up and broke out into a grin. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“Shut up,” Jen said as she backed Tiffany up against the desk. “You can stay as long as you’re quiet.”

Trevor mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

Jen nudged Tiffany onto her elbows on the desk and sank down to her knees in front of her. She hiked Tiffany's skirt up her thighs and peeled her underwear down before sealing her lips over her slit.

Tiffany's hand gripped the roots of her hair. “Ah - getting right to it, babe?”

“Mhm,” was as much of a response as Jen could give with her mouth full. She flicked her tongue along her slit, pausing to suck at her clit, before spreading her open with her fingers and sinking two digits in. She pumped her fingers in and out, tonguing the space in between with reverence, until her mouth was soaked and fingers were dripping.

Tiffany grabbed Jen’s shoulders and arched up into her mouth, thighs shaking. “Fuck, Jen - right there -”

Jen could just barely hear Trevor unzip his pants over the sound of Tiffany panting, but hear it she did. She stopped sucking Tiffany's clit and stood up, leaning over the girl on the desk so she could kiss her.

“Okay so far?” Jen asked softly, mumbling against Tiffany's mouth. Her black lipstick was smeared down her chin, and Jen could only imagine what her own face looked like.

The breathless yes made Jen smile.

“Do something for me?” Jen asked. “Go fuck Trevor. If he doesn’t finish you, I will.”

Tiffany nodded and stood shakily up from the desk. She crossed over to where Trevor sat and climbed into his lap. He moved to grab her ass, but stopped when Jen told him no.

“You don't touch. I touch, you be quiet and take what we give you. Understood?”

He stared over Tiffany’s shoulder at Jen and nodded. To his credit, he followed orders and didn’t speak, likely because he thought Jen would tell Tiffany to stop if he did. (She wouldn’t have, not this time. This was a night for catharsis, not discipline.)

Jen stood behind Tiffany and held her hips steady as she slid down onto Trevor's fat cock. She reached up and tucked Tiffany’s hair away so she could trail kisses down her neck as Tiffany grinded down on Trevor’s lap.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, Trevor?” Jen said, reaching around to play with Tiffany’s nipples while Trevor watched. “Tiffany’s so fun to play with. Too bad you can’t touch.”

He leaned his head back against the top of the chair and groaned, eyes squeezed shut. His knuckles had turned white from the force of clutching the arms of his chair, the pulse point in his neck fluttering, tendons tight.

“Open your eyes and watch, Trevor,” Jen said, teasing one of Tiffany’s nipples before reaching down to play with her clit. “If you’re a good boy and make Tiffany come first, I’ll fuck you, too.”

Another groan, but it makes him buck up into Tiffany, matching her pace. Tiffany moaned in turn, one hand gripping Trevor's forearm, the other hand wrapped around Jen's hand while she played with her clit.

Jen grinned, spreading the slick over Tiffany's clit. She reached further, massaging the place where Trevor's cock plunged into her. “How’s that feel, Tiff?”

“Good - so good-”

“Gonna come for us?”

A high-pitched, breathy yeah.

Jen grabbed Tiffany's chin and turned her head so she could kiss her. She felt the tremor wrack Tiffany's body as she came, the sharp moan spilling from her lips muffled by Jen's mouth.

Beneath them, Trevor was absolutely wrecked, hips stuttering as he rode out Tiffany's orgasm without succumbing to the one threatening to slam through him. His bottom lip was caught between his wolfish teeth, eyes wild, knuckles so white from the strain that Jen could almost see the veins running through his hands. He still didn't speak, but he stared a hole through Jen's forehead, silently begging to come.

Jen held onto Tiffany's hips as she climbed off of Trevor's cock, keeping her steady. Trevor's hand immediately fisted around his shaft, pumping viciously to keep his high going.

Jen kissed Tiffany again, this time gently. “You okay, Tiff?”

“I'm great, sugar,” Tiffany replied. “Do you want me to stick around?”

“Yeah, I like when you watch,” Jen replied. “Besides, someone should watch Trevor get fucked like a good boy.”

Jen turned back towards Trevor, watching him beg silently as he fisted himself. “You can talk if you're good.”

Trevor nodded furiously, groaning. “I'll be good - I'll be so good, Jen, please -”

“I know you will, baby boy,” Jen said, lifting the hem of her dress out of the way as she straddled Trevor's lap. “You always do such a good job for your Princess Jen.”

His hands latched onto her thighs immediately, fingertips digging into her skin as she moved her underwear to the side and sank down on his cock. It was an easy slide, made easier by the mix of Tiffany's come coating his shaft and the precum dripping from his flushed tip. Her hand found his throat, thumbs teasing the prominent veins bulging under his skin, and forced his head against the back of the chair.

Jen's name, at that moment, was the closest thing to a prayer to have ever come out of Trevor's mouth, followed closely by fuck and please. She gripped his shoulder with the hand not currently wrapped around his throat. When she moved in his lap, it was slow and torturous, not quite enough to push Trevor over the edge with the explosive force he'd started to feel with Tiffany. No, this was worse - this was a wave lapping at his skin, teasing him, pushing him closer and closer -

“You can come now, Trevor,” Jen said, permission like music to his ears. “Be a good boy and come on yourself.”

And he does. He bounced Jen up to the tip of his cock and slammed up into her before pulling her soundly off his cock and coming all over the bottom of his shirt. She kept his head pinned to the back of the chair, the edges of his vision starry and fuzzy, forcing him to keep eye contact until his cock softened against his stomach.

From the desk behind them, Tiffany made herself come again, the sound of her moans bubbling up underneath Trevor's. Jen climbed off of Trevor's lap to help Tiffany clean herself up before waving Tiffany out with another kiss.

Jen sat on the edge of the desk and offered Trevor Tiffany's forgotten underwear to clean himself up. She watched idly as he stuffed the used underwear into his back pocket.

“Not that I'm complaining,” Trevor said, “but what was that?”

“What do you mean, what was that? You got fucked by two women. Don't think that needs an explanation.”

“But why?”

“Why not?”

Trevor, unfortunately, was a lot more perceptive than Jen gave him credit for sometimes. “What happened?”

Jen, wholly unwilling to relive the events of the night prior to her arrival at the Unicorn, climbed down off the desk and smoothed out her dress. “Why don't you call Michael? He'll explain.”

“Maybe I’ll just go pay him a visit,” Trevor replied, zipping up his pants with some finality. “It’s been a while since I said hello anyway.”

#grand theft auto #Grand Theft Auto 5 #Grand Theft Auto V #gta #GTAV #GTA5 #michael de santa #michael de santa x oc #trevor philips x oc #trevor philips

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idyllic-affections · 3 months

Note

what are some of your furina headcanons? they can be about anything really, you're just the only person who gets her :3

im super fond of bigender furina, personally, since i see myself alot in her (i think im slowly becoming a furina kinnie /half joking), and ive already mentioned liking neuvillette being her adopted father (so much so i keep forgetting her real name isn't furina de neuvillette lol)

🐌.

OUGHGHG YAYYYY SOMEONE IS ASKING ME TO TALK ABOUT FURI MY LOVE YEAHHHH omg. okay. furi headcanons. these might change (i haven't finished her story quest yet!) but for now...

starting off angstful strong, i believe she has severe identity issues. she does not know anything about herself because she has long since lost everything to the role she had to play. being suddenly thrust into freedom, while she has waited for it for so long, was jarring and nervewracking for her. she "barely leaves the house" because she prefers to stay in while she tries to calm down and become more comfortable in her freedom.

furina sometimes accidentially dips back into her old dramatic flair (she's still dramatic, but in a more... traditional way; i.e., huffing and pouting when she gets exposed for not being able to cook yet, things like that). the fact that she does it doesn't upset her or anything, it's just instinct HAHA it can be kind of funny and lighthearted sometimes!

she instinctively wants to help solve people's problems to try and make up for her perceived inadequacy as the hydro archon.

she adopts many (okay maybe not many. maybe like. one) cats to keep her company c:

she's generally very softspoken now. in a way, i suppose this is canon? but what i mean when i mention this as a hc is that she's very gentle and mild in terms of her mannerisms now. she's still got quite the amount of sass to her, do NOT misunderstand /lh, but overall she's very reserved and polite. largely bc she's still recovering mentally, but also because i believe her to be a very kind and empathetic and sensitive soul (i mean... she was sobbing at poisson following the disaster. she still carries that guilt. she IS kind and empathetic and sensitive).

i think she would get along with children really well!

she's some unspecified kind of nonbinary, but in the "i honestly forgot wtf gender is after 500 years. gender was NOT my biggest concern" way. or genderfluid (haha get it. B. Because um. h. hydro archon. Fluid)

furina still greatly loves and adores the arts. she just doesn't want to be too deeply involved in them anymore (as one of the cast). she WILL be moved to tears if she sees a particularly sad opera

she would get along with lyney tbh.

also venti. i want them to meet in person. i want him to help her grow into her freedom. he IS the god of freedom, after all. who better to help her?

OH SPEAKING OF VENTI they would also get along just because he's a bard!!!! so many stories flow from his lips all the time!!!!!!!! for furi, it would be a fun change of pace from the operas and plays!!!!!

i feel like she and nahida would also get along on a super personal level. both of them were technically trapped for 500 years. furina's people believed in her, while nahida's did not... but really, what difference does that make when they were both trapped in one way or another?

#aphelion replies: 🐌 anon 🌸#you guys remember when i said i would have a neuvi or arle theme?#ermmm....... furina has entered that hypothetical competition and she is IN THE LEAD

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briefalpacashark · 1 year

Text

They fall for you

==========================================================

Age: 21

Name: Toni

Recoms falling for there medic.

===========================================

=Z-dog=

She would stare, simple as that.

She found her eyes constantly following you around. And why not, fine art should be appreciated, she thought. She loved watching you, loved waiting for that bright smile you would flash every now and then.

Just like every day she sat at the table, her eyes flickering to the doors where you would walk through.

And then you did. Her whole body straightened up as she nudged Lyle.

“Give me your glasses,” she demanded. Lyle frowned following her gaze only to smile and shake his head.

“Can you be any more obvious?” Lyle chuckled.

“Shut up,” she whispered, snatching the sunglasses off his head. Sliding them on her face she shamelessly followed after you as you gathered some food smiling politely as you conversed with the cafertian woman. Then you turned to them with a bright smile spreading across your face as you walked up to join them.

Now you had noticed some of her glances, yet you couldn't see anything through those reflexive glasses. You also found yourself sneaking a glance at her. She was stunning, and the very air around her screamed badass. And you loved her tattoos.

Over the next few weeks you had found she had started to come to you with all sorts of little bumps and bruises. Any excuse to see you really. You found her talking to you more and more.

Z-dog realized she had it bad when she went out of her way, getting to the canteen two hours early just to get you your favorite drink that usually sold out.

When Lyle heard about it he laughed, patting his friend's shoulder.

“You are whipped,” he said simply.

==========================================================

=Lyle=

Lyle was the sort of person that pulls the pig tails of the girl he likes. He loved seeing what expression he could get out of you. Which ment he loved teasing you. Seductive comments, teasing quips. The more lewd the more he seemed to get a reaction out of you.

He loved how your face would flush red as you would sputter a response.

He would constantly hang around you.

He was also a gym rat so he would come to you constantly claiming he strained a muscle. In order to check if he really had strained a muscle you would have to put your hands on him. Which he loved. He wasn't really used to gentle friendly touches. And the way you would fuss over him in slight worry. He yearned for it.

One day Lyle had just completed a body destroying workout that he does every month. His knees were slightly shaky as he walked back.

"Lyle hi," you spoke up as you walked into each other.

"Well hello, beautiful," his signature flirty grin stretched over his face as he took in your gym attire.

"You headed to the gym? I'm on my way there to, mind a gym buddie?" you asked with a sweet smile.

"Beautiful if you want to watch me workout you just need to ask," you blushed at his suggestion ducking your head as you chuckled slightly.

"That's uh. That's not what I was. Anyway, yes or no?" you cleared your throat at your stuttered response, straightening up to look him in the eyes. His smile seemed to widen at the small ting of red muddled up with your freckles.

"Of course beautiful," he said without hesitation.

That poor man absolutely killed himself. You who had a bit more energy than usually did the whole nine yards. Running, weights, strength training.

The next day Lyke could not move from his bed. Every muscle screamed at him. Z-dog took full advantage of it, pissing him off the entire day. When she found out why he was in so much pain she simply laughed and shook her head.

As he laid there in utter agony he realized that he was indeed whipped.

==========================================================

=Mansk =

Mansk was a quiet person. He simply hung around reading or cleaning weapons. He had to keep his hands busy at all times. Since you were constantly doing stupid jobs you hardly had time to look after your equipment. The last time you started cleaning your pack you had fallen asleep face first into some ammo camo netting.

The next time you went to service your gear you found it all completely sparkling clean. You started to look around for who had done it. You did some searching and one day found out it was Mansk cleaning your gear.

You found him helping out more and more. And everytime you went to thank him your conversations would last a bit longer. He was more of a listener so when you needed someone to rant to he was always there.

How he realized he liked you was one day he entered the rec room to clean his weapon. There were many empty seats, in fact his favorite spot in the corner was empty. You sat at the main table doing some paperwork for a report. Now Mansk likes his personal space. He liked his quiet time alone.

Without realizing he found himself walking over to sit beside you.

"Hey," your bright smile earnt a small smile of his own. A feature that was very, very rare on his face. When he caught himself doing it hit him.

He fancied you. He fancied you a lot.

#avatar way of water #avatarwayofwater #avatar oc #Recom #recom lyle wainfleet #recom zdog #recom mansk #avatar recoms

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kendsleyauthor · 1 year

Text

All Dolled Up

Print / Trinket Universe

~3000 words

Warnings: ⛔Minors DNI⛔, CNC, dehumanization, fearplay, mouthplay

Summary: After rescuing you from an auction, Lee has no choice but to bring you along to a dangerous dinner appointment. He promises to keep you safe, but are you prepared to play along?

The plot of this story came from an anonymous reader, and it inspired me to try 2nd person POV for the first time! Please mind the warnings and do not proceed if you are uncomfortable with such themes!

@marydublinauthor 🌸

“I only had this room for one night,” Lee explains over the meal.

You sit at the edge of his room-service platter and lick sauce from your fingers. You haven’t had enough time to master the art of eating as a trinket—not neatly, anyway. The fact that you’re eating next to a giant without fear is a miracle. Manners are the least of your worries.

“What does that mean?” you ask.

He twists his fork in his hand absently. The prongs are longer than your arm. The meal is more for you than him. He is about to attend a dinner shortly.

“It means I have to take you with me to the meeting. There aren’t any other agents in the area to collect you. And, well… This is an important recon mission. If I cancel, it’s not likely I’ll get another invite.”

The worry on his face is clear. It’s hard to misinterpret facial expressions at your three-inch height. You purse your lips uncertainly. “What do you need me to do?”

Lee explains as he clears away the plates and piles them on one side of the table. You listen as best you can; it’s hard to focus while watching someone move room-sized dishes over your head so effortlessly. He leaves you briefly to rummage through his overnight bag. He plucks up tiny clothes between his fingers, glancing over at you as he considers the present options. Finally, he settles on a pretty red dress—the kind you might have worn while bar-hopping in your past life.

He looks away politely as you change into it on the table, and when you ask for help tying it off in the back, his fingers are gentle and precise. You hold still as he tugs the silken straps into a little knot.

“I’ll keep you in my pocket the whole time if I can,” he says. His voice is a rumble behind you, his breath warm as he leans in close to make sure the knot is perfect. “But, here’s the thing… If I do have to take you out, you need to act scared. Or these people will be suspicious. Do you understand?”

When his fingers release you, you turn around and meet the overwhelmingly blue gaze before you. “Okay, Lee,” you say softly.

“And you can’t call me that. It’s too casual, and I’m not going by my real name, anyway. Just call me ‘sir’ like your life depends on it.”

Your face flushes, and you nod, speechless.

His expression softens, and he gingerly takes your hand between his finger and thumb. “Best case scenario, you stay hidden the whole night. But if that can’t happen, please remember that I won’t hurt you, no matter what. I won’t let anyone touch you, either. They’ll know you’re mine.”

Once you have agreed to the rules, he seems to relax somewhat and goes to pack his bag. When he returns to the table, he gingerly picks you up and slides you into his front pocket. You are still getting used to being handled, yet you are certain you will never find hands gentler than his.

You sway in the darkness of Lee’s pocket as he makes his way downstairs, through the lobby, and out the door to hail a self-driving cab. He doesn’t acknowledge you as he rides; after all, these vehicles have cameras inside of them. As far as either of you are concerned, you cannot exist—not in this world where your existence on his person would get him arrested for unlawful possession of government property.

Yesterday, however, you very much existed. You were the center of attention. It is incredible how your life has been flipped on its head several times in the span of a few days. You were destined for the black market before your consciousness transfer was even complete—sold by a lab tech to be auctioned off as a rare “untouched” trinket, fresh from the Facility.

Lee won you easily, and the moment he had you alone, he quickly proved himself to be kind and sweet. Last night was pleasant and calm. But now, his tension has transformed him into an entirely different person.

The car slows to a stop, and once again, you experience the sway of his pocket. He told you the meeting point was a fancy restaurant. It was owned by an underground trinket seller and was an exclusive spot for prospective buyers to meet. Lee needs to get in good with these people to uncover the extent of their operation. It’s a careful job that requires the utmost professionalism.

You’re tempted to peek out when you hear voices, but you don’t move a muscle, just like Lee whispered to you on the way in. Amazing that you can be entirely present without being noticed at all.

There are three voices—the seller, whose name is Edwin, and two other prospective buyers. Lee is going by the name of Pierce. The conversation seems to go well at the get-go. The men introduce themselves, and they order their dinner. There is a clear shift in the air when Edwin offers to order complimentary drinks with trinkets in them.

Maybe it is reflexive, but Lee casually turns down the offer.

“What the matter, Pierce?” Edwin says, his voice taking on a note of suspicion. “Not interested in sampling my merchandise?”

Lee draws in a sharp breath that only you are aware of, being so small and near him. To the others, maybe it can be excused as a mischievous chuckle. You can feel his hesitation and his heartbeat, and then there is a rustle of fabric as his fingers slide into his pocket over your head. You stay perfectly still as his hand wraps around you and pulls you out.

“I’m just saying, I brought my own entertainment,” Lee says smoothly. “It’ll take a lot of convincing to get me to try yours. I’ll take that drink, though.”

You remember what Lee said about how you should behave. You draw in a shuddering breath, bordering on a whimper, and you squirm uncomfortably in his grasp. He hushes you and strokes your hair, his touch lingering like he is savoring the sensation. You peek out at the rest of the table. The other men eye you with delight, and you remind yourself to Lee promised that they will not touch you.

But that means you have to play your part.

You tremble and close your eyes, ducking your head.

That seems to do the trick, as far as suspicions are concerned.

As the men discuss their business dealings over your head, Lee’s hand ceaselessly plays with you on the white tablecloth. He strokes your side, takes your arm or leg between his fingers, forces you closer or further away as he pleases.

When his wine arrives, he plucks you up by your sides and holds you over it. You give a cry and kick your legs in protest, but he just smirks at you and raises his eyebrows matter-of-factly.

“Don’t fuss,” he says. “Why do you think I had you wear red? Now, settle down.” His fingers give you the slightest squeeze.

“Y-yes, sir,” you whimper.

He lowers you into his wine. You brace your hands against the glass, eyes stinging from the alcohol. The wine is up to your chin, but it threatens to cover your mouth and nose as Lee lifts the glass to sample his drink. Wine rushes past you and drags you along. Just before you’re about to touch his upper lip, he straightens the glass and leaves you shivering in a smaller pool. His tongue briefly swipes his lips, savoring the wine—and you.

You endure this until dinner arrives. As Lee downs the last of his wine, he leaves the glass sideways at his mouth, and his lips brush against you. His teeth graze your shoulder, as though his contemplating pulling you into his mouth completely.

But he straightens the glass, making you slide back down to the bottom of your prison. Your moment of reprieve lasts for only a few minutes before his attention turns to you again. After a few bites of food, he decides that he wants you closer. He reaches into the glass and plucks you out, dripping with wine. Setting you at the edge of his plate, you can’t help but think about your peaceful meal just an hour prior.

Now, you have three other men leering at you. You are surrounded in all directions, and they are not shy about making their desires known.

While Lee fondles you through your wet dress, one of the buyers says, “When am I getting a turn?” It sounds like he’s only half-joking.

Lee’s smile is cutting. “I don’t share,” he says simply. No one questions him again, but it doesn’t stop them from giving suggestions.

The other buyer looks at you hungrily. “Don’t you think she’ll get sick if she stays in that wet dress all night?”

That is all the warning you get before Lee hoists you up again. He drops you into his open palm and turns you around rather than asking you to do it yourself. His fingertips tug at the knot he had made earlier. His efforts jolt you back and forth harshly. The moment the knot comes loose, he turns you over again and paws at your neckline.

You squirm and gasp, trying to shove his fingers away, but he overpowers you with mere twitches of his fingers. The neckline comes down, putting your bare breasts in full view. One of the men wolf-whistles. Lee drags down the rest of the dress, wiggling it past your hips and along your legs until you are left wearing nothing but a pair of black panties.

Dessert arrives just in time. He fondles you on his plate, pausing only to put you to work. He orders you to grab a strawberry slice from the elegant cheesecake. You try to do as you’re told, but you can’t reach the slice without getting messy. You inadvertently smear yourself with whipped cream when he tells you to hurry up. The moment you grab the fruit, he plucks you up and holds you near his mouth. Catching on, you feed him the slice, shivering as his tongue drags over your arms as he takes it. He licks up the excess whipped cream on your skin after he chews and swallows.

Finally, dinner is over. Lee has played his part well. Edwin insists on taking them all to a bar down the street, and Lee doesn’t dare say no. He pockets you and follows along.

They get a private booth in the back, and once there are no bartenders or waitresses around to see, Lee pulls you back out of his pocket.

The men drink and drink. You are soaked in different alcohols until you’re certain that the scent will forever be part of you. For a time, Lee is content enough to just hold you close on the table. You give his finger a squeeze when the other men look like they might get bold enough to reach for you.

But when Lee becomes handsy, you tremble and try to maneuver away, only to have him drag you back in place. The others chortle at every one of your failed attempts to get away.

Edwin eyes you, and you worry for a moment that he’s going to suggest that he buy from Lee instead of sell. Instead, he swirls the drink in his hand and leans closer with a drunken smile.

“I’m not usually one for drinking games,” Edwin slurs. “But I do have a favorite. You know that cherry stem knot game? Well…” He smiles down at you as if you are in on the fun, and then he looks back up at Lee. “How fast do you think you can get the little one’s panties off?”

You don’t hear the rest of the rumbling exchange of the bet overhead. You stagger back on shaking legs and turn to run, but you don’t make it very far before Lee walls you off with his hand. You think he’s about to close that hand and trap you, but instead, he leans in closer and closer until you are cornered between his hand and mouth.

“No, don’t!” you weep, trying to duck away while the other men cheer. “P-please, don’t!”

Hot darkness consumes your world as his mouth closes around you. Your stomach flips as he straightens back up. For a moment, he simply seems to savor your taste, rolling you from side to side on his tongue like a piece of candy. Then he remembers his goal. Despite your efforts to squirm to the front of his mouth, he is able to maneuver you with just his tongue and teeth.

You cry out as his teeth lock around your torso—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you firmly in place. His tongue probes between your legs, slick and burning as it searches for the edge of your panties. He repositions you once his tongue has some semblance of grasp on the fabric, shifting it over to his teeth to grab a firm hold. Then his tongue forces you to the other side, your panties dragging down your legs.

The moment your kicking legs are free of your only bit of clothing, he spits you out onto his palm. You look up dizzily as he sticks his tongue out with your panties on the tip.

Judging by the guffaws and crows of the others, Lee has won a permanent piece of respect.

After that, the night is finally over.

Lee stuffs you back into his pocket and calls another cab. Just as you’re wondering where you’re going, he calls the hotel and says that he’ll need another room for the night. His trip is extending longer than expected.

Once again, he does not acknowledge you during the ride.

When he arrives in his new room, he lets you out of his pocket immediately. He doesn’t quite look at you as he draws a bath in a warm cup and lets you change into a set of clean clothes in privacy. Once you’re finished, you call for him, and he’s at your side in an instant.

He scoops you up into a gentle grasp and runs his thumb clumsily down your wet hair. Then to your surprise, his eyes well up with tears.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry. I went too far. Please forgive me, I—” He hisses and shakes his head. “Fuck that... You don’t have to forgive me. Once I get you to the base, you don’t even have to look at me again, I swear.”

Despite his disgust with himself, he can’t seem to put you down. He looks you over carefully, making sure you’re alright. His gaze is unfocused. He’s utterly drunk from the night, and his tears are falling faster the longer he looks at you.

“Lee!” you say, finally finding your voice. You hug his finger tightly. “I’m fine! I promise I’m fine—please, don’t cry.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes at the sound of your tiny voice. You tap his finger insistently. “It’s been a long night. Have a glass of water and go to bed.”

He looks at you like he can’t comprehend what you’re saying. “But…”

“Now, Lee,” you insist. “Water and bed. Please.”

He pouts like a child, like he might argue with you. But he’s too out of it to do anything but obey those simple directions. He sets you up like he did last night, folding up one of his clean shirts for you to nestle yourself into. The folds are untidy this time around, but the gesture is sweet all the same. He sets your makeshift bed on the spare pillow, and he is out like a light on the other side.

The next morning, he wakes before you. When you open your eyes, he is staring at you with sorrow and guilt, his head still resting on the pillow across from yours. He starts to apologize again, but you sit up and hold your hand up to stop him.

Although he is no longer drunk, he follows your silent command.

“Lee,” you tell him. “It’s okay. It really is. I know you didn’t mean all those things last night. I could feel your fingers shaking every time you touched me.”

“But… still. That was too much. Too far. I’m so sorry.” He looks like he might cry again. “I can’t even imagine how terrified you must’ve been.”

You swallow hard and feel heat creep to your cheeks. You weren’t planning on telling him this, but the poor thing looks so upset with himself. “I was never really scared,” you admit. “Well… okay, yes, I was scared. Terrified. But in a good way.”

His eyebrows pull together, puzzled. “I know I told you to play a part,” he says. “But… it looks so real. Like you were really, really scared. Like you were ready to fall apart.”

“But I knew I was safe.” You hold your hand out, beckoning him to give you his hand. He hesitantly brings his hand close. You stroke the knuckles of his index finger soothingly, blushing harder. Now you’re the one who can hardly look at him. “I, um… I kind of liked it?” You bite your lip and peek up.

As you predicted, he looks utterly bewildered.

“I’ve always been a bit of an exhibitionist,” you say quickly, like ripping off a band-aid.

“Oh, my god.” He shuts his eyes for a second, processing. When he opens them again, they are alight with humor and relief. “You little shit! I thought I was traumatizing you.”

You shrug sheepishly. “I’d be happy to do it again if you need me to. If you ever need someone to help keep your cover, that is. As long as you promise to keep me safe.”

His hand shifts suddenly, his finger leaving your grasp. You find yourself in his gentle hold instead. He kisses the top of your head, his lips lingering as a warm chuckle spills over you. “I think we can work something out,” he purrs.

(Author’s note: Would you trust Lee to keep you safe? 👀 I know I would. 🥰)

#gt #g/t #giant tiny #gt writing #g/t writing #fearplay #mouthplay #g/t fearplay #gt fearplay #print universe #trinket universe #oc: lee #all dolled up #print universe story #trinket universe story #my writing

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sweetfirebird · 5 months

Note

*boops you gently and respectfully* A Suitable Consort is a massive comfort read for me, it is so gentle and lovely, and people not understanding their worth or position in other people's lives is so personal and beautiful to me. Please never stop writing because I love your work, and ASC is probably in my top five book ever so, you know.

People sometimes get a little cranky about author tropes, how every author has favorites and does them a lot... maybe too much. (Although those people are still reading them, so, there's a real Devil's Sacrament situation happening there but anyway.) But honestly, I really like exploring...not just insecure people in general but people who have insecurities about specific things, like their place in the world or in their families. Like (I know no one read TTC but as an example,) Trevor is not really insecure. He knows his art is good, but he lives in a world where it's never going to pay him enough to be "successful" as his family sees it and that takes a toll. And showing that, and how it affects him, and his place within the family and his confidence... and how he is still loved and can make his own family... idk I just like it. I'm going to keep doing it and oh well too bad so sad for those who are tired of it.

Mattin is, in the grand scheme of things, insignificant, and (in the words of whoever wrote the movie Gigi) does not have a world-famous sort of nature. He got a first hand lesson in how expendable even noble lives can be, and while I do think he is cute, he's not drop dead gorgeous or anything. He's good at his job but also... many people in that library are good at their jobs. He knows all of that. And he is surrounded by fucking *legends.* Like, if you've ever been around someone with all the skills or charisma or brilliance, it is a definite experience even if you're fine with yourself as you are.

He's not wrong when he describes himself as he does. But, like all of us, he can't really see how others view him. (He's loyal. He sticks, like Mil says. He's honest and probably incapable of lying well. He's quite talented and smart and his employees love him--that alone says a lot. And Arden and Mil think he is very fuckable.) And, all the drama and armor and political murder aside, it's a love story. That is, it's not about them falling in love, they're all clearly already in love at the start. It's about them showing their love for each other. You are worth everything to me and I will protect you is being said by all of them to each other all the time, just in differing ways and not out loud.

Anyway. I'm sort of at a loose end today for various reasons and kind of down, so this was a nice ask to get. I was scared it was going to be a spam bot, since they keep sending me barely coherent messages. Thank you for the nice mail and also for not being a bot trying to proposition me. :)

#asks #a suitable consort (for the king and his husband)

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linawritesocs · 7 months

Text

[ 🤍𝐭𝐰𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐜: 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐟 ❤️]

NEW OC!! WOOO!!

it probably doesn't make much sense for me to make new ocs anymore since.. uh. i don't really want to write anything for them rn and i just see this blog as a place to store my twst oc art in, but hey! here, have new sillies that will appear in my art from now on.

this little guy is based on.. well, the painted roses from alice in wonderland! yes, this is the third rose boy of mine. yes. what do you want from me, it's hard to come up with unique disney counterparts and i also thought that this concept is really cool.

anyway, you can read his profile under the cut!

name: darren redleaf (ダレン・レッドリーフ)

age: 18 y/o

gender: male

species: human

birth date: september 29

zodiac sign: libra

height: 176 cm

hair color: white with light coral highlights

eye color: tea green

homeland: queendom of roses

family: father and mother

school: night raven college

dorm: heartslabyul

school year: third

occupation: student

club: science club

best subject: art

dominant hand: left

favorite food: strawberry tarts, because riddle likes them

least favorite food: candied violets, because trey likes them

hobbies: gardening, painting

talent: knowing all the latest trends

unique magic: "red rose or white rose?" darren's unique magic controls two more darrens: one of them has red hair and the other one has white hair and both of them are called "red rose" and "white rose" respectively. "red rose" is mean, loud, doesn't care about the feelings of others and is a huge troublemaker. "white rose" is a gentle, soft and caring person, who is very polite and puts others' feelings and needs before his own. he's very obedient and never questions other people's actions and orders. darren can turn into one of them, using his unique magic, and other people won't be able to recognize that it's actually darren and will believe that it's a completely different person. but if somebody knows about darren's unique magic, his magic won't work on them and they'll still be able to see his "real" self. darren's transformation depends on what he has learned about the "preferences" of a specific person and if he thinks they prefer someone more gentle, he'll turn into white rose and if he thinks they prefer someone more mean, he'll pick red rose. if darren keeps using his unique magic for too long, his memories will start to become blurry and he can start questioning his identity, not being sure if he's darren, red rose or white rose right now.

dislikes: people who are way too close with riddle, most heartslabyul students

personality: darren has a very good reputation among heartslabyul students. he's kind, he's polite, he makes sure everyone is doing okay and he also knows all 810 rules of this dorm, so he's able to stop someone from accidentally (or not really) breaking them. he's often teased for being a nerd though because of him being lowkey obsessed with those rules and a lot of students find it shocking that he actually does follow all of them. he has a soft, almost honey-like voice and his aura is able to calm almost anyone down. he also somehow knows everything about everyone's likes and dislikes, to the point that it's.. kinda concerning, since he can guess some people's type or crush and he won't need merrill's unique magic for that. but sometimes you can see darren just sitting and staring into nothingness and not making any sounds, some people are not even sure if he's breathing when that happens. if you try to make him pay attention to you when he's doing that, he will act a bit strange and will ask what's going on. sometimes he can literally just start listing some heartslabyul's rules before he's finally able to remember where he is right now and who he's talking to. but overall, he never causes any trouble. he always knows what everyone wants from him and he gives it to them. you don't have to worry about him. he won't break any rules. he is very, very obedient.

notable relationships:

so, why is darren so obsessed with heartslabyul's rules? well.. the reason is simple. he actually was friends with riddle, trey and chenya back when they were younger. he was the third friend that riddle made. he was the quiet friend. he was the friend that often couldn't be there to play with them simply because he had no energy for that, even though he really wanted to see them. and.. he eventually became the friend that nobody remembered. when he started attending nrc, trey needed some time before he remembered who darren was. but in the end, trey was able to remember who darren was. riddle wasn't. in fact, darren didn't even know most things that trey and chenya knew about riddle. for example, he didn't know anything about his relationship with his mother. so when riddle stopped hanging out with trey and chenya, darren finally was able to start spending more time with them, but he didn't know the reason why riddle was no longer there. and trey and chenya thought that he already knew. so naturally, darren started to think that it was his fault and that riddle is avoiding him. but it's okay! it's okay, they're together again now. it's okay, darren will memorize all the rules just to impress riddle. it's okay, darren will tell him which students broke the rules this time to make riddle praise him. it's okay, darren will figure out which rose riddle prefers and if it's truly the red one. it's okay. it's okay, darren won't mess up this time. he will fix their relationship. everything will be fine. they'll be friends again.

no, darren does not like trey, even though they really were friends and he did like him when they were kids. but now darren thinks that him and riddle are a little bit too close. can't trey just leave riddle alone at least for a second and let darren become closer with him? what, is he in love with him or something? oh, okay, sorry, sorry, he just got a little.. annoyed, haha. also, he feels like trey is hiding something from him. he knows so much about riddle and darren knows so little. but it's okay, darren knows that he's the best friend riddle could ever wish for. and he won't let trey steal that title from him.

hm? what does he think about chenya?.. he's fine. mostly. he goes to a different school anyway, so he doesn't appear that often and that means he's not as close with riddle as darren, so he doesn't have to think about him as a rival. honestly, if darren had to choose, he'd rather become closer with chenya rather than trey. he feels like he doesn't have to pretend like he's somebody else around him and he doesn't have to "change its color" for him.

yes, he doesn't like seth. just who does he think he is? riddle would never like a guy like him, right? seth is so arrogant, so annoying, so noisy, he breaks as many rules as he can, he can quit literally anything at any moment just because he finds it boring and his style is so.. again, riddle would never like someone like him, right? and if he does.. w-well, m-maybe darren will have to turn into a red rose for him.

fun facts:

he actually kinda admires hayden and he can see right through his lies, but they rarely interact exactly because hayden knows that darren understands him too well. and also because hayden knows that the best way to manipulate him would be just.. turning into an exact copy of riddle. and he doesn't want to do that.

it's hard to say if what he feels for riddle is romantic or platonic. darren thinks that his feelings are platonic, but some students feel like that's not the case and it's definitely something stronger. i see his feelings as just pure obsession and an extremely strong desire to serve him and be by his side. nothing more, nothing less. it doesn't mean that darren would be against going on a date with him or being kissed by him though.

darren gets a little too excited when he sees riddle punishing the rulebreakers, to the point that he can just start laughing and/or blushing. the thought of riddle punishing darren himself both terrifies him and excites him just as much and he even screamed like a fangirl when he imagined it once.

he wears a necklace that's supposed to resemble thorns and it really is very sharp and even when he's still wearing it, when you look closely, you can see the red marks that it leaves on his skin. he doesn't even notice them though and finds it comfortable.

him and allen are definitely very similar (their names even sound almost the same in japanese sjdksldl), but still, when it comes to love and other feelings, they're very different. again, what darren feels for riddle is mostly just obsession and not romantic love, meanwhile allen cares A LOT about romance and it's his life's main purpose. also, darren doesn't really have any close friends even though his reputation is so good, meanwhile allen is hated and/or feared by almost everyone, but he still does have some friends (like jay). and darren is okay with throwing his entire personality away (has he ever had "his own" personality?..) for someone he likes, meanwhile allen would rather force his crush to accept him no matter what kind of person he is.

darren joined the science club to keep an eye on trey.

his hobbies are a reference to the roses being painted: it makes sense for him to like things like gardening and painting, though i don't think he's that passionate about them. i think it's just something he does to appear "normal".

azul is trying to become closer with him because of how smart darren is and even kinda wants him to transfer to octavinelle, because someone like him could be very useful, but darren just ignores him every time.

the reason why his talent is "knowing all the latest trends" is simple: he has to know what kind of people and what kind of things other people like so that it's easier for him to use his unique magic on them.

#“wow lina. another yandere character. you are so creative.” yes.#WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME THEY ARE SO FUN TO WRITE #THEY ARE SO FUN TO EXPLORE. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM MEEEEEE #also idk something about the concept of riddle having a third childhood friend that was forgotten is so. something about it breaks my heart #but also makes me go “OHHHHHHH 👀👀👀”#again i don't ship him with riddle! i just see their relationship as something interesting to explore and think about #but i'd love to ship darren with someone <3 he deserves it #still not over his design somehow having both hello kitty and my melody vibes #(hey.. what if.. fragaria memories ocs-)#also. i hate coming up with last names but then i just. remembered rollo's name and went #“ykw. i doubt that they cared much when they came up with his name. so why should i care”#lina draws ocs #[ ✧ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐟 ✧ ]

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134340am · 2 years

Text

intertwined

sugawara koushi x gn!reader, 1.1k, sfw note: reader’s hair is long enough to be braided!

you met koushi in the last week of a month-long intensive training program for elementary school teachers.

even when you were standing a good distance away, you could feel how big his aura was – and the easy, jovial grin he always wore only served to strengthen his sunny character. simply looking at him healed your weary soul, tormented by the past four weeks of early mornings you still weren’t used to.

the cherry on top of the sweet sundae that is sugawara koushi was getting paired with him for what the head instructor called braiding lessons, because elementary school is when kids start getting fussy about how their hair looks – and we don’t want any complaints!

so here you are: twiddling your thumbs in a green plastic chair while koushi – or sugawara sensei, his vibrantly-decorated name tag reads – approaches you with a pack of rainbow hair elastics and a radiant smile.

“hello,” he greets you simply and politely, dipping into a full bow that you scrambled to mirror. “i’m sugawara koushi, but just koushi is fine.”

you introduce yourself in a similar fashion and inwardly curse the heat that spreads across your cheeks. koushi settles behind you quickly, and you relax just the slightest bit now that he isn’t directly in your line of sight.

he gets to work straight away – no dilly-dallying – and your eyes close instinctively at the feeling of his fingers combing through your hair. he’s gentle and patient, working through knots like he had all the time in the world and braiding your hair was his only task. when his hands return to the crown of your head to start on the braid, you could feel yourself starting to doze off…

“excuse me, sorry.”

until you perk up again at koushi’s voice behind you. “can you hold this for me please?” he asks, voice tinged with sheepishness. “my pockets are fake, so…”

you blindly stick your hand out in the general direction of where your partner is and he drops a piece of half-braided paracord in your palm. you bring it closer to you for inspection, blinking away the sleepiness in your eyes to note the combination of loose loops and swollen spots that make up the messy braid.

“where’d you get this?” you ask.

“grabbed it before i left the house because i heard we were getting braiding lessons today,” came koushi’s response, his hands still weaving through your hair carefully. you shiver involuntarily when one of his cold fingers brushed at the sensitive tip of your ear. “i practised during the seminar just now, but obviously didn’t get very far. i promise i’ll do a better job on your hair though, so just hang tight for a bit!”

“sure,” you said with a soft chuckle at his enthusiasm. “i must admit that the effort alone is impressive, but if you can make me look and feel great when you’re done, i’ll give you your teaching cert in a heartbeat.”

“even if i don’t pass the arts and crafts lesson?”

“even if you don’t pass the arts and crafts lesson.”

you let yourself relax into your chair. all around you, many other teacher-to-bes were struggling with their partners’ braids – you felt yourself cringe upon spotting a young lady shaking out her fingers in what seems to be an unfortunate cramp.

meanwhile, koushi was making good progress. you had to stop yourself from jumping each time his fingers brush your ears to round up a piece of hair or to smooth down flyaways. instead, you direct your attention to finishing up the half-braided paracord koushi handed you. the leaf green, koala grey, and slate blue paracords intertwined to form an unexpected but interesting colour palette you’ve never quite seen before, but adore nevertheless.

you finished off the braid with a flourish, pulling together a few strings to create an adjustable sliding knot – thank goodness for younger you who spent all of recess making friendship bracelets, because the skill has finally come in handy today.

as if planned, koushi finishes off your braid with a sparkly blue elastic at the same time.

“ta-da!” he sings as he snaps the elastic in place. “all done. now please tell me that i passed, because i don’t think i can handle making another cardboard dinosaur. my fingers hurt.”

you laugh at that, recalling your own disastrous and painful attempt at an archaeopteryx (you might have gotten a little ambitious there) at yesterday’s arts and crafts lesson.

“take a picture, please.” you hand your phone over to koushi.

“say cheese!” your partner sings back, and you throw up a quick peace sign. the shutter goes off behind you.

the photo koushi took reveals a lopsided braid – a little loose, especially towards the end (he must have gotten tired, or his fingers were really hurting from yesterday’s dinosaur making session), but it was a good attempt nevertheless. in fact, upon scanning the people around you, you realised that koushi probably did the best in this room, an observation that made your heart swell with pride.

koushi pulls out a chair from the table across you and sits himself down tiredly. “well? what do you think? you’re making me nervous.”

“you did a great job, koushi,” you say with a sincere smile.

“really? you think so?”

“yeah, maybe make the braid tighter next time.”

“i’ll give it a shot tomorrow then.” koushi nods seriously, before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “as in– if you’ll let me practise again on you tomorrow, i mean–”

“sure, no problem. it was nice having you braid my hair. i almost dozed off for a bit.” you confess with a nonchalant shrug, though you were sure the smile on your face was slipping into a grin. before you could forget, you hold out the finished paracord bracelet. “here, i finished it up. it’s a friendship bracelet now.”

your partner takes the bracelet from you with gleaming eyes. he turns it over in his hands, thumb rubbing at the sliding knot. he makes no move to put it on, however, instead leaning into you and grabbing your wrist with the same grace and tenderness he possessed while braiding your hair.

before you could react, koushi slips the paracord bracelet onto your wrist, pulling at the ends of the sliding knot to tighten it in place.

“keep it. take it as a thank you for letting me practise on you today and tomorrow.” he grins, turning over your wrist to marvel at the green-grey-blue against your skin. “and maybe next week, too, if you don’t mind.”

a/n: sugawara sensei my beloved <3 thank you for reading!

(masterlist)

#sugawara x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koushi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #sugawara fluff #haikyuu #sugawara koushi #sugawara koshi #sugawara x you #sugawara x y/n #yuna writes

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cloudninetonine · 2 years

Note

saw an art from lu-twilight-pup (i think thats the url?) and their banner is just wolf twilight in cowboy boots and a hat and i think it is very funny

... so what would happen if player tried to put wolfie in cowboy boots and a hat - mold

Okay, I saw this and I needed to do it.

Like, a life and death request for me.

@lu-twilights-pup (God I hope this tag works) I really hope you don't mind this and you like it (Hi, I'm a huge fan btw)

“Come on, Wolfie pup, one picture?”

Movies always told you to expect the unexpected, it could come from any angle. From deep underground, from the skies above- hell, it could be pretending to sell drugs to you in some alley when in actuality it was just some PO about to bust you-

Where were you going with this?

Movies always told you to expect the unexpected- shame Wolfie’s reaction was expected when he sent you a menacing growl, lips pulled over razor-sharp teeth towards your hunched figure, face falling into a pout.

“Listen,” You started, wrapping your arms around your knees, letting yourself fall onto your bum. “I know the outfit is already torture enough, so asking for a picture is ridiculous but you look so cute! I can’t not take a picture so let me take one and I’ll leave you alone, promise!”

If Twilight could speak in his wolf form you knew for a fact he’d probably curse Ordon’s name to the high heavens at you. It was bad luck that he stumbled onto you when you were going through your stuff, even worse that he was shifted into Wolfie, curiously eyeing your wares as you organised them accordingly, stumbling across the little outfit, your smile beaming.

“Hey, I remember this! We put JD’s dog, Perdita, into this!” You’d cried, examining the little hat and boots to go along with it as you let Wolfie sniff them. “She was such a polite little lady! She looked so cute, our little cowgirl!”

The idea popped into your head when you glanced over to the wolf, nudging gently at the hat curiously before you raised your hand, the beast freezing in a quizzical silence as you placed the item onto his head, pulling your head back to look at all his rooting, tooting, cowboy shooting glory.

A silence was shared, a showdown of the century hanging over the pair of you.

You glanced at the shoes.

Then back to your furry companion.

Back to the shoes.

Back to Wolfie’s narrowed eyes.

“...Gotta complete the fit.”

And you pounced.

In all honesty, you were surprised that Twilight didn’t try to rip your fingers off. Surprised that he went along begrudgingly with a few light nips here and there. He certainly did moan the entire time, wailed similar to a husky as you pushed the doggy boots onto his paws, moving back to see his outfit while he glared at you, mind freaking you into a puddle of goop while you grinned something maliciously cute towards him.

“What a polite young man!” Wolfie growled in defence but it burned away in his throat when you gently scratched his chin. “My little cowboy! Gonna hurdle cattle into a barn for me, smelly boy?”

The gentle nip at your fingers was probably deserved, but that didn’t stop you from pulling your phone out, and wiggling it teasingly.

“How about a picture?”

And that’s what lead you to now, a pouting pup ready to wreak havoc on you, his enthusiastic paparazzi, who merely wanted a keepsake for such a cute moment!

“Wolfieeeeeeeeeee~” You whined, flopping onto your side. “Pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~”

Wolfie howled along with you in protest.

“Just one photo!”

He yelped out something similar to a no.

“Please!”

“Woof!”

“Please!”

“Woof!”

“PleasePleasePleasePleasePlease-”

He finally snarled, silencing your little scene.

Silence was once again shared between you.

Then you sighed.

“Fine, fine.” You gave in, standing. “I’ll leave you alone-”

Wolfie sneezed, shaking his muzzle and then flicking his tail.

“What? You said no didn’t you want to-”

A little garble fell from his mouth.

“Wolfie-”

The great beast stood once again, performing a small spin for your eyes, barking something once then doing a little pose, kicking his front paw up as well as his back paw, tail shoved between his hind legs in a sign of annoyance.

A moment passed before you giggled, leaning down to capture the pose then quickly shuffling over, pressing soft kisses to his maw and scratching lightly at the fur of his back.

“Good boy.” You praised, crying out when he licked at your face. “Ew- okay- okay! Let me get the stuff off you then!”

He didn’t fight you as you took off his little outfit, packing it away back into your backpack before hauling it over your shoulder, looking down at the wolf sitting quietly at your feet. “Thank you, cutie.”

With a final pat on his head, you disappeared into the foliage to find the others.

Twilight was quick to shift back at your retreating figure, hand coming to hold his forehead with a laugh of disbelief, leaned back on his hand.

“The things I do for love.”

The things he did indeed.

(I made it slightly shippy at the end, I got soft, sorry guys not really)

#cloud answers #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu #linked universe imagine #player au #a player's aid #Anon asks

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youshouldhavepaidattentiondad · 8 months

Text

Time Stands Still

Ao3

Entry #2 for the @hatchetfield-bang! The OCs in the story below are mine :3

Summary: While on an assignment in a small town in Florida, John meets the man who will one day become his husband.

Florida.

Of course it had to be fucking Florida.

Sweat practically drips off John's brow as he walks down the street. The humidity in the air makes him feel as though he's being slowly smothered by a very damp blanket.

He can handle it though. He has to be able to handle it. This is his first undercover solo mission since being recruited for the Special Unit: Paranormal Extraterrestrial Interdimensional Phenomenon. He needs to prove himself to all the higher ups who think he's just some young upstart.

Which, to be fair, he is.

At 25, he's the youngest to be recruited into P.E.I.P. He's heard all the sneers, seen all the side-eyes, knows people think he's too young, too green. This is his chance-

His sudden collision breaks him out of his internal monologue. Stumbling back, he looks up at whatever he just ran into.

"You alright, man?" A gentle, slightly twangy drawl asks him. The voice belongs to a tall man with sharp features. Long, dark hair falls over his shoulders, past the nonexistent sleeves of his tank top. There's paint splattered across his ripped jeans.

John remembers to breathe. He's in the South, after all.

"Yeah, I'm all good. Sorry, I didn't see you there." He chuckles slightly.

That makes the man give a good-natured laugh. He glances to the side before jerking his head in that direction.

John looks over to see a local drive-in restaurant. Red picnic tables sit under a pavilion of sorts. The shade seems to beckon to him, to get out of this blasted sunlight.

"Good place to get some ice cream. It's where I was headed actually." The man gives an easy going grin. "Care to join me, stranger?"

Oh, that sounds amazing. "Sure."

They head toward the walk-up window. John scans the letterboard menu before the window opens.

A teenage girl peers out. "Hey, Russ," She greets the man with John familiarly. "How ya doin'?"

"Doin' well, Amber, and yourself?"

"Pretty good. You gettin' your usual?" Amber questions as she holds up a notepad, pen poised to write

"Yeah, that'll work," Russ gives her a grin, "That and whatever this guy wants."

Amber's round blue eyes land on John. Her eyebrows raise as she looks him over. "Oh, a new face in town. What can I get for you, sir?"

John isn't sure how he feels about being called 'sir.' It feels wrong, he's still young. He's not even a rank worthy of being called "sir.' "Um, a strawberry milkshake."

"You got it." Amber pops the gum she's chewing. "What size? We got small, medium, large, and jumbo." She points up with her pen, where the cups are posted above the window to show their size.

"A medium is fine," John says politely.

She nods. "That'll be three-fifty, Russ."

Russ reaches into the backpack slung over his shoulders and pulls out a wallet. He slips out a five and passes it to Amber. "Don't need change."

Lighting up, Amber nods. "I'll bring it out to y'all when it's ready!" She declares before closing the window.

Chuckling fondly, Russ leads the way to one of the picnic tables.

"So, she was friendly," John says awkwardly once they're seated across from each other.

"That's just how Amber is," Russ says with a shrug, "She's a good kid. She graduates next year. Plans on going to nursing school."

John blinks. He hesitates slightly before asking his next question. "How do you know that?"

That earns him a small laugh from Russ. "It's a small town. Everybody knows everybody," he explains, "Her mom was my first grade teacher. My sister used to babysit Amber. I work at the high school as an art teacher."

A small smile of disbelief curls John's lips. "That's crazy," he says, "I'm from a small town and we don't all seem to know each other like that."

"Y'all's definition of small must be different than ours," Russ teases, "Where you from anyway, stranger?"

"A little town up in Michigan called Hatchetfield," John explains, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest at the way Russ calls him ‘stranger’. "Though, based on this-" He waves his hand, as if gesturing to the entire town they're in, "You'd probably think it was a city."

Russ laughs again. "It got a mall? If it's got a mall, it's definitely a city."

Scratching the back of his head sheepishly, John admits, "Well, yeah, but it's not a very big mall-"

Russ' laugh echoes slightly from how loud it is.

"What'cha laughin' 'bout, Russ?" Amber asks as she walks out onto the pavilion, carrying a tray.

"We got a city slicker on our hands," Russ says, voice shaking with mirth. Grinning, he sits up a little straighter as Amber approaches them.

"Got a banana split for you, Russ," She says as she sets down a massive sundae in front of him. "And a strawberry shake for the city slicker," She giggles as she passes John the cup and a straw.

John's face and ears feel hot. "Thanks," he mutters as he begins peeling the wrapper from the straw.

"Let me know if y'all need anything else," Amber says as she sets a plastic spoon and a stack of napkins in front of Russ. She gives them another smile before heading back inside.

Russ picks up his spoon, immediately digging into his split. John slides his straw into the cup before taking a tentative sip.

"Holy shit, that's good," he mutters.

Glancing up, Russ shoots him another smile. "It's cause they use fresh local strawberries. 'Sweetest strawberries this side of heaven.' Least that's what they print on the newspapers."

"Do they really?" John asks. He shrugs before he gets an answer and takes another sip of his shake.

The two sit quietly, the only sounds coming from the cars flying by on the road.

"What made you decide to be an art teacher?" John finally asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Not much else to do with an art degree,” Russ replies with a crooked grin, “Least not like in a small town like Arkets. What about you, stranger? What brings a Michigan boy like yourself so far down south?”

John hopes Russ keeps calling him ‘stranger.’ There’s something enchanting, almost endearing about it.

When asked about his work, John finally comes back to his senses, suddenly feeling heat rush to his face. He quickly takes another long sip of his shake.

“Military,” he finally says, “Got a temporary assignment at the base nearby.”

Russ nods. His smile dims slightly at the information. “So I take it you won’t be hanging around very long,” he comments.

“We’ll see what happens. With the military, you can never tell how long things will take.”

Silence fills the space between them again.

“So what kind of art do you do?” John asks.

That makes Russ’ face light up again. “All kinds. I mostly like painting and sculptures though. If you have some free time, you should let me paint you.”

Embarrassment immediately at those words. John almost chokes on his shake as he feels the blood rush to his cheeks and ears. “Why would you want to paint me?”

“Cause you’re handsome,” Russ states as though it’s obvious, “‘Sides, if I get a painting of you, that would give me a reference for a sculpture.” He laughs heartily before taking another bite of his sundae. “You might have just become my new muse, just so you know.”

“Well, I’m flattered.”

Too soon, the ice cream is gone. John stands regretfully. “I should get back to my lodgings,” he says, despite the fact that he could sit out here talking to Russ until nightfall. “See you around, Russ?”

“See ya around, stranger.” Russ grins at him as he also stands, extending a hand for John to shake.

John takes it, swallowing slightly at how firm Russ’ grip is.

He doesn’t necessarily run back to the small apartment P.E.I.P. has rented for him, but he does move rather hastily, racing up the stairs to his door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands of himself as he stares at his reflection in the small mirror over the bathroom sink. “You’re here for work, not to get googly eyed over some guy.”

His hands tighten on the edges of the sink as he leans in closer to his reflection. “You’re here to prove yourself, MacNamara. Not to get your heart broken.” He grimaces as he remembers where he is. “Or get yourself killed.”

He pushes off the sink, the glass over the face of his watch glinting in the light.

It’s almost a week before he sees Russ again. This time, it’s at the local grocery store. John pushes his cart down one of the aisles, debating whether or not he should get some chips when he hears a voice like warm honey behind him.

“Well, hiya, stranger,” Russ greets him, leaning against the handle of his own cart. “Fancy runnin’ into you here.”

“Have you been trying to run into me?” John questions with a smile as he turns to look at him.

“Who can say?” Russ winks. “You been busy with your work stuff?”

Yes, John has actually. Not that he can give Russ any of the details of his mission. “Yeah I have,” he answers evasively. “School’s out for summer, right? What have you been doing in your free time?”

“Art,” Russ answers simply, “There’s a summer program at the local library, I host an art class of some kind for the kids each week. Turnout’s been great.” He glances at John’s cart. “D’ya like beer?”

“Uh, yeah?” John says, taken off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Why?”

“Why don’t you come over to my place this weekend?” Russ invites. “We can have a few beers, hangout, maybe let me sketch you.”

John laughs, despite his heart fluttering like a rogue butterfly in his chest. “You’re still just trying to make art of me, aren’t you?”

“I’ll never tell.” Russ grins widely. “So what do you say?”

At the sight of that smile, John forgets the talk he gave himself days earlier. “Sure.”

At that answer, Russ grabs his hand at the same time he pulls a pen from his pocket. With a click, he’s suddenly writing his address on the back of John’s hand in black ink. “See you at six Friday night,” he says as he releases John’s hand.

John can feel the heat in his cheeks and ears. “Yeah, see you then,” he agrees.

Friday night rolls around to find John standing outside of a small house. The address has long been washed from his hand but instead found itself burned into his brain. Taking a deep breath, he knocks.

It takes several moments, long enough that John begins to fear he’s at the wrong house, when the door opens.

There stands Russ, in a raggedy tank top and cutoff denim shorts, with his hair tied back and paint smears on his forearms. “Sorry, lost track of time,” he says with a sheepish grin. “Come in.”

Chuckling, John follows him into the house. Russ leads him into the kitchen.

“Hungry?” Russ asks as he pulls a couple beers from the fridge, passing one to John.

“A little bit,” John confesses as he takes the cold bottle. He’s starving actually, having been too nervous about this all day to eat anything.

Humming, Russ opens the fridge door again to look inside. “I could whip us up something quick. You allergic to anything?”

“You don’t have to cook,” John says hurriedly, “We can order pizza or something. You don’t have to go through all that trouble for me.”

Russ looks at him seriously. “It’s no trouble, stranger. Now, you allergic to anything?”

“...no,” John finally relents with a small smile. He twists open his beer and moves to sit at the kitchen table while Russ gets to work.

The kitchen quickly fills with the most delicious smell. John’s stomach growls and he doesn’t even have it in him to be ashamed about it.

“Just a little hungry, huh?” Russ teases him as he flips the burger patties in the frying pan on the stovetop.

“Hush. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a home cooked meal?” John asks.

“No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?” Russ answers as he stirs the onions he’s been caramelizing.

John has to think about it. “Probably Christmas last year? When I got to go visit my parents on leave,” he admits. “I can’t cook, so it’s takeout food for me.”

“Really?” Russ asks in disbelief. “You tellin’ me a handsome fella like yourself ain’t got someone back home? Someone to cook and clean and all those old fashioned stereotypes.”

With a laugh, John shakes his head. “No. I don’t think there’s anyone I’d want to make into a wife, anyway.”

Oh, that was gutsy. He almost regrets saying it, but then he sees the corners of Russ’ mouth perk up in a slight smile.

A few minutes later, a beautiful patty melt with a handful of chips on the side slides in front of him on the table. Russ sits opposite with his own plate and beer.

Eagerly, John lifts the sandwich and takes as big a bite as he can. “Oh my god,” he mutters through a mouthful before he resumes chewing.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Russ chuckles before digging into his own food.

There’s not much to say when there’s delicious food in front of you. Too soon, John’s sandwich and chips are gone, as is his beer. “That was amazing,” he tells Russ sincerely, “You’re a great cook.”

“Thank you kindly.” Russ sips his beer before noticing John’s is gone. “Need another?”

“I can get it,” John assures him as he stands, making his way over to the fridge. “So is this when you bust out the art supplies and make me model?” he teases as he rejoins Russ.

“Can’t make you do nothin’,” Russ says with a laugh, “Strong military guy like yourself, you’d kick my ass if I tried.” He tilts his head as he smiles at John. “Would still like to sketch you though, if you’re up for it.”

John considers this as he drinks his beer. “Yeah, I think I am,” he agrees. “Where do you want me?”

Russ lights up at that. He quickly stands from his chair and leads John into the living room. “Sit right there,” he directs John, pointing to an armchair next to the window. “I’ll be right back.”

When Russ returns, he has a sketchbook and a pencil. He settles himself on the arm of the couch, sitting cross legged. “Comfortable?” He asks John as he flips open the book. “You’re gonna have to be still for a bit.”

“I’m good,” John says as he leans back, letting himself relax against the chair. “You work your magic or whatever you artists do.”

Russ smirks at that. “Oh, it’s definitely magic,” he assures, twirling the pencil between his fingers before bringing it to the paper.

John tries his best not to move. At times, he finds himself holding his breath. He can do this, he’s been put through torture simulations, where he has to remain stoic and not break composure.

Though, he has to admit, this is different.

Russ’s eyes dart up from the page to look at him and John swallows softly as their eyes meet.

It’s different and definitely more difficult.

Close to a half hour later, Russ slides off the arm of the couch to approach John. “Whaddaya think?” he asks as he presents his sketch.

“Holy shit.” John’s eyes widen as he takes in the drawing of himself. “I think you gave yourself some artistic liberties,” he tries to joke as he feels his cheeks heat up. “There’s no way I look that good.”

“Give yourself some credit,” Russ chuckles. He brings a hand up to sheepishly rub the back of his neck. “So this is a bit awkward to ask now, seein’ as I’ve got you at my place and all, but what’s your name, stranger?”

Oh right. They never formally exchanged names.

“John,” he finally responds when he finds his voice, “John MacNamara.”

Russ gives him a crooked little grin, “Well, it’s nice to meet ya, John.”

“Nice to meet you too, Russ,” John says with his own smile.

It hangs in the air for a moment as they gaze at one another.

There’s an electricity to the air around them, its crackling practically audible.

John’s not sure he wants to put a name to it. He said he wasn’t going to do it, he’s here for a mission-

He’s not sure which one of them moves first. Russ’ sketchbook ends up on the couch, his pencil on the floor, as they kiss. John has to stand on his toes a bit and Russ has to lean down, but it doesn’t take away from the moment.

When they break apart, Russ grins broadly at him, resting his forehead against John��s tenderly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, soldier boy,” he whispers fondly before kissing John again.

Over the next few weeks, when John’s not working he finds himself at Russ’ house. He models for Russ to paint. Russ cooks them meals. They watch movies and drink beer. They makeout on the couch like they’re teenagers.

John especially likes that part.

One Saturday night, John sits at the kitchen table while Russ stands at the stove. John watches him with a soft smile as he sips on his beer.

“Why don’cha take a picture, darlin’?” Russ teases as he glances over at John as he stirs the sauce he has simmering.

“Don’t have a camera,” John retorts with a smirk.

Russ laughs at that, shaking his head. He sets the spoon on the counter before walking over to John, ducking down to steal a kiss. “You’re ridiculous.” He straightens up to walk back over to check on the pasta.

“You love it.” Heat flares slightly in John’s cheeks as he says the ‘L’ word.

“Yeah, I do.” Russ shoots him that crooked grin that John has become so fond of.

John’s heart almost stops at that.

Before he can recover, there’s a knock at the door. The two of them share a glance before Russ exits the kitchen to go answer it.

John hears the door open, followed by a chipper voice. He can make out Russ talking. The words are drowned out by footsteps.

Before John can move, a young woman walks into the kitchen. She has dark hair like Russ, with round, friendly eyes. She stops when she sees John, her mouth dropping open slightly.

“Hello,” John greets politely before taking another sip of beer.

The woman turns to look at Russ, an accusing look in her eyes. John feels his heart drop, his grip tightening on the bottle in his hand.

“You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone!” the woman exclaims with a playful slap to Russ’ arm.

“How do you know he’s not just a friend?” Russ jests, giving John a reassuring smile.

The woman giggles, gesturing wildly to John. “I have eyes. He’s hot!”

John relaxes at the exchange, though he does blush at the woman’s words.

“Calm down, Lori,” Russ tells her, bringing a hand up to pat the top of her head. “You said you had something to tell me?”

Lori’s eyes twinkle. She presents her left hand with a flourish. On her ring finger, a diamond sparkles in the kitchen’s lights. “Rich proposed!”

“Congratulations!” Russ says happily, wrapping her in a tight hug.

Returning the hug just as fiercely, Lori giggles again. “I’m so happy, Russie.” She pulls back, glancing over at John again. “Now, do you have something to tell me?”

Chuckling, Russ shakes his head. “Impatient as always. That’s John. John, this is my little sister, Lori.”

“Nice to meet you,” John says with a little wave.

“Nice to meet ya as well!” Lori gives a brilliant smile before looking at Russ again. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone then,” she says playfully, “I’ll give you a call tomorrow so I can tell you more about it!” She gives Russ another hug and waves to John before disappearing.

As soon as John hears the door close, John smiles at Russ. “She seemed nice.”

“She’s great,” Russ agrees. His smile dims as he returns to the stove. “Just too bad I’ll have to miss the wedding. I’ll probably just take her and Rich out to dinner to celebrate sometime.”

Frowning, John sets down his beer. “Why would you have to miss the wedding?”

“Because our parents will be there,” Russ says quietly as he picks up a spoon again.

The weight of those words hits John. He sits silently as Russ goes about draining the pasta. “I take it your parents…” he trails off, not quite sure how to put it into words.

“Yeah, no. Not at all.” Russ shakes his head. “That… that wasn’t a pretty night. Least I was smart enough to wait till I had my own place to come out,” he comments jokingly, trying to lighten the mood.

John stands, crossing the room so he can rub Russ’ back. “I’m sorry.”

Shrugging, Russ turns to give John a quick kiss. “I’m doin’ pretty well without them, anyhow,” he reasons, “Plus, I still got Lori on my side, so it could be worse.” He gently nudges John back as he grabs an oven mitt. “What about your parents?” he asks as he opens the oven door.

“My parents know and accept me,” John says simply. He’s not going to mention that in almost all their letters to him they ask when he’s going to bring home a nice boy.

Russ sets the tray on a dishtowel on the counter. “That’s good. I’m glad.” He turns to grab plates from a nearby cabinet. “So if this keeps going good between us, I would meet them?” he asks, his teasing tone back.

Laughing, John settles at the table again as Russ plates their food. “If my parents knew about you, I couldn’t stop them from meeting you.”

He hears Russ chuckle at that. “Speaking of things going good between us,” Russ comments as he carries over two steaming plates of chicken parmesan. “I’m gonna be a little bit old fashioned and ask if you’d like to be my boyfriend.”

“I-” Caught off guard by the question, John flushes. “Yes. Obviously, yes.”

Grinning, Russ steals a kiss as he sets the plate in front of him.1

Two months later, school is back in session. Meaning John can't spend all of his free time hanging out at Russ' place.

Sure, they have the evenings and weekends together, but it doesn't feel like enough time. John doesn't think there is such a thing as enough time with Russ.

One Friday, when he arrives at the base for work, he's quickly escorted to the Officer in Command's office. Instead of the base's officer though, he's greeted with his own commanding officer from P.E.I.P.

John quickly snaps into a salute when he sees him.

"At ease, John," Colonel Cross says with a soft chuckle. He stands from the desk, walking around it to extend a hand to John.

John relaxes, shaking the colonel's hand.

"I'll be honest with you, John, a lot of people didn't think you'd pull this mission off," Cross admits as they release hands, "But not only did you get all the intel we needed, you also managed to do so undetected. Not many first year agents can say the same about their first missions."

Pride swells in John's chest. "Thank you, sir."

The bubble bursts a moment later as he realizes what this means. "So I'm headed back to Hatchetfield?"

"You ship out first thing Monday morning," Cross confirms, "The general wanted you back today, but I convinced him to let you have the weekend. Give you the chance t say goodbye to any friends you might have made."

Swallowing softly, John nods. "Understood. Thank you, Colonel Cross."

After that meeting, John ends up back in his apartment, packing his things. He feels like he's on autopilot.

He's going to have to tell Russ. The very thought feels like a lead weight crushing his heart.

It barely takes any time to pack up his scarce belongings. He sits on the floor, staring at the wall in front of him.

Are they going to break up? He guesses if Russ doesn't want to do long distance, that's really the only option. The very idea of things ending makes his chest ache.

With a frustrated groan, he drops his head in his hands.

That afternoon, after school lets out, he heads to Russ' house. It feels like an eternity before he's knocking on the front door.

"Hey," Russ greets with that easy-going grin. His smile falters when he sees the look on John's face. "What's wrong, darlin'?"

Shaking his head, John walks inside. He hears the door close behind him.

"John? You're scarin' me, sweetheart. What's wrong?" Russ asks, worry painting his words.

Taking a deep breath, John forces himself to turn around. "Got new orders today," he says, trying to keep any emotion from his voice. "I ship out Monday, back to Hatchetfield."

Russ seems to freeze for a moment before he leans back against the door. He studies John for several moments.

"What does that mean?" Russ finally asks quietly.

John swallows back the growing lump in his throat. "Whatever you want it to mean." His voice trembles slightly.

There's a pause before Russ' smile reappears. "Then I guess it means you better write me, soldier boy."

A relieved puff of laughter escapes John at that. "God, I love you."

It takes seeing the surprise on Russ' face for John to realize what he just said. Heat floods his face, quickly rushing to his ears as well.

Before he can try to backtrack, Russ is there, kissing him like his life depends on it.

"Well, that's a relief," Russ says as they break apart. "Cause I love you too."

Grinning, John pulls him into another kiss.

Sunday morning, John wakes up in Russ' bed to the smell of cinnamon and coffee. Smiling into the pillows, he closes his eyes again.

Just basking.

A few minutes later, he walks out of the bedroom in his boxers and one of Russ' paint splattered shirts. "Good morning."

Russ looks over from where he stands at the stove, grinning immediately at the sight of John in his shirt. "Good mornin' to you, sweetheart."

John heads to the already full coffee pot. Easily, he grabs a mug from one of the cabinets and pours himself a cup. "What're you making?"

"French toast," Russ answers. His sweatpants hang low on his hips and John admires the view as he sips his coffee.

"My favorite," John smiles as he leans back against the counter.

Chuckling, Russ glances back over his bare shoulder. "Makin' it special, just for you, darlin'."

An easy quiet falls over them, only disturbed by the sizzling of the toast cooking in the pan.

John sips his coffee, watching Russ cook fondly.

"You're gonna burn holes in my back if you keep that up," Russ jokes as he starts plating their food.

Laughing, John shakes his head. "Well we can't have that, now can we?"

He drifts over to the table, sitting down just as Russ brings the plates over. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Russ kisses him before heading into the pantry. He comes back with a bottle of maple syrup. As he sits, he sets the bottle in front of John.

John grabs the bottle quickly, pouring the maple-y goodness over his French toast. “I’m going to miss this,” he says solemnly as he passes the bottle over to Russ.

A small smile tugs at Russ’ lips. “Me or my cookin’?” he questions as he proceeds to drown his toast in syrup.

“Both. Just this in general, just being with you.” John cuts a piece of toast with his fork and takes the bite. “It’s been amazing.”

One of Russ’ eyebrows raises slightly. “You act like this is goodbye forever. It ain’t.”

Laughing softly, John shakes his head. “You’re right, you’re right.”

The day passes by lazily as they watch movies together on the couch. John finds himself with his head on Russ’ chest, listening to his heartbeat instead of the film. He closes his eyes.

“Gettin’ tired, darlin’?” Russ asks as he rubs John’s back.

“No. Just… just trying to savor this,” John smiles. His eyes open again as he tilts his head up to look at Russ. “I love you.”

Russ returns his smile before leaning down to kiss him. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

As John shifts to get more comfortable, he hears the jingling of his tags. His eyes widen slightly before he sits up. He pulls the chain they're on over his head. "Here. Something to remember me by," he says as he offers the necklace to Russ.

Russ' eyebrows raise as he takes the necklace, examining the raised lettering. "Don't you need these?"

"I'll request new ones when I get back," John says with a shrug.

Chuckling, Russ pulls the necklace on, the tags resting over his heart. "Thank you, soldier boy."

Monday morning, well before the sun is up, John's already at the airport, waiting on the plane to start loading. He stares at the runway through the floor to ceiling windows in the terminal.

He already misses Russ.

Hearing the call for active military to board, he stands, duffel bag in hand. He makes his way onto the plane, finding his seat before buckling in for the flight.

When he makes it back to base, he heads straight to his lodgings. His duffel bag gets tossed unceremoniously onto his bed. He heads to his dresser, picking up a notebook, an envelope, and a pen from atop it.

He settles at the small table in the kitchenette and begins writing.

Dear Russ,

I've made it back safely to Hatchetfield. I love our country and my job, but I wish I was still with you.

Maybe one day you can come visit me here. I'd advise you to come during the summer. Being from Florida, I'm not sure how well you'd handle the bitter cold of a Michigan winter.

Be warned though, if you come for a visit, there's a high chance you would have to meet my parents. It is a small town (even if you think it's a city) and we would probably end up running into them.

I know it's barely been a day, but I miss you already. I hope you are doing well. I look forward to receiving a letter from you.

Love, your soldier boy,

John

Gently, he tears the page from the notebook before carefully folding it into thirds. He slides the letter into the envelope before sealing it.

He begins to write Russ' name on the front of the letter, hesitating when he realizes he doesn't know Russ' last name. He never mentioned it.

John guesses he tries to avoid using it, since it's a tie to the parents who disowned him.

Biting his lip, he writes Russ MacNamara on the front of the envelope. Under it, he fills in the address before putting his own name and address in the upper left corner.

Satisfied and suddenly nervous, he grabs a stamp from the junk drawer and sticks it to the upper right corner.

After posting it at the post office on base, he heads to Colonel Cross' office.

The colonel looks up from some paperwork as John walks in. "Hey, John."

"Colonel Cross," John greets with a nod. P.E.I.P. seems to be a lot more lax about formalities, but John's strict training from the previous branch he served in hasn't died yet. "I need to request new dog tags."

Cross raises an eyebrow. "That can be arranged. What happened to your other set?"

"I believe I forgot them when I was packing," John lies, trying to ignore how his heart seems to beat louder.

A smirk curls on Cross' lips and John knows he doesn't believe him. "I'll put the order in. You should have them by tomorrow."

John bites back a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir."

"Not a problem, John."

Every day for the next several days, John checks the small letterbox in front of his lodgings, waiting on a letter from Russ.

Finally, he comes back from duty one day to find two envelopes waiting for him. He chuckles as he sees Russ wrote Russ MacNamara above the return address. He looks at the other envelope, his smile growing slightly as he sees flowing cursive spelling out the name Florence MacNamara.

Once inside, he settles on his bed, setting the letter from his mother aside so he can open the letter from Russ.

Dear John,

I'm glad to hear you made it back safe, darling. I miss you as well. I could list all the things about you I miss, but I doubt you want a thousand page letter.

I think I'd like to visit Michigan. I've never been outside of Florida, if you can believe that. You're right though. I'd have to acclimate to the cold, so it's best not to start off with it.

Meeting your parents would be an absolute honor, sweetheart. Especially since they raised such a fine young man.

I'm doing very well, all things considered. The school year is going very well. I've been nominated for Teacher of the Year, which is always touching. Been working on a new piece. It may or may not be of you. You'll just have to wait and see.

I can't wait to hear back from you. I'll be eagerly awaiting your next letter.

Love,

Russ

P.S. I was tickled that you decided to give me your last name in lieu of my own. I like it.

John grins as he finishes the letter. His fingers itch to write a response but he just sets the letter to the side before picking up the letter from his mom.

My dear son,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have tried calling, but since you didn't answer, I'm going to guess you have been gone on orders.

Things are going well here. Your father and I are going on a short trip to visit your grandmother. This letter should find you after we make it back.

Please give me a call when you are able. I know you're an adult and a military man, but I am still your mother and I worry.

Love,

Mom

Sighing fondly, John makes his way onto the kitchenette to pick up the phone from the wall before dialing his parents' number.

There's a few rings before a warm, familiar voice says, "MacNamara residence, Florence speaking."

"Hey, Ma," John says as he leans against the wall.

There's a gasp, quickly followed by, "John! Oh, honey, it’s so great to hear from you! How have you been?"

"I'm good, Ma. Got back from Florida about a week ago," John responds.

"Florida? That sounds like it was lovely. Were you there for work?"

"I was," he confirms, "It was nice, though I'm glad to be back. I wasn't too fond of the humidity."

He hears his mom laugh at that. "I'm glad to hear it, honey. Anything new going on?"

Damn mothers and their innate ability to know when something has happened.

"Yeah, actually." John toys with the phone cord for a few seconds before clearing his throat awkwardly. "I started seeing someone."

What can only be described as a happy little shriek comes through the receiver. John actually pulls the phone away at the noise with a wince.

"John! That's such big news! Tell me all about him, honey!"

Feeling himself blushing, John chuckles as a grin spreads across his face. "His name's Russ. I met him down in Florida. He's an art teacher at a high school."

"Does he treat you well?" She asks, suddenly sounding serious. "When do we get to meet him?"

"Meet who?" John hears his dad ask in the background.

"John's boyfriend, Russ," His mom responds, her voice slightly muted.

There's a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line before his dad's voice comes through clearer. "Congratulations, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Nathan, give me back the phone!"

"Hey, I'm curious too!"

"You act like I won't tell you what he tells me!"

John laughs fondly at his parents' shenanigans. "We've talked about him coming up here to visit, but nothing's set in stone yet. He did say it would be an honor to meet you."

"Aw, he sounds like a gentleman," his mom says appreciatively.

"Where's he at if he's coming up to visit?" His dad asks, sounding confused.

"Florida. John met him down there while he was there for work," his mom explains.

John stifles another laugh, ignoring how he's starting to feel homesick from his parents' exchange. "Yeah. He's in Florida, working as an art teacher," he fills in his dad.

"A teacher, huh? That's a fine profession," his dad responds. John can imagine him nodding as he says it. "Cece, stop trying to take the phone!"

"I still have questions!"

John shakes his head, not that either of them can see. "Actually, I just got off work and desperately need a shower. I just wanted to call so Ma would stop worrying."

"She does worry," his dad agrees.

"Of course I worry! He's my baby boy, no matter how old he gets! We won't keep you though, honey. We love you!"

"Love you both too," John bids, "Bye."

"Goodbye," his parents say in unison.

John hangs up the phone with a smile before heading off to shower.

The next couple months fall into a comfortable rhythm. John and Russ exchange letters, filling each other in on the details of their lives.

Well, most of them. John can't tell Russ much about his work given the nature of it. Russ doesn't ask too much about it, which John is grateful for.

Everything is going smoothly.

Until one morning, John gets pulled into the colonel’s office, alongside a couple other agents.

“Good morning, you three,” Colonel Cross greets them. A serious expression has settled on his features, unlike his usual warm and welcoming smile. “You’ve been selected for an urgent mission.”

All three of them salute. “When do we ship out, sir?” The agent on John’s left asks.

“Immediately,” Colonel Cross responds, “I’ll escort you to the hangar and debrief you on the way.”

John doesn’t allow the panic to set in. He can’t. So he listens to the colonel’s briefing as they march down the hall. He straps himself into the seat of the plane. He comforts himself with the reasoning that with a mission this important, it probably has a time restraint. It shouldn’t take more than a day.

A day turns into a week.

A week turns into a month.

It’s close to three months later when they make it back to P.E.I.P. HQ. Tired, hungry, and haggard, they tromp out of the plane into the hangar.

“Well done, you three,” Colonel Cross greets them, looking far more relaxed than the last time they saw him. “Head back to your lodgings. You’ll have a week off to recoup before you return to your normal duties.”

They all salute him, albeit wearily, before splitting off to head back to their homes.

John lives the closest to the hangar. As soon as it’s in sight, he makes a beeline for the mailbox. His heart drops when he opens it and sees the stack of letters inside.

He snatches the letters before hurrying into his room. He settles at the table before quickly opening the letter on top, guessing it’s the most recent. It’s dated from two weeks ago.

Dear John,

I’m not going to lie, you’re worrying me, darling. It’s been almost three months since I’ve heard from you. I don’t know if you’ve just gotten busy, don’t want to hear from me anymore, or if the worst has happened and you’ll never see this letter.

John’s heart drops at the implication. He quickly scans the rest of the letter, noting the phone number under Russ’ signature.

Not caring about the long-distance cost, he grabs the phone off the wall and quickly dials in the number.

It feels like the phone rings forever before Russ picks up with a “Hello?”

“Russ, oh my god, it’s John, I’m so sorry,” John says immediately.

“John?” Russ says, sounding almost disbelieving. In the background, John hears a soft thump. “Darlin’, are you alright? What happened? You didn’t respond to none of my letters-”

“I know,” John interrupts, “I know and I’m sorry. Something with work came up and I wasn’t able to write. I’m sorry.”

There’s no sound on the other end for a long moment. For a split-second, John thinks the call dropped or Russ hung up on him.

“John, I thought you died,” Russ’ voice finally comes through the speaker. “I had no way of knowin’. I was fuckin’ terrified.” Another pause. “What exactly do you do for the military, soldier boy?”

A small laugh escapes John at the familiar nickname. “I’m…” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think I can say,” he admits, “It’s a special unit. I get sent out for missions. That’s why I was in Florida for so long.

“I have the next week off though,” he changes the subject, “I’ll be able to call every day-”

“Wait, what?” Russ sounds confused. “You can’t just drop somethin’ like that and move on like it’s nothin’.”

“Russ, it’s not something I can talk about,” John sighs, “It’s part of the job. It’s part of me at this point. I can’t promise I can always tell you where I’m going or where I’ll be. Things happen at the drop of a hat here.” He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. “What I can promise is that I’ll always come back to you. No matter what.”

More silence.

“Russ? Honey, talk to me,” John says worriedly.

“... I’m sorry, John, I just need some time to think about all of this,” Russ replies, suddenly sounding exhausted, “Decide if that’s somethin’ I can deal with, okay?”

“...okay. I understand,” John barely whispers, trying to ignore the pain in his chest at those words. “Just… reach out to me whenever you’ve decided, alright?" He gives Russ his number, making sure he has it down correctly before speaking again. "I love you."

“I love you too, darlin’. Bye.”

“Bye.” John hangs up the phone. He can feel tears burning at his eyes and blinks furiously to get rid of the sensation. He stares miserably at the stack of letters in front of him as his fingers trace over Russ’ signature.

The next few days feel torturous. John starts writing letters, only to cross out the words he puts down. What can he do? Beg? Plead for Russ not to end things between them?

He doesn't want to guilt Russ into staying with him. That wouldn't be fair to either of them.

The evening of the third day since his return, his phone rings. John practically vaults off his bed to rush to answer it. "MacNamara speaking." He tries to ignore how his heart attempts to beat out of his chest.

"Listen to you, soldier boy, soundin' all official-like." Russ' familiar drawl drips through the speaker, sweet as honey.

John smiles. "Well, I never know who's going to call," he replies before asking, "How have you been?"

"I've been alright," Russ replies, "Been doin' a lot of thinkin'."

"Yeah?" John asks, trying to ignore the way his stomach drops. "So have I."

There's a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. "What'cha been thinkin' 'bout, darlin'?"

Taking a deep breath, John answers, "That I don't want to force you into anything you don't want."

"Well, here's the thing, John," Russ says with a slight hum, "I want you. If I have to share you with Lady Liberty, I guess I can deal with that."

A huff of relieved laughter escapes John at those words. He slumps slightly against the kitchen wall as his fingers tangle in the phone cord. "It's purely platonic between Lady Liberty and myself, I promise."

Russ' warm, familiar laugh drifts through the speaker. "I'm glad to hear it. You wanna hear what else I've been thinkin' 'bout?"

"Of course."

"Been thinkin' about headin' up that way for a visit," Russ says, "Spring break is in March. It'd be the perfect time for me to visit. If you can get away from work, of course."

“Give me the dates and I’ll go put in a leave request right now,” John says immediately, already reaching for a pen and paper. "Book a hotel and everything."

"Glad you're on top of it, darlin'," Russ replies before telling him the dates. "You go get that request put in and I'll talk to you later, alright? I love you."

"Love you too."

John doesn't quite book it across the base, but anyone who saw him would probably say he was jogging at the very least.

He slides to a stop outside of the colonel's office door, taking a moment to compose himself before knocking.

"It's open."

John opens the door to see Colonel Cross sitting at his desk, casually playing on a GameBoy.

"Oh, hey, John," the colonel greets as his thumbs tap the buttons on his handheld console. "What do you need?"

John blinks, once again not used to the seemingly laid back culture of P.E.I.P. "I wanted to submit a leave request," he answers.

That makes Cross set down his GameBoy. "You know, in the time you've been here, I don't think you've ever taken leave, except when we made you," he admits as he pulls out a form and offers it to John.

"Well…" John trails off with an awkward chuckle as he begins filling out the form.

"It's a girl, isn't it?" The colonel guesses with a smirk. "The same one you 'forgot' your other set of tags with?"

John feels his face and ears heat up. "Something like that," he mutters as he hands the completed form back to the colonel.

Humming, Cross raises an eyebrow as he looks over the form. "Well, if it's something like that, you might want to keep it quiet," he advises John, "We might be a more progressive branch, but that doesn't mean all of our members share the same beliefs."

"Yes sir, I understand," John says solemnly.

Cross brings down a stamp on the form, leaving a bright red approved mark across it. "Enjoy your leave when it comes around," he smiles as he files the form.

"Thank you, sir."

A couple months later, John stands in the airport in Clivesdale, wishing not for the first time that Hatchetfield would build its own airport so he wouldn't have to come here.

He's distracted from his Clivesdale hating thoughts by the sight of Russ walking toward him, rolling a suitcase behind him.

John grins as he takes a step towards him, fighting every urge to just fling himself into the man's arms. "Hey," he greets, slightly breathless.

"Hey yourself, soldier boy," Russ replies with that easy going grin John has missed so much. He peers around John, face dropping slightly at the sight outside. "Holy shit, is that snow? In March?" He asks in disbelief.

Laughing, John nods as he begins leading him towards the door. "You're probably gonna need something warmer than that sweater," he teases as he steps outside.

Russ hisses at the cold, already shivering. "Yeah, probably," he agrees.

John guides him to a small, green pickup truck, opening the passenger door for Russ to climb in.

"Thanks, darlin'," Russ says through chattering teeth as he hurries to get out of the wind.

Chuckling fondly, John heads around to get into the driver's side. He cranks the truck, quickly turning on the heat settings for Russ' sake.

"So this is your hometown?" Russ asks as they begin driving.

"Fuck no. This is Clivesdale," John answers with a scowl. "Fucking Chemists."

Russ laughs at that. "Ah, town rivalry?" He asks knowingly.

Muttering about how much he hates Clivesdale, John simply nods.

When they reach the Nantucket Bridge, John points out the windshield. "That's Hatchetfield," he declares, a bit of pride shining through his voice.

"Ah, yes, the city," Russ notes, cracking up.

"Stop it, it's just a small town," John protests. Before Russ can rebuttal, John speaks again. "Hey, so just a quick heads up. I told my parents you were visiting."

Russ raises an eyebrow. "Let me guess, they want to meet me?"

"Well yes. But they invited us over for dinner tonight," John admits, "Is that alright?"

"More than," Russ assures him. "What time are we supposed to be there?"

John turns into the parking lot of the hotel they're staying in. "Six. Well, Ma said dinner's being served at six, so we might want to get there around five-thirty."

They get checked into the hotel. Once they're in the room, as soon as Russ' suitcase has been set aside, John's in his arms.

Chuckling, Russ returns the embrace, kissing the top of John’s head. "I missed you too, darlin'," he teases lightly.

John doesn't reply, too busy breathing in the scent of Russ' cologne to answer. He finally pulls back to give him a grin before popping on his toes to give him a tender kiss.

"We should get you some warmer clothes before we go to my parents'," he says as he regretfully pulls away.

Russ nods, pulling John in again for another playful kiss. "Sounds like a plan, darlin'. We goin' to the mall?" He smirks, just barely holding back a laugh.

Rolling his eyes, John gently pushes him away. "You're never going to let that die, are you?"

"Nope." Russ gives him that crooked grin loves so much. "Never."

Five-thirty sharp, John pulls into his parents driveway before parking his truck.

Next to him, bundled up in a new puffer coat and hat, Russ looks nervous.

"Hey," John says soothingly, reaching out to take one of Russ' hands. "They're going to love you."

"Of course they will, I'm a catch," Russ tries to joke. He sighs as a hand comes up to brush back his hair. "I gotta be honest with you, John. I've never done this before, the whole 'meet the parents' thing."

John hums as he considers this, lacing their fingers together. "First time for everything, right?" He leans over to press a kiss to Russ' cheek.

Chuckling, Russ turns his head to give him a proper kiss. "Right." He takes a deep breath. "C'mon, let's go ahead in before I try to run."

On their walk to the front door, Russ' grip on John's hand tightens with every step they take. By the time they make it onto the porch, John can hardly feel his fingers.

Before either of them get the chance to knock, the door flies open.

An older man stands in the doorway, a wide grin on his bearded face. Green eyes twinkle as he steps back, waving them in. "Come in, boys! Get out of the cold!"

Grinning, John leads Russ inside. "Hey, Dad," he greets, finally releasing Russ' hand so he can pull off his coat.

He can hear Russ swallow anxiously before he extends a hand to man. "You must be Mr. MacNamara. I'm Russ, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Please, call me Nathan," John's dad replies as he takes Russ' hand, shaking it vigorously. "It's great to meet you as well, Russ."

"Are the boys here?" A lilting voice calls from another room.

John hangs up his coat before gesturing for Russ to do the same. "Yeah, Ma, we're here!"

As Russ hangs up his coat next to John’s, a petite woman comes in, wiping her hands on the apron she's wearing. "John, honey!" She smiles, the grin identical to the one on John's face, before she pulls him into a tight hug.

Laughing, John returns the hug, squeezing her maybe a little extra tight. "Hey, Ma."

When she releases him, she turns to Russ, seemingly squaring him up. Despite her small stature, John can see the fear in Russ' eyes.

"And you must be-"

Russ doesn't get the chance to finish before John’s mom hugs him, her head just barely reaching his chest. "Russ! It's so great to finally meet you, sweetie!" She pulls back, still smiling widely. "I'm Florence but please call me Cece."

"...nice to meet you too, Miss Cece," Russ replies, sounding slightly choked.

Cece shakes her head. "None of that 'miss' nonsense. We're family here." She gives him another smile before heading back to the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready!"

"Take your time, dear!" Nathan calls after her with a chuckle. He adjusts his glasses before leading John and Russ to the living room.

A large fire crackles merrily in the hearth. John bypasses the couch and chairs to sit on the rug, feeling the heat of the flames on his back.

Russ settles next to him, long legs stretched out in front of him.

"So, Russ," Nathan starts as he lowers himself into a leather wingback chair. "John tells me you're an art teacher."

"Yes sir," Russ answers. His hand reaches for John's, squeezing it when he finds it. "Been teachin' for the past three years."

Nathan nods approvingly. "Teaching is a fine profession. It takes a special kind of person to do it. My mother was a kindergarten teacher for almost forty years."

Whistling lowly, Russ' eyebrows raise at that information. "That's a long time. I'm sure she loved it."

"Oh, she adored it," Nathan assures him, "And her students adored her. Till she died, she would still get letters from former students telling her how much of an impact she had on them."

"What do you do for work, if you don't mind my askin'?" Russ asks curiously.

"I'm an editor at the Hatchetfield Gazette," Nathan answers with a small chuckle. "You should ask John to take you there. It's a great historic building-"

He's interrupted by Cece calling from the kitchen. "Dear, are you boring our guest with town history? He just got here!"

Laughing, Nathan calls back, "Nothing wrong with having pride in our town's history, love."

“Be that as it may,” Cece says as she leans out of the entryway leading into the kitchen. “Would you mind setting the table? Dinner is almost ready.”

“Not at all.” Nathan rises from his armchair, giving the boys a nod before exiting the room.

Smiling, John gives Russ’ hand a comforting squeeze. “They like you,” he assures him.

Russ’s shoulders finally relax. “Yeah, I guess so,” he chuckles. He leans in, nudging his shoulder against John’s.

They sit quiet for a while, listening to the fire, until Cece calls them for dinner.

The next few days seem to fly by in a blur. They do visit the Hatchetfield Gazette building. They also visit the lake, the Hatchetfield Historical Society Museum, and manage to catch a show at the Starlight Theater.

It’s one night after dinner when Russ brings it up. One of his hands plays with John’s hair as he says, “You know, I’ve been thinkin’, soldier boy.”

“Oh yeah?” John opens his eyes as he tilts his head to look up at Russ. “What’ve you been thinking about?”

“Been thinkin’ this wouldn’t be a bad place to settle down.” He gently presses his forehead against John’s. “Get a house, find a job, build a life.”

John swallows, trying to ignore how it feels like his heart pounding against his chest. “Yeah?” he whispers, voice cracking slightly. “You’d wanna do that?”

“If it meant being with you, yeah,” Russ answers, smiling fondly. His hand slides from John’s hair to cradle his cheek as he kisses him tenderly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” John murmurs, "Guess we should start looking at houses while you're up here, huh?"

"Not a bad idea," Russ agrees, "I won't be able to come back up till summer break."

John groans at that, pulling back some so he can look at Russ properly. "Don't remind me."

Chuckling, Russ rubs his nose against John's. "What kinda house do we wanna try to find?"

"Hmm… something decently sized," John says thoughtfully. "Maybe a three bedroom? That would give you a room to use as a studio and we could also have a guest room."

"That would be useful if Lori and Rich ever visited," Russ agrees, "Nice big kitchen, give me plenty of room to work."

John laughs. "Absolutely. God, I miss your cooking."

"Hopefully by summer, you can have it again." Russ grins. "I'll have to sell my house down in Florida. That should give us a good bit of money to put towards a new place."

Beaming, John kisses him. "And I'll move off base. That'll be nice."

"I can't wait." Russ kisses him again.

The sun shines brightly one summer day a few months later. The leaves on the trees sway in the gentle breeze. No clouds can be seen, leaving the blue of the sky exposed.

John stands outside a gray colonial style house, his truck parked in the driveway. He bounces anxiously on the balls of his feet.

It takes a few minutes before he sees a blue car slowly rolling down the street. Grinning, he walks to the sidewalk, waving.

The car turns into the driveway, parking behind John's truck. The driver's door swings open and Russ steps out, grinning broadly. "Hey, darlin'," he calls as he closes the door.

"Hey yourself." John can't stop smiling as he tilts his head towards the house before leading the way inside.

They step into the small foyer. John waits until the door closes to give Russ a kiss. "Welcome home."

"I'm never gonna get tired of hearing you say that." Russ kisses him again before stepping back. "So, give me the grand tour, soldier boy."

John does just that, taking Russ' hand to guide him through the house. Their home. Their footsteps echo in the empty space as they explore the rooms.

After the tour finishes, they sit in the empty living room. Russ leans back against the wall, his legs outstretched so John can rest his head on his lap. "I love it," he says as he runs his fingers through John's curls.

"I'm glad." John grins up at him. "We have so much to get. Furniture, decorations-"

"We can run to town later, get those things," Russ assures him. He looks out one of the windows into their backyard before looking back down around John with a smile. "We have a house."

"No, we don't," John disagrees. He reaches a hand up to stroke Russ' cheek. "We have a home."

Russ chuckles at that, shaking his head fondly. "You're such a sap, darlin'," he teases. He catches John's hand before he can pull it away to press a kiss to his fingers.

"Says the man who moved over a thousand miles to be with me," John counters.

"Yeah, I did." Russ smiles.

They sit there for a while, just basking in the newness. Sure, there are things to do, like getting furniture and going grocery shopping. There are going to be challenges, like with John's job and Russ finding a job, not to mention learning who they can safely be out to.

But for just a moment, time stands still.

#john macnamara #russ macnamara #ocs #hatchetfield universe #black friday #tgwdlm #nightmare time #mild homophobia

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