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sailoryooons · 8 months

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BOONGI REQUEST THE SEQUEL !!! honeymooning with yoongi and your trip is a little too richly scheduled considering how horny you both are.... leads to fucking in some interesting places 🙈

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Your tropical honeymoon is planned down to the very minute to get the most out of your trip but it seems that Yoongi has plans of throwing off your itinerary every time his hands touch you.

❀ Word Count: 4,355

❀ Genre: Established relationship, pwp

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Absolutely self-indulgent and gratuitous smut, literally this is the most porn without plot I have ever done, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, fucking from behind, semi-public fucking, light degredation, oral (m. and f. receiving), riding Yoongi, fucking from behind, face sitting, throat fucking, a lot of cum and spit and holes, Yoongi and reader fuck in public spaces where they cannot be seen a lot, temperature place, use of ice (please do not ever take ice from a random ice bucket and put it in your partners vagina, this is fiction and it was handy but do not do that lmao), cum swallowing and cum eating when you squint.

❀ Published: August 9, 2023

❀ A/N: This is sort of a part two? You do not have to read the first request to read this one, they are easily read separately. Thanks for giving me an excuse to just write porn. There literally is nothing here but porn, I don’t even know if they have chemistry, but they fucking. Honestly I had to cut scenes out of this because I also imagined the infinity pool moment and so many other moments because M and I are fucking insane and ruminate on this shit, but at one point it was just… getting longer and I was RUNNING OUT OF WORDS FOR DICK AND COCK AND I HATE THE WORD DICK IN SMUT IF FEELS NOT VERY SEXY. Okay. Here is my ode to the love of my life, M. This somehow made me more insane.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

“Come on,” You murmur, lips pressed against Yoongi’s warm forehead. “We have a breakfast reservation at that place we talked about.”

A deep groan rumbles through Yoongi’s chest. It’s dark in the bedroom of your resort, the lights still off and the sliding glass door window still shuttered. Your newly wed is tangled in white sheets, face pressed against the pillow and swollen with sleep. You bite your bottom lip to hide your smile as he buries his face deeper into the pillow.

It’s tropical warm in the room, your skin still heated from the sun the day before. Yoongi’s cheeks are sun-kissed blossom, bottom lip jutted out as he pouts. You think about the night before, biting that bottom lip hard as you came around him in the shower, cold water pebbling on hot skin.

Sighing, you climb onto him, knees on either side of his waist as you sit. His chest is flushed and warm as you lean down, dress riding up your thighs as you press your forehead to the side of his head. His hair is messy, an inky halo around him as he lets out a sound again, very close to whining.

Yoongi smells like coconut shampoo and palm breeze. It makes your stomach flip having him this close to you, flashes of the night before making your already sore thighs twitch. Ignoring your more carnal urges, you nudge him with your nose, huffing. Sliding your hands around to the back of his neck, you thread your fingers through his silky hair, holding him there.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” you ask, hoping the promise of food will lure him from bed.

Yoongi is fully awake now. “Mhmm.”

Yoongi frees his hands from the sheets and places them on your thighs, squeezing. His hands are warm and callused, sparking a curl of pleasure in you as he rubs them up and down your legs. It’s an innocent touch, but your thoughts turn devious.

When Yoongi’s hands trace to the round curve of your ass to grab a handful of flesh, you let out a breathy sound and tighten your grip on his hair. He hisses in appreciation, hips twitching off the bed as you growl, “What are you doing?”

Yoongi turns his head to face you, your foreheads pressed together as he bumps your nose with his. “I don’t need to leave for breakfast,” he murmurs, breath hot against your lips as he talks. His right hand gives you a playful crack on the ass, making you squeak as the sweet sting riles you up, your knees squeezing his waist. “I can eat right here.”

His hands are firm, fingers dimpling your rear end as he pulls you against his stomach and rolls your hips. Your eyes flutter shut at the barely-there friction, Yoongi lifting himself up a little to help you grind against him.

“Yoongi.”

The chastisement is nothing more than half of a breath, already feeling arousal curl in your stomach. Your thighs stretch painfully from the night before, a feel-good burn that makes you spread your legs a little wider to feel the pleasurable strain.

“Come on,” Yoongi grunts. “Girl breakfast.”

“That’s not what that meme means.”

“Who gives a fuck. Sit on my face.”

Ignoring him is impossible. Yoongi’s hands palm your ass, pulling you forward. On unsteady knees, you shuffle up from his waist to his face, lifting the hem of your dress as you go. Yoongi hums appreciatively, slipping a hand between your legs to press his fingers against your clothed pussy.

“Fuck,” you whisper, the stimulation jolting. “We have an itinerary.”

“Fuck the itinerary. You were going to go to breakfast like this?” he asks, slipping a finger under your underwear, swiping through your dripping folds. “All wet and sticky?”

You whine, fists tightening in the fabric of your dress. He drags a curled knuckle up and down your pussy, pressing into your clit purposefully as he does, making your hips swivel a little. Yoongi laughs underneath you, mouth hot on your thighs as he leaves sloppy kisses, air cooling his spit on your skin as he goes.

There’s no escaping this. Any desire you had to go to breakfast with a view of the beach is gone as Yoongi nips at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, your legs trembling in anticipation. Yoongi is so good at this, making you bend to his will with just a few words and guiding hands.

Yoongi’s breath is hot on your center as he peels your underwear to the side. You look down at him, pressing your dress flat to give you the perfect view. His dark eyes are focused on your cunt, his lips bubble gum pink, tongue darting out to wet them. His hair is fanned out around him, some pressed to his forehead.

Smirking, Yoongi uses one hand to pull you forward, lowering you to his mouth. You hold your breath as he drags his tongue slowly from your leaking entrance to just below your clit before rolling licking back down, ignoring your bundle of nerves entirely. Your toes curl, immediately going white hot at the slow feeling of his tongue dragging through your folds.

“Oh,” you sigh, eyes shutting as Yoongi hums and repeats the motion, determined to take his time.

With one hand wrapped in your dress, you lean forward, pressing the other hand against the wall to keep you upright. You hang your head down, heady-heavy, eyes falling shut as you heave shuddering breaths.

Yoongi’s tongue is wicked, laving up and down experimentally as you shake on top of him. He hums appreciatively, pulling you down to his mouth further by your ass. A sharp moan escapes you when he fastens his mouth to you, sucking your clit gently. The suction makes your head spin, your skin over warm and tingling, feeling faint in the dark room.

“Shit,” you pant, listening to him make a mess of you, all wet smacks and happy hums. “Fuck, Yoongi.”

“Mhmm,” he agrees. “Girl breakfast. Or is it wife breakfast?”

You’re too busy rolling your hips gently against Yoongi’s face to shoot something smart back, lost in the rough drag of his tongue against your cunt, the buzz of his mouth when he hums. You feel the way your stomach tightens, the way that pressure in your core builds, the tensing thighs.

The sweet, saturated sound of Yoongi’s mouth backtracks your whines, your fist pressed against the wall, knuckles popping with the force. Sweat slicks down the back of your neck and your thighs tremble as you fuck his mouth in earnest, hips flexing.

It feels hot in the room, your dress sticking to your skin, panties stretched to the side as Yoongi has his way with you. The strap of your dress falls down, abandoned as you quiver, your shoes and purse long forgotten by the door as you start to come undone.

“Come on,” Yoongi pants against your pussy, tongue prodding your throbbing hole. You squirm at the feeling, wanting more. “Breakfast is supposed to have juice too.”

Your laugh sounds hysteric, closer to a high-pitched cry than anything. Yoongi is vicious, pressing his nose to your clit as his tongue fucks your entrance, drinking you in. You’re dizzy, ears ringing as your orgasm mounts. You start to tense up, teeth clenched, fingers pressed numb against the wall.

Eyes shut, head back, balmy skin, you come hard in his mouth, Yoongi’s tongue pressed against you, not missing a drop. You feel fuzzy drunk, letting Yoongi control your hips. He moves you against his mouth, bobbing his lead as he slurps, dropping staccato mhmms as he goes.

When you’re falling into his lap, skin sweaty and panting, Yoongi sits up, the lower half of his face shining with your slick. He licks his lips, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Thanks for the meal,” he teases. “I want more.”

A high-pitched zing whines through the air, drawing your attention to look at the fishing rod on the back of the boat. The reel spins out of control as the line runs wild, handle circling as the fish on the hooked fish runs wild with the line.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, turning back to him.

“Fuck the reel,” he growls, fingertips pressing into your hips hard enough throb.

The vinyl cover of the boat seat is slippery with sunscreen, sweat and a little cum. Sun heats your bare back. The burn on your shoulders is nothing to the fiery arousal spooling in your stomach as Yoongi pulls you up by the hips, dragging you along his slick cock.

It’s a calm day on the water, the only motion coming from the way you roll your hips, fucking Yoongi in earnest on the bow of the boat. Blue water glitters around you, reflecting the sun back up toward a cloudless, azure sky.

Salty wind cools the back of your neck as you throw your head back, gasping when Yoongi presses a thumb to your clit, circling slowly. The gentle lapping of the water against the hull is drowned out by the wet slap of your ass on Yoongi’s pelvis, already soaked from your first orgasm.

Your second high blazes through you hotter than the beaming sun. Yoongi growls between gritted teeth, his grip savage as he helps you fuck him. Up down, up down, up down. His chest is flushed and raked with angry red nail marks.

Fishing plans long forgotten, you continue to ride him, the feel of Yoongi’s cock stomach-deep, your walls gripping him tight as you race toward another orgasm. It feels so good, your knees slipping as the boat bobs under you, the up and down motion aiding the way you glide on his dick.

“Just like that,” Yoongi moans, head tossed back, hair damp and sweaty. He’s worked up, a beat of sweat dripping down his tan neck, jaw flexing as he tries to stop himself from coming. “Use me just like that, baby.”

And you do, the tip of his dick brushing your g-spot every time you slide down, working your closer and closer until you’re seated in his lap, cock pushed to the deepest parts of you while you come hard around him.

Yoongi waits for you to come down for your high, post-orgasm twitching and panting before he pins you to his chest and holds you while fucking up into you a few more times before he clenches his teeth and comes.

Hot and spent, you both melt into one another, skin sliding against skin as you lay on his chest. He softens inside of you and you become hyper aware of the slide of your mixed juices dripping from your folds and running down your leg. You don’t care, closing your eyes as you inhale deeply.

Eventually, Yoongi lifts his head to peer over your shoulder. You turn around to see that the line has broken on the road and Yoongi laughs, sounding exhausted.

“Fuck it,” he sighs, laying his head back down and tightening his hold on you. “I don’t care.”

“My wife is such a little slut,” Yoongi grins, leaning against the sink as you take him further into your mouth. “You love having a mouthful of cock, don’t you?”

Looking up at Yoongi with wide, teary eyes, you hum the affirmative. Dark blush creeps up his neck, his skin visible where the top button of his white shirt is undone. He looks to die for tonight, with his long, dark hair slicked back and just touching his shoulders, a white short-sleeved button up, and dark pants.

And you? You looked nice earlier, but now your dress is messy with sand from the bathroom floor, mascara running down you face as you swallow around your husbands cock, feeling your throat tighten as you force yourself to the limits.

You’d at least manage to pay the bill before dragging him into the palm-textured bathroom and dropping to your knees, ignoring the way stray grains of sand from the beachside restaurant burn your knees in favor of taking him into your mouth.

Yoongi slouches against the sink, his shoulders pressed into the mirror as he closes his eyes and angles his head back. You take him further into your mouth, letting spit escape the sides and run down your chin, working what you can’t fit with your hand. Your wedding ring flashes in the low light and drives you mad, loving the way the diamond looks on your hand while it’s wrapped around him.

You’re ravenous tonight, staring up at him with clenching thighs, watching the way Yoongi unravels. Pulling back, you pop off of him, strings of spit and precum connecting the brown tip of his cock to your lips. You break it, leaning forward to run your tongue along the frenulum of his cock, earning a whine from him.

Grinning, you continue your assault, dragging your tongue down the thick vein on the underside of his cock until you reach his balls, giving a teasing lick that makes his hips cant off the sink.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he warns. “I fucked you the way you asked for three times today, baby. Don’t I deserve to cum in that pretty little mouth?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pumping him with your hand as you come back up. “Want to come in my mouth?”

Yoongi’s hand shoots to the back of your head, fingers squeezing your skull. It’s not painful, but it’s firm, making you grin up at him, delighted. “Okay then,” you agree, tightening your fist on him a little more, pumping him a little fast. “Fuck my throat.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Yoongi’s grip on the back of your head stays solid, a comforting feeling as you get a little dizzy from the way he looks down at you, eyes fathomless. Starving. He uses his other hand to prop himself against the sink before he drives his cock into your mouth.

The slide is rough and messy. You flatten your tongue and open up the back of your throat, the sound of you choking wetly around him drowning out the hiss of air between his teeth. You breathe through your nose, your hands gripping his thighs and digging your nails in hard into his flexing thighs.

Absently, you wonder if anyone walking by can hear the gurgle of your mouth, the stilted grunts as he flexes his hips.

Throat burning, eyes stinging and dripping tears, you let Yoongi go wild until he’s coming deep down your throat, a hot and thick mess. He pulls out gently, letting you gasp for air, mouth swollen and sticky as you pant.

Yoongi pulls you up from your knees, holding you tight as you lose your balance. His grip is crushing and he smashes his lips to yours, licking into your mouth to taste the mix of cum and spit, hungry for it.

When he pulls away, his lips are pink and slick and his chest is heaving.

“We’re going to miss that concert I bought tickets for,” you complain, giving him a pout.

“Fuck that concert, we’re going back to the hotel room and I’m going to fuck you for the next three hours, baby.”

Admittedly, hiking wasn’t the best event on your itinerary. When you’d planned the adventure originally, you hadn’t accounted for the fact that your legs would be near unusable from days of Yoongi folding you in half to drill into you, or the fact that the jungle is, in fact, hot and humid.

Yoongi walks next to you, his thumbs tucked into the straps of his backpack as he goes. His hair is pulled up into a bun, a few loose strands sticking to his sweaty forehead. He hasn’t complained once since starting the uphill trek through the trees and sifting sand, though you can tell he’s also spent from his inability to stop touching you this entire trip.

But you really want to attempt to get to a single thing on your itinerary for this trip, and the ruins will be out of the question tomorrow when it rains. So, you persist, legs wobbling as you high up the path, shirt sticking to you and scent of sunscreen following you like a coconut cloud.

“You’re sure we’re going the right way?” Yoongi askes, looking up at the gleaming sun filtering between branches. “We haven’t seen a single person.”

“There’s steps, aren’t there?” you ask, gesturing to the path. “There’s ruins that aren’t as much of a climb that everyone prefers. Plus, it’s hot as shit. I wanted to see the good ones though.”

“Anything for you.”

A few more minutes pass before Yoongi sees you lagging a little. The burn in your thighs is real, remembering acutely the way Yoongi had pressed them to your chest last night as he fucked you slow and deep. The memory makes you shiver, a post-orgasm twitch still haunting you an entire day later.

“Come on,” Yoongi urges. “It’s flat up here, we can step off the path and take a break.”

Yoongi finds some broken trees that have fallen sideways to sit on. You’re grateful, taking deep gulps of water. It immediately cools you down and you close your eyes, rolling your shoulders. Yoongi guzzles down water next to you, his arm pressed up against your.

After a few minutes sitting, you get up and turn to face the fallen tree, bending over at the waist to lean against it in a deep lunge, stretching your hamstrings. It’s a soothing sort of pain, the extension of muscle a relief.

Yoongi looks at maps on his phone behind you, waiting as you you switch legs and arch your spine, feeling a few joints pop in release. It feels good and you sigh, letting the tension bleed out of you.

Hands find your ass, gentle and curious. You look over your shoulder to find Yoongi looking at you with his brows raised and head tilted. A question. You know he’ll back off immediately if you shoo him away. Instead, You burst into laughter and shake your head, “Seriously?”

“What?”

You stare at him. He looks delicious, sweat dripping down his Adam’s apple, hair pulled back. He’s dressed simply and yet, looking at him looking at you, wanting you the way that he does makes you vibrate. It doesn’t matter how many times you have him, you always want him more. And again.

You married Yoongi for a myriad of reasons. Because he is gentle and kind, because you like the way he takes his coffee and reads the paper in the morning, because you like that he uses mint shampoo, because you like that he has to line his shoes up perfectly next to the door.

Everything about him enchants you, and you’re over the moon to have someone who doesn’t shame you for your carnal desires, that you have someone who matches the energy, who can take it and give it to you anywhere you want.

Yoongi is the perfect balance, always knowing when to initiate, always knowing when it's a good time.

“I know that look,” he smiles. “Now you’re thinking about it.”

“Can you be quick? I don’t want someone to stumble on us.”

“Fuck yeah I can,” he promises, dropping his backpack and popping the zipper on his pants. You let out a pathetic sound at the sight, earning a smug look from Yoongi.

Yoongi peels your legs and underwear down to your knees, just enough to get access to you but also safe enough to pull them up quickly if you need. His clothed chest presses against your back as he leans forward, wrapping his arms around your middle in what seems like an innocent hug.

You gasp as the tip of his cock breaches your entrance, the stretch a little painful with no prep. It doesn’t matter, though. He pushes in slowly, letting you get used to it until he’s pressed in to the hilt, your pussy fluttering around him.

“I love you,” Yoongi whispers, pressing butterfly soft kisses to your cheek and temple. He starts thrusting shallowly, stealing your breath away. “You are my perfect, beautiful, wonderful wife.”

“Fuuuck,” you whisper. Yoongi isn’t fucking around, making his thrust precision perfect, pressing that soft spot inside of you. Your thighs are pressed together, making the fit even tighter, feeling him even more. “You’re just saying that cause I’m letting you fuck me against a tree.”

“Untrue, I say this all the time.”

That’s fair. Yoongi does tell you that he loves you. More often now than he used to, more verbal than his little utterances of love by readying your coffee long before you were awake in the morning or picking up the things you were missing from your pantry on the way home.

“You’re right,” you pant, head lolling to the side as his mouth seeks the heat of your throat. “I love you too”

The tree bark bites into your hand as you take him fully. With the way your legs are pressed together and the angle that you’re standing, it feels like Yoongi is punching to the very core of you, making the world spin. You think you might collapse over the tree if he weren’t holding you up.

“You’re just saying that cause I’m fucking you against a tree.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the fact that Yoongi picks up the pace, fucking you hard and with purpose. His hand slips between your legs, finding your clit and pinching it lightly, making you squeal and twitch. He laughs, choosing to circle it instead, working you faster toward an orgasm as he pounds into you, punching the breath from your lungs.

Sex with him is different every time. You don’t know how you manage to never get tired of it, but it never feels the same. Not with him. Every time feels like you’re discovering something new,

When you do come, you suddenly feel like you can run the rest of the way up to the ruins, energized on the endorphins alone.

“I’ve heard of post nut clarity,” Yoongi jokes, tucking his cock back into his pants. “But never post nut energy.”

“It’s like a second wind.”

“Dickened wind.”

You glare at him, tossing his backpack to him. “Stick to writing songs, not jokes.”

“You’re so fucking swollen,” Yoongi groans, thumbs peeling apart your folds. “Cute.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your face pressed down into the pillows of the daybed, ass up in the air with Yoongi behind you. The sound of the pool and anyone beyond the closed curtains of the banana are muted by the tropical music of the DJ. All the better to drown out the sound of your husband spitting onto your exposed heat.

“Cause you’ve been fucking me insane all week,” you protest, body vibrating. Yoongi hums thoughtfully but doesn’t say anything, letting his spin trail slowly down your slit. You’re already wet from the way his greedy mouth sucked at your chest. “Baby, please. I want your mouth.”

“Yeah? You all hot and bothered?”

“Yes.”

“Let me cool you off.”

Yoongi’s hands leave your ass for a moment. You’re too overheated from days in the sun and the rising tropical temperature to look at what he’s doing. You’re in a slow daze, a little buzzed from sweet drinks and Yoongi’s mouth, from sloppy kisses that taste like strawberry and Yoongi’s cute little sunburn on his ass from falling asleep after letting you drive him insane with your mouth on the private balcony the day before.

Now, you hear the clicking of something moving around the ice bucket. Your brows furrow and you’re about to turn your head to look at what Yoongi is doing when you feel ice cold water slow drip onto your ass.

“Shit,” you hiss, grabbing the edge of the daybed and arching your spin. The water is a cool burn, a relief that drives you mad as he makes a pleased sound. “Ohhh fuck, again.”

“More?”

“Fuck yeah.”

There’s the sound of more ice and Yoongi is dripping the cold water on your ass again, making your lower spine tingle and toes curl. The cold drips move closer to your cunt until he’s directly over your clenching hole. The shock of cold against hot sends you into a frenzy. You wiggle your ass back and forth, asking for more, eager for it.

Yoongi has never been one to deny you. This time, you feel his lips around an ice cube, dragging his cold kiss over the swells of your ass, letting the ice melt on his tongue before lapping at your pussy, tongue cold against your dripping heat.

It drives you mad. Your fingers ache with the way you clutch the pillows, pressing your face hard into the daybed as Yoongi does this a few times, bringing his cold lips to mouth hungrily at you until it’s all he’s focused on, forgetting the ice in favor of sucking greedily at your clit.

Your spine feels like it might crack, bowed dangerously as you press back into his face. He moans at your eagerness, tongue twisting between your folds as eats you out in earnest. If it weren’t for the privacy curtains and the DJ booth, you’d never get away with this. Yoongi is not quiet, smacking his lips like a glutton.

Air escapes you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an orgasm bears down on you. Your face is pressed so far in the cushions that you don’t think you can breathe, your lungs contracting and your chest squeezing as you come on his tongue without warning, a silent scream raging through you.

Stars burst behind your eyes. Yoongi takes it in stride, licking you long and slow as you remain rigid for the duration of your high. When it finally begins to subside, you fall to the side, sprawling boneless and feeling drunk.

“Holy shit,” you croak, voice gone. “You were right. Fuck the itinerary. This is so much better.”

#yoongi smut #min yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #halis happy agust #minors dni #minors do not interact

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ladykailitha · 4 months

Text

The Magic of Christmas Part 4/8

Hello! How are you guys enjoying so far?

In this Steve realizes his feelings, Dustin and Robin decide Steve needs to live forever, and Steve gets roped into something he swore he'd never do.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

***

August was fucking miserable. Like the worst month of the year. After February. And January. And September...

That’s besides the point. The point was that AC had kicked the bucket in the middle of the biggest heatwave.

He was going to cry. The wizard piece turned out really well. Steve had loved all the little details that he had put in it.

But the rogue was giving him trouble. It was horrific. Because rogues were silent and mysterious, but the way Steve talked about Will, he was quiet kid, a bitchy teen, and a wild adult. Trying to figure his place in the world he kinda went punk. Dyed his hair bright green. Piercings and tattoos. Ripped clothes and combat boots.

Eddie slowly sat up. Well that’s a thought. He blinked for a moment. That could actually work.

Suddenly his phone rang. He frowned at the device. No one called anymore. It was all texts and DMs and Face Time. The name that came up because there was one, another surprising thing, was Steve.

He dived for the phone and managed to answer it before it went to voicemail.

“‘Ello?” he breathed.

“Hi, Eds,” Steve greeted cheerfully.

Eds.

Fuck.

The things that little nickname did to the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey, Stevie!” he said back. “What can I do you for?”

“That article Nancy did is making some serious headway,” Steve explained. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet me for lunch to go over the details.”

Eddie laughed. “I was about to text you, darlin’. I have an idea for the rogue I wanted to float by you. So where to, my liege?”

“Monte Cruz, the Mexican place on 7th?” Steve asked.

It was a bit pricey, but it had the best fajitas Eddie had ever had. “Sure thing. 1pm okay?”

“Let me check,” Steve replied.

Eddie could hear him call Robin and while he couldn’t hear her response, Steve’s warm ‘thank you’ meant he was free.

“That’s perfect,” Steve said. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah.”

They hung up and Eddie laid on the floor staring up at the ceiling, holding his phone over his chest.

Fuck!

He got up and dashed to the bathroom to shower. He felt like he was covered in slime.

Steve was waiting for him on the terrace, a nice cool breeze rustling his hair. And Eddie couldn’t help but fall a little bit more.

Eddie waved and was far too pleased to get Steve’s little finger wave in return.

He sat down and grinned at Steve. “How is it cooler outside then in my loft?”

“Heat rises?” Steve suggested. cocking his head to the side.

Eddie laughed. “Well it’s the only thing that rising at this point. It’s so fucking hot.”

“I thought you’re loft had air conditioning,” Steve said with a frown.

“Apparently we worked it to extinction,” Eddie said mournfully.

Steve pulled out his phone. “Are you renting or paying a mortgage? I don’t remember what all we’re paying for.”

“Sadly, we own it,” Eddie said with a heavy sigh. “Otherwise I would have harassed a landlord to get it fixed.”

Steve hummed. “All right, I’ve messaged Robin. She’ll call around and get a technician come over tomorrow. It’ll go on my card if can be fixed or if it needs to be replaced.”

Eddie leaned back in his chair. “You don’t have to do that, man.”

Steve smiled at him. “Will the excess heat hurt your paintings?”

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he threw his arms in the air. “Yes! Of course it will.”

“Then it’s a business expense and I’ll cover it.”

“I hate you,” Eddie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You really, really don’t,” Steve murmured. “Now show me your idea for Will’s rogue.”

Eddie pulled out his drawing pad and flipped to the right page. He slid it over to Steve for him to see.

“Oh Eds,” Steve breathed. “It’s beautiful. He’ll love it.”

Eddie tried not to preen, but he couldn’t help it. “So I can go ahead and start painting?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “Though maybe wait until after your cooler is fixed.”

Eddie threw his head back laughed. “I think you’re probably right.” He gently took the pad from Steve’s grip. “So what’s going on with the charity?”

Steve lit up. He started explaining about all the people interested opening would basically be franchises but that Eddie would still have full control of each branch.

“This is amazing, Stevie,” Eddie breathed. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I’m happy to help,” Steve said with a grin. “It means that I get drive Dustin absolutely nuts with this whole charity thing. He’s been begging me forever to meet you.”

“I mean, you can invite him to one of our reeducation of Steve Harrington movie nights,” Eddie said, shoving his hair in his face bashfully. “If you wanted to.”

Steve smiled fondly. “That’s sweet of you. But I was thinking something that would absolutely flip their collective shit even more than a movie night. A Halloween one-shot.”

Eddie’s lips formed an O. His eyes sparkled and he grinned. “I know just the thing. It’s something my friends and I used to do in high school. You have these little half–not even half character sheets that have just the most basic of stats. The point is to die in the most epic way possible. There are rewards for stupidest death, most epic death, TPK. It’s lots of fun.”

“That sounds amazing!” Steve said. “Would you be willing to do it?”

Eddie leaned forward on the table. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“You join us,” he said with a grin. “You read the stats, you roll the dice, you die like a bitch, just like everyone else. You’d be on equal footing with the rest of the Party.”

“Can I think about it?” Steve asked shyly, ducking his head.

“Sure thing, big boy,” Eddie replied. “But let’s order lunch. I’m starving!”

Steve laughed. “Of course.”

Robin poked her head into his office and held up a leather folio. “Do you want to tell me what the hell this is?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, “I’m not Spider-man. I don’t have x-ray vision.”

“That’s Superman,” Robin replied with a huff, “and you’re dodging the question. You know full well what I’m talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I really, really don’t. I haven’t done any even remotely outrageous in months.”

She walked up to his desk and slammed the folio on the desk. “Steven Kevin Harrington...”

“Not my middle name,” he sneered. “You know what it is. You have seen my birth certificate way more times than I have.”

Robin laughed. “But it’s so lame, so I make up ones that sound better.”

“Whatever, Robs,” he said with a huff of his own. “What has got you so twisted this time?”

She opened the folio and turned it around to face him. “You booked the Newfield for New Year’s eve.”

Steve smiled widely at her. “I told you I was going to. It’s hardly my fault you were making goo-goo eyes at Eddie’s agent at the time.”

Robin gasped. “I was not!” He raised a single eyebrow and she folded. “Yeah, all right, maybe.”

Steve sat up in his chair and scooted closer to her. “Look, before you start throwing accusations around about feelings and thinking with my dick, it’s for the charity. You know, the one we’re working on right now.”

Robin glared at him. “So it has nothing to do with him making goo-goo eyes at you?”

“He’s not!” he protested. “There’s no way. He can have anyone he wants, he’s not going to go for a stuffed shirt like me.”

Robin raised both her eyebrows. “You can’t actually believe that.”

“You saw his most recent video right?” Steve snapped. “The one where he ranted about how greedy businessmen destroying the environment?”

“Uh...” she said, “you mean the one where he especially called out billionaire businessmen and how smaller companies can change the face of the industry and then went on to list ten things that CEOs can do to change the world and all of them were things you did with Starcourt Ltd. That one?”

Steve blushed. “I guess I didn’t realize.”

“Look,” Robin said sitting down in one of the chairs, “I was wrong about a lot of things when you first hired Eddie for this job. About him, about you and your motives. So I get why you can’t take my advice on this, but he likes you. And more than just a friend.”

He ducked his head as the blush spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears down the column of the throat. “Don’t go there, please.”

Robin held her hands up in surrender. “I won’t if you don’t want me to. All I’m saying is that if you think you’re falling for him, too…just know he probably feels the same.”

Steve licked his lips. “Yeah, okay.” Then he suddenly buried his head in his hands. “Fuck, I have to make a phone call.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He lifted his head and sighed heavily. “Looks like I’m going to be playing D&D after all.”

She laughed and laughed as Steve buried his head again.

The kids were never going to let him live this down.

“You’re sending my off for my last year as undergrad,” Dustin whined, “and you’re making me come back for fall break? Why?”

Steve was getting tired of this question. The only people who knew about Eddie DMing for them was Steve, Robin, and Eddie. And probably Chrissy. Oh and Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom. Which meant that all the other moms knew too.

All right, the conspiracy was bigger than Steve thought.

“Because it is your last year,” he said with a sigh. “You’ll be heading off to MIT next year and it’ll be harder for you to come home for the holidays.”

Dustin deflated. “Yeah, okay. So everyone will be home for Halloween?”

Steve brightened up. “Yep! I’m throwing a costume party with pizza and if you guys aren’t shitheads about it, I might even front for a wet bar.”

Dustin frowned. “What the fuck is a wet bar?”

Robin who had just come home, smacked him on the back of his head, knocking off his hat. “It means there will be booze, doofus.”

Dustin who had been about to yell at her for knocking off his hat, turned to Steve instead. “Seriously?”

“Yup! I’ve okay’ed it with all the parental units,” he said, “and I keep an eye on your intake to make sure you don’t get sick, they’re fine with it.”

Dustin launched himself at him and hugged him tight. “You’re the best, Steve!”

“There won’t be beer,” Steve warned. “It’s not the best drink to get started drinking on and bottles tend to hide how much you’ve been drinking.”

“Are they going to be spooky themed drinks?” Dustin asked.

Steve laughed. “Hell yeah, they are.” He ruffled Dustin’s hair. “Now go finish packing. I’m not going to let your mom do it for you this year. You’re an adult. Act like it.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “God, you’re more mom like then my actual mom.”

Steve laughed. “If I got insulted every time one of you called me mom, I would’ve died of a heart attack years ago.”

Dustin hit him on the arm. “No talks of dying. You aren’t allowed. You have to live forever.”

Robin laughed. “Sure, just got to find that elixir of life somewhere.”

“Or the fountain of youth,” Dustin helpfully supplied.

“You could always invent something,” Steve suggested.

Dustin’s eyes lit up. “That’s a great idea!” He dashed off excitedly.

“Pack first!”

Robin laughed.

***

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @carlprocastinator1000 @mogami13 @samsoble

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #christmas #artist eddie #businessman steve #autistic steve harrington

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sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Takedown

Part Two of Snowblind

(Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic "Fix" Reader)

Rating: Teen and Up Wordcount: 9.1k Tags: Slow Burn, Mutual pining, Angst, Implied Trauma, Found Family, Team Bonding, Sparring, Wrestling, Takedown maneuvers, Dad Price, Mom Laswell, Taskforce 141, Team Dynamics Warnings: None A/N: The official part two of Shadow and Bone featuring our beloved Fix! Fix uses she/hers pronouns and is AFAB but is written in 2nd person POV

Summary:

"My turn."

Ghost seems to materialize from thin air. With a roll of his shoulders he straightens from where he was braced against the wall, just to Gaz's right. The shade of the building did nothing to hide him, and yet it still feels like all the world like he wasn't even there. Like a daytime phantom, he simply appears, a fragmentary blink all that's needed to mask his arrival.

You're stunned into silence when he raises his eyes towards you, and there's that familiar prickle of trepidation, a warning murmured below your heartbeat of the danger present in his stare. It flays you open effortlessly, laying bare your secrets and closely hidden truths, rendering you transparent against his masked, piercing gaze.

"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"

"Not you."

You stop breathing.

Taglist (Please reply to this post to be tagged in future updates of this series!)

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-----

Dry grass on your back. Arms folded as a cushion under your head, the bitter, jaunty breeze of September in Staffordshire brushing against your face like the whisper of an old friend onto your cheeks. It whooshes softly over your ears, ruffling the edge of your T-shirt sleeves and up, away into the fluffy cumulus clouds that puff over the landscape of the English countryside.

You didn't know England could be this beautiful.

It seems like every time the 141 ends stationed back at Beacon Base it's in the rife, cold dead of winter or the soggy, laden dampness of spring. Yet the past two weeks here have been blissfully beautiful, temperate in the way only Autumn is, crisp and braided with the colors of changing seasons. In the late afternoons, in the hour before the sun kisses the horizon, the entire base is painted with a soft, golden light like the god Apollo has bestowed a singular touch on the dying embers of daytime. You drink it in like the nectar of the gods, imbue it with hazy, resplendent glimpses in the repository of your memories.

The team had been grateful the first few days you were here, having returned from the Nepal mission fatigued but successful, thankful for a break. You hardly remembered coming into base in the witching hours of the morning, the world still cloaked in inky darkness. As soon as your legs hit the edge of your bunk you had collapsed into it, gear and all. It wasn't until you woke nearly 13 hours later that you realized someone had mercifully peeled off your vest, boots, helmet, and outer layers while you were asleep.

(When you had asked Gaz, he'd looked over your shoulder worriedly at someone. Yet when you turned, there was nothing there.)

Laswell had warned you all that the hiatus was a temporary one, that you were all on standby as she worked to verify intel on the next mission she directed you all towards. Her promise of only a night had doubled into that of a few days, only for that to lapse into uncertainty as the sizzle of August had faded into September.

It had taken only a few days for the team to get antsy, used to motion, movement as a core, steadying force in their lives. You failed to understand it the first few times you had all been on shore leave, trying to soak in as much peace as you could during your scarce time off-duty to combat the exhaustion carved into your marrow. Now, almost a year into being on the team, you began to see it- the way velocity was a need variable in these mens' lives, how it kept the demons that hid in the back of their thoughts at bay.

Even so, you had all adjusted to life on base, ephemeral though it was. You had each of the 141's schedule mapped out by now, keen eyes observing the silent lives your teammates lived outside of wartime.

Price rose early, before dawn. The only time you ever saw him without his hat was before his first coffee. When you had mentioned to Soap that the man looked like a bedraggled Airedale terrier at first light, the sergeant had nearly spat his drink. Yet that look was combed over by the time he was at his desk, poring over reports with Laswell on the phone. More than once he had enlisted your help with the matter, looking over your shoulder as you traced satellite images under your calloused fingertips, brow scrunched in thought.

After one exceedingly long day, your eyes still swimming with Russian and Arabic as you stared dazedly up at the aging ceiling of the captain's office, Price's hand had landed on your shoulder. His voice was tired but warm as he offered you a smile.

"Good work, Fix."

You had practically strutted back to the team's common area, head held high and smile broad across the planes of your face, darkening in the evening light.

(Unaware of the stare that had traced you from the shadows.)

While Price remained holed in his office all day, Soap and Gaz had been approached by the base commander after the first few days in, enlisting their help training a fresh batch of recruits that had arrived only a week prior to the 141. They both had grumbled about it at first, but you now often found them at the training grounds on the other side of base, barking drills to the younger men and women who regarded them with as much respect as they did fear.

Soap is a natural born leader, you realized; The sight of him overlooking the troops, arms crossed and dressed in tac gear is enough to inspire any soldier. Gaz's inspiration, however, comes not from the way he demands deference and respect the way Soap's strictness did, but from his easier, more hands-on approach to the younger, less experienced soldiers. You often found the sergeant assisting them in their specialist training, hovering over their shoulder at the shooting range or offering a demonstration on weapon safety and management to bright faces and eager eyes.

You couldn't stifle a sense of pride at the two, reminded every time you saw them with the recruits at just how experienced, how reliable they are, these two men you trusted your life to with every mission. Soap, with his cocky but friendly, approachable smile and Gaz with the softer, kinder eyes- those of a friend. They had been wary of you at first, all those long months ago when you had joined the team, regarding you with a cordial distance as you sought to prove yourself to them. It wasn't until your most recent mission, since Nepal- where you had taken down a dozen men with your sniper rifle despite being alone, injured and half snow-blind- that they had truly opened up to you. Since then they had welcomed you into the fold, if their teasing and amicable banter was any indication to go by.

You watched them from the infirmary, where you dedicated the majority of your hours, tracing their broad backs from the hospital windows at the training field just beyond. When your hands weren't busy inventorying your field kit or striving to keep your skills sharp as the team's designated medic, you found them outside, smiles as warm as the afternoon sun that shone down on you three. More often than not you found them waiting for you at the end of your shift, chatting and bantering in the lobby until you made yourself known, strolling easily with them in the golden hour painted by the metamorphosis of Fall.

There was an easiness now that wasn't there before, as Gaz enlisted your help cooking a group meal (His mother's recipe, you later found out) as Soap and Price bickered over soccer matches just beyond the kitchen, as they both griped at you for refusing to use the term 'football', as Soap asked you to spot him with his weight lifting, making a point to flex playfully at you until you conceded as gave a shy pat to his bicep. The evenings between the five of you are quieter, relaxed in a way you're unfamiliar with.

It seems like the world was always doing that, putting you in places you least expect.

Just like it had done in Nepal, with your frigid, shivering form curled into the warm, protective embrace of your Lieutenant.

Neither you nor Ghost had discussed what happened, had dared to mention the soft, fragile words exchanged between you on that clear, starry night as frost had sifted down from the trees above the outpost.

"You see my mistakes."

"I see you. Just you."

Yet after the team had returned to England Ghost had made himself scarce, absent within the daytime regimens of your teammates. You think he might be nocturnal, the way he only appears after dark, waiting until the sun dips low below the horizon to ooze from the shadows, eyes blank, haunted. He hovers in the corners of the rooms you're in, silent, vigilant, slouched with a bone-deep fatigue that no amount of rest seems to cure.

It's a bit startling, truth be told. This calm, this stillness in him is beyond the scope of what you're familiar with. On missions Ghost is the sharp, cutting slice of a blade, concentrated, soaked in blood, piercing with his fatalistic aim and hungry, driven gaze. When he moves it's like watching a predator stalk prey, rippling muscle and broad, unfaltering steps. His eyes glint in the darkness like he can see there, can discern targets from the distant, trembling thump of their heartbeats alone. At your front he's an unstoppable force, yielding no ground no matter the shower of bullets that rain down on him. At your back he's an immovable object, a wall to pin yourself to when the enemy forces you there, ready to strike down encroaching hostiles with his adamantine, skeletal grip.

Now, outside the theater of battle, there's a distance there in Ghost's eyes, decaying there like necrotic flesh. It's something that's been there since the beginning, that's been engraved black in his bones long before you even knew he existed. You see it in his eyes as the lights of the muted television flicker across his mask, playing advertisements he doesn't seem to see. If the other members of the 141 need inertia as their own mental gravity, Ghost craves the ever-existing tides of the ocean to drive away the specters in his thoughts.

You know that unnamed emotion. Know it too well.

Dusky pink sky. The sound of a trumpet, the flurry of figures and clothes and voices blurring into morning fog. When the world shifts it's your hands on the ropes, calloused, sweaty palms digging in for purchase. As the sun rises your weapon thrums under your fingertips, and the voice of the instructor seems louder than the rapid fire that jolts you backwards until you're scrambling for balance- tipping into the dark of evening when the alien shadows of night vision color your gaze. It still feels too bright, too bright, until-

The memory flashes like lightning, and the resulting thunder has your heart hammering in your chest at the shiver that runs through you. It feels endless, infinite, stretching like lengths of gauze on a shallow slice of a wound. Yet there's a familiar heaviness there, bitter and grounding like the crunch of gravel underneath combat boots. There's a comfort in the mindless triumph of combat, of training and needed movement that settles everything else like a murmured, macabre berceuse. It's dark, it's haunting, it kills demons not with the scepter of divine radiance, but in a crepuscule so deep that their shadows are indiscernible from the lack of light in your eyes.

It's hard to imagine now that you lived like that for years, whittling down yourself until there was no hurt, no pain, no lingering words of disdain from familiar voices puncturing your ears. Nothing. Only bones.

And then.

Then there had been Laswell.

Ethiopia, you think it was. Sent for your field requirements for your combat medic training, the air stifling, dusty, caked in a scent that smelled innately of foreign soil. Laswell had been overseeing a mission there, helping gather intel. She hardly slept for days, existing on cooling coffee and leftovers from the impromptu mess hall. Eventually she'd stumbled into the medic tent, had asked for painkillers, an adrenaline, something to keep her awake. Yet then she'd looked up, looked into your eyes without light and hesitated.

A conversation followed, one fragmented over the course of weeks, bleached by the sun and chilled by the nighttime wind. Steaming mugs sitting together, over a desk piled with reports, voices muted with fatigue and sparkling with the rare bite of laughter from her. Evenings spent together, her voice like a needed balm to the cracked sinews of you. Eyes focused, sharp but warm, and you had ached for it, desperate for the regard of this older woman who felt like the things you wanted from the one you called mother. You wonder if Laswell saw that too, with her ever searching eyes and scalding stare. Perhaps she did, perhaps she saw the hollow inside you just as she saw what you tried to fill it with- a raw, unflinching determination that weighed on you so heavily it forced you to crack, to endure and crystallize like blood diamonds.

"Find me after you get back to the states." She told you, voice raised over the sound of the chopper that would take her back to base, and then to home. Her eyes had glinted for a moment in the dry, raw heat, tracing your face with an insight you couldn't comprehend, a prophecy that glittered at the edges and made you blink from the brightness.

So, you did. American soil under your feet, you had found her exactly where she said she'd be, once again basking in the warm flicker of her gaze, the hand on your shoulder that of a friend.

"I have a proposal for you."

It felt like decades ago now, when you had sat alone in the back of a black-hawk, carted off to a base you weren't allowed to know the name of, the earth again shifting endlessly under you.

It was weeks into your training before you understood why you were there. The brutality of it threatened to crack you, the endless and violent force which required your entire concentration and nothing less. The squad around you seemed to stare past each other, dazed by the ceaseless waves of intel, of briefings, medic practice, language courses, nighttime ops, bomb disarmaments, air raid drills, parachute practices, terrain training-

All for them. For the 141.

It was you, in the end. One out of a dozen, a dozen out of a thousand, a thousand out of a million. You. Only you. Designed, bred, honed like a weapon of old, deadly ossein bleached white by nothing other than an oath, a duty. You lived these men's lives before they even knew you existed, had traced each of their steps with your smaller ones, looking up and to the future where they marched onwards.

Now it was their voices, soft and firm, streaked with laughter and teasing that had filled the void inside of you where you had carved everything else away. Slowly, like phases of the waxing moon, you became full again.

Yet there's a doubt there, one present inside just you. Like earl grey steeped for too long, it curls acrid and bitter against the back of your tongue. You swallow it down, forcing it lower and lower even as the aftertaste clings to you, flavors the edges of your words. A fear, an abyss you are constantly trying to avoid tipping into, one that threatens to swallow you and all your achievements in a single, mortifying instant. You walk the tightrope between confidence and fear, and try not to look downwards into the chasm below, where the wind howls with inadequacies and alienation.

If the team notices they don't say. You see it though, see the way their eyes linger over your expression as if they can see the pause there, can hear the voices that whisper sinister prophecies of failure to you even in sleep. You're not sure which to believe between the two divinations- of Laswell's fledgling hope in you, or of the cataclysm which seems to be constantly dwarfing the horizon in a gaunt, pale wash of color.

"Fix!"

You startle, and your callsign sounds for all the world like a gunshot that rouses you from a ruminating slumber, thrusting you back into the crisp air of the Staffordshire countryside.

"Sir!" You bark on instinct as Price's voice directs itself at you, shooting to your feet with your shoulders straightening and muscles coiled in readiness.

Yet instead of the displeased, furrowed brow of your captain all you see is the three men before you freeze, turn halfway from the training area in surprise at your yelp. You see Soap's eyebrows raise in a silent question of your yipped response, but the pause gives Gaz the opportunity he needs to kick the Scotsman's legs from under him. Instantly, the brief look of surprise on Johnny's face morphs into shock as he tilts, mouth opening as the shorter sergeant wraps a leg around him, arms straining as he forces his brother to the ground.

"Getting distracted, Johnny?" Gaz asks breathlessly as Soap struggles under him, biting out a curse tinted with stupefaction at his opponent's surprising burst of strength.

Whatever Price was going to say to you dies on his lips as he barks a laugh, arms crossed and supervising the scuffed section of terrain the team has designated as their sparring mat.

"Gaz is right, Soap. Should be paying more attention to your opponent and not your audience."

Soap doesn't respond, he can't. Not with Gaz's arms securing him in a headlock and his legs forced together so he can't free himself. Briefly, his arms flail out beside him, stirring brown dust into the breeze. Yet he seems to realize the futility of the effort, because you watch his eyes close, see his jaw grit as he grunts, taps twice on the shorter man in a signal of surrender.

It's only once he's released that he sucks in air with a gasp that's a little too dramatic given the circumstances. Yet it only draws a warmth flickering inside you, a smile tickling your lips as you take in Soap's cocky grin and Gaz's glinting eyes, both of them oozing a camaraderie and mischief that occurs only between brothers of the same oath.

"A point to me." Gaz huffs, winded, and when he stands it's to offer Soap a hand, attempting to lift the sergeant to his feet beside him.

Soap goes for the hand, but you see the flicker of playfulness there that sparks behind his gaze. Before you can warn Gaz, Soap's hand shoots forward, grappling Gaz by his forearms and dragging him off balance and into the dirt once more.

You watch as they scuffle, hearing Price's bemused chuff of laughter steps away from you. You know usually he'd issue a strictness between his team, enforcing a set of boundaries designed to keep the sharpness of their skills from dulling. Yet here, in the golden afternoon of fall, there's an ambience that feels lighter, lifting the spirits of the men and you.

It feels a bit like watching the boys from your youth wrestle, all smiles and gangly limbs as they test the boundaries of their strength. Both Soap and Gaz are grinning, the wrinkles of their smiles almost broad enough to obscure the flash of focus in their gazes. Yet there's no adolescent awkwardness there, not with their broad, straining forms and deep, resounding grunts as they battle for supremacy.

"Had enough?" Soap asks between gasps as he catches Gaz between his legs, calves pressing down hard on his chest. Gaz only grunts, thrashes, trying to buck his weight up and disturb the hold Soap has on him.

"Alright, that's enough, both of you." Price interrupts with a wave of his hand, and just like that the two men separate, chests heaving and muscles still coiled. "Gaz, a point, but you best make sure your opponent is down before you gloat."

"Aye, he's right mate." Soap crows, knocking dust away from his shirt. Yet all he gets in response is a nudging elbow in the ribs, and for a moment the two of the jostle, grinning and grappling.

"Fix, you're up." Price nods at you, and you blink, arch your eyebrows at the captain in a silent question, pausing with uncertainty. Yet Price merely nods at you, eyes flicking over to the sparring area meaningfully. "Go on then."

So, you do, standing from your perch on the sloped grassy area beside the dirt pit and cautiously entering the circle. Trepidation, a flutter of courage bounces through you, escaping as an exhaled breath as you steady yourself.

Yet when you look to Gaz, it's Soap who's pushing in front of him with a lopsided smile, extending one brawny arm in front of his comrade.

"Mind if I take this one, cap?" He asks Price, and despite your little murmur of apprehension Price merely shrugs, nods at the Scotsman in a silent assent. Your heart races a little higher in your chest, legs widening as you try to ground yourself, eyes flicking over Soap's larger form and trying to pinpoint weaknesses.

Soap is built like a brick wall, rigid, strong. There's not an ounce of fat on him. The sleeves of his T-shirt cling to his biceps. You can see the veins under his brawny arms- designed for wrangling opponents far larger than yourself. It's not that you think you can't defeat him, smaller as you are, this man who's taken down dozens with his bare hands, it's just a matter of summoning the wit, the endurance to fend him off long enough to do so.

"Easy, Fix." Soap warns, and your eyes dart up to catch his. He's seen your gaze, caught sight of your eyes glinting with determination and a near fatalistic focus. "I'm one of the good guys, yeah?"

You think you hear Gaz scoff behind you, the sound disbelieving and warm all at once. Soap's eyes flicker over to him, feigning hurt.

You launch forwards at that exact moment, using Soap's lapse in attention to your advantage. Soap reacts a moment too late, trying to sidestep you as you barrel at him and try to knock him in his center. Yet that only gives you the opportunity you're looking for, sweeping under his lifted arm and grabbing it in an attempt to lift it behind him, force him to his knees.

Unfortunately, Soap seems to see exactly where you're going, and instead sidesteps around you, securing one, long, leg behind and between yours. It's a move you should have expected, given his size, but by the time you try and twist to correct it's too late. It takes the Scotsman hardly any effort to scoot his leg to the side, and suddenly you're losing balance, teetering backwards. Yet you refuse to relinquish your hold on him, and Soap chokes as you shoot out an arm, wrapping it around his throat and taking him down with you.

The impact of the harsh dirt ground on your back is nothing compared to the weight of the sergeant atop you, the back of his head against your collarbone as you strain to contain him. Yet Johnny is a force, a raw mass of rippling muscle as he pries your headlock enough for him to flip over and shake you off.

On your back, hands free and Soap sat up between your legs you try and scoot back, gain ground on which to recover. When he turns, Soap's eyes are gleaming, and he reaches for you, one massive hand wrapping around you calf and scooting you closer to him. Even when you try to kick him he simply bats aside your attempts, dirt scuffing around you both as he secures his hands around your hips.

A loud "Oof!" leaves you as the Scotsman flips you, settles his weight across your lower back, effectively immobilizing you. He grapples with your arms for a moment, as you scramble and writhe under him, but eventually Johnny manages to catch both hands behind you, your face pressed into the dirt and his immense weight weighing down on your back.

"Nice try, hen." Soap tuts down at you, breath caught in his chest. His hands clasp on both your wrists, and you know you could get them free if you wanted to, but even then it's an exercise in futility. "Better luck next time."

You sigh, limbs going limp under him in surrender and face scrunching in dismay.

"Curse you and your stupidly large body." You groan as he releases you, your hands pushing you up out of the dirt to a stand once more. Soap only chuckles, the sound like warm summer sunshine as a single dusty hand claps you across the shoulder.

"It's not about size." Price responds, summoning your gaze to him once more. His arms are crossed, his gaze leveled at you strictly, eyes narrowed. "It's about form, making sure you can outsmart your opponent."

You feel the chafe of dismissal run through you, tighten across your shoulders. It stings, this reprimand of his, even if you know it's only for your benefit. There's something about his words that knocks against something hollowed, deep inside you where the voices of the past threaten to spill through.

"Of course, captain." You manage, voice tight even as you meet his gaze head on, make sure he doesn't see the bitterness masked behind your stare.

If Price sees he doesn't say, instead nodding to the sergeant next to you in a wordless gesture. "Again."

You nod stiffly, shaking the tension from your shoulders and the dirt from your clothes, turning back to Soap, eyes focused once more. He settles into his stance, and he seems looser somehow, ready for you.

"He's bigger than you, Fix." Price calls. "You've got the advantage of speed and center of gravity. Use it wisely."

You nod absently, trying to gauge Johnny's movements, watching the Scotsman bounce on the balls of his feet. It's a difficult choice, trying to find that target that will put him off balance and allow you enough space to recoup if needed. You think if you can have some distance, land a few strikes to give you an opening...

"C'mon now Fix, show me what ya got." Johnny taunts playfully, fingers waggling at you.

Smug bastard.

You feint to start, watching how Soap favors his right leg as he reacts. You can feel his tension in the air, feel it ripple through and bolster you with a steely, calculating confidence.

He's just another obstacle, another hurdle. You haven't fallen from that tightrope thus far, and you won't start now.

At last, you launch forwards, ducking out of the way of Soap's outstretched reach and placing a well-earned kick to his upper leg that has him grunt, briefly buckle down-

Oh shit.

Now at the perfect height, Soap locks his arms around your middle, hauling you to him. You try and struggle, kicking apart his legs in an attempt to disturb his balance, one hand trying to push up at his jaw-

The world tilts, Johnny's hands on you shift, and you shriek as suddenly you're being hauled up. Your feet kick uselessly in the air as Soap lifts your shrieking form higher, his raucous laughter loud in your ears. With a heft, you're suddenly over one broad shoulder, his hands balancing you precariously as you squirm.

"S-Soap!" You squeal, face warming and unable to contain the abrupt gasp of hysterical delight that rises inside you. "Johnny! You-!"

"The cap'n told you to watch your balance!" Soap cackles over your protests. "How's gravity now, eh?!"

You beat at his back with your fists, but even then you can't contain the sudden burst of laughter that's being squeezed from your chest. When you try to kick, Soap merely shifts an arm down, locking the back of your thighs.

"You little shit!" You giggle, trying to raise yourself off his shoulder, only for him to twist where he stands, sending the world flying into a haze of color around you. "Put me down or I'll-!"

"There's no escape!" Soap crows in triumph, and you laugh truly this time, the warmth of it bubbling up your chest and vanquishing the solemnity there in a breezy gasp of air. "I have you now!"

"Alright, that's enough." Price interjects, but you can hear the smile on his voice, and when Soap spins again to face him you're left with Gaz, who grins broadly at your form splayed across his mate's shoulders despite the disbelieving shake of his head. "Put the medic down and back away slowly."

"Aye cap'n." Soap affirms, and the world shifts as you slide down, your shirt catching on his vest for a moment long enough to make it rise a few inches up your stomach. Once your feet are on solid ground once more you fiddle with it, shooting Soap a look of pure mischief as you playfully shove at him.

"You're a right bastard, you are." You jeer at him, but there's no true malice behind the insult.

"Oho! Looks like our bonnie medic has picked up some British slang, hasn't she?" Soap grins wickedly back at you, pretending to rub a bruise left by your touch.

"Shut up."

"She'll take you down with words alone, mate." Gaz quips off to the side, a grin stretched across his face. "Better watch your step."

You turn to him, still smiling, feeling that bravado wash over you now in the wake of Soap's prank.

"You want some too, sergeant?" You shoot back, and Gaz feigns surrender, tossing up his hands and taking a step back against the wall he's braced on- only to freeze.

You see him at the same time Gaz senses him, shoulders going rigid at the figure, the mass behind him, leaning in the shadow casted by the aged, brick building. The air seems to suck into silence, drowning into a ringing nothingness like the aftershock of flashbang that was far too close.

"My turn."

"Oh, uh, sure LT." Soap is the first to speak, and even he seems a bit disturbed by this, by the almost garish sight of Ghost in the brightness of daytime. "Lemme just-"

"Not you."

You stop breathing.

Ghost's eyes are locked on you. Hell, they never left you, trained on your form since the moment he announced his arrival. You think if he steps closer, into the training are he might hear your heartbeat, reach out a hand to feel it thrum under his fingertips-

Your pulse flutters against his fingers like a trapped bird, wings spread and beating the frozen air around you. He's never been this close before. He's hardly ever touched you- much less with his bare hands. The sensation of it threatens to throw you from that precipice where you balance precariously, falling once more into that asymmetry you fail to understand. You can only pray that your rapid, strumming heartbeat doesn't betray you, doesn't let him sense the thoughts you're holding silent within your heart.

You swallow, but all you taste is dust.

"H-hang on now." Soap intervenes, stepping up beside you. He's a weight at your back, keeping you steady, grounded against the gale inside you. The wind whips higher, and it seems to carry the scent of your uncertainty, the carpal, raw taste of it filling the back of your mouth.

He's huge. Larger than Soap. Immense and looming. Ghost occupies enough space in your mind it rivals your own doubts, blending at the seams with the dark, inky bleed of him into your form. The weight of him, even at this distance, threatens to bear down on your shoulders, and you feel that pressure, that muscled strain compress you until there's almost nothing left.

Only bones.

"It's fine, Soap." Your voice is surprisingly steady when you speak, lift an arm to gently halt the Scotsman behind you. "I can do it."

It's a lie. You're not sure if you can at all. It's not Ghost's size, his stature that concerns you. No, rather it's you, the way the lieutenant before you seems to summon those linger doubts in you- the urgent, insurmountable need to prove yourself. You can't explain it, can't fully understand why it's Ghost of all people that needs to see this, needs to see how you fail to crack, that no amount of pressure here will force you to fail.

Then again, perhaps you do know. After all, you've always known it was him.

You trace the marrow white paint of Ghost's mask up to his eyes, watching as they slide from you to Price, waiting for his assent. You hear Price inhale deeply, eyes flickering between the two of you before he at last sighs, gestures Ghost into the ring.

When you try to step back, Soap catches your arm.

"You don't have to do this." He tells you, and the tone of his voice makes you pause, frown at the odd tint of concern there.

"Yeah, I do." You tell him instead, and jerk your arm from his touch, brushing past him to give Ghost the space he needs to prepare. When you glance at the sergeant there's an odd pinch to his face you don't recognize. It feels oddly like doubt, a sourness that doesn't believe in you. It chafes against the inside of you, brittle and pale.

When you turn to face Ghost a few paces away, he's stretching. It almost catches you by surprise, the sight of his hulking frame as he rolls his shoulders, pops his neck with an audible crack. Again, you're reminded of the breadth of him, this man who's shielded you more times than you can count by now, can take down a man larger than you with nothing but his bare hands.

Your mouth dries.

Even so, you nod at Price when you settle into your stance, preparing yourself for his assault. The captain returns it, lets his stare linger over your unsteady hands before his voice rings out into the afternoon sun:

"Begin!"

You tense, preparing yourself, but even then you aren't ready for the sheer, massive strides Ghost takes towards you, closing the distance so rapidly your mind reels trying to catch up. You sidestep him a moment too late, trying to get a leg under his frame and use it to upset his balance, send him stumbling.

A hand seizes your shoulder. The world spins.

The gasp that escapes from your chest upon impact with the ground floats upwards into the eggshell blue sky.

Just like that.

You blink once, twice, trying to understand exactly how Ghost managed to flip you so easily, barely even touching you before you're flat on your back staring up at the clouds. Gaz hisses a grimace somewhere beyond you, and you hardly hear it, thoughts spinning.

"Up."

That puffy crisp September sky is blotted out as Ghost hovers above you, towering over your prone form as your breath stills in your chest. You stare at him dumbly for a moment, still trying to understand how he moved fast enough to make your head spin.

He doesn't offer you a hand, letting you sit up on your own, dusty with dirt and heart rattling in your chest. When you stand he's already paced away from you, wordlessly waiting for you to resume your stance.

"Give him hell, Fix!" Soap calls from the side, but even he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

You ignore him, trying to clear your thoughts, trying to focus on exactly how Ghost managed to flip you. Maybe his arm was around your middle- or was it your shoulder, you can't tell, he-

"Don't make me wait, sergeant." Ghost tells you, and the low scrape of his voice is enough to startle you, feeling like bone meal grinding against the recesses of your mind.

You tense, observing, watching, seeking weaknesses in his stance. When you launch forwards again, you move fast, ducking under Ghost's outstretched arm as he reaches for you. It's enough to give you an opening as you reach forward, throwing an arm out to his middle and aiming a fist with all your strength. It's not enough to send him stumbling backwards, but you know if you unbalance him you can get one of his legs, force him to his knees-

Ghost deflects your strike with ease, however, and before you can retreat to recoup that same arm twists your outstretched hand deftly. You're spun, boots skidding in the dirt. Yet this time Ghost doesn't put you down in the ground. Instead, he hauls you backwards until you're pressed against his front, and a heavy arm settles under your throat in a vice-like grip, rising up enough to threaten your airflow.

"Better." Is all he tells you as you struggle, and the motherfucker isn't even out of breath.

When you aim an elbow back into his stomach he merely grunts at the impact, and after a brief second the world spins wildly out of control as Ghost flips you over his hip and into the dirt once more.

You think you may have skid a few inches past where you landed, the impact harsh and unforgiving against your form. When you open your eyes you're on your side, staring at his boots as he again looms over you.

"Get up." He tells you, and there's not a single ounce of hesitation there, his tone harsh and unforgiving. It bites harder than the bruises forming on your flesh, sinking deeper past the sinews of you into the place where you harbor your own self-doubt. Ghost doesn't give you any recompense, demanding your immediate restitution even as you brace on your elbows, try and catch your breath.

"If you stayed down this long you'd be dead." He tells you plainly, and when you grit your teeth you feel your jaw threaten to pop. Frustration, humiliation clots under your skin, racing along your nerve endings and threatening to set your skin aflame. It boils inside of you, this shame of being defeated so easily, of not being able to stand your own, of him seemingly mocking you for your lack of strength.

"E-easy LT." Soap tries from your other side, trying uncertainly to intervene. "She's just catching her breath, she-"

"She's getting caught in her head, Johnny." Ghost replies, and the tone of his voice has shifted now- irritated, impatient. You grimace against it where he can't see, with your brow bent over your arms as you push yourself upwards. Yet the motion isn't fast enough for Ghost, who's gloved grip settles on your bicep and hauls you to a stand.

When you try and shake him off, however, Ghost doesn't budge. You turn to him, ready to snap a complaint bitten with anger, but the pale paint of his mask looms over you instead.

"You're only seeing me." He tells you, voice dipping lower, quieter. A growl. "Not an enemy. You're seeing someone bigger and stronger than you and it's messing with your head."

You blink at him for a moment, trying to process his hissed accusation. For a moment it feels as if he's bragging, lauding over the fact that you aren't a towering six foot six and built from unbreakable bone and mass. Yet beyond that is the harsh, unrepentant bite of his words, digging like thorns into the smog of despondency that clouds your thoughts.

He releases you before you can object, turning on his heel and striding away to the other side of the dirt pit, leaving you suppressing a shiver of fury. The sharpness of it digs harder than a combat knife, buries between your shoulders as they tighten and flex, trying vainly to push it down further into the depths of you. It imbues into your marrow, seeping like icy water and freezing, furthering the fractures that are already there.

"Again."

You breathe, steady yourself, turn to him. Behind you Gaz and Soap shift nervously, their boots scuffing against the grass as they exchange a look.

You're faster this time, as if that same righteous bleed into your bones has gifted you a speed you aren't entirely aware of- focused only on the massive looming form of your lieutenant in front of you. Yet when he blink he's not there- the after effect of him wavering before your eyes and you swear you see his eyes glint.

Just like that, you feel your legs out from under you. There's not even a breath in your lungs to yelp before you're landing on your side- a second too slow to land on your stomach. When Ghost reaches for you, however, you manage to catch his arm between your legs, pressing and holding, immobilizing it. Your victory is short lived, however, when Ghost twists and suddenly your whole body shifts with you onto your stomach. The hand that had held his arm, trying to haul it backwards is seized, and after a momentary scuffle it ends with Ghost pressing his weight into the small of your back, knee braced between yours.

Grunting, you try and push up, try and dislodge him from atop you, kneeling above your prone form. It's not use, and the only reward you get from your LT is a tightening, warning grip on your forearm, pushing almost painfully into your spine. Face pressed into the dirt, thrashing, you bite down on a yell of frustration. When you turn your head, glare venomously over your shoulder, Ghost regards you with an unwavering, unblinking stare.

"Tap out." He tells you coldly, but you refuse, still squirming and trying to buck him off you.

"I said." Ghost repeats, and the grip on your wrist is almost enough to bruise as he leans further over you, pressing more weight into your back. "Tap. out."

The "Fuck you." sits heavy on your tongue, bitter and acrid with venom. When you swallow the taste lingers in your throat. Yet you close your eyes in defeat, using your remaining free hand to tap the ground twice in surrender. Instantly Ghost is gone from you, weight and hands vanishing, but you can't deny the momentary touch of disappointment that flickers in your belly at his figure vanishing from atop you.

Traitorous. Unacceptable.

Dimly, your mind conjures the sensation of him, of the planes of his body curled around you, blunted at the edges by his gear and jacket in the darkness. The warmth of him seeps through, blanketing you, drawing the freeze from your bones. Now that same figure towers over you, casting you in his shadow- one you think you'll always dwell in, unable to outshine the sun.

You stand without his help this time, face smeared with dirt. Fists curled at your sides, heart thrumming too fast in your chest, you force yourself to breathe. The air feels dusty, putrid, cracked in your throat- rotting with frustration and bitter self-loathing. Price says something, but you can't hear him over the blood rushing in your ears, the clench of your joints popping under the pressure.

Ghost seems to suck the light out of the air at the other end of the pit, arms crossed as he silently waits for you to right yourself. His eyes, tinged black at the edges, bore into you. They carve deeper downwards, flaying you open and exposing your heart, your lungs, the spilling threads of you that reek of weakness.

You think he might see it, might see the thing you're keeping curled within you- a fragile tender thing made of glass you've kept safe all this time.

His voice, soft, just for you, murmurs against the midnight.

"I see you. Just you."

Oh.

"You're only seeing me." He told you.

Not an enemy. Him.

Ghost. Because you could never see him as anything else. Not when it's him.

You blink and the light changes. Your next breath, forced through parted lips, seems to ooze the toxicity from your veins, lifting the weight from your shoulders. The bones inside you are still cracked, fractured, and you know they probably will be forever. Now, however, you understand, and the knowledge seems to strengthen them, dull the bitter horrible pain of your own doubt long enough for you to see.

Not a shadow, a light in the darkness. Guiding you forwards even if it threatens to blind you, drawing you out of the confines of your own lack of confidence by force if he has to. He's not doing this to mock you at all. He's not looking down on you, he's not gloating or tossing you around for his own sadistic self-pleasure. He's trying, in his own way, to teach you, to show you that you do have what it takes. He's breaking you systematically, scooping you from the ashes and charred remains so the frayed and broken edges of you are polished into something new. Something stronger.

He's doing this because he sees you. Just you, and that's already good enough. You're good enough.

Sometimes you have to break bones for them to mend correctly.

"Fix!"

You jolt, turning to Price. Arms crossed, one shaggy eyebrow arched towards you, he regards you with scrutiny.

"You done?" Is all he asks, and he seems to see it too- the telltale twinkle of knowledge in his eyes at what his lieutenant is trying to accomplish.

"No sir." You breathe, and Price grins.

"Give him hell then, sergeant." He nods towards your opponent. You follow his gaze, and this time Ghost is focused entirely on you, eyes glinting in the afternoon sunlight.

You can do it.

Ghost settles into his stance, one arm extended slightly in front of the other, his tattooed forearm rippling with muscle. He's big, bigger than you, and that thought alone is enough to threaten you into a tailspin of doubt like before. You know now that if you indulge it, allow it to take hold it guarantees defeat. So, you push it down, refuse to see it, summoning a phantom in its place, one of your own design. it wavers before you, whispering sinister prophecies of failure, howling like the wind in the abyss of the impossibly high tightrope you tread upon.

When you launch forward Ghost tenses, ready for your attack. He throws out an arm to block your attack, but you merely twist around it, throwing it up and giving you the opening you need. It takes all your strength as you ignore his other hand settling on your shoulder. You shift, balance, and then bring your foot against his leg with vicious force. It's enough to make him stumble, shift his weight and grunt at the impact. His distraction allows you to free yourself, land another hit against his arm and throw it wide.

There.

He reaches for you, but the motion is slow, stunted by his size. You slide around him instead, ducking under his arm and instead kicking again to the back of his knee. It's enough, and Ghost buckles not completely, but the few inches you need to reach forward, wrap your arms around his neck and pull.

You both go teetering back into the dirt, the air whooshing from your lungs upon impact. Ghost doesn't wait for the dust to settle before he's struggling, trying to twist to his side and dislodge you. You don't let him, grunting as you force your forearm under his chin and secure it with your other arm. His hands reach up, but you raise your legs on either side of him. Twisting, you secure them around his front, clenching down with a cracked yell even as he thrashes under you. With one of his arms now trapped, Ghost grunts, tries once more to twist. His boots scuff in the dirt, stirring clouds of beige dust into the crisp air.

It takes all your strength to contain him, and even then you feel your grip slipping. Breath caught in your chest you strain against him, back arching off the ground and grunting low and deep at his form against yours. You know it'll take only a momentary lapse in concentration for Ghost to seize the opportunity and free himself. You don't intend to give him that much.

Gaz and Soap cheer from across the clearing, whooping encouragements as you strain to keep Ghost locked between your arms and legs. Their silence has faded to hollering praise you don't hear as you concentrate, use all the force in your body to maintain your victory. Blood rushes in your ears- a churning tributary of red pulsing under your skin, sharp with adrenaline. Like the river Styx it seems to burn you, scald you to the touch even as you emerge dripping with power and purpose. A god-like strength inherited only for this moment.

A tap, then another on your calf.

He concedes.

It takes you a moment to realize the gesture for what it is, so surprised are you at your own victory. It takes Ghost tapping an insistent third time for you to release him with a gasp, flopping back into the dirt and letting your weakened limbs collapse at your sides. Starved of air, your chest inflates rapidly, head tossed back and staring dazedly up at the blue sky above. The world spins, and at last you realize there’s noise beyond the war drum of your heartbeat in your ears.

"That'a fucking girl Fix!" Soap yells from somewhere beyond you, voice carrying loud and clear. You can hear Gaz clapping beside him- and even without looking you can imagine the wide spread of a smile plastered on his lips.

Ghost sits up from between your legs, but you can't find it in you to follow just yet- exhausted to the core. Your heartbeat throbs in your ears like a wound, your arms and legs shake with exertion. Yet the heaviness there is not of defeat, acrid and disappointing. No, this feels like relief, like triumph.

You did it.

A shadow falls over you, and when you blink it's Ghost's white mask that filters through your thoughts.

"Doesn't count as a win if you can't stand." He tells you, but there's no venom there. Instead, it sounds lighter, and it must be the dizziness because it almost sounds playful.

Still, you accept his hand when he offers it. He pulls you sharply to your feet, and you teeter for a moment before his hand lands on your shoulder, steadying you.

The boys are all grinning at you, pride blooming across their faces. It's enough to make you freeze, stiffen with surprise at the blatant delight they have at your small victory. The warmth of self-consciousness blossoms across your chest, crawling up your nape. You press a hand there nervously, averting your eyes with a small, shy smile.

"If you can take down Ghost, you can take down anyone." Gaz tells you, and his eyes are sparkling mischievously, the corners of his gaze wrinkled with a smile.

"Could take me down any day, Fix." Soap adds, and when he winks you roll your eyes at his suggestion.

"Stay down, Soap." You tell him, but you're unable to contain the smile there, tugging insistently at the corner of your lips.

"Good work, sergeant." Price tells you and when you turn he nods at you, satisfaction written across his expression. It lifts you, warms you and raises you higher on your toes. His pride bleeds into you, makes you straighten and raise your head a touch higher to meet his gaze.

"Thank you sir."

Price nods just once, and looks as if he's going to speak again, except-

"Captain!"

You all turn at the sound, and it's a recruit who's voice catches your attention. He jogs out from behind the shadow of the building, hair mussed and cheeks flushed with exertion. When he stops just short of your group he doubles over, panting and trying to catch his breath. it takes him only a moment- straightening before price can correct him, standing at attention.

"Captain." He greets. "You're needed at the commander's office. Kate Laswell has your briefing ready."

Just like that, the mood shifts. Instantly you're all moving, responding, gathering the supplies scattered around the training area as Price barks orders.

"You heard the man. Get sorted, I want you all ready for briefing in five minutes, understood?"

There's a chorus of "Yes Sir!"s that goes up from all of you, hard and unflinching, ever ready for the tasks set out ahead of you.

"Good. Get moving." Price issues, before he's taking long strides to follow the private, form coiled and stalking with the authority of a commander, a leader.

You yourself move to follow Soap and Gaz, watching as they excitedly push and jostle each other like friends, grins still spread across their faces.

Yet there's a hand on your shoulder, and you pause to turn towards the source, lips parted in surprise. Ghost hovers just behind you, caught in the shadow of the brick building, the angle slanted across his mask.

Yet then there's silence, and you see his eyes flicker behind the mask. It's brief, just a flash, but you see a hesitancy there, a contemplation you know he'll never voice. He squints, and in that instant you wish you could see him the way he seems to see you, gazing into you like looking into a glass prism, seeing the lights that reflects outwards. Yet in him it's only ever shadows, smoke obscuring the things you wish you could observe behind his coal dark stare, graze across with the tips of your fingers.

"You did well." He tells you. Yet he doesn't hold your gaze, his touch vanishing from you in the scarce heartbeat that follows. His boots crunch dirt as he eases past you, broad dark form vanishing in the direction where the others have gone.

You're left alone behind him, watching as he disappears. For a moment you feel it once more, see the four of them vanish before you into a cloud of snow, atop the mountain of impossible expectations you have for yourself. Yet stronger now is the fragile, crystal heart of you, the one where you keep your wildest hopes and secrets, the home of you where his voice lies in tender, sleeping wait.

You follow him.

----

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 5 months

Text

Autumn Flush

Second Flush | Masterlist

Pairing: Old Western Retired!Christopher Pike x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only (Minors interacting with the work will be blocked)

Notes: *The term ‘flush’ in the chapter titles has nothing to do with skin tone. It’s in relation to the phrase ‘the first flush of spring’; ‘second flush’; ‘autumn flush’.

Sorry this took me 800 years. Here's the last bit!

Warnings: Cursing; fluff; Reader is a virgin; period-typical attitudes toward sex; explicit sexual content - fingering; vaginal sex; unsafe sex; creampie

Summary: Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it.

GIF by dearemma

It’s difficult, altering your established routine with Christopher. He goes out of his way to come and visit you on Sundays, rather than your trekking up to his cabin to spend time alone with him. Dr. M’Benga kindly agrees to act as chaperone, allowing the two of you to spend time together ‘properly’. You sit in M'Benga's parlor, sharing conversation and coffee with Christopher and the doctor. But M'Benga always finds a way to excuse himself and Rukiya for at least a few minutes, allowing yourself and Christopher to have some proper alone time.

When this begins, you start by shyly inching closer to one another and taking hold of each other’ hands. But as your courtship goes on, you’re already moving toward one another before the doors to the parlor can close entirely.

Now, Christopher sits on the settee beside you, taking hold of your hand in his. You lean into him happily, resting your head on his shoulder as you intertwine your fingers. There’s a warm August breeze pushing through the window, ruffling the curtains. You tip your head up, brushing a kiss to his jaw. Christopher hums happily, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I miss coming to see you,” You admit softly. “I liked the walk.”

“Just the walk?”

“Not just the walk...I miss the horses, too.”

“The horses.”

“Well you’re here,” You point out, batting your eyelashes at Christopher. “So I can’t miss ya, can I?”

“Then I will see you in two weeks.”

You couch a giggle in a groan, resting your head back against the settee.

“Don’t do that,” You pout. “I’ll be lonely.”

“You have friends in town,” Christopher points out, “Una and Joseph, Jim, Spock, Christine.”

It’s true. You’ve found a community beyond Christopher in Enterprise. The whispers haven’t stopped or disappeared, but they’ve grown more quiet under the pleasant conversation of your friends.

“Still,” You mumble, peering down at your joined hands. “I don’t like missing you. I did that long enough when I was in Baxter’s Crossing.”

Christopher is quiet for a moment before he untangles his fingers from yours. You frown a touch at shift, but he wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into his side.

“I missed you, too,” He admits in a murmur. You smile, curling your arm around his middle and nuzzling into his neck.

“I didn’t think you would,” You mumble.

“Why do you say that?”

You can hear his frown, and you reach down to pick to a piece of lint on your dress, distracting yourself from the painful memory.

“You didn’t turn to look at me when you left.”

“I figured you’d gone inside.”

“I watched you until I couldn’t see you anymore. I wanted you to look at me.”

Christopher sighs softly, breath brushing across your forehead.

“I couldn’t have left if I’d turned to look at you,” He admits. You snuggle closer, despite the warmth of the room.

“I’ll have to save these moments up, too,” You sigh.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well—I know it’s a long ways off, but come winter, it’ll be harder for you to come into town.”

Christopher grunts thoughtfully, rubbing your hand gently with his.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm…Cabin’s an awful lot of space for one person.”

It doesn’t take long for the implication to sink into you, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it at first.

“You came up to Enterprise for space, Christopher," Your voice shakes as you remind him.

“There’ll be plenty of space, even with two…Maybe three, some day.”

The celebration is a small one, but you’re certain it couldn’t be lovelier. The town’s judge officiates; half of Enterprise turns up to see the two of you married. You can’t shield or mask your joy, and you don’t want to. Tears spring up in your eyes as you exchange vows; you have to stop yourself from leaning into his chest and clinging to him in front of the others.

“Would you stop that?” Christopher laughs as you stroke your fingers over his bare cheek.

“Absolutely not,” You shake your head. “I’ve never seen all of my husband’s face before. This’ll be quite the adjustment for me.”

Christopher’s smile spreads brightly across his lips. He turns his head, brushing his lips across the band on your ring finger.

“Do you think you’ll manage it?” He murmurs.

“I’ll have to find a way, I suppose. Of course that may include touching your cheek.”

“I see.”

“Can you stand it?”

“I’ll find a way.”

The sun is beginning to rise hazily in the September sky as you and Christopher finally get ready for bed. You’d made short work of the morning chores while you were still in your wedding clothes: he’d fed and watered the horses while you’d fed the chickens and fetched the eggs. You tiredly kick your shoes off, nudging them aside. You’re exhausted; your feet ache form dancing; your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Could you help me with this?” You yawn, waving at the lacing on the back of your dress. Christopher hums, fingers carefully working at the fastening. You sigh softly as you feel the bodice loosen.

“Thank you,” You sigh as you wriggle out of the dress and skirts. You’re left in your shift as you climb onto the bed. You turn to watch Christopher undo the buttons on his waistcoat. You move up on your knees, crawling across the bed to him. As Christopher shrugs off his waistcoat, you raise your hands, making short work of the buttons on his shirt. Your face heats at the feeling of Christopher watching you so closely.

You suddenly feel terribly shy. Maybe it’s silly to feel that way; you’ve only been married for twelve hours. You were warned by your employer that Christopher may be a touch pushy—may demand that you complete your wifely chore. When you’d asked which she meant, the horses or chickens, she’d just given you a pitiful smile. Her true meaning had become apparent far too late. Now, you can’t get it out of your mind. You’re certain that Christopher would never demand that of you, but the prospect makes you nervous.

When Christopher cups your cheeks, your eyelids flutter. You feel yourself swaying into his chest, tipping your chin up for a kiss. Christopher gives it to you without hesitation or teasing. He slides his hands down over your bare shoulders, smoothing over the goosebumps blossoming on your skin. He leans back, eyes skimming your face—but before he can lean in for another kiss, you yawn widely. You raise your hand to cover your mouth, ducking your head in embarrassment as Christopher chuckles.

“Why don’t we get some sleep?” Christopher urges. You slide back in the bed, pushing your legs beneath the sheets. You mean to watch Christopher undress the rest of the way—you want to watch him, but your head is so heavy with fatigue. You feel the bed dip beside you, and you snuggle close on instinct. You rest your hand on his chest, and find it bare. Your eyes do open, then, a touch stunned. Christopher just eyes you with a patient, fond smile as he raises his hand, stroking his knuckles along your jaw.

“Rest, my darling girl.”

Perhaps living with a man should be more of an adjustment. Perhaps it would be more stilted of a change if you didn’t already know him so well. It is a little strange, but living with Christopher is enjoyable. You love waking up to the sight of him; you love finding yourself curled in his arms. You find that you really don’t mind getting up early to tend to the horses and the chickens. Christopher takes care of the more physical odds and ends around the cabin—cording wood, exercising the horses. You handle most of the duties in the home—managing the cabin’s inventory, cooking meals, washing your clothes. The two of you take trips into town every week, to visit with others, and to pick up supplies.

Your life has an ease and a feeling of normalcy that was unimaginable when you were ferrying the baby to her grandparents.

“Y’alright?”

“Mhm,” You hum, hardly looking away from the dough that you’re forming in neat rolls. As you tuck the last of them into the dutch oven, Christopher rounds the counter, plucking it up and heading for the fire.

“Thank you,” You chuckle. Christopher waves it off as he sets it on the hook. When he turns back, he finds you wiping the excess flour from the counter with a wet rag, a fond smile pointed at him. He smiles, too, and your heart lifts into your throat as he takes slow, steady steps toward you. You hurry to duck your head, scrubbing with renewed purpose.

Christopher has been looking at you much more frequently these days. He watches you in a way that sets the hair on the back of your neck prickling. You don’t find the looks intimidating by any means, but when he regards you with interest in that way, you…Well, you just don’t know what to do with it. It’s been months, but you think about it now and again—your former employer’s warning that Christopher would expect you to attend to his more physical wants.

He hasn’t neglected you, or shied away from touching you. You’ve had a few bouts of more amorous kissing—often before you’ve fallen asleep. Your encounters nearly moved beyond kissing and fondling twice, but both times, you were interrupted. The first time, Mary Lou had gotten out of the stable. The second time, Una had arrived to collect a dress and waistcoat that you’d mended for her.

“So, um,” You pipe up nervously as Christopher rounds the counter, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We should start stocking some things for the winter. Just the staples,” You hurry to add as you lean heavily against the counter.

“Been thinkin’ about this long?”

“Just since this morning.”

“Mm.” Christopher’s hands land on your hips, holding you steady as you wobble just a touch. You bite your lip in concentration, bending over the counter to swipe at specks of flour on the far end of the countertop. Your hand goes still as Christopher cuddles close, burying his face in your neck. You let your eyes close for a long moment at the nuzzling, at the feeling of him pressed flush against you. You’ve woken up like this more than once, but it feels very different to be pressed close in the light of day.

“You make up a list?” Christopher asks after a stretch of quiet and stillness, his stubble brushing pleasantly against your skin.

“Oh—Not yet—I mean, not really. Well—” You stumble over your words as his arms curl around your middle, his hand splaying over your belly, “That is—It’s only in my head. I haven’t written anything down.”

“Well what’ve you got in your head so far?”

“Erm...Beans, rice—”

“Mhm.”

“Flour, sugar, honey—”

“More honey?” Christopher teases. “I swear I’ve bought more honey in the last two months than I have in my entire life.”

“I bake with it!”

“I know.”

“And I don’t hear you complaining about what I’ve made.”

“I’m not.” He gives your hip a little squeeze, then a tug, urging you to turn. You blink up at him expectantly, arching a brow.

“Good, because if you are, I’m not baking you anything else.”

“Not ever again?”

“Not at all.”

“Okay,” Christopher chuckles. He dips his head, brushing a kiss to your jaw. You tug your lower lip between your teeth as you let your eyes slip shut. You slide your hands up into his hair, gently twining the silky strands around your fingers.

“So we can, um…” You mumble, “We can, um…We can worry about this later.”

It’s all that you get out before Christopher catches your lips with his. You moan softly, lips parting as he teases his tongue against them. Christopher leans back just a touch, murmuring, “Up,” and patting your thighs. You plant your hands on the counter, pushing yourself back onto it. He darts in for another kiss, his hands pushing up the fabric of your skirt. You spread your legs, giving him plenty of space to slot between them. You raise your hands, smoothing them over his roughening cheeks (it’s surely only a couple of weeks before his beard is in full bloom again).

You tip your head back, shivering as Christopher’s kisses drift from your lips, trailing along your jaw, and down to your neck. You suck in a stunned, shaky breath as his hand raises, gripping at the front lacing on your dress and giving it a yank, undoing the tidy bow. You tip your chin down, watching as he slips his fingers between your corset and your low cut chemise. You’d been remiss in tightening it that morning, wary of running behind and not getting the bread finished in time for breakfast. You wriggle a little, nerves fluttering in your belly as he works it down, revealing your chest to him.

Christopher doesn’t hesitate in his ministrations. He sucks a kiss to the top of one breast as he palms the other, his rough fingers giving it a tender squeeze. You reach back, fumbling with the strings of the corset and hastily undoing them. You toss the corset aside, then suck in a sharp breath as he tugs the neckline further down.

“Christopher,” You sigh, tipping your head back. He hums as he circles your pebbling nipple with his tongue. He sucks it between his lips, groaning softly against your tender skin. He draws back with a greedy, slick sound, grasping your hand.

“Come with me,” He urges.

“What? Where are we going?”

“You’re too good to be taken on a counter, sweet girl.”

You’ve seen how strong he is, but you still marvel at the sight of Christopher drawing his shirt off. You kneel up on the bed, hesitantly reaching out before you slide your hands over his tanned, muscled skin. You begin to shy as he reaches you in kind, but Christopher grasps your jaw, drawing you in for a soft, warm kiss. You can’t help but melt against him, shivering as his rough fingertips dip beneath your slip and draw it over your head. It’s only a moment before he tosses it toward the small pile of your clothing that’s been discarded.

Your body goes hot as his gaze sweeps across your bare flesh. You press your face into his neck, laying gentle kisses into his skin as you nervously straddle his thigh. Christopher hums softly, sliding his hands down over your back and flexing his fingers in your skin. You gasp, hips hitching against his thigh. You whimper as pleasure that ripples through you, a throbbing pulse between your legs.

“Go on,” Christopher urges, smoothing his hand further down. You hesitate before you press down against his thigh a little more harshly, a stunned moan slipping from your lips as your breasts brush his chest. Your embarrassment swells as you feel his hardening length against your thigh. He doesn’t tease or chide your sounds or actions. Christopher just gives you a lusty grin, pressing his thigh more insistently against your core. Your hips jolt against him as you chase the sensation. You burble, unable to stop the sounds falling from your lips as Christopher grasps your hips, urging your pace on for a moment, then nudging you to lay back.

Your eyes widen as you watch Christopher raise two fingers, sucking them into his mouth. He slides his thigh back, teasing the slick digits against your tender clit. You let your eyes slide shut, pushing your head back into the pillow as he slips them further down.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes—oh!” Your breath catches in your throat as he eases a thick finger into your throbbing pussy. He curls and twists it, his rough palm brushing against your clit.

“Can you take another?”

“Mhm!”

He grins at your eagerness, gently pressing another finger into you. You can feel his heavy, heated gaze as you tip your hips down into his touch. Christopher slides down your body, tracing his tongue teasingly around one of your nipples before lapping hotly across the pebbling mound. You sigh, sliding your hand into his hair and arching up into the slick heat of his mouth. His fingers scissor and thrust slowly, his palm grinding firmly against your clit with every stroke. You shift your thigh, body heating as you feel his thick, hardened length against you. You peer down between the two of you, chest fluttering with nerves as you spot the flushed head.

“Is—” You swallow thickly, “Is it going to…Fit?”

Christopher lifts his head, a warm chuckle dropping from his lips.

“We’ll make it fit.”

Your thighs are still been shaking and tense from the first swell of pleasure; your movements are a little stilted as Christopher settles on his back, urging you to straddle his thighs.

“But,” Your brows furrow as you adjust, “I thought I would be laying down.”

Christopher just tuts softly, smoothing his hands over your sides.

“I did promise I would teach you to ride.”

You bite your lip, looking down as the head of his cock slots against your slick opening. Christopher’s hands rest on your hips, squeezing them to focus you.

“We take this at your pace,” He reassures. “Take what you can. If it’s too much, we’ll stop.”

You rest your hands on his chest, easing down just a little. You tense at the stretch of him slipping inside, but Christopher strokes his thumb soothingly over your sides. You bear down a bit more, eyes slipping shut as he fills you.

“That’s it—Oh, sweetheart,” Christopher sighs, his grip tightening. You slide your hands to his shoulders, wincing as you move just a little too quickly.

“Y’alright?”

“Mhm,” You nod, adjusting to press your hands on either side of his head. You lower your head, pressing your lips to his, distracting yourself from the slight pulse of pain as you adjust to him. Christopher’s hands slip up, nails brushing small circles in your skin as his tongue flickers against yours. You swallow thickly, nervous as you shift your hips. When it doesn’t incite the same discomfort, you do it again. You break your kiss, resting your forehead against Christopher’s as you begin to roll your hips, panting softly against his lips. Once your tentative movements become more steady, you feel Christopher gently push up beneath you, thrusting in a bit deeper. Your mouth opens with a shaky moan as you speed your roll to a slight bounce.

You open your eyes, taking in Christopher’s darkened eyes, and the rising flush in his cheeks. He raises his hands, cupping your cheeks and holding your gaze. You want to close your eyes, to surrender to the rising tide of your pleasure, but you can’t bring yourself to look away. Your breath and moans mingle as you grind and thrust against one another. Christopher’s fingers slide between your thighs again, toying with your tingling clit. You gasp his name, hips grinding down against his cock and his fingers.

“That’s it,” Christopher presses his face against your neck. “Just like that—God—”

His broken off curse is drowned by your crying out as your pleasure swells and crests. Your hips move as if of their own volition as you feel his cock spill into you. Your shaking arms give out, and you settle into his chest, panting heavily as your pussy twitches around him. He rests his hand on the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you settle together. You hear Christopher draw in a deep breath, then grunt softly.

“I think the bread is burning.”

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @amneris21 ; @milf-trinity ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @nominalnebula

#Christopher Pike x Reader #Christopher Pike x You #Christopher Pike/Reader #Christopher Pike/You #Christopher Pike fic #Christopher Pike imagine #Cold Snap #Autumn Flush

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tellmealovestory · 11 months

Text

Kiss Me - Chapter 5

Summary: 4 times you and Eddie kissed and it meant nothing and the 1 time you kissed and it meant everything.

Warnings: Little bit of angst, but other than that nothing.

Masterlist

After graduation the rest of summer passes by in a blur.

It’s spent hanging out at The Hideout watching Corroded Coffin still play to you and mostly drunks. It’s spent sneaking out of your house and driving around town, music blasting from the speakers of Eddie’s van as you share the occasional beer. It’s spent popping in on Dungeons and Dragons games though you’re stuck enduring questions from Dustin about when you and Eddie are going to make things official even though you’ve both told him multiple times you’re not dating. It’s spent making memories while trying to figure out this next chapter of your lives.

In the beginning of August you drag Eddie out to do some shopping for college. It’s not his idea of fun and he grumbles about it every aisle you push the cart down and every time you toss notebooks and packs of pens and pencils in the cart.

The only time he stops complaining is when you bribe him with ice cream after you’re all done.

Sitting in the back of his van with the doors wide open in a mostly empty Dairy Queen parking lot, the sun begins its lazy descent into the sky, a warm breeze washes over you as ice cream drips down the cone and onto your wrist and you wish you could bottle this moment up and stay with him here forever.

That is until he breaks the peacefulness by leaning over and taking a large bite into your dwindling ice cream cone.

“Eddie!” you laugh, the sound echoing out in the parking lot. “That’s disgusting and I’m not done with that!”

He gives you a lopsided grin, shrugs his shoulder and leans over for another taste, but your reflexes are faster this time and you manage to pull your cone away at the last second. And manage to smear the side of your face and mouth with cold ice cream that makes you gasp.

“Cute,” Eddie says, grinning wider by the second.

“Napkin?” you ask, eyes casting around for one, but you come up empty. He shakes his head and you sigh dramatically. “Why do you not have napkins in here? You know what a mess I make when I eat ice cream.”

“I dunno,” he starts, “maybe cause I think you look cute when you make a mess.”

The way he says it leaves you wondering if he’s joking or not. It’s difficult to tell when it comes to him sometimes. Your eyes cast around the back of the van again and you silently curse yourself for not thinking to grab napkins when you placed the order.

You’re left with the choice of trying to lick your face clean or wipe it off with your hand and wipe that off on Eddie’s shirt for making this mess in the first place, but before you can do any of those he comes up with a better idea.

He leans forward again and murmurs a soft, “let me.”

You narrow your eyes in distrust and he pulls back, hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t gonna do anything bad,” he says with a chuckle.

“I swear to god if your idea of cleaning my face off is by licking me I will murder you. Right here in this parking lot. Good luck playing guitar then future rockstar.”

“You what?” He shouts, mouth dropping open in shock at hearing something like that come out of you.

He can’t stay serious for long and soon you’re both bursting into laughter that brings tears to your eyes. “You’re really gonna murder me? For helping you? I thought you liked me, princess, thought we had something special going on between us.” He gestures between your bodies with his own melting cone and the laughter continues for a few more seconds.

“Ya know… the thought of using my tongue didn’t cross my mind till you brought it up and now I kinda like it. Who needs napkins anyway when I have this?” He wiggles his eyebrows, sticks his long tongue out and you slap his shoulder playfully.

The ice cream on your face continues to melt like a glacier and if you don’t get it cleaned up soon you’ll be a gross, sticky mess for the rest of the night and that makes your skin crawl.

Eddie senses your discomfort because he motions you forward yet again with a nod of his head. Locking eyes with him you do as he asks and notice how the air around you seems to have gotten stiller, hotter, stickier even and it’s not something you can blame on the midwestern humidity.

You’ve never experienced something like this before, only read about it in trashy romance novels in the library, hiding them from your friends who would make fun of you for reading them.

His fingers gently stroke your chin, the tip of his pinky finger dips into the melting dessert on your cheek and you can’t help the shaky exhale you let out at his touch.

Your gaze switches between his honey brown eyes and his plump lips and as if on instinct you both tilt your faces toward one another.

His warm breath dances over your face and his lips hover mere inches from yours, but just as they’re about to connect you turn your head at the last second and his lips smack against your sticky cheek instead.

You don’t have an explanation for why you turn away and seconds after you do you regret it. It’s not like this is your first kiss, hell by now you’ve become a pro at kissing him.

Just like you don’t have an explanation for the next thing you do which is blurt out, “why do you keep trying to kiss me?” You cringe at the way your voice rises and how panicky you sound. “Shit, sorry, that doesn't sound great. I mean…”

Eddie’s eyebrows rise up to his hairline. “I keep trying to kiss you? You keep kissing me!” Eddie shouts, voice matching yours decibel for decibel and you’re sure you make quite the pair sitting in the parking lot yelling about kisses.

“Are you forgetting all the times you kissed me? So you’re not innocent in whatever this is either!” you retort and it’s so childish and so immature, but it does the trick to slice through the tension and draw ridiculous smiles to each of your faces. Even when you fight or argue which is a rare occurrence in your friendship it’s hard to keep it going longer than a few minutes without one of you breaking, usually you.

Scrubbing a hand over your face you forget for a second half of it’s still covered in ice cream and you wrinkle your nose when your hand comes away sticky.

“Offer still stands for me to lick it clean,” he jokes, nodding to your hand. His comment draws out another round of small smiles, but something has changed again in the air around you and you don’t know how to fix it without having to do the one thing you’ve been avoiding; talking about your feelings.

For a few seconds all that can be heard in the parking lot is the sound of tires crunching over gravel and birds cawing in the distance. The sky is lit up with dark shades of reds and oranges pierced through with cotton candy colored pinks and purples. You focus your attention on the sunset so you don’t think about other things… like the elephant sitting heavily in the back of his van involving all of these kisses and your growing confusion over them and what it means for you and Eddie.

Eddie’s the first to break the silence because of course he is. It starts with a heavy sigh pierced through with a crunch as he bites into his cone. His intense gaze bores into the side of your head and you continue to stare at the horizon. You don’t want to talk about this even if you were the one to bring it up and you’re kicking yourself again for doing it and not just letting him kiss you like every other time.

The back of the van dips a little as he scoots his body closer to yours, knees touching and it sends an unfamiliar spark through you.

“Maybe I keep kissing you cause I like you,” he says softly. A few seconds pass before he finishes his thought. “And I think you like me too.”

His words hang heavy in the air as he waits for your answer or even an acknowledgment that he spoke. You know that you’re being childish and stubborn, that you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be the longer you stay silent and when you do finally speak it only makes things worse.

“Of course I like you. We’re friends, Munson. It’d be a little weird if we didn’t like each other.” Even as the words escape you cringe as the joke lands flat amongst your feet. Hopping out of the back of his van you pace in front of him, toes of your shoes kicking at pebbles. The summer heat and humidity is almost unbearable or maybe it’s just you’re finally confronted with being honest about your feelings for once in your life and it sucks.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” His words are laced not quite with anger, more disappointment and you think that’s worse and harder to hear. He rubs the back of his neck and for maybe the first time you start to realize that this isn’t easy for him either. Guilt hits you like a truck, but before you can say anything he’s talking again and also refusing to look at you which hurts even more. “We can uh forget about this whole thing. I should get you home I guess.” He gets up from the van and starts to head towards the driver's side, but you know you can’t leave things this way.

Your heart crumbles around the cage you built it in as you watch him turn his back on you and walk away. How did you let things get this bad? Blinking back tears you listen as he opens the van door and something snaps inside of you. You can’t let things end this way.

The way you see it is you have two options.

You can keep denying the feelings that have been bubbling up for a while and try to salvage what remains of your friendship after this disaster of a day. It’s the easier option after all. The one you’re more prepared to confront and handle.

Or… or for once in your life you could talk about your feelings no matter how much that scares the shit out of you. It’s the harder option, but it’s the right one and in the end you know that’s what you have to do.

Jogging over to him you grab his elbow just as he’s about to slide into the driver’s seat. Your heart slams against your ribcage, palms growing sweaty, mind racing with everything you want to say to him and everything you can’t say to him and you hate how difficult this is.

“Eddie, wait.”

The sound of his first name instead of his last makes him cock his head to the side, but he gently closes the door and leans against it. His dark brown eyes are mixed with hope and fear and once again you’re hit with the fact that you’re not the only one struggling with feelings and new situations here.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you finally make eye contact with him. The sky that had been painted such beautiful shades of red and orange has turned to a dark blue, night will be falling soon and as if on cue the streetlights in the parking lot begin to flicker on.

“I’m an idiot,” you say with a humorless laugh. You half expect him to laugh or agree with you, but he doesn’t. Staring into his eyes is too much and you have to drop your gaze down to your shoes. Sucking in a breath you shuffle your feet and your heart rate begins to spike even faster and there are warning bells going off in your head that you should abort all of this and beg him for the love of god to forget this ever happened, but you push all of that to the back of your mind because you both deserve the truth, especially him.

You do like him and you feel stupid that you didn’t realize it sooner. Not only is he your best friend, but he’s the first person you want to call when something good happens to you or when something bad happens. You miss him when you’re away from him for longer than a few hours. He consumes your thoughts and you look forward to talking to him always. You can’t imagine your life without him by your side.

You want to tell him all of that and maybe someday you will, but not right now, right now it’s enough for you to get through these next few minutes intact.

“I don’t know why this is so hard, but it is, but I um I like you too,” you say slowly, enunciating those last four words so he knows this time you don’t mean it in a just friends kind of way. “I… I um I think I have for a while now?” Your eyebrows knit together and you give a quick shake of your head no because that didn’t come out right and you want to make another joke about your lack of skills when it comes to this, but he swoops in and saves you.

The smile that creeps onto his face is slow and he’s trying to fight it because there’s something a little cute and maybe a tiny bit sadistic about making you stand in front of him as you struggle to get your feelings out in the open. Seconds tick by and his smile grows larger and you swear the beauty and brightness of it could light up and power the whole city.

“You really struggled there for a bit. Was talking to me about that so hard now?”

Your shoulders relax and you let out a shaky breath that turns into a hopeful laugh. The truth is it was hard, but you’re better for having been honest.

“It really was.” You glance down at your arms and point to an invisible spot. “See? I think I’m breaking out in hives because you made me talk about my feelings. Don’t you feel an ounce of guilt, Musnon?”

Eddie snorts and you swear it’s almost as beautiful as his smile. Things seem to slowly go back to the way they were and always have been with both of you joking and unable to keep straight faces.

Lifting your gaze up to his you gasp at the intensity that’s reflected back at you.

As if you’re both operating on the same wavelength or maybe just because he seems to always know what you’re thinking he murmurs softly, “You did good, princess, but we don’t have to talk about this anymore tonight.”

Your confusion grows at what he means and for a second your heart plummets to your stomach thinking that means that whatever is going on between you is over before it even really got started, but his hand cups your jaw, his rings which have always been cool against your skin whenever he touches you are even warm from the weather.

His eyes search yours, head tilts to the side slightly and when you lick your lips he takes the plunge and presses his mouth to yours.

The kiss says everything you aren’t able to say out loud and so much more.

It’s full of longing and wanting, deep desire finally being allowed to bubble up to the surface, it’s a kiss full of promises and a future together. And unlike all the previous kisses that happened during the spur of the moment and on holidays and as thank yous and because of good news this one is because you’re both desperate to physically show how much you like each other.

This is the kiss that matters.

Your eyes flutter shut and you reach forward, fingers twisting tight around his shirt you step to close the gap of space left between your bodies. His hands fall to your hips, to pull you flush against him and when you sigh into his mouth he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

His tongue glides along your lower lip before slipping into your mouth and it’s a little foreign, a little different, but you have to admit that you like it. He tastes like chocolate ice cream and you decide at this moment it’s now your favorite flavor. Another soft moan escapes your lips and Eddie groans, fingers digging into your hips. He only breaks the kiss when the need to breathe overwhelms you both.

His forehead rests against yours and you both pant, hot breath mixing together and it takes you longer than it should for your eyes to open and refocus back on him.

“Wow,” you whisper softly and it earns you a throaty chuckle from him.

“Good to know that’s all it takes to make you speechless.”

“Where did you learn to kiss like that? Have you been kissing other women?” You mean for it to come out as a joke, but you fear there’s a possessiveness that lingers in your tone.

If he notices he doesn’t say a thing. “Learned it all from your mom.”

“Eddie!” you snap, slapping his chest and stepping out of his embrace. You dip your head down to hide your growing smile, but he catches it.

“Oh, so you can make jokes about making out with my uncle, but I can’t make jokes about making out with your mom? Noted.”

“You are insufferable and I’m beginning to question why I even like you so much.”

He draws you in for another kiss, this one just as toe curling and breathtaking as the last one, but far shorter much to your disappointment. “Shut up,” he mutters before giving you another quick kiss.

Now that your feelings are out in the open it’s impossible to keep your lips off one another. Not that either of you are complaining.

“Now what?” he asks once he pulls away again.

There’s a hundred different ways to answer that, multiple things you need to discuss about your future and where you go from here, but all of that can wait you think. Right now you just want to bask in this moment.

“Now? Now I think you owe me another ice cream since you ruined my last one before we go on our first date.”

“A first date, huh? You mean making out in the parking lot doesn’t count as a date?”

You let out a playful scoff and slip your hand into his “No. Just what kind of girl do you think I am that I’d consider that a date?”

“The kind who likes me,” he sing-songs.

The sounds of your giggles and his deep laughter penetrate the air once again as you both head back towards Dairy Queen to get another ice cream and this time napkins. There’s a lightness to both your steps and as you talk more seriously about plans for a first official first date you realize that talking about your feelings can be scary, but sometimes, during those conversations beautiful things can happen in the aftermath.

Tag list;

@gaysludge

@eddiesguitarskills

@michaelfuckinglangdon

@daisyridleyyyy

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #my writing

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pearlsoflongago · 1 month

Text

Looking into the Garden

Life and Love

Geraniums by Childe Hassam

Portrait by a Neighbour

Before she has her floor swept Or her dishes done, Any day you’ll find her A-sunning in the sun!

It’s long after midnight Her key’s in the lock, And you never see her chimney smoke Till past ten o’clock!

She digs in her garden With a shovel and a spoon, She weeds her lazy lettuce By the light of the moon.

She walks up the walk Like a woman in a dream, She forgets she borrowed butter And pays you back cream!

Her lawn looks like a meadow, And if she mows the place She leaves the clover standing And the Queen Anne’s lace!

—Edna St. Vincent Millay

Paysage au Bord du Lez by Frederic Bazille

Heartsease Country

TO ISABEL SWINBURNE

The far green westward heavens are bland, The far green Wiltshire downs are clear As these deep meadows hard at hand: The sight knows hardly far from near, Nor morning joy from evening cheer. In cottage garden-plots their bees Find many a fervent flower to seize And strain and drain the heart away From ripe sweet-williams and sweet-peas At every turn on every way.

But gladliest seems one flower to expand Its whole sweet heart all round us here; ’Tis Heartsease Country, Pansy Land. Nor sounds nor savours harsh and drear Where engines yell and halt and veer Can vex the sense of him who sees One flower-plot midway, that for trees Has poles, and sheds all grimed or grey For bowers like those that take the breeze At every turn on every way.

Content even there they smile and stand, Sweet thought’s heart-easing flowers, nor fear, With reek and roaring steam though fanned, Nor shrink nor perish as they peer. The heart’s eye holds not those more dear That glow between the lanes and leas Where’er the homeliest hand may please To bid them blossom as they may Where light approves and wind agrees At every turn on every way.

Sister, the word of winds and seas Endures not as the word of these Your wayside flowers whose breath would say How hearts that love may find heart’s ease At every turn on every way.

—Charles Algernon Swinburne

Picking Flowers by Auguste Renoir

The Flower's Name

Here's the garden she walked across, Arm in my arm, such a short while since: Hark, now I push its wicket, the moss Hinders the hinges and makes them wince! She must have reached this shrub ere she turned, As back with that murmur the wicket swung; For she laid the poor snail, my chance foot spurned, To feed and forget it the leaves among. Down this side of the gravel-walk She went while her robe's edge brushed the box: And here she paused in her gracious talk To point me a moth on the milk-white phlox. Roses, ranged in valiant row, I will never think that she passed you by! She loves you, noble roses, I know; But yonder, see, where the rock-plants lie! This flower she stopped at, finger on lip, Stooped over, in doubt, as settling its claim; Till she gave me, with pride to make no slip, Its soft meandering Spanish name: What a name! Was it love or praise? Speech half-asleep or song half-awake? I must learn Spanish, one of these days, Only for that slow sweet name's sake. Roses, if I live and do well, I may bring her, one of these days, To fix you fast with as fine a spell, Fit you each with his Spanish phrase; But do not detain me now; for she lingers There, like sunshine over the ground, And ever I see her soft white fingers Searching after the bud she found. Flower, you Spaniard, look that you grow not, Stay as you are and be loved forever! Bud, if I kiss you 't is that you blow not, Mind, the shut pink mouth opens never! For while it pouts, her fingers wrestle, Twinkling the audacious leaves between, Till round they turn and down they nestle— Is not the dear mark still to be seen? Where I find her not, beauties vanish; Whither I follow her, beauties flee; Is there no method to tell her in Spanish June 's twice June since she breathed it with me? Come, bud, show me the least of her traces, Treasure my lady's lightest footfall! —Ah, you may flout and turn up your faces— Roses, you are not so fair after all!

—Robert Browning

Still Life with Flowers by Edouard Manet

#literature #poetry #dark academia #light academia #classic #inspiration #books & libraries #classic academia #pierre auguste renoir #childe hassam #algernon charles swinburne #edna st vincent millay #robert browning #edouard manet #frederic bazille

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mortemersgf · 8 months

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Hi I don't know if I'm characterizing Beckett correctly but he seems like someone who would be really soft with his partner and would show a sweet side that others typically don't see right?

What if you wrote a fic where he's cuddling or just spending some sweet time with a partner (is female! reader okay?) and they get interrupted by the rest of the Pend Pals that are surprised?

Thanks!

The warm August weather sends a soft breeze filtering through the windows, gently rustling the curtains. In the distance, you hear Aster shrieking with delight as Zeph yells, “Cannonball!” Shreya screeches for Atlas to ‘get away from her’ while Griffin laughs uncontrollably, endeared by the sight of his friends letting loose and having fun.

Vacations at Shreya’s lake house are always filled with raucous laughter and endless shenanigans, most of which you would participate in on regular bases. It might be the blazing sun or the food you ate this morning, but a pesky headache has rendered you rather sick and unable to join in on the fun. Instead, you’re curled up on the velvet sofa, resting your head on Beckett’s chest. Being the darling boyfriend that he is, he refuses to leave your side, wanting to make sure you’re taken care of.

You wish you had more energy, but the heat and the pain leave you disjointed and unable to cast a Blood magick spell to take the headache away. You simply lay there in Beckett’s arms, letting him stroke your hair and your back.

His touch is soothing and light, and despite the fact that it’s only five in the evening, you find yourself growing drowsy. It doesn’t help that he’s speaking in that saccharine tone to distract you from the irksome throbbing in your head. Beckett has a soothing voice in general, one that’s able to induce sleep in you within minutes.

He’s speaking about some recent advancements made in portal magick, and you hum absentmindedly, groaning as you shift to get some blood circulating in your arm that’s fallen asleep.

“Sure you don’t wanna go take a swim?” you mumble, glancing up at him.

“I’m quite sure, my love,” he says, “I want to spend what little alone time we have together.”

“Even if it includes cuddling with your sick girlfriend?”

“You say that as if I would ever turn down the opportunity to be with you, indisposed or not.”

You laugh, charmed by his comment. “Well, if you’re certain… c’mere, gimme a kiss.”

He tilts your head up, cupping your cheek with one hand to meet you in a sweet kiss. Satisfied, you settle back into your original position, murmuring, “Keep talking about portal magick.”

An hour passes by like this, your limbs tangled, laughter on your lips. By the time the sun sets, you’re asleep.

The rest of Pend Pals pad into the living room, still giddy from spending the day on the lake. Beckett pins them with a death glare and a finger to the lips, and they halt at the sight. A beat of silence passes between them.

Beckett grows pink. Aster coos quietly while Atlas pushes past everyone to get to her room, making an exaggerated face of disgust as she passes by. Zeph and Shreya hold back giggles, and no doubt a slew of teasing comments, as Griffin smiles fondly.

Moments later, they all disperse to prepare dinner. Atlas reemerges from her room with a blanket and tosses it at Beckett wordlessly, gliding away to pester Aster for scraps of food. Beckett straightens out the blanket and settles it atop you, brushing your hair to coax you back to sleep as you mumble incoherently.

The sound of a camera click goes off. Beckett’s head snaps up. Shreya gives him a pointed look, smiling when she says, “What? You guys look adorable. I’ll send it to you.”

She’d better.

a/n: hii anon tysm for the cute request!! i had fun writing this one :3 you characterized beckett perfectly, he’s a big softie when it comes to his s/o!

taglist: @mm2305 @holystxne @simpforbeckett @itsjustwinter @theclassycandy @sylviefilms @bluebellot

#choices #playchoices #beckett harrington #the elementalists #choices beckett #beckett fanfic #choices the elementalists #choices stories you play #pixelberry #request

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sensitiveaangel · 1 year

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#murmurs in the august breeze

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coco-bean-1218 · 5 months

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Hello! How are you doing? What about a quick one with Claire × Roe using

Your 3rd option's number one: "i love this" "what?" "Us"

I feel it'll be a hell of a lot angsty soooo nothing better than some cute stuff for now lol

Hey! I’m doing pretty well, hope you are doing good too! Thank you for the ask!! 🫶

———

August, 1942

It had not been an easy day of training for the company. The heat in Georgia had been oppressive, surpassing all previous records and making the already challenging training even more grueling. Eugene and Claire were sitting under the shade of a tree and enjoying the tranquility of the late afternoon. The atmosphere was thick with humidity, and the gentle breeze provided some relief from the stifling heat.

"I don't know how you're so nonchalant about this heat, Gene. I'm dyin' over here," Claire said, her voice strained as she wiped sweat off her brow.

"I guess I'm just used to it,"' Eugene shrugged, "It's like being back home."

Eugene was born and raised in Louisiana, where summers are known for their scorching temperatures. He had become accustomed to the heat and humidity, and he found solace in the familiarity of it. Claire, on the other hand, being from the Midwest was not used to such intensity.

Eugene piped up again, "Could be worse. We could've just eaten spaghetti." These words brought a smile to his face, knowing that it would elicit a reaction from her.

Claire burst into laughter, thinking back to the horrid afternoon just a couple of weeks ago. "Oh, God," she said, still laughing, "don't remind me."

Their laughter echoed in the air. The bond between them had grown stronger with each passing day. They supported each other through thick and thin. It was a rare sight to see them apart, as they had found solace in each other's presence.

Eugene couldn't help but smile at Claire, a radiant smile that reflected the depth of his feelings. "I love this," he murmured, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.

"What?" Claire asked, momentarily distracted by the infectious laughter.

"Us," Eugene clarified, his voice filled with tenderness. "And the very fact that we can just talk about anything, share our deepest thoughts, or sit in silence and enjoy each other's company without any pressure or expectations."

#wbwnmh #well behaved women never make history #band of brothers #band of brothers oc #ask game

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annawayne · 8 months

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Interlude, on the edge of horizons

The insert of a legend behind the Luminous Tides Festival from My Yellow Light In Your Soft Whispers

There was a time, many moons ago, there was an island, which name was lost to the winds of centuries, but history doesn’t know no time - its origin goes beyond the past and the future. It’s the moment, a day of mystery and reverence, when the veil of two opposite worlds thinned into the harmony of whispered secrets carried by almighty waters and the warm murmurs of the wisdom of the sacred fire.

There was a time, when the nights were long and charcoal dark, with no light above, on the enchanting shore, covered by myriads of grunted stars, there were two lovers, Árni and Elin, whose hearts were intertwined like the roots of the ancient trees surrounding their island home.

Árni wore the sea in his eyes, the son of the tempest and the foam, his lungs breathed with the salty breeze and his smile was like the shining tides. Elin was the fire herself, her blood - the ardent lava, her hair - amber silk, in her heart - smoldering coals playing with matches, and her gentle touch tamed the wildest of flames.

He secured the island from the invaders, and she- illuminated the night skies with her torches like dancing stars. Two opposites from the rival clans, The Son of the Sea, and the Daughter of Flames, their bodies wore the strength of two opposites elements, the centuries of the boundaries between feuding families, and even they couldn't feel each other without devouring the other with their contrasting power… but their love bloomed against all odds.

In secret, in the most secluded corners of the island, in the shadows of towering mountains, on the edge where the earth and sky seemed to kiss, they met under the cascading whisper of the waterfall, amidst the mesmerizing dance of fireflies. And even without touching, a breath away from each other, they loved each other madly, cherishing every stolen embrace in their gazes, every phantom kiss in their eyes.

Years passed by, and their love grew so deep that it seemed to defy the very laws of nature, and one day they decided to find a way to overcome the boundary that kept them apart. They sought the counsel of an elderly woman, that lived deep, deep in the mountains, rumored to be carrying in her heart the knowledge from the ancient times. And with eyes that sparkled with the wise of generations, the woman immediately saw the true essence of their love, as she shared the prophecy: “On the day of August, when the passage of time is on the edge, during the longest night of the year, you had to jump over a roaring bonfire without unclasping your hands, and immediately leap into the sea. Only this way you will overcome the boundary and your love will be eternal.”

“But we couldn’t touch each other,” Elin whispered, her golden eyes sparked with concern.

“We will kill each other this way,” Árni spoke, the storm in his voice.

“You already challenged the gods and nature with your love,” the wise soul said. “So do it and find out what will happen.”

As the day of August dawned and the night fell upon the hills of their home, the islanders gathered around the bonfire, celebrating the harvest. The cheerful roars cut the air, the sea vibrated with joyful laughs and playful dances, the footsteps ornate on the sand created a difficult pattern of their happiness, and the music rang with the playful sparks of fire. And amid this joy, two pounding hearts stood before the bonfire.

Árni and Elin looked into each other eyes, the sea colliding with the fire. A little nod followed, and for the first time in decades, their hands clasped and they ran. Ran, and her fire started to fade, ran, and his sea began to boil, ran, ran, ran, but their hands intertwined in a grip worth the world to crumble, but they kept running. Just before the final seconds before each of them would kill the other, they leaped over the roaring flames and plunged into the water’s embrace.

Suddenly, they felt like, behind them, the spark from the bonfire rushed towards the sea, flying under the surface like the millions of fireflies that were the only witness of their love, and then soared high into the night sky like shooting stars, molding into a whole universe of glittering celestial bodies.

Árni and Elin, still holding each other, stood with their heads upwards, watching like the ever-obsidian sky devoid of stars, was now ablaze with radiant lights, the soft kiss of the sea enveloping their legs in a gentle touch. And they realized - something changed.

They were no longer the son of the Sea and the daughter of the Flames, but just humans, with beating hearts, that could pulsate with the rhythm of love only human beings could possess.

They became mortal, limited in their essence, but they gained something that surpasses time and space, something that could challenge nature itself.

An eternal love.

Their island, once divided, was now united under the night sky adorned with the stars that shone as bright as the love that defied all odds and fought all obstacles to be together, forever more.

Even with the hearts destined to stop one day, their love had never known so much freedom as from that day in August, when the longest night of the year erased the horizon between the worlds.

#my yellow light in your soft whispers #visual inspiration #my wriring #aruani fic #aruani fanfiction #aruani fanfic #aruani ao3 #aruani

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allysdelta · 1 month

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A pair of OCs I've made for a Good Omens RP group, loosely based on WoW toons that I hauled out of hibernation. Shariv (demon) and Iormiel (angel) work out of Los Angeles, and have something of a belligerent sibling relationship.

Echo Park Lake in Los Angeles, August 2008

“So, Hell’s finally done it, then?” Iormiel smoothed down the front of her skirt one-handed as the wind kicked up and stirred the palm trees above. In the semidesert heat, the wind brought only scant relief, but she took no notice of the relentless sunlight blanketing the city.

“Yeah.” Shariv leaned against the boathouse wall, her eyebrows pushed together in the same grimace she’d been wearing since she arrived. “Handed it off to the London agent last night. Poor bastard, I don’t envy him one bit. You gonna finish that?”

Caught off guard, Iormiel squinted at her, then at the half-eaten sandwich in her other hand, and handed it over. “They’re entrusting the Antichrist to the Serpent of Eden?”

“Crowley, yeah,” Shariv said around a mouthful of egg salad and arugula on brioche. “Got a mind like a steel trap, that one, but I guess that wasn’t enough to help him slither out. Now it’s gonna get Biblical.” She sighed and stared up at the cloudless California sky. “Or it will in a few years, anyway. I’m gonna miss this.”

“The peacetime?” said Iormiel. With a wide swing of the arm holding the sandwich, Shariv gestured at the park surrounding them and the concrete-rimmed lake that took up most of it. A nearby pair of Canada geese stared at her warily.

“This city. This lake. The fountains. The swan boats. The – the lotuses.”

“The lotuses died off.”

“You know what I mean!” Shoving herself away from the grimy wall, Shariv crumpled up the empty wrapper and let it fall from her fingers. Iormiel glared at her and gestured briskly, and a sudden breeze carried the wrapper neatly into the nearby trash can. “I was beginning to really like it here. Earth’s got character, you know? Spice. You know it does, Iormi. Even you can’t spin-doctor that one.”

“I do admit,” said Iormiel carefully, “that it’s far more interesting than Heaven ever was. But there’s nothing we can do about it. Assuming that you were somehow implying that someone ought to stop it,” she added pointedly. “Which I’m certain you weren’t.” She sighed and turned toward the concrete path that bordered the lake.

“If there is a way, I sure don’t know what,” Shariv said morosely, beginning to follow but distancing herself by a few paces. They walked in silence for a while, while pigeons fluttered and fussed around their feet and sparrows darted through the stifling August air. Halfway to the bridge, Shariv spoke up again. “You think we’ll have to fight each other? When Armageddon is here?”

“Possibly.” Iormiel’s shoulders tensed, then drooped. “I don’t like to think of it, but I suppose it could happen. We can’t go against head office, after all. And they’re going to be mad enough that I haven’t been keeping up my skills. I’m not even sure I remember how to hold a spear anymore, let alone use it.”

“I’d really hate to have to fight you,” Shariv said softly. “I know we did in the past, but that was for show, and we let each other escape each time. But to have to fight you for real…” She trailed off uncomfortably, coming to a stop in the middle of the path. “I liked being an angel, you know? Before I fell.”

“I know,” Iormiel murmured. The sunlight glittered on the lake’s waters and lit her dark hair with a golden shine. “I know.”

#Aly tries to art #Good Omens OC #tangentially related: I love this lake #And the lotuses are actually back now!#Aly tries to write

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nine-blogs-in-a-trenchcoat · 2 years

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There’s something about summer that makes things feel like they’re going to last forever.

Albus looked over his shoulder, and there on the ground beside him laid what could last forever — a dark haired boy with dark eyes and dark ideas. Gellert was as dangerous as he was beautiful.

Rainstorm eyes flicked up to meet Albus’s, and for a second there was the silence of getting lost in another world. He and Gellert were swept up into the clouds and carried away into a place where no one could find them, carried away to somewhere untouched by the human dangers of time. Here, hidden and safe, nothing was transient.

“Why must you look at me like that?” Gellert murmured, breaking away and pulling the two young men back down into reality.

“I don’t look at you like anything,” Albus said sheepishly. “I just- well, I just look at you.”

Gellert laughed, an unusual, tinkling sound that filled Albus up until it reached his stomach and collected into warmth. “You say that, but no one’s ever looked at me quite the way you do.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yes, love,” he said, tucking his head with a wry sort of undertone. “So open — like a little fawn.”

“Oh,” Albus said again, and felt intelligent. “Right.”

“Quite right,” Gellert whispered.

The sky was warm and rosy, and the air chill (yet not the only thing sending shivers up and down the pair’s arms). A gentle breeze slipped past like the last sigh of August sinking into sleep, and it felt as if they’d never leave.

All was well, and well they believed it would stay.

(part of a fic i'm working on titled "for reasons wretched and divine" :) it's on ao3 if anybody wants to check it out <3)

#grindeldore #my writing #gay babies please don't be sad #ily #gellert grindelwald x albus dumbledore

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hajimeiwaswife · 2 years

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AUGUST | CHAPTER 5: CUFFLINKS

[Masterlist]

Chapter 4 Chapter 6

Summary: You’re marrying Izuku Midoriya in September, but he gets an emergency call from All Might’s old agency in the U.S., requesting his services for the entirety of August. A death threat directed at you for being his partner has his hair on edge. However, the always responsible, caring and heroic Shoto Todoroki comes to your rescue, offering to take care of you for the whole month. Who would have thought that 31 days were enough to make you reconsider your engagement with the number 1 hero and fall in love with the Icy Hot man who held your hand during the last breeze of summer?

Warnings: Everyone is 25 more or less, death threats, manga spoilers, 1st person pov.

Wc: 3,4K

Playlist

"L/n, wake up." the desk of my Unicorn secretary said, moving from side to side like dancing, "L/n!"

"I'm working, Vanessa." I replied, painting with crayons the silhouette of Hawks and, suddenly, getting out of the lines while colouring his wings, "Thanks, Vanessa! I ruined the portrait!"

"L/n! Wake up, c'mon."

"What an annoying desk. Guards! Send her to the bonfire!"

"Y/N L/N, COME TO CHECKOUT, PLEASE!"

"Oh my God! Work!" I woke up startled, looking around and finding a very Japanese traditional room and a pair of blue and gray eyes staring at me.

"Not work, but you wouldn't wake up. You have such a deep sleep." Shoto said, standing up from the floor and nearing the door. My mind was still trying to process both reality and the strange dream, "We're going to the mall to get you some clothes and things you need, get ready."

"So I'm not working at a supermarket." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and then stretching my arms.

"No, you aren't." the man snorted, shaking his head in amusement, "C'mon, get dressed."

He walked out of the room and I noticed he was already dressed. He seemed to be wearing jeans and a white t-shirt, but I didn't get to fixate on it more. I did as told, I took one of the only shirts and a pair of trousers that could be saved from the night before, bringing me anxiety once again, and realized why I needed to buy clothes, my mind at last awake.

I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself and putting the clothes on, knowing an anxiety attack wasn't going to do any good; but the knot at my chest and my erratic heart didn't want to listen to my brain, going their own way. On the one hand I was broken hearted for the makeup I couldn’t save; on the other hand, I was glad as I definitely didn't have the pulse to do my eyeliner.

I could smell something sweet in the air, probably Shoto was cooking breakfast; my stomach rowed as I hadn't had anything to eat for hours, the last thing I consumed was alcohol. So, when I was ready, I followed the scent of coffee to what I supposed would be the kitchen.

Not wanting to pry, I tried not to look into the rooms too much, as the doors were open. But the Japanese style room I was passing was too tempting to look away, finding a decoration very similar to the room I was staying at, but with a couple of posters of All Might, a graduation photograph of class A, some photos of him with Izuku, Bakugo, Iida and some classmates.

What caught my attention was a picture of him with other four white haired people, but my sight wasn't that good for me to see from where I was. Stopping myself before being nosier, I resumed walking towards the kitchen.

There I saw Shoto, standing at the counter and pouring some milk in one of the cups, aware I was there because he turned around and observed me, as if waiting for me to say something.

"Good morning." I broke the silence, approaching him to see if there was anything I could do to help.

"Hm." he murmured, "How do you like your coffee?"

"With milk, no sugar." I replied and he nodded, proceeding to prepare my cup. "What do I do?"

"Sit down," he said without looking at me.

"But-"

"There's nothing else to do, don't worry." I felt bad for being late to help, feeling uncomfortable while he placed the mug on my side of the table. The moment I took the object between my freezing hands, I drank the liquid as if it was my lifeline, "Don't rush, either."

I didn't feel like eating anything, my stomach seemed to be as closed as the legs of a nun and no food on the table was able to make me feel hungry. Shoto, on his side, was gracefully munching on some rice with an indifferent look on his face, acting as if nothing happened last night and as if having me there for breakfast was every day’s bread.

Clothes, new belongings for the apartment, a gift for Shoto, makeup… I definitely would need to list everything that I needed to buy. But then again, if my place wasn’t clean, there was no point in buying new furniture until it was safe for me to return to clean it up a bit. And thinking about my apartment, what happened to it in the end? Who did it? Why?

“Shoto.” I called to him, breaking the silence between the two of us. He stopped the motion of bringing his chopsticks to his mouth mid air and looked at me expectantly, eyes curious as ever. “Has the police updated you on anything?”

He pressed his lips on a thin line and put down the utensils, he depressed his lips with a ‘pop’ sound and swallowed before looking back at me with a serious stare. His deep ocean and rainy eyes provoked a wave of chills to go down my spine, a nervous tick appeared on my leg which bounced up and down in an incessant jump-like motion. Then, he opened his mouth to speak. “Yes.”

I waited for him to say something more, my leg starting to hurt from the hardness of the movement and my nails sinking into my poor thigh, victim of my anxiety. “And?” I asked when it became clear he had finished whatever he wanted to say.

“The liquid was cow blood.” Shoto said before picking his chopsticks once again and chewing on some rice, though the situation had a slight, very imperceptible change of atmosphere: the elephant in the room had been addressed.

I mouthed a couple of times, blinking incessantly at the lack of qualms Shoto said it with. Cow blood? Like, in the sense of someone bleeding dry a poor cow and dropping its crimson blood around my house? I could feel the bile slithering up my throat in a very threatening way.

I felt eerie, almost grim while Shoto just had breakfast. Was he not aware of the reality? He took some seconds to prepare himself before blowing the news on me, but then he just kept going as if the information was as trivial as talking about the weather. He noticed, because suddenly his innocent glare stopped on my still shocked expression. He gulped the rice in his mouth and lifted his brows, tilting his head to the left. “Is something the matter?”

“I beg your pardon?” was all I could utter.

“You’re staring.” He said plainly.

“I mean, you just said my apartment was full of an animal’s blood.”

“A cow’s.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I murmured, clicking my tongue in annoyance and I told him off with my hands with a left to right motion. “I know. But, well, and what else? Why?”

“I don’t know anything else, that’s what Tsukauchi told me.” Seeing the bewilderment on my face made him sigh, “I wish I knew more, L/n, I wish whoever is after you was behind bars, but that’s all I’ve been filled in with.” I sighed, too, and nodded, then I took a sip of my coffee.

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence, not really having anything to say to each other and too worried with our own problems. I wondered how much time would I need to spend in his house.

The shopping centre was full of people, on a Saturday morning. Families making the most of their days off, adult couples strolling among the endless stores piled in lockstep, children running under the risk of getting pushed by those who didn’t see them even if they were screaming to the top of their lungs. I wasn’t a fan of crowds myself, but it was nice seeing such domesticity, simple life happening around me as if everything was back to what it used to be the night before.

Shoto walked by my side, accompanying me to the shops I needed to visit in order to get new clothes, for both Izuku and me. A couple of dresses here, a nice pair of trousers for my fiancé there, a cute All Might pajamas Izuku would love, some sneakers for the comfort of my feet who were struggling in the tightness of the party heels… Look at that! What a nice suit for Izuku to wear, golden cuff links with an emerald embed into it.

“Was his wedding suit ruined, too?” Shoto asked, ashen.

“No, luckily our wedding gowns were at my parents’ house.” I replied with relief and saw him relaxed, “I was just thinking that Izuku would look nice in this, that’s all.”

“Hmm.” The pro hero placed his hand on his chin and observed the pair of cufflinks, too. “I can see him wearing those.”

“You like them?” I asked happily, and when he nodded, I applauded like an excited child. “Great! I’m getting those, and maybe the suit, too.”

“Shouldn’t you be buying more clothes for yourself, though?” Shoto interrupted before I could enter the store. I turned around to look at him, confused. “You’re buying mostly for Midoriya, but you need things, too.”

“This is the last thing for him, I promise!” I exclaimed and left him outside the store, going straight to the cuff link section.

The golden with emeralds cuff links were the first ones I took, rounded and perfect for any suit my buff fiancé would wear. They would match with his hair and eyes, and I couldn’t wait to see Izuku with them on his sleeves.

As I was twisting towards the suit I wanted, a silver pair of rhombus shaped cufflinks caught my attention. Placed at the corner of the vitrine, they shined in an ethereal light covering the glass with a small glitter. Embed on them there were two lapis lazuli, giving the silver and diamond like jewelry a nobility subtone. They reminded me of Shoto’s eyes, gray and blue, an unapproachable aura surrounding them, but classy and gentle at the same time. I picked them, too, knowing well they would be the gift I had planned the night before to give him as a ‘thank you’.

Smiling to myself, I took the suit and both pairs of cufflinks and paid for them. “Could these ones be gift wrapped?” I asked the shop assistant at the counter, who just smiled and nodded, wrapping the silver objects in a delicate black and red silk paper.

I was coming out of the shop with a lifted spirit and bag in hand when I saw a circle of young people surrounding what seemed to be a very busy Shoto, looking stoic and taking pictures as mobile phones kept showing off in his face. I stopped to observe, laughing at the awkward poses the pro hero did trying to look amicable.

He saw me, he had just twirled around to talk to the fans at his back and our gazes intertwined in a second of infinity. I greeted him with my left hand and lifted my right to show him I was already finished with my business at the store. He blinked twice and turned to his fans to excuse himself so he could come to me.

It was in that moment that the crowd noticed me, asking very impertinent and nosy questions towards Shoto, who just kept going straight to me and grabbed my forearm, directing the both of us far away from the youngsters, zigzagging between the massive flowerpots containing plastic plants, hiding behind them and entering a random store in the most suspicious way the both of us could think of.

Shoto let go of my arm and stayed pressed on my back, covering me from the entrance so nobody could see me even if they stretched their necks as giraffes. It was then when I became aware of my surroundings: a lingerie shop. Well, every cloud has a silver lining; I could use some new underwear if we take into account that a psychopath had turned mine into the perfect representation of bathing panties on your monthly period blood.

“Oh, ah, do you want to… buy something here?” Shoto asked in a strangled voice. I turned to look at him and I saw a very subtle blush on his cheeks and the top of his ears. How cute.

“Yep. Not only underwear, actually.” I started, a Machiavellian plan in my mind forming at the sight of such an embarrassed number 3 pro hero, “Do you see that harness? I need it with capital N. Izuku has this manhandling and breast-feeding kink and it would come in han—”

“I’ll wait for you outside.” Shoto rushed in his words, sprinting out of the store with my laugh as the soundtrack of his escape. I did buy lingerie apart from the necessary items, though, as I wanted to have something nice for the honeymoon.

Walking around the mall with my arms filled with bags, I started to feel hungry. “Do you want something to eat?” I asked Shoto, who was looking at a pair of sneakers in the glass of a shoe shop.

“Hmm.” He nodded, “Take whatever you want, I’m okay with anything. However, we won’t be eating here.”

“Huh?” Shoto gave me a glance that indicated a super mysterious and confidential information. A bit lost, I thought about what he could be meaning, until I realized he was talking about having lunch at his house. “Oh! Oh, fine.”

He just smirked a little and accompanied me to a little food stall next to us, where I started ordering our lunch. I felt Shoto move away from me at the sound of his mobile phone, but I knew he was probably still near enough to keep me in his sight.

The man at the stall was the nicest, having a small talk with me while preparing what I had ordered. We kept at it until he handed me the bag with the food and drinks inside, “I hope you and your boyfriend enjoy it!”

I was about to agree, smiling warmly at the kind man until the words registered in my brain. “Wha—No! No, he’s not my boyfriend! He’s a… friend?” I cringed.

“I see,” the man laughed it off, “first date, isn’t it? Well, I hope it goes smoothly, then.”

I didn’t have the heart to deny it, so I just nodded and continued smiling, “Thank you. And thank you for the food!”

I approached Shoto again, who was still on the phone on the corner to the left, back pressed against the wall and right arm crossed over his chest while his left was keeping the phone on his ear. Casual pose and, at the same time, very hero-like.

He noticed I was getting near and, with an almost whispered “keep me informed” he hung up. I lifted a brow, a small smirk playing at the corners of my mouth and the conversation with the stall seller completely wiped out of my mind, I asked, “Was that your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have one.” He replied honestly, and I snorted. “It was Tsukauchi.”

My heart skipped a bit, suspended in a thread of uncertainty and climbing up my throat. “What… what did he say?”

Shoto caught up with my tone and sighed through his nose, “Whoever broke into your apartment knew what he was doing, there are no traces, no clues, absolutely nothing.” He murmured, he passed a hand through his hair, messing it a little and mixing red with white, and then he groaned. “I promise we’ll get them; no one commits a perfect crime.”

I was sure Shoto was a good hero, one of the best ones, but even that couldn’t comfort me. Someone was out there wanting to hurt me at any expense and neither the police nor the heroes had relevant information. Bile went up my throat, thread already broken and loosen to make a path for the little breakfast I had that morning.

“Hey, you’re safe with me, okay? Breathe.” Shoto said and put one of his giant hands on my shoulder, squishing it a bit as a reassurance.

I wanted to nod, to say I agreed, to accept it, but I couldn’t. God, I had just been shopping as if my life wasn’t threatened in the first place and now is when the panic surfaces? What a lame and pathetic woman I am.

However, Shoto was unfaced. He could guess what I was going through, understand the incomprehensible, unfathomable train of thoughts I had been following the entire morning and he wasn’t judging, he comprehended it and acknowledged it. So he let me panic and process as much as I needed, directing me to his car.

He even buckled my seat belt and made sure I was comfortable. I just felt humiliated. Buying lingerie while the police and Shoto’s agency were looking for the son of a bitch who ruined my apartment.

“You can have a life, you know?” The pro hero said after a few minutes of complete silence inside his car, not even the radio was on, “Go out and have a little bit of normalcy even with all that has fallen over your shoulders. No one’s gonna blame you, so don’t blame yourself over it.”

“But—”

“No buts.” He interrupted me, rudely. “We’re gonna go to my house, eat the take out and have a normal day, alright?”

I could feel myself pouting, tears still staining my cheeks with a silver like light to them; but nonetheless, I nodded. That seemed to make him happy, as he just nodded too with an impetus that reminded me of those little puppies that look grumpy, but that they actually are the nicest ones.

And so we did, we set the table once we were in his house again, and ate in silence with the TV on. There was a very much stupid sit com airing, but the silly jokes actually made me giggle of how bad they were, so Shoto left it on. The food was delicious, so I thanked the stall man in my head.

For dessert we both had tea, Shoto insisted on it calming my nerves, and for the sake of it I just went with the flow. A nice, cold tea was the perfect weapon against a sweltering afternoon, and I did feel better after finishing it.

The man took both of our cups, looking straight at me to see how I was doing and went to do the dishes. But for me his eyes reminded me of something else. I stood up and ran to the guest bedroom, where all my shopping bags had been left, and searched for the gift I had bought for Shoto; he deserved it so much, today was another reminder of it.

When I returned with the black and red silk paper in my hands, a confused Shoto welcomed me into the living room. “Why were you running?” Then, his gaze shifted to my hands and his brows furrowed even more, “What’s that?”

“It’s for you!” I exclaimed, pushing my hands towards him and waiting patiently for him to take it.

“For me?” The pro hero finally took the paper from me, his eyes still confused, and opened it carefully. I was just there, swinging on my toes from back to front, nervous about what he would think. It was when he opened the black box that his eyes expressed surprise.

“And? What do you think? Do you like it?” I asked, coming nearer towards him to take a peek at the cuff links.

Shoto didn’t talk for a whole minute, analyzing the jewelry meticulously and taking one of the cuff links off the boss. The silver glistened in the light of the August sun, its light becoming of a warm colour in the traditional Japanese living room.

“You didn’t have to.” Was the first thing the man said, but not in his usually stoic and cold voice, but with a turbulent emotion shaking his vocal cords.

“I wanted to; you’re doing so much for me.” I confessed, and he looked at me almost moved. I had to blink a few times to check I wasn’t hallucinating.

He inspected the cuff link in his fingers again and, unexpectedly, he smiled warmly and approached me. “Thank you, Y/n.” he murmured, petting my head.

That moment, that very right moment, was the start of the end without either of us knowing it. 25 days of August were still left.

Tag list: @shoutocakie @kisskissshutmydoor @stxrrielle @motzgurke

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