#and I probably won’t try to publish it in any way

[oscargender]

Made some really good progress on my novella today!!

[hogwartsfirebolt]

the game’s the game

“What was going through your mind when you spotted the Snitch?”

Two camera shutters go off like lighting, but Draco doesn’t blink. It’s almost the end of the season, and he’s done a press conference every week. He’s used to them.

“Fucking finally,” he answers, and the journalists all laugh. They think he’s joking, and he can already imagine the articles they’ll publish tomorrow pronouncing him cheeky and funny, but he means it wholeheartedly. Six hours in the sky, drenched all the way through his pants in rainwater, and facing the very best player in the league? He had half a mind to jump off his broom if only to have the game end somehow.

“This is the second time you face PU and well, Harry Potter, this season,” says another reporter, a young, pretty woman with her hair pinned up and a reverent tone when she speaks Potter’s name. Like everyone. “Are you expecting to encounter him at this year’s Cup? And if so, how does that make you feel?”

Draco breathes out hard through his nose. Across the room from him, sitting at his own table against the wall opposite, Potter’s doing his own press conference. He’s wearing a hat backwards, the light blue of his team hoodie contrasting with his golden-warm skin tone. He has a hand to his chin, rubbing his short beard in thought at some question he’s being asked. Probably about just how sweet it had been to snatch that Snitch right from under Draco’s nose. He’s earnest and so gorgeous Draco can’t stand the sight of him.

“The game is the game,” Harry’s voice carries, clear and chesty, deeply masculine as he says his favorite little quote that means absolutely nothing and that fans have been yelling and tattooing on their bodies the whole season. “We don’t take any victory for granted. Coach has been running us to the ground, she won’t stop until we have that trophy in Puddlemere, and we’re doing our best to make her proud.”

“Oh, I’m certain we’ll face them at the Cup,” is what Draco answers at last. “Honestly? I think no other team comes even close. We’ll face them, and then we’ll bring the Cup home to Appleby. As Potter himself likes to say, the game is the game.”

All the cameras around him go off, the sound of Quick-Quills scrabbling and the reporters’ scandalized gasps at his use of Potter’s quote. He grins, puts his olive green Arrows cap on and stands to leave. He needs a fucking shower.

Later on, he’s sprawled on his hotel room couch, drying his hair with a towel and watching a replay of the game on the enormous television, making mental notes about his own flying, his mistakes, the times he dove too soon or hovered too low. When the screen follows the blue jersey with POTTER 7 emblazoned across the back, he looks closely, trying to spot mistakes but knowing he won’t find any. Potter’s probably the best flier of the century, and Draco loves Quidditch too much to lie to himself about that.

He’s admiring one of Potter’s physics-defying feints when there’s a knock on his door. Immediately, his heart takes up a gallop, and he has to press a hand to the center of his chest with a frown.

“Calm the fuck down, Malfoy,” he mutters. It’s a disproportionate reaction and he’s irritated with himself for it. It’s not as though it’s the first time. Or the tenth.

He pauses the game with a flick of his wand and makes his way to the door, through the archway that separates the TV room from the kitchenette. A quick look at the archway across the suite to make sure the bedroom is as he left it, and he’s at the door, taking a deep breath.

Potter’s grin is huge when Draco opens. He’s foregone all his team outwear, and is now in a familiar, worn leather jacket and a black sweater. His hair is wet, as though he rushed after his shower so he could get here quicker. Draco opens his mouth to say something, but before he figures out what, Harry pushes inside, turns around and presses him against the door, big hands gentle on Draco’s waist. Draco’s heart hasn’t gotten the “this isn’t the first or tenth time this happens,” memo, and is still running a marathon inside his chest, so he says nothing.

There’s a plastic bag in Potter’s hands. Dinner, probably, he usually brings dinner when they meet after a game. His wide smile reveals white teeth, a crooked canine that Draco knows is a baby tooth that never loosened. Round, stylish glasses cover the most intoxicating green eyes Draco has ever seen, and they’re shining with tonight’s victory. And Draco might be — definitely is — the world’s sorest loser, but he’s also the world’s biggest slut for Quidditch excellence, and he has it right here, holding him against his hotel room door.

“The game is the game?” Harry asks, amused, already leaning in, the hand on Draco’s waist moving to wrap the whole way around him and pull him close.

“Just some stupid phrase I’ve heard from a dickhead,” Draco answers, but the words hold the shape of a smile and are uttered right into a kiss there at the end.

It’s always a race at the start. They're both high from the game, still in that mindset, and it’s a competition to see who can undress quicker, who can make the other harder, who can earn the first moan and coax the first orgasm of the night. But after that first one, after Draco’s jaw aches dully and Potter is softening between his legs, everything slows down a little. Potter helps him up and they share the tacos Potter brought, watching the last minutes of the game they played earlier with Draco’s legs up on Potter’s lap, where he’s massaging his knees, his quads, making sure he’s not achy from kneeling for him.

“I really fucked that one up,” Potter comments. His tiny self on the screen just pulled out of an impossible dive at what looks like a 90 degree angle. He sounds earnest, which is the only reason Draco isn’t kicking him right in his beautiful face.

“I hate you so much. Only you would call that a fuck up.”

Potter hums, his massaging hands moving from Draco’s calf to his heel, his thumb pressing into his sole. On the screen, tiny Draco swerves a Bludger aimed to his head, and his teammate Owen is flying to him to make sure he’s alright.

“That guy is so into you,” Potter points out.

“I know. We fucked all through rookie year.”

Potter turns to look at him so fast it must hurt his neck. Draco raises an eyebrow, confused at the strong reaction.

“What?”

“I — I don’t know,” Potter says, suddenly sheepish. His hands haven’t stopped moving over Draco’s foot. Potter’s skin is dark, but Draco can still make out the blush spreading across his cheekbones. “Isn’t it weird? He’s a teammate.”

There’s something he’s not saying. It’s evident in the way he bites his bottom lip, in the way he obviously wants to look away but is too ridiculously brave to actually do it. Draco’s heart thumps inside his chest, so hard he’s sure it must be audible to Harry too.

They’ve never named this thing between them. The first time they did it, after the quarter finals one year before, with Potter’s ill advised kiss that ended with them fucking in the showers of the stadium after Potter had wiped the damn dust with Draco on the pitch, they agreed to keep it quiet, and that was the last they discussed of it. It’s going on fourteen months since then, and they’ve done it at least once a month, when the league brings them to nearby towns, and sometimes when it doesn’t and they take a quick midnight Portkey to each other to blow off some steam.

Draco had never in his life been as well-fucked as he’s been this past year, and he definitely doesn’t want to lose it. Potter’s always been honest and open with him, vocal in bed about how much he wants him, filthy in his occasional text messages when they’re apart, but he’s never given any indication that he wants anything other than exactly what they have.

“It’s not weird,” Draco says slowly, unsure of what to think of this exchange. “We stopped a while ago. I was clear that I didn’t want — that I’d rather we stayed friends and teammates, without any complications.”

“Right,” Potter says. He sounds relieved, and Draco feels like he’s three steps behind the conversation they’re having. He’s about to ask, but Potter’s fingers on his calf smooth over an old knot and he groans instead, letting his head fall back onto the couch cushion.

“That feels great,” he says, and Potter repeats the motion.

“Yeah. I think you pulled it when you made that X turn.”

The turn he made to try to beat him to the Snitch, he doesn’t say. How he had enough awareness to know Draco attempted it while diving for the Snitch himself is beyond comprehension, but Draco has long accepted that Potter is simply insane about the game. He notices everything, considers everything, takes every risk. If he weren’t a player himself, Draco knows he would be following Puddlemere and Harry wherever they played for the entire season, wearing a pale blue jersey with the number 7 on it.

“Probably,” Draco says, closing his eyes and groaning again when Harry keeps pressing the same point. After a moment, he feels something softer brushing his calf, and opens his eyes to find Harry bent over his leg, kissing a path up towards his knee. He can’t help the embarrassing little sound he makes, and Harry’s laugh is a puff against his skin as he keeps moving up, breath warm on the wet trail of his kisses up Draco’s thigh. In the background, the presenters are going crazy over a feint Harry pulled, the sound of the audience carrying all through the stadium and out of the TV speakers.

Harry has made his way high up and is kissing Draco’s birthmark, a brown, apple-sized beauty mark an inch below his groin when he lifts his head to ask, “Why didn’t you want to?”

Draco can’t believe he’s using his mouth to speak at that moment. He licks his lips, trying to make sense of the question.

“What? What are you even — ?” He tries to sit up a little, but Harry moves over him instead so they’re eye-level without Draco having to move at all.

“With Caddell. Why didn’t you want to keep seeing him?”

“Owen? Why the fuck are we talking about —,” Draco lets his head drop down onto the cushions again, a sigh punched out of him. Harry takes pity and leans forward to kiss him, lips soft over Draco’s, knowing exactly how to coax his kisses out of him the way he likes best.

“I just want to know,” Harry whispers against his lips. He’s breathless just from touching Draco, from rubbing his legs, from kissing him. Fuck, this is insane.

“I like him, but it wasn’t very exciting.” Draco says. He closes his eyes as Harry begins to kiss down his neck, and tries to really think about it, because he’s not even sure himself. “I wasn’t willing to risk our teamwork when what we had wasn’t even that … electric. I don’t know. This sounds insane.”

Harry shakes his head, his beard rubbing against Draco’s collarbone. “It doesn’t. I get it.” He bites on the delicate skin connecting neck and shoulder, licks a path down his chest. “I get electric.”

“Fuck yes you do,” Draco says, nonsensical, but he feels he can’t be blamed when Harry is brushing his lips over his nipples, broad hands moving around Draco’s body to secure a grip over his ass.

“Is this?” Harry asks, mouth nearing the V of Draco’s hips, the edge of the trail of hair leading to his crotch. “Electric?”

Draco swears, fingers running through Harry’s hair and finding a grip, hard. “If you don’t put your mouth on me right now I swear I — yes.”

He spreads his thighs to accommodate Harry between them, one hand gripping Harry’s hair and the other curled around the cushion over his head. It is electric, the way Harry knows exactly which buttons to push, sliding a finger inside him while keeping him on his tongue. He’s a prodigy in this too, the star player who knows every move in the playbook that is Draco’s body.

It feels like no time at all, no effort at all before Harry is pulling back, dragging Draco closer by the waist and working himself inside. The feel of it, the sound of them together, the look into Harry’s open gaze, his sweat dripping onto Draco’s chest and his hands underneath Draco’s back, holding him, pulling him onto him, have Draco nearing release almost too fast for his liking, but the night is young and it’s been so long that he lets himself go, a cord snapping in his core, eyes open as he watches Harry watch him come apart.

“Come on,” he says once he’s come down, lifting his hips, shifting his weight onto his shoulders. “Show me what you got, Potter.”

Harry groans and leans forward, kisses Draco’s jaw and his neck, and drives his hips faster. Draco wraps his arms around Harry’s back, moves with him as much as he can in the tight embrace, and remains close as Harry meets his own peak and tumbles down the edge.

They lie together for a couple minutes afterwards, panting into each other’s skins, basking in the afterglow.

“Some pro-athletes. We have the stamina of two eighteen year old virgins,” Draco mutters into Harry’s hair after a while, and feels Harry’s chest rumble with his laughter. The room is cast in the warm glow of the foot-lamp that stands beside the sofa they just fucked in, exactly like two eighteen year old virgins having the chance to touch for the first time in their lives.

Harry always goes boneless and slow after a good lay, so Draco eases him off his body with tenderness, a gentle hand to Harry’s chest, followed by a kiss.

“Let's go to bed, yeah?” He whispers.

Harry groans. “I don’t want to move.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed. Some idiot drove me to the ground on the pitch today.”

He stands up and shakes out his legs, testing the soreness of his muscles. There’ll be an ache tomorrow, but nothing he can’t handle.

Despite his complaint, Harry is already standing up too, coming up behind Draco, a hand finding its way to the flat of his belly, his forehead on Draco’s shoulder as though he can’t bear not to touch him for even a second.

“Bed it is,” he declares against the skin of Draco’s shoulder, sounding halfway asleep already. Draco huffs a laugh and pulls him towards the bedroom, pausing at the kitchenette to grab two glasses of water that he watches Harry drink in three gulps, a couple drops sliding down the sides of his mouth, into his beard and down his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“What?” He asks when he catches Draco watching him, and Draco shakes his head and pulls him to bed. He’s so handsome it’s genuinely upsetting sometimes. Draco thinks he’d throw a tantrum about it daily if it weren’t for the fact that he gets to touch him.

They try their best, but they don’t manage a second round before their eyes fall shut, tucked into each other like two hands cupped under a stream of water, tumbling into a satisfied, exhausted sleep.

Harry wakes him with a kiss before daybreak, the last of the night chilling the room and puckering Draco’s skin.

“Do you have to go already?” Draco asks, one eye still closed and a hand curled possessively around Harry’s bicep, not entirely on purpose.

Harry shakes his head, kisses him again with a gentleness that is meant to go nowhere but extend this kiss, warm and sweet.

“I thought we could talk.”

Draco is nodding before fully grasping the meaning, but even once he does he’s not tempted to back away. Must be the night, still cocooning them, must be Harry’s arms around him that are making him brave, but he’s not nervous anymore, not now that he’s remembered what they’re like, together.

“It is electric,” he says, suspecting that’s what Harry wants to talk about. “It’s always electric with you.”

The smile blooms slowly, lighting up Harry’s face from within, his beautiful eyes, unhidden this early in the morning, his glasses still on the bedside table. Harry sits up a little, clears his throat. It seems like he’s been gearing up for this, he’s squaring his shoulders the way he does before trying a dangerous feint, before performing a play that will have Draco biting dust. This insane, wonder of an athlete. Draco forces himself to shake the last of the sleep away, to focus on him, on what he wants to say.

“I know that … so many of us want you,” Harry starts. “On your team, on mine, the whole league, actually. But I —”

He looks like he’s stating an absolute truth, like he has irrefutable proof, and Draco is taken aback. He knows some of the guys find him attractive, but that’s not the same as being wanted. He shakes his head. “What? Where did you get that?”

“I’ve talked about it with the guys, but that’s not the point,” he adds hurriedly when he sees his eyes widen. Draco hasn’t said a word to anyone, not out of shame, but out of sureness that they were sneaking around, that they were making it a point to hide. Apparently, he was wrong. Harry continues, “What I want to say is … I know we’ve not agreed on anything, that you’re free to want others, be with whoever you want to be with. I thought that you knew where I stood, that if you weren’t saying anything it was because you didn’t want the same thing I did, but it’s been brought to my attention that if I’ve not made an honest offer, I can’t assume you’re saying no.”

Draco’s heart is hammering inside his chest, inside his throat. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if he’s right, it seems Harry is saying …

“I don’t want this to be a once a month thing. I want to bring you home, I want you to meet my family, and I want the guys to know that I’m saying no to all the people they set me up with because I’m taken and completely uninterested in anyone else. Are you … is that something you want, too? I know you might have better offers, but I – ”

The covers crinkle under Draco’s knees as he sits up, throws a leg over Harry’s body so he can fully sit on his lap and brings him forward by the neck.

“You beautiful idiot. What could be a better offer? Why would I care about any other offers when I have the best one right here?”

They’re kissing, and Harry’s gasping, and Draco’s frenzied heart pounds against his sternum. He nods into the kiss, feels dizzy with how much he wants what’s being offered. Fuck. There’s nothing he wants more.

Harry pulls back a little, whispers: “Does this mean we’re — ?”

“Yes, fuck. It’s — The game’s the game.”

“What — That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Shut up. It’s your quote.”

Then they’re laughing into a new kiss, and it’s not the first, or even the tenth time they’re together like this, but Draco’s heart still goes crazy for this man, for his unlimited talent, his openness, his electric company. Quarter finals are coming up, then semis, then they might meet again on the pitch and Draco might lose and throw a strop and want to tear the hair out of his head over the beautiful Quidditch Harry plays, and then they’ll get to go home and celebrate a victory. No matter who takes the trophy. That’ll be the game.

Read On Ao3

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Trust

main masterlist | the boys masterlist

summary: soldier boy doesn’t realize just how scared of him you truly are

pairing: soldier boy x female reader

rating: R for language, mature themes

word count: 5.2k

warnings: please read! language, mentions of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drugging, violence, forced purging (to prevent possible death), briefly mentioned nudity (not in a smutty way), much darker than anything i’ve published before

author’s note: this started out as a small idea but i got really carried away lol.

another note: sorry for kinda ghosting after uploading the last fic, my brain hates me 🙃 i can’t promise i won’t “disappear” again like immediately after uploading this so thank you in advance for any/all feedback/comments 💞💞

It was late at night (more like early morning) when you were arguing with Butcher at the door. 

“Don’t you dare leave me here alone with him!” you seethed.

“C’mon, love, the old cunt’s gonna be asleep the whole time I’m gone.”

Your teeth clenched at the idea of being alone in the house with Soldier Boy, but if Billy didn’t go now to “run an errand” he’d probably have to go later that day anyway.

“Fine,” you sighed. “But if ‘the old cunt’ lays a fucking finger on me I swear to god Butcher!”

“I’ll be back by nine.”

**

A loud knock on your door woke you up.

“Hey! Sweetheart!” Soldier Boy’s voice shouted from the other side. “You up?”

“I am now,” you mumbled to yourself angrily. 7:26 your clock read.

“I heard that,” Soldier Boy said. 

Shit, you thought. “What do you want?” 

“The stupid TV isn’t fuckin’ working, I need you to come and work your magic for me.”

You sighed. You couldn’t ignore him at this point, that’d most likely just anger him further. If he wanted to he’d just break down the door and drag you out to the living room.

“C’mon toots, don’t be a bitch about it,” he exclaimed.

“Screw you,” you mumbled.

“Hey!” Soldier Boy exclaimed. “What’d I just fuckin’ say!” He tried opening the door but you’d obviously locked it. 

“I-I’ll be out in a second,” you told him. 

“That’s more like it,” he mumbled back.

You quickly got out of bed (whole outfit still on, just in case Soldier Boy had tried something in the night) and hurried to the door before you opened it. There he stood, the strongest man alive. You gulped nervously as he didn’t move and stayed blocking your way out. 

He eyed you up and down obnoxiously, smirking at the sight and making your heart beat faster.

“Same outfit as last night, I see,” he said. 

“S-So?” you asked, trying to mask the pure fear this man instilled in you. “I just like these clothes, is all.” He didn’t say anything, just kept smirking at you. “You’re wearing the same clothes as yesterday, too, you know!”

“So you have been checking me out.” He nodded a little, the smirk still on his face.

“Did you want me to help you with the TV or did you just wake me up to be a dick?”

“TV,” he grumbled, “but would it kill you to be polite once in a while?”

“Would it kill you to move out of the way so I can head downstairs?”

He furrowed his brows before he rolled his eyes and stepped to the side; “After you, princess,” he mocked. You left your bedroom and he followed you downstairs to where the perfectly functioning TV hung on the wall.

You hated the way Soldier Boy eyed you as you took the remote out from the cabinet beside the TV and turned it on.

“It seems to be working fine?” you said, wanting to take his attention off of your ass. “What were you trying to watch?”

“Uh…how bout you pick something for us?” he offered.

“Excuse me?” you practically scoffed.

“C’mon, sit down and watch with me,” he said. You turned around, expecting to see him sitting on the couch, but he was now standing about a yard away from you. “Butcher seems to be gone…” He took a step towards you. “We’ve got the whole house to ourselves…” Another step. “Why don’t we have some fun?” He reached out and lightly touched your cheek, traced down the side of your face, and tilted your chin up to look him in the eyes.

“Soldier Boy—”

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me,” he interrupted you. “I know your heart starts racing when I walk into a room, I know it beats even faster when I get close. I know you want me, don’t even try to fuckin’ deny it.”

“P-Please—”

“Oh, I like a woman who knows when to beg,” he chuckled lowly as he bent down to kiss you.

“Please don’t hurt me, please,” you said quickly, tears stinging your eyes as they threatened to fall. “I-I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you, I-I didn’t mean it! Please don’t kill me!”

“Kill you?” He stood up straight, pulling his hand up off your face and putting it up in defense. “Kill you?” There was a moment of silence as he intensely looked at your reaction to him getting so close. “You…You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”

You nodded slightly, worried you might upset him as his face fell. He seemed almost saddened by the fact you didn’t want him near you.

“But…I’m a hero,” he scoffed slightly. “Why would you be scared of me?”

“Please don’t take it personally,” you said. “Just let me set up the TV for you and go back to my room…please?”

“You’re fuckin’ terrified right now, aren’t you?” he asked and again you nodded, again he scoffed.

“Can you blame me?” you asked. “I-If I rub you the wrong way you could snap my neck like a chicken bone without breaking a sweat.”

“But I…” He continued looking at you with confusion that seemed to be laced with curiosity. “I wouldn’t. I mean, I know I get angry sometimes but I’d never hurt you?”

“You wouldn’t be the first hero to turn on me,” you told him quietly. Soldier Boy paused and thought about what to do next. He’d never been in a situation like this before; standing alone with someone who was genuinely scared of him, someone that didn’t trust a hero like himself.

“Just uh… Just turn on a movie and you can go,” he said before he took a seat on the couch. “Another one from my time, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” you said; a small, forced smile on your lips. You found a movie you thought he’d like and pressed play for him before tossing the remote on the couch and leaving.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he called out, making you stop in your tracks. “I’m sorry you don’t trust me, but I need you to know that I’d never hurt you.”

“O-Okay, Soldier Boy,” you said before you hurried out of the room, up the stairs, and back into your room. “Billy Butcher I am going to fucking strangle you,” you mumbled to yourself.

**

“You’re up before noon,” Butcher remarked, seeing Soldier Boy in the living room. “And you got the TV workin’ on your own! Atta boy, gov’.”

“Actually, Y/n set it up for me,” Soldier Boy said.

Butcher sighed at that, “So, you’ve talked to her today then, huh?”

“Yeah, why?” the Supe asked before Butcher left to see you. 

He knocked lightly on your door before you opened it. 

“Hello—” Butcher started but a swift slap to the face shut him up pretty quickly.

“Fuck you, Butcher!”

“Did he hurt you?” Butcher asked, holding his cheek.

“No, but he almost fucking did, asshole! How dare you leave me alone with him like that!”

“Oh come off it! If you’re still in one piece then all’s well that ends well, am I right?” he said with a smirk and a shrug. 

“You ever do something like that again and I swear to god William!” You stared daggers at him.

“My ‘errand’ didn’t go as planned anyways, love,” he told you. “I’ve gotta figure out another way to find where they’re hiding Homelander.”

“Or whatever’s left of him,” you mumbled.

**

“Alright, I’m off,” Butcher announced, a full duffle bag in his hand as he headed to the door.

“What?” you exclaimed from the kitchen as you hurried to get between him and his destination. “What’re you talking about?”

“Everything okay?” Soldier Boy asked from the couch near the TV.

“Everything’s fine, gov’, you keep watching your movie,” Butcher said.

“Can I talk to you outside for a minute?” you asked Butcher, you didn’t want Soldier Boy to hear what you were about to say. 

“After you then, love,” Butcher obliged.

The second the door closed behind the two of you, you let him have it.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave me here alone with him again, I cannot fucking take it!”

“It’ll only be for a little while, you’ll be fine!” Butcher said.

“Then let me come with you!”

“What, and leave the cunt here alone? He’ll burn the house down trying to make himself a fuckin’ sandwich,” Butcher exclaimed. “He needs a fuckin’ babysitter and that’s you.”

“Why me? Why can’t you call Hughie? Or Frenchie? Or, better than all of us combined, Kimiko?” you asked.

“Hughie’s outta state, Frenchie and Kimiko are both knee-deep in shit sussing out another lead on Homelander’s whereabouts.”

You sighed heavily, you saw his point but the thought of being trapped again made your stomach hurt; “Please don’t leave me alone with him, Butcher. You know how much he fucking terrifies me, and you know exactly why.”

“I’m sorry I gotta do this to you, love, but you know he’s our only shot at killin’ Homelander once and fucking for all.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Only a day or two.”

You again conceded, against your better judgment, and let Butcher leave you with Soldier Boy.

“What was that all about?” the Supe asked when you walked back into the house and locked the door. 

You forced a smile; “Nothing, Soldier Boy,” you said, “dinner will be ready soon.”

You didn’t know Soldier Boy heard everything you and Butcher had said.

**

“Looks great, toots.” Soldier Boy walked up behind you in the kitchen, not missing the flinch you threw when he got a little too close. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. 

“You still that scared of me?” he asked, leaning on the counter and trying to get you to look up at him.

“If you can hear my heart, I’m sure you’ve got something that can smell my fear too.”

“I know I make your heart race, your breathing becomes slightly quicker when I get close, and I’ve noticed your pupils tend to change when you notice I’m next to you.”

“So why is my fear such a fuckin’ surprise, then?” you scoffed.

“I guess I didn’t realize it was fear making your heart race and your pupils dilate slightly.”

“What, you thought I was into you or something?” you asked half-heartedly before you looked over at him and realized that was exactly what he had thought. “Oh.”

“So, yeah, I was surprised when I realized you didn’t like havin’ me around,” he admitted. You almost felt guilty for a moment but it quickly disappeared as you remembered why you were scared of him in the first place. “Can you at least tell me why, though?” he asked as you shoveled his food onto a plate. “Why are you so scared of me? I get that I’m stronger than you but, no offense, isn’t Butcher too? Isn’t like… almost every man out there?”

“One, I trust Butcher. I’ve known him for years and he’s been nothing but good; he’s an asshole, sure, but he’s good when it counts. And two, I don’t spend time alone with ‘almost every man out there’ so that does not help your case at all.” You handed him the plate. “Here’s your food.”

“Thanks, dollface.” He took it from you and you started getting your own plate ready. He watched your every move and his brows knitted with confusion as he did so. 

“You can go sit down,” you told him. “You don’t need to watch me like a hawk.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just still tryin’ to figure you out I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“You know I’m a hero, right? I’m a superhero, and I would never hurt you?”

“Look, no offense, but the last time I trusted a Supe it really didn’t turn out well and I’m not gonna let myself give you even an inch of trust because you are even stronger than the last guy.”

“What happened? What’d he do?” Soldier Boy asked and you didn’t respond. “C’mon, you owe me that much! I’ve been nothing but good to you, yet you’re treating me like I did whatever this other Supe did to you!”

“I don’t owe you shit, Soldier Boy,” you snapped and you could’ve sworn you saw genuine hurt flash over his features. “If you must know, it was The Deep. I trusted him, let him be good to me, and it all blew up in my face in the most awful way I could’ve imagined.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” He reached out to touch your shoulder but you flinched away from him.

“Please, don’t touch me. I get that you’re trying to be sweet or whatever but please don’t. It’s not doing what you think it’s doing, Soldier Boy.”

He nodded and backed away slightly.

“My name’s Ben,” he told you. You looked at him with a sense of shock. “My real name’s Ben, you don’t have to say ‘Soldier Boy’ all the time, you can just say ‘Ben’.”

“Okay, Ben, while we’re on the topic of names, you could ease up on the ‘toot’s and ‘doll’s and ‘dollface’s and ‘honey’s and ‘sweetheart’s you know. Or at the very least stick to one pet name.”

He smiled at your honesty, hoping it was a sign you might be scared of him just a tad less.

“Think I’ll just stick to callin’ you sweetheart, then,” he replied.

“Thank god, I was really starting to hate dolls.”

That made him laugh deeply before he walked to the table and took his seat.

Don’t you fucking dare, you thought to yourself when you felt a feeling of almost-not-absolute-fear-and-disgust wash over you for a split second. 

**

“Look, I’m sorry, but—”

“You’re sorry?” you scoffed into the phone. “Butcher get the fucking hell back here!”

“I can’t, I’ve gotta spend another night over here. Apparently—”

“I don’t give a rat's ass why you have to stay, I am begging you to please get back here now!” Tears were stinging your eyes as your voice cracked.

“I’m sorry—”

“If he does anything to me, anything at all, I’ll never fucking forgive you for leaving me alone with him, Butcher. You understand me, William? Never!”

“He’s not gonna hurt you,” Butcher sighed. “Just keep your distance and be nice to him. He does have a bit of a temper, maybe he just needs to relieve some tension…”

“That’s not funny!” You gritted your teeth as a few tears slipped down your cheeks. “When are you getting back here?”

“A few more days,” he replied. 

Before he said another word you hung up on him, furious that he thought it was okay to leave you alone with Soldier Boy.

Though the Supe was in his own room upstairs, he still heard every word you said. He’d never admit it, but his heart clenched at the thought of how scared you were right now. 

**

It had been over a week since you’d seen him when Butcher finally got back with some new information on Homelander’s location. He had a plan to find the exact coordinates and he wasn’t going to let his morals get in the way.

“Well, well, you clean up nice,” Butcher commented when you stepped out of the bathroom.

“Shut up,” you grumbled. You were wearing a short royal blue dress with a deep v-neckline and almost no back, the silver heels and necklace tied the otherwise seemingly plain outfit together nicely. “If this stupid plan of yours gets me killed I’m gonna come back and haunt you for the rest of your fuckin’ life.”

“Wow,” Ben beamed when he walked out of his room and saw you standing in the hall with Butcher. “You look incredible, sweetheart.”

“I look like a damn hooker,” you said. 

“That’s the idea, love.” Butcher smirked.

**

A high-ranking Vought employee had been seen at a certain bar almost every night for the last two months and it was now your job to get him to trust you. If he trusted you enough, he would take you back to his place and you could find out any and all information he had on Homelander. 

The plan seemed simple enough, yet Ben seemed more anxious about the situation than you were. 

“Are you sure this is safe?” Soldier Boy asked when you were all seated in the van outside the bar.

“No, but if this helps us get Homelander then it’s safe enough,” you told him. 

“Besides, you’ll be in there with her,” Butcher reminded him. “And if you stay focused on keeping her safe, then I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

“How ‘bout we come up with a code word or something?” Ben suggested as he put in the earpiece Butcher handed him. 

“How about ‘Soldier Boy’?” you said, Ben shook his head.

“And what happens if you need to say ‘Soldier Boy’ but you don’t need help?” he countered.

“How about…Ben?” You smiled a little when he nodded.

“I’ll be listening closely to the whole conversation, if you say ‘Ben’ I’ll come and get you outta there.”

“Sounds good.” 

“Alright,” Butcher interrupted, “Soldier Boy keep me updated and if all goes well, Y/n, we won’t be seeing you again til later tonight.” He winked obnoxiously.

“If this guy genuinely tries to sleep with me I’ll break his fuckin’ nose,” you said flatly. “Info or no info, I ain’t letting him see me naked.”

**

Ben had gone in about a minute before you did and found a nice spot near where he knew you’d be sitting with the target. The second you walked in his eyes were glued. He stayed true to his word and listened to every word you and the target said.

“This seat taken, handsome?” you asked the man who then smirked at you. 

“It is now,” he said. “And what’s your name, gorgeous?”

“Goldie,” you lied as you took your seat. “What’s yours?”

“Steven. Let me buy you a drink?” he offered and called the bartender over when you nodded. 

“Vodka martini,” you ordered. “So Steven, what do you do for work?”

“I work for Vought,” he said and you faked an impressed look. 

“No way!” you gasped. “Oh my god, do you know The Seven?”

“I do,” he said with a nod, clearly full of himself. 

“That is so cool,” you continued stroking his ego. You nodded in thanks when the bartender handed you your drink and you took a sip. “I’ve never met someone so important!”

“You wanna know a secret?” he asked, you nodded enthusiastically. He leaned over so he could whisper into your ear; “I’m actually in The Deep’s close, personal circle.”

Your eyes went wide for a split second before you got a hold of yourself and whispered back; “Really?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “I could introduce you if you’d like.” You pulled away from him slightly but still tried your best to keep yourself calm.

“Oh, that’s alright,” you shook your head, “I’m sure he’s too busy for little old me.”

“I’m never too busy.” The voice behind you made your whole body tense up and Ben could tell you were in trouble. You hadn’t said the code word though and he knew both you and Butcher would be mad if he screwed up the mission.

“Butcher,” Ben said into the intercom attached to his jacket, “Deep’s here.”

Butcher paused for a moment before he answered; “Don’t freak out. Y/n can handle herself and unless she says ‘Ben’ you don’t make a move, you understand Soldier Boy?”

“Understood,” he replied.

“You know,” The Deep said, still standing behind you, “I’ve had my eye on you since you walked in here, gorgeous.”

“Y-You have?” you asked, wondering if he recognized you or if your face just blurred together with all the other women he had assaulted. You took another sip of the drink in your hand and continued to keep a close eye on it to make sure it didn’t get spiked.

“I have,” he replied. “Now, why don’t you let my friend Steven here show you a nice time, then take you back to my place at Vought Tower?”

“S-Sounds good,” you trembled. “I-I’ll see you later tonight then, Deep.” You took another, smaller sip.

“Wonderful,” he said before he bent down and placed a kiss on your cheek. “Can’t wait to see this dress on my floor.” With that, he walked away and you let out a sigh of relief.

“Fish fucker’s left the building,” Ben told Butcher. “You gonna tail him or are we still focusing on Steven?”

“Stay focused on Steven, we can kill fish fucker another day,” Butcher said.

“So, you want another drink?” Steven asked you. “Or would you rather head over to the tower?”

“You know, I’d rather spend the night at your place, Steven.” You faked a sweet smile. 

“Really?” He raised a brow as a smirk returned to his face. “So, another drink, then?”

“How about I just let you take me home?” The moment you stood up you knew something was wrong. You instantly felt dizzy and sat back down. “Ben, help,” you whispered when you realized exactly what was happening. 

“Looks like we’re heading to the tower, Goldie,” Steven said. “Thanks as always, Pat.” He handed a couple hundreds to the bartender.

Ben came up behind Steven and pinned him against the bar with one hand, his other hand resting on the bar itself a few inches from where you were now slouched over.

“What the hell did you do to her, fuckface?” Ben seethed.

“I didn’t do anything! What’s your problem?” Steven yelled, drawing attention to the scene unfolding.

Ben took the back of the man’s head and brought it up half a foot before he slammed it back down onto the wood. 

“Tell me what you fuckin’ did or I’ll squish you like a bug,” Ben yelled as he applied more and more pressure to Steven’s head.

“Roofie!” Steven yelled. “Ask the bartender!”

“Ben don’t kill him,” Butcher told him through the earpiece. 

“He deserves to fuckin’ die, Butcher,” Ben replied.

“Yes he does but he still has information that we need. If you’ve gotta kill someone, kill the bartender who spiked the fuckin’ drink!”

Ben looked up from gravely injured Steven and saw the bartender cowering in the corner.

“Ben,” you whispered and reached out to touch the hand he still had on the counter. “Ben get me outta here.” His angered expression slowly faded as he looked down into your hooded eyes. “Please?”

“Yeah, I’ve got you,” Soldier Boy said before he quickly scooped you up in his arms and carefully kept your head resting on his shoulder. “Hey, barkeep,” he shouted and the man looked over at him. “Mark my words; no matter where you go or what you do I will find you and tear you limb from fucking limb for hurting her. Your days are fucking numbered.”

Ben hurried you out to the truck and sat you down on the seat next to his so you could lean on him if you wanted, or alternatively, you could lean against the window if you still didn’t want him touching you.

“Stay with her, I’m gonna go figure out how much they gave her and if we need to take her to the hospital,” Butcher told Soldier Boy before leaving.

“Ben,” you slurred, still barely able to open your eyes, “Ben what—what’d you do to me?”

“God fuckin’ damn it, Butcher,” he mumbled under his breath. He blamed Billy entirely for the operation going sideways and for you ending up in danger. “Fuck, you need to purge, sweetheart.” He positioned you so your head was hanging out the side door and stuck his fingers down your throat, ignoring your angered hits to his arms. “This is for your own good, stop fighting me.”

You hurled out the side door, Ben held onto you tightly and made sure you didn’t fall out or get hurt. 

“Please just let me go,” you whispered when he took his fingers out, satisfied with the amount of possibly deadly alcohol you were able to get out of your system.

“I know you’re scared right now, but I can’t let you go,” he told you. “I’m sorry.”

Butcher got back to the car pretty quickly, a worried expression on his face.

“How much did they give her?” Ben asked.

“Too fuckin’ much,” Butcher replied. “We’ve gotta make her puke it all up or she might not make it.”

**

You woke up on the couch to the sound of Butcher and Ben arguing in the kitchen, a splitting headache quickly made itself known when you opened your eyes fully.

“This is your fault, Butcher,” Soldier Boy yelled, “you and your stupid obsession to find Homelander. How dare you put her life at risk like that!”

“Hey I had the strongest man alive in there backing her up, so how the hell did you screw up so badly?”

There was a pause as you kept listing, a part of you was scared you’d start to hear punches being thrown.

Ben shook his head as he looked at his ‘boss’; “You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that? She’s been scared outta her fuckin’ mind and yet you just keep on pushin’ her and pushin’ her. And for what? To kill a Supe that’s probably dead already? You know Homelander ain’t a threat since I fuckin’ burned him, yet you still put someone you say you care about in danger.”

“‘Scared outta her fuckin’ mind’?” Butcher scoffed. “What’re you on about?”

“I know she’s terrified of me,” Ben admitted. “I know that you know she is, too. And yet you keep leaving her alone with me, why? Just to make her life worse? To make her feel less safe than she already does?”

“You sayin’ she’s got a reason to be scared of you, then?” Butcher asked. “Thought you were supposed to be some kinda hero?”

“Of course I’d never hurt her! But I’m still a Supe and I know you hate Supe’s. There’s no way in hell you trust me at all or you wouldn’t have her babysitting me every time you leave the fuckin’ house. What I don’t get is why you’re so comfortable leaving her here with the strongest man in the world when you think I’m a fucking monster.” Ben walked over to the fridge and took a bottled water out before he grabbed a cup and left the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said quietly as he entered the living room. “I know you’re up, do you want some water?”

“What happened?” you asked as he squatted on the floor in front of the couch and made eye contact with you.  

“We can fill you in later, you should probably drink,” he said and held out the two items in his hands. “Would you rather the bottle or a cup?”

“Bottle’s fine,” you replied and you slowly sat up, putting a hand to your head before you took the water from him.

“You need some Aspirin or something?” he asked. 

“I’m sure Butcher ‘ll bring me some,” you said, making Ben’s brows furrow a little before he nodded with realization.

“You still don’t trust me much, do you?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled before beginning to drink the water. “What am I wearing, by the way?” you asked and gestured to the dirty, large black tee you had on over the blue dress.

“Oh, uh,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “it was on the car floor, I think it’s Butcher’s. I put it on you when uh, when you were kinda out of it and… your boob might’ve kinda… popped outta your dress.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “I didn't… like I didn’t look or anything, I just saw the shirt and immediately put it over you.”

“Sure.” You nodded before you continued downing the bottled water.

“I’ll go get Butcher to bring you some painkillers,” Ben said before leaving the room.

**

You’d just gotten out of the shower and put on a new set of clean clothes when Butcher stopped you in the hall.

“How’s your head?” he asked.

“Better,” you replied flatly, still pretty frustrated with him.

“I’m sorry I was such an idiot,” he sighed, “I shoulda told Soldier Boy to get you hell outta there the second the fish fucker showed his ugly mug.”

“We needed intel on Homelander,” you reminded him. “My safety was just the price we had to pay.”

“And that was a fucked up currency for me to gamble with,” he said. “I’m sorry I’ve been so obsessed and I’m sorry for leaving you alone with Soldier Boy so much the past couple of weeks.”

You shrugged a little; “It’s no big deal.”

“I want you to know I’m done tryin’ to find Homelander.”

“Seriously?” Your eyes went wide and you furrowed your brows. 

“The cunt’s most likely down for the count anyway thanks to granny fucker downstairs and there are other Supes that are much bigger threats right now anyway. Like The Deep, for example, and the number of people he’s paying to help him get away with assaults like last night. I’ve been talking with Hughie and as it turns out, he’s already had his eye on a handful of other bartenders workin’ for fish dick.”

“So…what? You’re saying you’re gonna go back to your old job at Supe affairs and start hunting down these assholes in a more mentally-healthy way?” you asked.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

**

When you entered the living room you noticed Ben readjusting his position on the couch, as if to try and make himself appear less threatening.

“Hey,” you said quietly, a small smile on your lips as you sat down about two feet from him on the same couch.

“Hey,” he replied. “How’re you feeling?”

“Better.” You nodded. “You need help with the TV?” you asked, picking up the remote from where it sat on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied. He watched you intently as you ‘worked your magic’ on the electronic contraption.

“I know I was completely at your mercy last night, Ben,” you said, focused on the TV and not looking over at him. “And I know you could’ve easily taken advantage of the fact I was out of it.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I know that, too.”

“But you still don’t trust me?”

“I want to,” you said. You reached out your left hand and gently placed it on his right one. He looked down at where your hands were touching and smiled softly. “I want to trust you, I just need time to get to know you.”

“You sayin’ you wanna get to know me?” he asked with a bit of a smirk before you nodded. The two of you stayed like that for a moment before Soldier Boy broke the silence; “So, where do we go from here?”

“How about we watch something together?” you suggested. 

“That sounds great, sweetheart.”

[yoru-no-seiiki]

VILLAIN! READER WITH A YAN! MASOCHISTIC! PROTAGONIST

tw/cw: DDNE, mentions of abuse, actual abuse (by reader), implied parental neglect. protagonist’s gender is whatever you want it to be. gn pronouns.

[ second part ]

MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU.

You wholeheartedly believed that you’d rule the world one day. The oracles deemed it so, and the rest followed. The only problem being is that you’d rule with an iron fist, causing the death of millions under your tyrannical reign. Many opposed your position as heir to the throne.

In comes the protagonist, your adopted sibling who is also destined for great things. The difference being is that they’ll gain it through defeating you.

Everyday is a murderfest with you trying to kill the kid but because of plot armor they’re resistant to any and all sorts of spells, weapons and even people you’ve hired.

Yan! Protagonist who had been abused their entire life saw this as just an act of love. Even moreso since you were so determined to hurt them everyday. It must mean you adored them does it not? They don’t understand why they’re not able to die or properly get hurt by you though, so at times they’ll even try to get in your way to make it easier.

But this just ends up with you hating them further and further.

As the two of you grow up, tactics start to become even more underhanded and deadly. You had lost all sense of empathy and kindness at this point. You had also halted trying to hide your attempts as your sibling clearly knew of it anyways.

But with your duties increasing as well, you are unable to execute much of your assassination attempts much less see your sibling directly. It came to the point of dull poisoning plots of which Yan! Protagonist had literally gained an immunity to with how frequent it was.

Yan! Protagonist never wanted to become ruler. A kingdom was far too much to manage and think about. All they wanted was to relax and be with you.

But with you being all busy and ignoring them. . . they simply can not stand idle and let this be!

And so they throw themselves into their studies. Those that doubted the Protagonist are now in awe of the way they picked up things in addition to their overflowing determination. They must really want to take you down.

Unbeknownst to them, they were simply doing this so you’d go back to giving them your attention.

Years after you’d officially taken the throne, they barged into castle. Thousands of troops behind them as they declared,

—

“Exalted sibling, I’ve come to take the burden of the throne from your hands!” The protagonist stood before you in all their glory. Magnificent as the scriptures had foretold. Absolutely befitting for the next in line for the throne. Blessed with a face sculpted by the gods.

You wanted nothing more rip it from their skull and watch the blood rain down on their regal clothing.

“You’ll have to take it from my cold, dead body.”

The protagonist froze in their tracks. Your words and pure confusion taking a while to settle in.

Wait, what?

. . . to be continued

Anyways that’s just a smol part from one of my webtoon ideas i’ve been writing haha. It probably won’t be expanded on until I officially published that one and it’s like further down the list of webtoon order so oop-

©️ yoru.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[gothamhappiness]

Being in a relationship with Bruce Wayne: a journey - Meeting him (part I)

It's a big series about an afab!reader who doesn't like Bruce Wayne and who still falls in love with him (he fells quicker and harder)

You can find the reader's origin story here.

Warnings: no proof reading, eat the rich baby kind of vibes, reader is uncomfortable at first, not impressed!reader, language, deep down Bruce is the kind of guy who likes to be bullied by a pretty girl

When your boss picked you to go to Bruce Wayne’s charity gala, your first thought had been: “Oh I’m going to be such a little nuisance!”.

It was only when you started to wonder how to dress, that you realised that the event was actually being a nuisance for you. You took so much time trying to decide what to put on, what kind of makeup and hairstyle to do. You knew appearances were important, and you didn’t want to be at your disadvantage in such a place.

And yet, even if you had put on your best dress, your best shoes and your favourite jewels that your grandma gave you right before her death, you felt… cheap.

You were clearly out of place and you knew that people were looking at you from the corner of their eyes. You were getting uncomfortable. But you went to Falcone’s events when you were a child and you knew one thing: when you are among vultures, you can show no weakness. So you tried to keep you back straight and to look like you were doing great. There was no way you would give the joy to all those rich assholes to make you run away. It was only fueling your hate against them. 

You had thought you were going to eat and drink well at this gala, but all this money disgusted you too much to actually enjoy yourself. You saw too many people dying from hunger in the streets to be able to bear any of this. 

You were looking around, taking mental notes of everything before you felt a presence behind you. You turned around and were greeted by a tall and broad man, wearing the nicest suit you ever witnessed. He gently smiled at you but you saw it didn’t fully reach his eyes. It was just a polite act. You instantly recognised the dark hair and the blue eyes. You hadn’t thought Bruce Wayne was that big though. 

It didn’t mean you were impressed. 

Not one bit. 

The man seemed to observe you with interest - probably because you weren’t all over him at the instant you saw him - before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Good evening, you must be Mrs L/N.” he kept smiling

“Indeed, Mr. Wayne. I guess it wasn’t very difficult to spot me in this crowd” you said as you shook his hand politely. 

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Oh don’t pretend, I know I’m not dressed as nicely as your usual guests.” you replied.

You perceive a little glitter of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Bruce Wayne was probably not used to being talked to like that, especially from women. But you weren’t afraid or impressed by anyone. How could you when your past was full of dangerous people? Bruce Wayne seemed to think of a proper reply before deciding to be honest and he nodded his head.

“I’m grateful your newspaper agreed to send someone. I know you do not have a very good opinion of me, which I absolutely respect. I’ve read the paper you wrote about me last week, about the fact that my company took part in the destruction of the Amazonian forest and in child labour in poor countries. It was truly an impressive work of research and I’m thankful you saw it, wrote about it and published it. I had been too busy with different projects to realise any of this was happening. I would have appreciated it if you had let me know first hand though.” he told you to which you raised an eyebrow

“And? Did anything change?” you replied

“Indeed. I want to let you know that all of this stopped and that I’m doing everything I can do to repair the bad my company caused. It won’t happen again. I promise.” He said and you could tell he was sincere or at least trying to sound like he was.

“Good. At least you take responsibility. And if anything else happens again, I’ll be there to make sure you do know about it.” you hummed which cause the ghost of an amused smile to appear on Bruce’s face

“I don’t worry about it indeed.” he paused. “By the way, you write very well. I’m glad to be able to put a face on such… sharp and true words” he added, and you let him show how surprised you were

“People don’t usually like my sharp words” you shrugged but you were yourself getting quite curious about the man now.

“It did hurt quite a bit but… I wish that my spokesperson would write that well. Or that I would myself have such a way with words. At least it helped me to see the truth and… Well it was quite refreshing. People don’t usually talk about me that way, or just about my last nightstand.” he explained

“Oh yes, don’t worry, I really don’t care with whom you slept last night as long as you didn’t abuse or rape them” you smiled and Bruce Wayne’s eyes widened before he let out a very amused laughter.

“I didn’t think your words were also that sharp in person” he commented “Do you want us to go somewhere else a little less noisy so you could do the interview you had prepared?” he offered to which you agreed.

On one hand, you were surprised with how the evening went by.

Your first disgust for the man started to change into real curiosity. You were still unimpressed by him, but you could tell there was something more than just the rich philanthropist playboy act. Bruce Wayne had secrets. But unlike usual people, you didn’t seem to be able to find a way for him to spill them for you. Something was unsettling about him. You wanted to discover so badly what was going on; you were a curious cat.

On the other hand, Bruce Wayne quickly understood that not only were you good with words, you were also good at asking the right questions. More than once, he was about to let go of his “Brucie” persona because of how smart your interrogations about him or his enterprises were. At some point, you were even met by silence because the man had no idea how to answer your question about all the “toys” that Wayne Enterprises was producing and yet never let the army, the police or the government use. Actually, you were wondering who was buying those equipments and why it was so difficult to find who it was. Bruce asked you how you knew about this and you let him know you dug into his financial reports. 

His silence was a challenge for you. 

As the discussion kept going on, you realised you now wanted to know everything about the man, his real personality and all his secrets. The persona he was using in public was pure bullshit. You might have rolled your eyes at him once or twice.

Bruce tried his best to not react, but deep down he had no idea what to do. He had thought it was going to be an easy interview and that once he would have you sit down with him alone, he would have been able to manipulate you, so you could finally write something nice about him. He realised he had never been more wrong in his whole life. He also realised that the more he was feeding you his usual answers to journalists, the more you were pressing the subjects. He just couldn’t make you believe him and his sweet little lies. He couldn’t charm you either. Bruce could also tell that his attitude got the exact opposite reaction he wanted from you. He wanted you to relax around him, but as time passed, the more you were eyeing him as if you were certain that he was a lot darker and a lot more dangerous than he wanted everyone to believe.

Bruce hated to admit it but he found you incredibly attractive. 

Of course you were beautiful, but you were also so smart and observant. You were ruthless to him, in a polite manner which was even worse. You were merciless; you were asking the questions you had to ask, without care for his ego. He didn’t know if he should ask you out on a date or ask you to work for him. At some point, he managed to finally say something that made you laugh (it was a self derogatory comment) and he decided on the first option. 

A part of his mind knew he was playing with fire with you. Still, he asked you out. 

You thought about refusing at first, but then agreed. You needed to know what the great Bruce Wayne was hiding. For you, it wasn’t a “real” date, it was just part of your work.

At the end of the interview, you were more than happy to come back home, your head full of new theories about the man.

Alfred joined Bruce, surprised his master was still sitting down fifteen minutes after your departure.

“How did it go, Master Bruce?” Alfred asked

“Awfully” Bruce replied “Asked her out though, and she said yes” he added

“I’m not too certain if that’s a good thing or not, Master Bruce” Alfred raised a questioning eyebrow

“I don’t know either” Bruce hummed

Bruce Wayne fell asleep that night, wondering what the fuck happened tonight and wondering why he was so excited to see you again.

--

PART 2

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

Taglist for this series <3

@esposadomd

[blocksgame]

Tips on character voices when writing fic

This is written in mind for people writing fic in MCYT/QSMP/DSMP/Life series/etc kind of fandoms. But if anyone finds it useful for anything else, well then, hell yeah.

Character voice is big in all, uh, fiction, and mimicking it in any fanwork is big. But I think it’s especially big in these fandoms where the voices are so distinct – it’s usually how a Real Person Somewhere (the streamer) talks, versus something very scripted that you’d see in a TV show or novel. And it can be a big difference in your character sounding generic versus really feeling true to the original.

Listen to a bunch of your subject talking. If you want to write a character well, watch vods from their point of view, or episodes where they show up a bunch. Take note of what they say and how.

2. If you don’t know how to start doing that: try literally writing down what they say. Transcribe an actual exchange in fic-format. You probably won’t want to publish a literal exchange from canon, but it will give you a sense of how to physically write what they say.

3. If you do this (or just pay attention to how they talk), you will get a lot of: Stumbling, pauses, repeating words, filler words, weird sentence constructions, fragments, etc. I love em! Here’s something that comes through in improv much more than in novels or movies: Most people, even very charismatic people, are not very eloquent when they speak. Writing out conversations or sentences will give you a sense of the unique and delightful way in which your subject is not eloquent. vvvvv way more under cut vvvvv

(People use a LOT of filler/etc when they speak. It’s reasonable to cut back on this if it’s interfering with a nice-looking or readable result. I believe this is the eternal struggle of people who write transcripts – you want the transcript to be accurate, but there are also a lot of things you can obviously simplify and not lose the meaning. So you’ll end up falling somewhere on this spectrum either way. But I do think a lot of mediocre/generic fic dialogue is very stylized – it doesn’t sound like your guy because your guy literally wouldn’t say that. They would say it worse and more confusingly.)

(I’m serious, if you’ve never sat down with a short non-completely-scripted clip or real conversation or whatever and just written out exactly what was said, do it. It will make you better at writing.)

4. Wonda-cat made a really incredible list [link] of characterizing speech patterns for the Dream SMP members. But you can also do your own reconnaissance and come up with your own patterns, common phrases, etc.

5. You do not have to get EVERYTHING right. You’re not going to, like, get so deep into the speaker’s brain that you can produce “exactly what they would have said if they were somehow in your fic.” That is impossible. You’re just trying to evoke a character, and if you get a few turns of phrase to ring true, you’re doing great.

6. A lot of these people are popular because they are hilarious. Include jokes. Yes, even if your thing is angsty or serious. A lot of the most serious lore I can think of from, e.g., the Dream SMP or 3rd Life or the QSMP - the really story-defining, life-and-death moments - were absolutely hysterical. If you’re writing characters who are usually funny, then add some humor. It can heighten angst via contrast and a sense of realism. Ask yourself what a funny streamer would make jokes about if they were possessing a character in this situation.

7. Some people have the mystical ability to “hear” character voices in their head, and read things in their voice. If you can, do this with all of your dialogue during the editing process. This won’t always get you there, but sometimes it can catch things that sound wrong by invoking "that's really hard to imagine them saying". If you don’t have this power, try recruiting a friend who does.

8. So there’s dialogue and then there’s narration that’s still from a character’s point of view. I’ve mostly given you tips about dialogue, but a lot of this is also true for narration. IMO, narration is less about phrasing things the way the subject would, and more about recreating the way they think. I don’t have concrete rules on how to do this, but here is my wisdom:

You can get eloquent again - narration is more of an abstract and artistic process than dialogue.

Spend time with your subject’s source material.

Pay attention to what they notice and care about. How do you think they think?

Don’t be afraid to get weird with it.

That last one also applies to all art ever.

9. MCYT tends to give you a great boon you don’t see in other media: what the speaker says to their chat/audience when nobody else is listening. This can be incredibly characterizing even if you’re writing a story where people don’t have chats. It’s your person talking about their thought processes and feelings! Mine that shit.

10. Some questions that might help guide both characterizing narration and dialogue (that you’d get from dialogue):

How open are they about their feelings?

How often do they lie? What do they lie about?

What kind of metaphors do they use, if any?

How quickly does their mood change?

How can you tell when they’re in different moods?

What kind of things do they pay attention to?

How formal is their speech?

11. Finally, this is a little odd, but I find it’s much, much easier to write a character that sounds good if I, the author, like them and am rooting for them at least a little bit. If a character needs to be there who you don’t love, try to love them. Or at least get a sense of what other people love about them. It just makes everything else easier. I swear to god.

Happy writing out there!

[lioncunt]

ok so.

1976. anne rice publishes interview with the vampire, a meditative novel she used as a way to understand and articulate her grief over the death of her five year old daughter. lestat is the fun antagonist (but really there isn’t a clear villain.) louis is anne’s grief projection of herself. armand is the wise but ultimately selfish second romantic interest. subtext that louis is in love with lestat, but it’s very much hidden beneath grief, as all his emotions are. this was intended to be a standalone novel.

1985. anne has thought about lestat for a decade and decides to make him the protagonist. she doesn’t like louis anymore (you could probably write a psychological essay on why.) lestat loves louis though! actually, lestat loves everyone! lestat is great in fact. and armand is fucking insane and tragic, and louis has always loved lestat and now they’re in massive massive love. and they will be forever, despite breakups and anne going back to the church and all the other crazy shit that happens for 30 years.

so they’re making a movie! except this movie is only interview with the vampire, and it isn’t really incorporating much or any of the rest of the series. lestat is his shallow antagonist self, louis is miserable, armand is old and wise. it’s the original vision of interview, without the 180 in characterization anne does. they don’t make the vampire lestat. they make queen of the damned but it sucks so oh well.

so amc is making a tv show! and they want it to be the ENTIRE SERIES. they WANT to put back in the fun loving and ultimately humanistic lestat that anne developed in the sequel onwards, the louis that deeply loves him, hopefully the armand that’s so complex and messed up. but the thing is, anne didn’t write those characters and relationships initially. she essentially retconned them, for the better. so in order to adapt ALL the books, necessary changes need to be made. lestat needs to be more layered, more lovable. louis needs to be more conflicted in the romance. there needs to be a CLEAR EXPLICIT INITIAL ROMANCE. they need to believably get to their dancing, living in a castle endgame. and the whiplash of the books just won’t translate to television.

so that’s the explanation of the change in loustat’s relationship from the book to the show. there’s reason for the other changes as well, but people have discussed that at length and no one’s discussed this so i thought i’d try and help people understand who may not know any of it.

[blueninjablade3]

Yandere Frollo Alphabet

Real quick for my regular readers who are waiting for the Hades Angst I’m working on it at a snails pace but it’s shaping up nicely. I’m publishing this solely because it’s been in my drafts taunting me.

TW: Yandere themes, Slurs/ talks about slurs, genocide, medieval torture, isolation, abuse, gaslight, lack of right, racism, and religious themes.

If you are uncomfortable with any of this scroll on. I won’t be offended. If you are in a bad mental state I don’t recommend reading this Yandere relationships are extremely toxic and dangerous. If you or someone you love are in an abusive relationship, please remember you have resources to help you. I believe I’ve covered most of my bases so without further ado Yandere Frollo alphabet. Ps, left a little music if anyone wants to listen to that while they read.

Affection: how do they show you love and affection? How intense can It get?

I view Frollo somewhat like “I never quite learned to verbalize my feelings so I’m going to do very small things to tell you I love you.” Also, he brings you grapes. It’s every day he brings you grapes. (Unless you’re getting punished.) He does do the traditional kiss-your-cheek and forehead tho.

Blood: How dirty is he willing to get when it comes to you?

He’s willing to burn down all of Paris to find you. You and Esmeralda are gonna be best friends and shit talk Frollo together.

Cruelty: how will they treat you once kidnapped will he mock you?

Yes. Wtf do you think I would say “No he’s an angel” Brother has no problem calling someone a slur. Hell, I’d put money on the fact that he’d call a black person the N word hard R to their face. (He’s seriously the worst tho. Get y’all a man like… uh Prince Naveen. He’ll treat you better)

Darling: besides kidnapping you would he do anything else against your will?

Being an active part of the Romani people’s slaughter, being horrible to Quasi, and whipping people are the ones that are off the top of my head. I’m probably missing others but the point is he absolutely would.

Exposed: How much of his heart do you bear?

I think you actually bear 40%. The other 60 goes to the Bible and Christ. Don’t worry that’s still more than his family ever got.

Fight: How would he feel if you fought back?

CHOOSE ME OR YOUR PYRE BE MINE OR YOU WILL BURN~! But in all seriousness, he’s going to be so upset and do the same thing that he does to Quasi.

Game: Is this a Game to them? Would he like watching his darling try to escape?

No! This isn’t a game! Those filthy gypsies can’t be trusted! (it feels wrong even typing that 😭) They’ll harm you! You need to stay safe. In the bell tower.

I also don’t think he’d enjoy you escaping. He wants you at arm’s length at all times.

Hell: Your worst experience with him.

After one of your little “stunts” he had you flogged for a few hours and then you didn’t get lunch for a few days. (like three)

Ideals: what he sees in the future with you.

He sees a traditional Christian marriage (pretend male x male relationships were most of the time accepted by the church), a couple of NORMAL kids (he is the worst), and all the Romani people dead. (ICK)

Jealousy: does he get jealous and if he does, does he find a way to cope or will he lash out?

He gets very jealous and never controls it. He always lashes out. At this point, don’t even look at a fly anymore. He’ll get jealous of it.

Kisses: How does he act around you?

He’s possessive, creepy, and lustful. Think about how he behaves with Esma and multiply by two.

Love letters: how would he go about courting/approaching you?

He’s very traditional. He’s the type who’d buy a goat to give to your dad and then just be like “Gimme.” But he would approach you beforehand and have some small talk in passing.

Mask: Are his truth colors different from what people think?

No. He’s very publicly creepy and weird it seems. People also fear him and view him as dangerous which you can say firsthand is true. Creepy bitch.

Naughty: how would he punish you?

He’s the type to flog you for a little, isolate you, and then limit food consumption. You’re extremely afraid of acting out or acting against him for fear of his reaction.

Oppression: what rights did he take away from you:

Freedom, religion (if you’re anything other than Roman Catholic you’ll have to practice and pray in secret.), privacy, and if you’re American the right to bear arms. Really any weapons he’ll take away. (Maybe see if you can hide a dagger?)

Regret: does he regret kidnapping you? Will he ever let you go?

Haha! You’re so funny if you think he’d let you go or think he’d regret kidnapping you! The Lord brought you two together! You two were meant to be! Now stop struggling unless you wanna go back to the palace of justice.

Sigma: what brought this side of him?

I think his lust, pride, and lack of getting any bitches over his years all contributed. He got lustful for you, and he didn’t know how to react, then instead of admitting that he was in the wrong his pride got the best of him, and blamed you. When his lust won caused his Yandere actions.

Tears: how would he feel if you cried screamed or Isolated yourself?

He doesn’t care! You’ll learn to love him eventually. If you don’t… you won’t like what’s gonna happen. But do go ahead.

Unique: is there anything different from a normal Yandere

He has a massive superiority complex? He also can have people flogged and not be questioned.

Vice: what can you use to escape him?

I’m not quite sure. I guess maybe you could hide in the court of miracles?

Witts end: would he ever hurt you

Without a second thought.

Xoanon: how much does he revere/worship you and to what extent is he willing to go to win you over

He’s willing to go to extreme lengths. I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about him in this but in all seriousness, he views you as a gift from the heavens. An angel sent to him. His angel.

Yearn: How long before he snapped and kidnapped you?

He’s a patient man. I’m going to say if you play your cards right and Quasi is still young about 1.5 years till he snaps.

Zenith: would he ever break you?

Oh definitely.

Thank you for reading! Please remember that rebloging, likes and comments are much appreciated! ❤️

[lilgarbitch]

Running in Circles- Two

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: suggestive scenes, alcohol

Word Count: 8.5k

Author’s Note: I won’t base Y/N or her band on any specific artist or band, but I will use certain artists multiple times purely because I either want the lyrics/ genre of song to fit a theme or for particular surprises.

(Author’s Note pt 2: It’s 4:30 am and I decided I needed to stop rereading and rewriting this and just finally publish it, and as I was getting this ready, Running in Circles came on and pfft that’s a sign if I ever seen one)

Part One

Noah

A loud groan escapes my lips as I run a hand over my face. She looks so much different than she did all those years back. Yet, the exact same. And she was going to kill me. I had to hide it, but everything she did had such a substantial impact on me. From her personality, to her tattoos, her voice, and her absolutely beating my ass in Mario Kart. She was the most perfect person I had ever met. 

Being reminded, I look down at the switch in front of me and pull out my phone to take a quick picture of our score. I open Instagram and go to post it on my story, about to tag her, before remembering I haven’t actually followed her on my main account yet. I type in her username, hit follow, and then go back to posting the picture. 

It wasn’t until it was fully uploaded and I looked over at the boys that I felt the giant smile I had on my face. After catching some looks from them, I played it off, trying to let it falter, but a small smile still stayed. 

“Yeah… That’s her. For sure. I- I felt it again the second she introduced herself to me. I don’t know if I wanted to believe it, even after seeing those pictures. But seeing her in person again today just… sealed the deal.” I answered them, throwing my head back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. 

I just couldn’t help but think of all the memories I’ll get to make this tour. Don’t get me wrong, every tour was excellent, from traveling to beautiful places, trying new restaurants, and spending it with my brothers. But this tour would definitely be one to remember. I didn’t even care if she felt the same way, as long as we could become close and I could spend time with her. I’m just happy I finally found the girl that has plagued my mind for the longest time.

The boys and I were about to play our first festival. We managed to catch a bit of Erra’s set but had to run back to our stage to finish setting everything up and doing our warmups to get ready. I was more nervous than I’d ever been, but I knew that if I just got through this set, I would feel like I could perform anywhere. Plus, we’ve had technical difficulties in the past, but everything worked out well, and none of them were our fault. I practiced enough this week that I could probably do the whole show in my sleep. So there was nothing that could go wrong, right? 

We got the signal that we were going on any moment now, and did our best to hype each other up. We all gave Folio a quick high five before he ran out on stage. Instantly, I could hear the entire crowd cheering, and that was all I needed to be ready for this show. 

Jolly and Nick ran out a few moments later, and now I just had to wait for my signal. Shaking out my hands and feet, ensuring every last drop of my nerves were gone, I heard the music start. The crowd was louder than ever, and I felt my confidence building more and more every second. With one last exhale, my cue to run on stage was now. 

I walk around the stage and get a good view of the crowd's size as I start singing Mercy. The passion I felt in this moment was unlike anything else. The crowd cheering and singing along with every word, trying to reach and carry every note as I do. The hands in the air. The range of age and style. These people all came together to hear me, or at least wanted to hear me for the first time. I felt like a fucking king in this moment. 

Over the next few songs, I really started to get into the zone. I felt connected with each of my brothers on stage with me, every person in the crowd in front of me, and especially the lyrics as I sang them. I sang the last line of Malice and let the arm that held my mic fall, letting my breathing relax. Turning to my brothers on stage with me, I gave them all a proud smile. They all returned it in their own way as they set up for our next song. Jolly gave me a laughing smile, and Nick gave me a smirk. I walked towards Folio behind me and reached out my hand, him grasping it over his drums and giving me the brightest smile. We’ve come so far and nothing was stopping us now. 

Stepping away and back towards the front of the stage, Jolly and Nick start the first notes of The Worst In Me, Folio immediately following their lead. Putting back on a more serious demeanor, I get closer to the people in front. 

Is there nothing left to keep myself awake?

To keep these walls from caving in?

When all they ever do is try to bend and break?

Is there forgiveness in the end?

I lower to a crouch as I sing the lyrics, scanning my eyes over the people at the barricade. Their faces light up as I look at each of them and try my hardest not to smile at the reaction. 

I had you in my grip, but you’re starting to slip

Bring out the worst in me

And now it’s come to end, I think I’m giving in

You set my demons free

I watch as everyone sings along with me. I hold out my hand to them, and a few reach out, but they’re all just too far to touch. I stand and move more to my left to see more faces, not wanting to prioritize the ones right in front of me. 

I need relief, a failure’s coming on

Just breathe in deep, It’s taking far too long

I need relief, this weakness carries on

Please be a dream, or was it all along?

I stand back up and let my eyes roam over the ones standing behind those before as I continue to sing along, making eye contact with everyone I can.

It’s better when you’re with me

My eyes trail across their faces.

But it’s better left unsaid

I see them all singing along.

It’s better when I’m empty

I even catch a few tears falling down some of their faces. Matching those that fell down mine as I wrote some of these songs.

But I still let you in

Then, there it was. There she was. I had never seen her before, yet something in me knew her. I tried to move my eyes past her, but they stayed glued to hers.

It’s better when you’re with me

She wasn’t moving or singing along with the others. It was like we were both locked in a trance. I felt electricity flow through my entire body. I felt like I had been transported to a different world.

But that’s better left unsaid

When she blinked, the movement reminded my brain where I was. Reminding itself what was happening

It’s better when I’m empty

But I’ll still let you in

I was thankful a part of my brain kept working, singing on complete autopilot. Because nothing else wanted to work. I couldn’t move my eyes. My legs stayed glued to the floor. I had to try to fully rip myself away from the moment to even regain control of my body. 

Blinking a few times, I finally move from my entranced state and finish the song, keeping my eyes on anyone but her. As the song ended, I turned my back to the crowd, closed my eyes, and let out the biggest exhale. I had to refocus. We still had half a setlist to get through. 

I looked up at my band, and Nick gave me a weird look, silently asking what was wrong. I completely ignored him as I turned back around and got ready for Said & Done.

With my mind almost on full autopilot, I managed to push through and finish the rest of the set. Cheers roared through the crowd. I pulled out one earpiece to listen to them, hoping they bring me back to reality. The boys and I all walked to the front of the stage, bowed, and said our thanks, to the people in the crowd and to the festival for having us before tossing random shit out to the crowd and saying our goodbyes. 

As we were heading off the stage, it was almost like I could no longer fight it as what felt like a magnet pulled my eyes back to hers. She was still looking at me, and a shiver ran through my body. I almost think I saw the same happen to her, but I forced myself to pull away and off the stage before I got completely stuck to her again. I did my best to shake off the feeling and push it to the back of my mind as we walked back to our tour bus. The boys were eerily quiet as we walked back, or maybe my brain was just so overwhelmed with emotions that I was blocking everything out. All I knew was that I needed to sit down. 

Finally reaching the bus, I sit on one of the couches in the lounge and throw my head back, shutting my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to replay the moment or force everything out of my brain. All I knew was that the only thing I could see in my head was her eyes. And I couldn’t stop wondering what the hell that was. Who was she? What was that feeling? Why did it truly feel as if my body was being pulled towards her? Wh-

“Noah!”

My eyes shot open as I quickly sat up and looked at the boys all sitting around me.

“What?” I blandly ask, trying to play it off. I got a few odd stares in response.

“What the hell was that?” Ruffilo asked. 

Shaking my head, I replied weakly, “ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” which caused him to raise an eyebrow at me. 

“Well, first of all, something weird happened during one of the songs, and then you looked completely out of it the rest of the set, and then you ignored all of us on the walk back and for the last few minutes as we tried talking to you.” He gave me a stern look, telling me there was no lying or getting out of this. I let out a sigh and ran my hand over my face, trying to collect my thoughts. 

“I..really don’t know. I can’t even explain without sounding stupid.” Then Jolly sat beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. 

“Come on, you say stupid shit all the time; I think we’ll understand some of it,” Jolly said, causing me to give him a weak smile. 

With another sigh, I started talking. I tried my best to explain the weird trance I got put under. About how I got locked in her eyes until I literally had to rip myself away. That caused Jolly to ask if she was just really hot, to which I responded with a smack to his chest. I explained how, for the rest of the show, it was like there was a magnet I was fighting against. One that finally pulled me back in before we left the stage, and that time it felt even harder to rip away from. I did my absolute best to explain the feelings that shot through my body the entire time, but since they were nothing like I had ever felt before, I had nothing to compare them to. By the end of the venting, I had my face in my hands, trying to reground myself. 

I sat up and ran my hand through my hair as I looked back up at them all. Each more confused than the last. 

“I really don’t know how to help you here, bro. I mean, it sounds like some divine intervention shit.” Folio finally said. That caused a groan to erupt from my throat. If it really was, why now? To a person I will probably never see again? I’ll never be able to find her again. What the fuck is even happening.

2 Years Later

The thought comes and goes. It’s more like a dull yet burning yearning in my chest that hasn’t left since that day. It’s been so long that I’m starting to get convinced that I’m just going to be stuck, thinking of those eyes, until the day I die. 

I pull out my phone and look at the time, groaning when I see that it’s now two in the morning and I am just lying here, stuck in this endless cycle of thought once again. Then my eyes land on the date, causing an even larger groan. It’s been over two years since that show. It’s been over two years of the same ruminating thoughts. I roll over in my bed and open my phone, knowing that just sitting here in my thoughts will keep me up all night anyway, so I might as well try to distract myself. 

I open Instagram and switch over to my alternative account, one that can actually follow interesting things without fans speculating on why I follow so many people. I scroll through the timeline, liking a post here and there, seeing a few bands posting news or a few memes that actually put a smile on my face. Getting stuck in the endless doomscroll, I finally landed on a post that genuinely piqued my interest. It was one of Bryan’s photography friends who liked to travel and find new bands to help out with pictures. I always loved discovering new bands to listen to, so just seeing his username caught my attention, but then I finally looked at the pictures he posted. 

Oh, fuck. It was her. It was her. I could recognize the face anywhere. Even though I caught it for barely a minute, it was so engraved into the folds of my brain; seeing it every single time I closed my eyes, there was no way I couldn’t recognize it. I noticed she now had a neck tattoo that she hadn’t before, peeking over her crew neck shirt from the first picture. I scrolled through the photos, almost burning a hole through my phone as I eyed up each one with her in it. She looked utterly beautiful as she performed. I finally let my eyes fall on the caption. 

‘So incredibly thankful to have found this amazing band while traveling around the East Coast. Check them out at @ Praisingdeities and definitely check out their music. It was unlike anything I have ever heard.”

Praising Deities. Now, that’s something I could absolutely do now that I finally found her. I click on their username, it sending me to their page, before instantly following them. I scrolled through their pictures, not getting enough of finally seeing her again. I saw that there were people tagged in one of their posts, so I clicked on it and saw that one tag was right on her. @ PraisingY/N. Clicking on that, I got sent to her personal page. God, she was fucking beautiful. I was glued to every picture of her face. I almost had to force myself to scroll to the next post, my eyes not wanting to leave the last. 

Finally realizing I had spent way too long staring at her, I exited the picture and scrolled back up to the top of her page, ready to tell someone that I had found her, when I saw her bio. 

“Goddess’ out now!”

Fumbling with my phone, I hurriedly opened Spotify and typed in their name, instantly getting results. I clicked on the song ‘Goddess.’ Within seconds, my ears were filled with the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. 

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

It’s like you kill me by design

You’re all I desire.

Fucking tell me about it. I wouldn’t blame anyone if they wrote this song about her. With a surge of energy running through me, I bold up out of bed and out of my room. I peek into the hallway, seeing that both of the Nick’s doors were closed, but Jolly’s was open. Glancing into his room, seeing that he wasn’t there, I ran down the stairs, searching everywhere for him. Finally, I make it to our studio and practically burst through the door. Jolly and Folio are sitting in there, chatting, as Jolly held his guitar. They both look up at me in shock the second I come through the door, and I almost run to them, holding out my phone, Y/N’s Instagram account pulled up on it. Jolly’s hand reached out first, so I handed the phone to him as he looked at it confused. 

“IT’S HER! THAT’S HER!” I say, not trying to yell but accidentally doing so. Nick leaned over in his chair towards Jolly as Jolly pulled the phone closer to his face to get a better look. 

“Her? Like..her her? The one from the show?” Nick asked, still looking over at my phone in Jolly’s hands.

“Yes! I found her! She’s in a band. Oh my god, guys. She sings, and it’s like heaven. She’s like heaven. I can’t believe I fucking found her.” I say, practically pacing around the room. Nick pulls his phone out and pulls her band up on Spotify, hitting a random song, and instantly, her beautiful voice plays through the speakers.

I wear my scary mask 

When I’m afraid I don't belong

You can’t read my brain

Until it’s off

Not comin' off

Not comin' off

I stopped and stared at them as they stared at her profile on my phone, waiting for any reaction from them. They hear this, right? As I watch them scroll on my phone, looking over her selfies and group pictures of the band, one of them occasionally pointing out a tattoo or an instrument, suddenly, her voice changes, causing us to immediately stare at Nick’s phone as she starts screaming.

I’m alright

I’m alright

I’m alright

You ain’t gonna see me tonight

We all look at each other, Jolly with amazement, me with shock, and Nick with a smug look. 

“I think you found your perfect match, Noah,” Nick said with a chuckle. I felt heat rise to my cheeks. She was perfect, wasn’t she?

We talked about it until we all decided it was too late and should head to bed. I’m not sure whether it was finally finding her, or if the amount of energy I just let out finally wore me down, but I was able to get some sleep. The next day, Jolly mentioned that he followed the guitarist of their band and reached out, telling him that he loved their sound, which came with the response from their guitarist, Thomas, fangirling a little bit from the recognition. Jolly said that they had a lot in common and had been chatting about music and other interests, which was fucking fantastic.

I get brought out of my daydreaming to the sound of her voice floating through the air as they do their soundcheck. I sit up and look at the boys whose attention was also caught by the noise. I stand up and go to walk towards the stage, not so far that I’m within their view, but just enough that I can watch her as she sings a few lines of a song with her eyes on the front of stage crew, looking for confirmation that everything sounds good. Each member tests out their instruments, and then they do a small run-through of a song before heading off stage. I turn around and walk back to the boys, or try to, before realizing they were all standing behind me, watching as well. 

I give Ruffilo a small smack on the arm, laughing as we hurry back so we don’t get caught. Sitting back down in random seats, trying to play off that anything suspicious happened, her band came into the room, with the stage manager trailing behind them. 

“Alright, boys, you’re up.” the stage manager commanded, making us all stand and follow her. 

“You guys sounded amazing. I can’t wait to see your full set,” I heard Folio tell the other band from behind me as we passed them. I turned and went to give them a proud smile as a way of agreeing, but I instantly caught Y/N’s gaze, getting locked in. Within a split second, I got lost in them, only being able to break out when Jolly patted my shoulder to keep me moving. With a few blinks, I finally sent them a warm smile, quickly turned my head, and returned to heading towards the stage. 

Y/N

Bad Omens does their soundcheck as my band and I plan out our set, going over if our setlist was exactly how we wanted it to be, what we wanted to add in, where the best break would be, and what surprises we should add, as it’s something we loved doing to connect with the crowd. The next hour was a bit of a rush as the crew ensured everything was perfect, and both bands checked to ensure everything was ready. The next thing we knew, we were about to head on stage. 

I peek around the side of the stage and see the massive crowd, all either chatting with each other, hyping themselves up, or singing along with the pre-show playlist. This was is. We’ve had large shows in the past, but this was our biggest yet. Bad Omens being the first well known band to let us tour with them. I jumped up and down a bit, shaking off my nerves as my band and I got ready. Suddenly, the venue's lights darken, and the stage lights turn green, our signature color. 

“You ready?” I hear in my ear. I turn and see Cam looking down at me with a huge smile, causing me to instantly return it and give him a nod. He pats my back a few times before running on stage, waving to the crowd as they all start cheering. I watch as he sits behind his drum set and spins his sticks a few times, both putting on a show and letting out some nerves. Tommy and Tony follow lead, each giving me another pat on the back as they pass me and head to their designated sides of the stage, earning more cheers and screaming from the crowd. 

All three make a little noise to get the crowd even crazier, Tony strumming loudly, followed by Tommy playing a little riff, then Cam playing a few beats. My face was starting to hurt from the smile on my face as I watched it all play out in front of me. 

They all started the beginning of our first song, causing the crowd to quiet down and signaling that it was now my turn. After a few moments, I wait until the vocals start and walk on stage. I sing the first few lines of our first song, and the crowd goes insane and starts singing along. I had to force myself to keep my composure and not smile too wide. Over the next few songs, singing along with Tony in some of them, and having a chorus of fans in front of me join in on the ones they know, I felt so connected to everyone. I occasionally glanced at my band and felt so proud of us. It felt like being on top of the world, with my best friends standing with me the whole time. 

We finished the fourth song of our set, and I mentally prepared for our next one. It was ‘Goddess.’ I wrote this one after Tommy forced me to start journalling my feelings when I wouldn’t talk to anyone about why I was always so stuck in my head. I took all the least heartbreaking feelings out of my entries and then quickly wrote down some of the things I said and tried to make them sound as good as they could as lyrics. After the band looked over it, we made some changes, making it flow better, and then Tony mentioned that maybe we could gender-bend it to make it make more sense and cause less confusion about who I could be singing about. I won’t lie; most of our newer songs were about Noah, or at least he was in mind when writing them, but this one was probably our most blunt song, the words being my exact thoughts and feelings. 

With a cue from the band, I began singing, them joining in later.

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

It’s like you kill me by design

You’re all I desire

Tony and Tommy join in as we sing the next few lines.

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

I could cross the great divide

But only you decide

Then the music finally starts, and I get a moment to breathe before continuing, knowing that the person I wrote this about was nearby, and I honestly didn’t know how to handle it. I look forward and see everyone having an amazing time, some acting as if this was their favorite song with how they even mimicked the guitar. My eyes continued to trail over the people and then towards my bandmates as they played. Then something caught my eye. On the side stage, I saw Noah and Jolly rocking out to the music. Who knows how long they’ve been there, but now I didn’t know what to do, Noah’s presence throwing me off. With a deep exhale, I began to sing the next part, trying to rip my eyes away from Noah.

Tell me you love me

He was singing along.

Tell me you need me

He knew the words. He was staring right at me, singing along, and I couldn’t help but stare back.

Tell me you’ll never ever think about wanting to leave me

It was almost like we were singing to each other. If only he knew that I genuinely was singing to him and had been since I wrote the song.

You’re Aphrodite

God I’m in love

I tried breaking away from his gaze, but between the magnetism forcing it together and my deep desire of wanting to sing this to him for the longest time, I just couldn’t.

It’s time you ascend to your rightful place perched on your throne up above

He actually knew every word. It caught me so off guard. 

Go and take your seat at Mount Olympus

I’ll do anything for you my temptress

Even if I’m innocent, I’d confess

Kill to watch you undress

Feel your body close pressed up

The dark look in his eyes sent fire straight to my core.

Against mine

He stood there, crossing his arms against his chest, staring at me with a look I couldn’t explain.

Heart beats

In Time

Feel your chest rise

You’re all I desire

A look I could explain. A look I absolutely mirrored as I continued singing the song. A look full of desire. One that could part the Red Sea just so we could meet in the middle. I knew my feelings when I wrote this song. I knew the feelings I had when I’d stare at new pictures or videos of him at night. My eyes trailed down from his eyes to his lips as he sang along, ones I needed to feel on mine, then his neck, covered in a tattoo I so desperately wanted to touch, down to his muscular arms that have caused unspeakable thoughts to cross my mind many many times, but before I let them move down further, even though I so badly wanted to, I brought my eyes go back up to his, before finally getting the power to pull them away and look back towards the crowd as I finished the song. 

Everyone cheered as the song ended, and I did everything in my power not to look back at Noah to see his reaction. I refused to falter, especially while on stage.

We played the rest of our set, even a random song that someone in the crowd requested as it was a part of our show. At one point, while looking at my bandmates, my eyes glanced at where Jolly and Noah once stood, but they were no longer there, probably getting ready to go on stage themselves. Thank god. Hopefully, I wouldn’t run into any of them until the show was over, and I could let myself cool down in the meantime. 

We said our thanks to the crowd and hyped them up for the band they were mainly here to see before leaving the stage. The boys all ran to me, and we had a small group hug as we made our way backstage. They talked about how amazing our show was and how fun it was to have such a large crowd, especially with people singing along. I laughed and agreed, letting them take my mind off everything until we finally reached the room and sat down. Jolly and Nick were still there, chatting and messing around until we joined them. They both stood up and ran to us, giving us their praise. I looked around and let out a sigh of relief when I saw that Noah wasn’t there and I just let the boys talk until Bad Omens had to head on stage. 

Eventually, Ruffilo joined us, also sending compliments before chatting with Folio and Jolly. 

“Yeah, I don’t know where he went. He was with me watching their set for a while, but after a few songs, he just left, and I haven’t seen him since,” Jolly responded after Ruffilo asked if anyone had seen Noah. 

“We go on in less than ten minutes, so whatever the hell he’s doing, he better be quick,” Folio said as he pointed the drumsticks in his hand toward the stage. 

“If he’s not here in the next few minutes, I’m sending out a search party,” Ruffilo groaned out.

I hope he’s okay. But depending on which song he left after, I have a slight idea on where he could be. I immediately shook that thought out of my head, unable to handle if it went any further, and turned to my boys and tried letting them be my distraction from my mind as we all waited to see if we had to help search for the missing boy. 

Noah

I stood in the bathroom, washing my hands and trying to collect my thoughts. God, that fucking girl. 

Night after night, after finally finding her and hearing that exact song for the first time, not once did I have control over myself. I don’t know what I was expecting when I knew I would finally hear it live for the first time, but I wasn’t expecting her to practically serenade me in front of thousands of people as if the words were meant for me. If only she knew the effect she had on me. 

Finally feeling like my hands were clean enough,  I glanced up at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed a bright red, either from thinking of her or my previous actions. I quickly bent down and splashed my face with cold water, hoping it would help, before drying myself and leaving the bathroom. I made my way back to where everyone was and let out a few deep breaths, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth, hoping to feel a little more grounded. 

“There he is!” I hear as I step into the room, making me give Ruffilo a sheepish smile. 

“Alright, let’s head over, we start any minute now,” and with that, I get pushed towards the side stage. As I moved, I happened to glance over at the other band, who were looking back at me. I gave them a smile and a quick “You guys were amazing” before I continued to be pushed. My eyes were met with Y/N’s for a split second, but I quickly shut them and turned away. I couldn’t handle that right now. I can’t let any thoughts fill my head when I need to be completely mentally on stage. 

Somehow getting my brain working again, the band and I had a blast on stage. I let myself live in the moment, not caring about anything other than singing and having the crowd sing with me. The screams and cheering were even heard through my earpiece, which was absolutely insane. We made it through most of the set, only having our two encore songs left. But that was when I was brought back to reality. As much as I tried to play it off, the boys knew who was on my mind when I wrote ‘The Death of Peace of Mind’ and ‘Just Pretend’. One getting more shit than the other, as they knew there wasn’t anyone else on my mind when they were written. Especially when she was all I ever spoke about. Actually, many of the songs on this album were written with her in mind, just with some help, or should I say arguing, from the boys, so we didn’t make this whole album dedicated to my feelings for her. But these were the two that I had fully written out while thinking of her, and the boys liked them so much that they just went with it. But I did have to lie and tell fans that I wrote ‘Just Pretend’ as a joke to not cause any suspicion. And surprisingly, they became fan favorites, so now I had to play them every night.

I had to do everything I could to not think about her while singing. I knew this would be a problem when the talk of touring with them was simply a subject, but with the emotions I went through not even an hour ago, I absolutely could not get lost in my thoughts while in front of thousands of people. 

Pushing through, I managed to get through The Death of Peace of Mind with a straight face and complete composure, pushing her face out of my mind every time it popped up, no matter how much the look in her eyes as she sang to me flashed through my head. But now, the one that held all of my emotions would be the hardest to perform without cracking. 

The song began, and as I sang, I tried my hardest to think of anything but her. I put on the best performance I could, knowing I had to show a little emotion while singing it but doing everything I could not to feel it too much, knowing the one I wanted so desperately was just backstage. I did the best I could, but the second I hit the chorus, emotion came crashing through my body. 

I can wait for you at the bottom

My eyes started to get drawn to the side of the stage, not wanting to do what she did, I only looked through my peripheral.

I can stay away if you want me to

She was there, watching.

I can wait for years if I gotta

And I have. God, I’ve waited years and years to even see her again. And I’ll wait more if it means I could get closer to her.

Heaven knows I ain’t getting over you

As much as I didn’t want to, I sang that line to her. My eyes locked on hers as I did. I hope it wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to me, but those words were for her 110%. I moved as far from her as I could, pretending like I wanted to get closer to the crowd, but it was so that I could break away from her as I continued the song. 

Finally, the song ended, and as much as I wanted to run off stage, the boys and I said our thanks and goodbyes like we always did. We tossed some memorabilia to the crowd before we could finally leave. We filed off the stage, and I let out a long sigh as the boys all high-fived each other. All I could think was how I hope these shows would get easier. 

Y/N

I honestly don’t know why I decided to watch their show with all the thoughts running through my head. Noah looked utterly mesmerizing up there in front of everyone. He was meant to be on stage. He put on the most amazing performance and sounded absolutely beautiful. The problem was that this was the first time I had seen him perform since that day. Thankfully, I was paying attention this time, but that didn’t change the tension I created when I sang to him earlier. 

Everyone was now back together after the boys stepped off stage. Once again, all chatted as Noah and I just kept to ourselves, paying attention to their conversation but not really adding anything. At one point, Nick mentioned that we should do something together to celebrate our first night, which got a mix of replies, from a few people saying that we had to head out soon for our next show tomorrow, to some being more than happy to party a little to start off the tour. Cam checked the time on his phone and said that we had a few hours to do something. We just probably shouldn’t go anywhere and just hang out here before we had to hit the road, which got a lot of good reactions, so I guess that’s what we’ll be doing. 

I started walking towards the door, letting the boys know that I was going to change quickly and just meet them out there, and headed towards the bus.

Stepping on, I walked to the back and opened up my bags, trying to find something comfy to wear, hoping I had something that wasn’t embarrassing since most of my sleep shirts weren’t the most appealing. Rummaging around, even through the other boys’ clothes, the best thing I could find was leggings and a tank top, only wearing pants because it was still a little chilly out. Tossing them on, then throwing on my slippers, I took a look in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look insane.

I wiped under my eyes to get any mascara that had smudged over the day, fixing a few of my piercings, making sure my septum wasn’t crooked, and none of the others had anything on them, and glanced over my outfit one last time. Many of my tattoos were showing because of the tank top, and I couldn’t wait to see what the other band had to say about them, knowing they were covered all day with my now dirty sweater. After one final once-over, I figured I looked good enough and walked off the bus to see the boys talking outside.  

Tommy, Tony, Jolly, and Ruffilo were all standing outside the Bad Omens’ tour bus chatting, and I assume Cam, Nick, and Noah were inside doing who the hell knows. I walk towards the group of boys outside, standing between Tommy and Ruffilo, and give Tommy’s arm a squeeze to let him know I was there, to which he turned slightly to see me and smiled as he continued to talk to Jolly about a guitar shop in one of the places we toured. I smiled at the rest of the boys, earning some back before Ruffilo’s eyes trailed to my arms. He made an exaggerated face, creating an ‘O’ with his mouth. 

“Dude, those are sick,” he said as he reached a hand out to grab my right forearm and slowly twisted my arm to check out the sleeve I had. I laughed as he looked at it in amazement. I stepped closer to him and held out both arms so he could get a better look. He eyed up the black ink sleeve I had on my right arm, the one that had cybersigilism print flowing throughout some of the pieces, connecting them all into a full sleeve. Then he looked at my left arm, which made him gasp, catching Jolly’s attention. My left was full of American Traditional pieces that all collectively came together. Jolly came closer to me to look at them all before his eyes caught my chest piece, a large bat with flowers around it. Tommy and Tony laughed at their reactions, knowing this was a common thing when men into tattoos saw me. I just smiled at them as they moved my arms. All of a sudden, Jolly pulled away and walked towards the door of the tour bus. 

“Yo, guys! You have to check this out!” he shouted in, causing the three boys to eventually trickle their way out, confused. I looked over and laughed when my eyes met Cam’s, who was also laughing when he saw them inspect me like I was some crazy art piece they found. Nick and Noah came closer, not understanding, until they got close enough to see what their friends were freaking out about. Folio joined the rest of them as Noah just stood back and watched as they pointed out specific artworks. 

“You guys wanna see something cool?” Tony asked them while laughing, making them all look over at him. That’s when he grabbed me and turned me around, which I immediately understood so I pulled my hair off my back and onto my shoulder, showing off my upper back tattoo of Baphomet that I got a few years back. It was one that was usually hidden because of my hair, but I did love showing it off. 

The second I turned away from the boys to show them, I heard a soft groan in the distance, which caused a snicker from a few of the other guys. I didn’t understand what was so funny, so I kept showing off the tattoo. 

“Dude, your tattoos are crazy.” I heard Folio say as I fixed my hair and turned back around.

“Thank you. I honestly just wanted to get covered as fast as I could, so I only have a few meaningful ones, but most are either in areas always covered or on my legs,” I replied with a smile. I earned a few more compliments before they all returned to talking about their own thing. I noticed Noah glancing at me occasionally, so I shot him a smile, trying to play off the tension I know he also felt. He gave me one back, just not a full one, almost like he was too distracted in his own head. That’s when Cam chose to get our attention. 

“So, we drinking, or what?” he asked us, clapping his hands together, causing a groan from the boys in my band, knowing how hard Cam wants us to go, and cheers from the other band. Cam jogged to our bus as the rest of us piled into the other since we were going to be hanging out there.

“Don’t touch my Fireball!” I shouted at him with a teasing smile, knowing he hated drinking Fireball; well, all the boys did, which is why it was mine. He, and multiple other buys, made a chorus of disgusted noises in response. Making me laugh. 

“Of course you like Fireball, you’re the most insane girl I’ve met,” Ruffilo said to me teasingly as I walked on the bus, causing me to laugh harder. 

“I’m honored,” I replied with a sweet smile before taking my seat next to Tony. Cam came in a minute later holding three bottles that he packed the day before when we got on the bus, and even though I gave him a little shit for it, I’m beginning to think he had the right idea as Jolly set an equal amount of bottles on the table next to his.

Tommy asked where the cups were, and Jolly started looking at the bottles, thinking about which would be the best to start off with. Tommy set some solo cups down, understandably the only option we had, as Jolly started pouring us all shots of tequila. Great. Well, let’s hope I don’t embarrass myself. 

We all toast to the tour and take our shot, the liquid fire going down painfully. I exhale as I feel the fumes in my throat, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I breathed fire, not having tequila in at least a year. Thankfully, it settled in my stomach fine, even though I hadn’t eaten anything since the drive here. 

We all chat about anything and everything as a few more shots get poured. We all sat cramped in the lounge of their bus, The Bad Omens boys sitting behind the driver's seat, Jolly the closest to it and Noah the farthest, and me and my boys sat on the other side, Cam across from Noah and me across from Jolly. So I was the closest to the door, that was still open, and even though my body was heating up from the alcohol, the occasional breeze still caused goosebumps. I rubbed my arms a little bit, hoping that the alcohol would heat me some more.

 I held my cup out to Jolly across from me, signaling that I wanted a refill, and he took it, asking if I wanted anything in particular, to which I responded by shaking my head no. He poured a little vodka into my cup and handed it back, which I accepted with a smile. I guess that’s when my goosebump-covered arms caught his attention. 

“You cold?” 

“No, just a small chill from the breeze; I’m okay,” I replied

“Hun, let me run to our bus and grab you a hoodie,” Tommy offered, giving me a slightly concerned look. 

“Guys, I’m okay. I’ll warm up after I take this,” I said with a giggle, lifting my refilled cup. Suddenly, Noah stood up and reached his long arms around into one of the bunks and grabbed a hoodie, handing it out to me.

“Just wear this until you warm up.” He said. I was about to protest again, but he almost seemed annoyed, or maybe that was my drunk ears playing tricks on me, so I didn’t want to argue. I reached out and took it, giving him a smile and a small ‘thank you’ to which he responded with a slight nod and returned to talking with the boys. I put my arms through the hoodie, pulled it over my head, and slid it down, the bottom being a tighter fit, so I had to put a little extra effort into getting it over my chest, but once it was on, it was the most comfortable thing ever. It was definitely the alcohol affecting it, but going from chilly to warm with a soft hoodie felt like heaven. 

I turn my attention back to the multiple conversations happening at once. My eyes caught with Noah’s, as he was staring right at me. He cleared his throat and tried to turn away like he hadn’t been caught staring, but I just flashed him a bright drunken smile. He did a small double-take before looking back at me and laughing a little as he gave me one back. 

I mouthed the words ‘it’s so comfy’ at him as I hugged the hoodie closer to my body, and he responded with a small chuckle and mouthed a ‘good’ back. I giggled as I reached into my pocket, wanting to be on my phone for a while as I wasn’t as interested in the boy’s conversations. I clicked on the power button to turn on my phone and saw that I had a bunch of notifications, a lot more than usual, which confused me. Thinking maybe it was just me being tagged in photos from tonight’s show, I clicked on them and got taken straight to Instagram. I click on my notifications and see that they're all comments on my last post, talking about Noah once again, but this time saying how it was either cute that I kicked his ass at Mario Kart or how he went easy on me, which made me laugh, knowing how it actually played out. But I was still confused on how they knew, before I scrolled enough and saw that I was tagged in a story.

I let out a loud laugh as I clicked on it, catching a few of the boy's attention, but I waved them off as I tried silencing my giggles. I liked Noah’s story before replying to it.

“That’s what cheaters deserve ;)”

I saw Noah shift as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, and I watched as he clicked on the notification and chuckle to himself before looking up at me with a smirk and then typing on his phone.

Noah- Me? The cheater? Who was the one who smacked the controller out of my hand?

I giggled before replying.

Y/N- Says the one who picked the hardest map of the whole game!

Noah- You literally got first place. you didn’t struggle that bad. 

Y/N- You’re still an ass

I heard him let out a huff which made me giggle more.

Noah- Whatever you say, sweetheart

My heart skipped a beat, but I did my best to play it off. I look over at my cup I had forgotten about and take my shot, it going down a lot easier than before, but I still made a face while shaking my head. I heard a laugh and looked up to see Noah watching me. I give him a scrunched up face to exaggerate the disgust, which he continued to laugh at.

“What are you two giggle-fucks laughing about?” Cam asked us, making me us laugh harder. “Come on, we still have a while to party, let’s get some more rounds going!” he suggested, resulting in some groans and chuckles. This tour is gonna be the death of me. 

After a few more rounds of shots, me trying to deny most of them, it was finally 3 A.M. and we had to hit the road. We said our goodbyes and headed to our bus, Tommy having to hold me as I walked up the stairs. I really should wash my face, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. 

I fell into my bunk, ready for sleep to take over as I was utterly exhausted from our first night. I pull my arm up under my head and face the wall of the bunk, closing my eyes. That’s when the smell of a citrussy amber and musk filled my nose. I lifted my head and looked down at my arm, and realized I was still wearing Noah’s hoodie. I let out a soft giggle before burying my head into the sleeve and letting sleep take over me. I fell asleep before I could see a new notification coming from my chat with Noah.

Noah- Here’s my number incase you need it ***-***-****

Noah- or to let me know when you wanna give that hoodie back ;) See you tomorrow

Part Three

[idlerin]

nonsense — 38. hard to love

“baby, i have something to say and… could you not open any social media app for a few—“ you cut oikawa off before he could finish his sentence.

“too late,” you said softly, lips pursed and brows wrinkled. the article you just read about you began to actually sink in. your name. your information. spread for thousands of rabid people on the internet to see.

“you… saw the article?” oikawa asked, dread immediately seeping in. how were you going to react? what do you want to do now? he was planning to ease you into the news, his plan on how to say it wasn’t completed yet. he hoped this won’t make you want to leave him.

“articles, yeah,” you say, suddenly forgetting how to breathe properly. still trying to process the fact that thousands of people now know your name and now have more untoward malicious feelings directed at you. tons of people you know are flooding your inbox, asking if the article was real, and you weren’t really in the mood to reply. the worst ones are probably your roommates, you live with them–even if you rarely stay in the dorms these days–and now they were probably reading about how the secret boyfriend they suspected you had was oikawa tooru, the celebrity they idolized (if the mini shrine in the living room wasn’t enough of a tell about how much they adored him).

you knew you had to announce your relationship with oikawa to the world, one way or another. that was just one of the clauses in pursuing your romance with him. you didn’t want it to go like this, announced by some gossip news outlet without knowledge or preparation from both you and him. you didn’t want to get bombarded, you didn’t want to feel overwhelmed, and yet it already happened.

so it was completely rational that you were internally panicking.

you were still on the couch when oikawa sat beside you, reaching out to hold your hand, making you face him, “i’m sorry,” he starts, “this must be very overwhelming, i’m sorry.”

“stop..” you say, “it’s not like you chose for the articles to be published, don’t say sorry like it’s your fault,” you grip his hand back.

“the pr team is going to handle the aftermath. we’re going to take the article down, okay?” he says, “i just… the one who leaked your information…” his jaw ticks.

“do you know who it is?” you ask. could it be one of the staff? but the only ones who know of your relationship with oikawa are akane and riseki… and they wouldn’t do that? would they?

“i have a hunch,” oikawa admits.

“oh,” was your pathetic response, you didn’t want to think about who the person who caused the disruption of your life right now.

“what do you want to do, darling?” oikawa asks, beginning to caress your hand. “honestly right now.. i don’t want to think about it much. i’m.. i just.. can i process this in the morning?” you gulp, right now, all you wanted was for oikawa to hold you. you bury your face in his shoulder, he instinctively wraps an arm around you to pull you closer, you feel him kiss the side of your head.

“of course,” oikawa sighs, “i’m sorry again, i know it’s hard to love me because of things like this..”

“i said stop saying sorry, and don’t say that, you’re not hard to love at all,” you mumble.

“this wasn’t how i planned movie night to go…” oikawa’s hand raised to your nape.

“how did you plan it to go?” you raise your head, playing along to his light change of topic, it made you feel better.

“hm well i thought we’d watch movies till 4am, there would be a lot less depressing sequence of events and a lot more kissing,” oikawa leans in to give you a peck on the lips then came back to give you a deeper one, a hand caressing your arm and the other curling in your hair.

“sounds nice,” you hum, wishing for what could have been.

“unfortunately, i have to leave you for a few minutes to make some calls, darling,” oikawa wet his lips, “i don’t really want to leave you though.”

“do you promise to be back in 15-20 minutes?” you raise a brow.

“i promise, darling,” he gives you one last kiss.

masterlist — previous | next

✦ fun facts !

oikawa left sato delivered on purpose so sato could have time to worry and overthink

nonsense ! an oikawa tooru social media au

synopsis. you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).

a/n — sorry kind of short !! but this had all i wanted to say hehehe.

taglist is closed ! + (1/2) @kawaii-angelanne @ceneridiankaa @kittycasie @rukia-uchiha-98 @polish-cereal @kellesvt @rockleeisbaeeee @kashxyou @imsoluvly @jjulliette @tooruchiiscribs @littlefreakjulia @gomjohs @qualitygiantshoepsychic @mellowknightcolorfarm @konzumeken @migosple @kuroogguk @sangwooooo @katsu-shi @wolffmaiden @rijhi @2baddies-1porsche @yeehawcity @aishkaaa @crueldinasty @renardiererin @yyuiz @llamakenma @penguinlovestowrite @princelingperfect @hearts4faey @yoonabeo @pantherhappy @julia-1901 @godsbiggestmenace @angel-luv-04 @noideawhothatis @bethbat @natsvmie @luna-mothii @lylovw @apinu @leave-rae-alone @kamikokii @bananasquash @eitaababe @minimari415 @hanabihwa @nilopillo

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Let Me Lean On You

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You have a bad habit of putting yourself in harm’s way, enraging John to no end. But can you survive a wound like this? Or will everything you hate to love about John Price never see the light of day?

Word Count: 13.3K (yes this is a novel; yes this is longer than any English paper I’ve ever written)

Warnings: blood, wounds, heavy on the gore, swearing, violence, suggestive, angst, fluff, enemies-to-lovers type of relationship but you’re both down bad

A/N: This is heavily story-motivated (I’ve found out I can’t write anything not gigantically plot-oriented; I’m so sorry). I’ve taken that into account as this probably won’t do as well as I expect due to that fact. Nonetheless to those who interact -- thank you and enjoy! P.s. as always this is barely edited.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The blood was gushing too fast, pouring out of the wound like the gaping hole was nothing more than a faucet with the double handles thrown all the way on. 

“Fuck,” You whimper, grasping pointlessly at the bullet wound in your abdomen with shaking fingers and sputtering breath. The blood slips out from under your fingers, cascading down the gear on your right thigh and splattering to the ground. Everything on that side of your body side was stained a vicious shade of red; sticky, heated, and pulsing.

All of it had gone wrong so quickly – Graves, Shadow Company, Alejandro Vargas, and Los Vaqueros. 

“I should have seen it. Graves was never to be trusted,” You gasp out as you force yourself onwards, all but dragging your body through the dense forest to try and find shelter in the nearby city, “But Shepherd? Fuck me. I worked for that man for damn near five years and turns out he’s a traitor? Well…that’s what I get for trusting a bald guy, I guess.” Moaning out a curse, you rip open the medical pouch on your vest with vibrating fingers, the white stitched cross taunting you as you get it bloody. Your other hand clenches over the hole in your side as if that alone would stop you from dying, fingers slipping as more death splatters to the ground.

The rain was the worst part. A storm at night was terrible already, but here the rain created a shield of delirium as you hobbled on, with nothing to be seen beside the trees and rocks a few feet ahead of you. Even face-planting would serve as a death sentence for you. Who knew if you would be able to get up again? 

Your black athletic shirt was sticking to you on the parts that your vest didn’t, and your cargo pants had come unstuffed from your black boots. Over your back, your modified SP-X 80 Sniper Rifle was ten times heavier than it should be, the barrel hitting the back of your numb knee at your uneven and sloppy pace. But you were far too stubborn to stop now. And pissed.

Tearing out a plastic-covered wrap of gauze and a rag from your pouch, you paused near a large bolder, panting like a dog as your lungs gasp for air. You tilt your head back as you drag the side of your shirt up, hearing the wet thump of a river of blood splashing into the flooded grass. Your skull connects with the chilled rock behind you as a wet cough in your throat bursts out into the sky. 

“Okay,” You give yourself false confidence, moving to grasp the gauze with the side of your clattering teeth and grabbing the rag with both hands; you twist it to resemble a torpedo in shape. Looking down at yourself you have to suppress the bile building in your throat, coughing once more and feeling dark phlegm fly past your quivering lips, “Okay, okay, okay…I can do this. I can do it.” 

Before you can stop yourself you twist the rag and shove it into your open wound, letting lose a wail of agony that’s thankfully covered by a slash of lightning over the black sky. Shoving it deeper, you feel it inside of your skin, moving like a parasite as your fingers splay over your skin. You grit your teeth and drop the gauze to the ground as the acidic feel of vomit rushes past your lips; with cracking knees you bend forward and release your guts into the grass, hacking until there's nothing left but regret and a vile taste on your tongue. Tears track down your cheeks as you breathe out a sobbing breath.

Through gritted teeth and blurry vision, you feel the rag peaking all the way through the entry and the exit points, and hope that the actions you’ve taken will buy you time to find Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost – if they were even still alive, that is.

“I swear,” You snatch the gauze from the ground, happy for the protective bag over the wrappings, as you sniffle with slurred words, ripping open the plastic with your teeth, “This is bullshit! If Price and Gaz are having a good time right now I’m telling Laswell to go pound sand the next time she tells me to go out in the field with these two. The Captain already gets on my nerves, but if I get to skip the part of hiking in the Mexican wilderness while I’m bleeding out– ” 

A twig snaps off into the trees. 

You immediately halt wrapping the gauze around your middle, securing the rag in place as it already begins to stain red. At your right thigh, your fingers brush the Basilisk Revolver as it lays dormant; heavy and cold to the touch as rain slides off its side. Your pulse, if possible, increases. 

The only twigs I saw back there were large ones – and any animals in the area would have run from the Shadows popping off shots back on the road, Your body’s already moving, not focusing on the pain in your side as you tie off the gauze with such a tight knot it forces a grunted profanity from deep in your chest. You decide to keep the Basilisk in its holster, for now, instead favoring the combat knife at your shoulder and blinking away the rainwater and bitter tears from your eyelashes. 

Not impressed, A deep raspy voice echoes in your brain before your grunt and force it down.

You unclip the clasp on the knife’s leather sheath before drawing the black metal, bringing it to your side; weaving behind rocks and trees as the light of the city in the distance gets larger. Behind you, you leave the noise of muffled voices with a nervous swallow. A gunshot would bring much-unwanted attention, and for all you knew you were all alone out here. You were being hunted. 

Well, good for you that you always worked better alone anyways. 

“I need to get to the city, try to radio the boys, and find a quick way out,” You grunt, wanting to itch the wound at your side as the rag pulls at the inside of your skin, making you feel unnaturally stuffed like a turkey. The skin around the fabric was undoubtedly bruising quickly, and already you could feel the pain pulsing like a bad headache leaving the skin hot and sweaty despite the cool rain and chilled winds. You just hoped you wouldn’t get an infection from this later, “If I’m lucky the radio signal will fix itself when I’m closer. If not I’ll need to slice a few necks and hope they have ear pieces I can snatch along the way.” 

You had a bad habit of talking to yourself – as Price had pointed out on multiple occasions. Dodging a downturned tree, the houses in the distance begin to take shape, their colorful paint like a beacon dragging you in. 

Captain John Price, You grumble before stifling a whimper at a spike of pain in your side, stumbling before you right yourself, or should I call him ‘ Captain Pain-in-my-Fucking-Ass?’ He acts like I can’t do my damn job – like I’m not one of the highest-ranking CIA Agents in the damn USA. Thinks he can handsomely swagger his way into a room and act like I’ll take his bullshit with a grin and a nod. 

Your free hand connects with a stucco wall of a house on the outskirts of the city of Las Almas, the exterior painted a warm orange which was now stained with your crimson handprint. Sucking in a deep breath, you lick your lips and peak around the corner, conscious of the black void of the forest at your side.

Immediately your eyes land on the bodies. 

Left to lie like useless sacks they’re sprawled in the street, limbs twisted and bent in grotesque displays as if it was an old renaissance painting. As a chill travels down your spine, you can’t help but call comparison to the grim artwork of Peter Paul Rubens's The Massacre of the Innocents. You never thought that a quick trip after a mission to a Canadian art museum would prompt a callback quite like this; in fact, you had prayed you’d never see anything like that painting in real life. But here they were, people, innocent people, of all ages gunned down en masse, with some visibly clutching onto loved ones; shielding children from the relentless downpour of bullets that now take home in their flesh. The small rivers running into the storm drains ran red with blood. 

“Shadows did this?” You breathe out, voice small under the downpour as you blank at the sight ahead of you. The lightning strikes in answer, leaving a deep rumble in its wake. Or maybe that was just the enraged snarl that played off your lips, echoing into the streets like a rabid dog. A thought strikes you between fiery thoughts and clenched fists.

This just happened, Swallowing the mucus and blood in your throat, you shake your head from side to side to dispel your running thoughts, revenge later. I need to find the others. 

Taking the nearest corner you stalk your way through alleyways, breaking into houses when needed when you heard shouting nearby, and carefully maneuvered your feet around more corpses. 

“This is a fucking war crime,” You whisper, gripping your knife a little tighter and snarling as you spy two more dead bodies in the home you were now in; one was a woman in her late thirties, clutching another no older than ten, who in turn holds a blood-crusted tiger stuffed animal to her chest. Like a grim pack of Russian Dolls, one after the other, “Graves’ll hang for this. I’ll see to it myself if they make me. Shepherd too.” 

You rip your eyes away before you have the chance to cry and go back to rummaging through a kitchen cupboard, finding a few spools of fishing net and a fabric needle in a spare parts drawer. Stashing them in your medical pocket, you reason with yourself that if worse comes to worst you’ll be forced to cauterize and stitch the gaping wound in your side by yourself. But not yet. 

Find the boys.

Gripping the radio connected just above your breast, you press down on the button, sending out a signal through a blind channel. The static accompanies you for a moment as you catch your breath leaning on the kitchen wall and leaving a small sprinkling of blood behind.

Licking your tense lips, you utter, “This is Bravo 7-2 ‘Goldfinch’ reaching out over the Blind. Is anyone there? Over.” You release the button waiting impatiently as the seconds drag on. 

Again your press down, “Ghost? Soap? Do you copy?” 

Nothing. 

Clenching your jaw another wave of pain travels up your feet, you wrench down on the button with a contorted face and snarl, “I swear to fucking high heaven, boys, if you don’t answer this goddamn radio I’m going to find your corpses myself and chuck them over a cliff–”

“Christ, Goldfinch, we get the bloody picture. Now stop your yammering and tell us where you are.”

“Oh, tell you where I am,” You grumble although a relieved sigh falls from your lips at the familiar Manchester drawl that belongs to your Lieutenant Ghost. You feel yourself deflate against the wall with a grunt, “We have Mr. Bossy over here. Where’s the ‘Please?’”

“Goldfinch–”

“Well, I can say it’s a pleasure to hear that American voice of yours, Ma’am. Good to know you’ll be joining us on our late-night getaway from the Shadows.” 

There’s Sargent MacTavish, You huff out a breath in amusement.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Soap.” Pushing yourself off the wall with clenched eyelids, you take a step out into the open space of the dining room, “But the attempt was admirable—!” 

A force slams you to the ground, finger releasing the radio abruptly as you let out a strangled grunt. Bracing your head for the blow to the floor you manage to twist yourself and land on your back, taking the brunt of the tackle to your spine and not your damned side. Not that it hurt any less. It was easier said than done, as even the sensation of hands on your thigh, trying to pry your Basilisk from its holster was sending spikes of pain radiating like a burning pike through your veins. Like hands were prying apart your skin with blunt nails.

You bring your knee up and twist your shoulders as the shrouded outline of someone on top of you slams to the side with a curse. Wrenching yourself up, you grab harshly onto the Shadow’s opposite shoulder and batter the man to the ground, effectively switching positions and barring him from grabbing anything before your knife finds home in his right eye. You hear the orb pop with a spray of fluid that washes your face as you force the blade deeper, listening to the now gasped pleas from the talking corpse under you. He grasps at your arms, trying to pry off your iron grip before you send the knife all the way to the hilt with a strangled yowl. 

The man goes limp, and his arms fall from you with a thump. 

Groaning your get to your feet and yank at your blade, placing a boot over the man's face and pulling until you hear the sweet clunk of metal separating from soft, pliable, flesh. 

“God, man,” You glare down at the black-clad Shadow Company member, “did you really have to tackle me?” Grabbing at your side, you grunt at the feeling of blood through the gauze, before pulling your hand away to look at the damage, “That hurt like a bitch.” 

It was only then you heard the yelling voices over the radio, calling your name.

“Yeah, yeah,” You press the button and effectively shut the boys up, standing dumbly in the torn-apart dining room and putting more weight on your non-injured side, “I’m fine. Shadow got the jump on me. Took care of it.” 

Grimacing, you lightly flutter your eyebrows as the world spins for a second. Soap speaks first.

“Warn us next time, Lass,” He whispers, “Bout gave us a heart attack out here. Thought we lost you for a moment.” 

In typical Ghost fashion, he only grunts his concern.

“Thanks, Soap, I’ll be sure to take that into consideration. I’ll call out ‘Soccer’ next time for a heads-up.”

“Oh, you are devious, Ma’am.”

“Any injuries, Goldfinch?” 

You clean the remnants of flesh off the edge of your knife on your wet sleeve, stalking up the stairs of the house to case the place for other hidden Shadows. You didn’t bother checking the dead one – if he was desperate enough to attack you with his bare fists he lost his group and ran out of ammo a long time ago. That was probably Ghost’s fault if you had to guess.

“Pretty bad one in my lower abdomen,” You admit, pausing on a creaky step and peeling your ears to listen for any nose. When there wasn’t any, you continued up, “Stuffed a rag in it and wrapped it, so I’ll be good for at least a half-an-hour if I’m lucky. Ten minutes if not.” 

“Bloody hell, Goldfinch, just now?” The words are drawn out in solidarity.

“Nah, back near the highway. And what can I say, Ghost, I don’t make a fuss. Does hurt like you’re getting your intestines removed though – wouldn't recommend.”

“How in the hell do you know what that feels like?”

“Trade secret, now, shh!” You get to a closed door at the end of a halfway and press your ear to the woodgrain, feeling water drip down your neck and from your nose to plunk against the floor. But you can’t help but flush at Soap’s next comment.

“I can see why Price likes her so much, L.t.” 

That gives you pause, your pain momentarily forgotten in the shock. 

L-Likes?! Your mind seems to come to a screeching halt, and you feel your eyes widen, horrified, The hell does he mean the Captain likes me? Price can’t stand the sight of me! 

You briefly think back on the last mission you had gone on with the Captain and Sergeant Garrick with a tight chest – an intel Op. in the suburbs of Amsterdam. 

The goal was simple and the plan was perfect; you and Laswell would link up with Captain Price and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick in Amsterdam where the pair was tracking an AQ cell on the docks and figure out this missile fiasco. Ideally, the private plane you and your fellow Agent had gotten on would have flown faster – at least you would think it would until the knowledge that the ETA was upwards of two hours punched you in your gut. 

You had scowled as you wiped down your rifle's inner workings with a rag, the bits and pieces you had added onto the weapon yourself taking up most of your time when cleaning. Picking up the larger scope with an annoyed hitch to your breath you had turned to Laswell as she gave orders to Price over the radio. 

“Two hours? Laswell, I could have taught myself to fly and gotten us there faster.” Your superior had sent you a glance, lips twitching up.

“Still impatient, I see.” 

“Rookie coming along?” That was the first time you had heard the Captain’s voice in a long time, and immediately you had picked up on the prodding question hidden under the first. 

Who the hell are you dragging into my operation? Or even, Do I look like I have time to babysit?

Had he forgotten you so soon?

“Quite the opposite – Goldfinch is joining us.” 

You could hear a pin drop. 

“I’m freezing my ass off in a river right now, Laswell, but if I had the time I’d try and wrap my head around what you just said. Can’t say I’d find an ending that has nobody scratching their heads.”

You bring the scope to your eye, looking through the glass to make sure it’s as clear as it can be. Satisfied, you lower it and send a glance to the phone on the tiny table with growing rage and sarcasm, “I’m flattered, Captain.”

“Don’t be, Muppet. I’m guessing you still have a habit of running off-script – creating more problems than necessary that I have to clean up? I’d expect nothing less from a woman like you…you ROG?” You feel yourself bristle, heat rising to your face at the jab. Sure you had a hard-set conscious, but only good things came out of you running off on your own when placed with others. 

Playing nice was never part of your job description, nor, in some special cases, was respect. You played by different rules than normal soldiers.

Laswell shifts in her seat but doesn’t tell you to stop when a low growl enters the cockpit. You place the cleaned scope onto the table carefully and narrow your eyes.

“Ironic, coming from a man who consistently disobeys orders like there’s no tomorrow. I can’t count how many headaches you’ve given Laswell since I’ve been by her side. And, Hell, at least I manage to get the job done without leaving a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth,” You lean closer to the phone with curled lips, “You, ROG, Captain?” 

From there it had been narrowed glances and snide remarks when you and Price finally met face-to-face on the landing strip. Eyes heated with anger. Gaz had been pleasant, at least, and it was good to see the man again, you admit, but John was…well he was something.

Something handsome to put it plainly, and that fact drove you crazy.

You couldn’t deny your attraction to the older man’s physicality – not even the time of your first meeting years prior. He had biceps that were nearly the size of your head, and shoulders that spanned doorways all tight under a form-fitting shirt. Tall, with large muscular thighs that led up to a tapered waist you felt yourself getting nasty thoughts about all under those damningly tight black cargo pants. Fuck, the things he could do to you without even speaking. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination as you’d quickly snapped your gaze away before you started to drool.

Shit, you had thought when you stepped off the plane and saw the familiar face, the strong jaw under Price’s brunette hair with a funny bucket hat on his head. Small blue eyes that filtered over your frame and left you only slightly taken aback by the growing heat in your body when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his pelvis jerking, I forgot he was so goddamned attractive. Maybe I should have waited to insult him until later.

The attraction had dissipated the second he had opened his mouth, however. 

“So here’s the Goldfinch, eh?” John had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and moving his legs to shoulder length under him, “I’ve re-read your file. I can say,” He sucks in a slow breath, lips falling into a line, “not very impressed.”

Not very impressed.

Laswell grunts under her breath at your side, sighing lightly, “Not now, John.”

“What?” He chuckles humorlessly, body tense, “Can’t blame a Captain for re-learning who he’s bloody letting tag along on a mission – particularly one who made his life hell in Serbia and nearly cost the team the mission because of her stubbornness. Not to mention an entire bloody city. Why is she here, Laswell? I don’t have time to babysit Muppets.” He snarls and glares at you all through the sentence, making your spine crawl with genuine unease. The jagged scar that sits between your ribs had burned in remembrance.

You hadn't bothered stopping in front of Price on that landing strip, you didn’t even bother replying to him. Your eyes gain a hard sheen, even as your lungs sputtered with a very real panic. You’re sure he noticed the hitch in your breathing, though, and you saw something flash in his eyes before it was gone in the next instant.

Sashaying past all you do is call over your shoulder as you go to get ready for the mission – to go listen in on a Cartel and AQ meeting in an hour. You answer the Captain before Laswell has the chance.

“At least I know where to draw the line in the sand, Price.” You caught his dagger-like eyes over your shoulder, noticing Gaz shuffle at John’s side: cautious. Poor kid, he was getting dragged into all the drama.

You had never seen John’s eyes so blatantly full of distrust before. Blue laced with a deep gray that reminds you of a raging storm over an ocean. Lightning flashed every time he blinked. Cold. Calculated. They hadn’t always looked at you like that.

You told yourself a long time ago that you were nothing but a spent bullet to the older man, not worth the effort to pick up or care about. 

You just need to wipe your hands of it. There was no changing his opinion of you…But why did you even care?

Even when you saved his life later that day at the café – putting a bullet through a Cartel member before he could blow Price’s chest out – all thwarted by a quick draw of your revolver, all the Captain had done was growl at you after the Basilisk was back at your hip. He had gripped your shoulder with a heavy hand that leaked molten heat. You hated the way your cheeks had flushed when you felt his hot breath on your forehead, the caress of his hard hip against yours.

“Stay out of my way, Finch,” he uttered before shoving past you to pick up the unconscious body of the target. Gaz had rushed forward to help and had spared you a sorry glance but nothing more. 

It was like nothing you had experienced before, but he left behind a burning need to be recognized that made your chest sputter when he dismissed you. 

Not impressed.

But that had been it. The next second you were shipped out with Ghost and Soap on account of your disapproval from the Captain and Laswell’s ability to see a dumpster fire beginning to smoke. Cutting the losses. Then you were hunting down Hassan in Mexico with adrenaline singing sweetly in your veins. You had been all too happy to be out of John’s seemingly never wavering sight. But still, you felt his eyes on the back of your neck, heavy and weighted with disgust. Everywhere you went and every bullet you fired you could hear his voice – not impressed. 

Bullshit. His words shouldn't hurt this much. So, why do they? Why can’t I just let it go?

Back in the present, you shake your head to dispel the guilt of the broken and confusing relationship. You didn’t want any more enemies, least of all ones who in the right circumstances could be unbeatable allies. John was honorable, strong, and loyal, but just as stubborn as you, and that alone left a bad feeling in your stomach that nothing would ever change.

You swore you hated him but was that even true? How can you hate someone but still want their hands on your skin? Roaming under your clothes and gripping just the right places to make you squirm? Laying gentle kisses to your lips and whispering promises? Holding you to their chest...?

You draw your ear back from the door – not hearing anything inside that would make you suspect Shadows in the interior. 

Grabbing the knob you twist and let it slowly open on its own, knife drawn and held firmly in front of you. 

The shine of the street lights from outside cascades over the floor in muted colors, the many rugs muffling your footfalls as you move in; straining your ears above the raging weather. When nothing caught your attention outright, your hand moves to the radio as you turn and stare at the empty doorway.

“I’m just going to ignore whatever the hell you just said, Soap,” You huff, bringing your other hand grasping the knife closer to your abdomen wound, brushing it with your fingers before flinching, “Where are we meeting up? No offense, boys, but I’m in a bit of a hurry over here. We need to get out of dodge before the Shadows regroup and do a final sweep.”

“Church,” Ghost’s voice wafts out just as your eyes lock on children's toys littering the floor, a large pile of stuffed animals just to your left smashed into the corner, “near the center of the city. There are directions on every street sign. How far out are you, Goldfinch?”

“Not too distant I hope, we’re running out of time,” You hear Soap grunt over the line, obviously learning the ups and downs of Guerilla Warfare firsthand.

“I’m a good way in, but I'll have to check the street signs to know for certain how far and let you know.”

“Copy. Be cautious.” 

You were about to leave when a lion stuffed animal bounced into your path, its dark eyes like voids against its tan coloring and flowing mane. A chilled breeze wafts in from under the window, bringing goosebumps up the length of your wet arms as your finger twitches. Freezing, your head filters over to the plushie corner with stilled breath. But even if you already knew what you were going to find, the pain of it didn’t hurt any less. 

A young girl was huddled under the pile, gazing out with brown eyes that matched her lion, securely hidden under a multitude of her toys. 

Someone placed her there, You think, noticing the signs of a rush in the way the rug was slightly up-turned at the corner, the closet across the room hastily half-closed in panic. 

The bodies in the living room tell you what the story was. With glossy eyes, you quickly sheathe your knife before kneeling. Your mind was made before you thought about it – you had to get the child out of here.

Almost got him killed in Serbia. 

“Erm,” Your voice makes her flinch, burrowing deeper. You suddenly wished you had taken the time to learn Spanish on the plane ride over, and perhaps known how to properly show someone you’re not a threat, “Eh…¿H-Hablas inglés?... Shit is that right?” Murmuring the last comment to yourself, your head tilts to the floor. 

“¿Jilguero?” A thin voice murmurs out. 

“I guess that's a no, huh,” You chuckle softly, swallowing down a groan when the motion tightens your chest. Your eyes flicker closed for a second before your breath comes out in deep pants. 

Tiny feet hit the hardwood, and when you open your eyes a child no older than ten is standing in front of you, clutching the lion plush in one of her hands and clothed in a blue nightgown that brushes the floor. You blink carefully, and her dark eyes blink back. 

“Jilguero,” She points with a tanned finger to your chest, and her soft face smiles. 

“I-I don’t…” You sigh, itching the back of your head with a hand before licking your lips, “I don’t understand, I’m sorry. But we have to leave, okay, we have to go.” Emphasizing with the hope she subconsciously knows what you’re saying, you place your shaking hands to your knees and stifle a whimper with a bite to your lip. Forcing your weight down, you stumble to your feet and grip your hair in a tight fist. 

When the spinning stops, you drop your bloodied fingers and force a smile onto your flushed face. 

The girl walks slowly to your side and latches into a strap on your thigh, looking up at you with a hesitant twist of her lips. Nodding, you hope whatever strength you have left that you can guide this girl to the church and get her out of this city until everything dies down. Already, a burning hatred for Graves gains fuel, sending sharp spikes of adrenaline into the backs of your eyes and the base of your skull. 

I’m gonna rip him apart with my bare hands. 

Grabbing your combat knife, you keep a hand on the back of the girl’s head to guide her forward, but keep her carefully behind your thigh. If anything were to go wrong, you would be sure your body would take the brunt of it.

“Goldfinch, any updates?”

“You bleed out yet, Ma’am?”

You descend the stairs of the home and make a beeline for the back entrance, dodging the bloody massacre in other parts of the house. The girl follows silently but sends a wide-eyed glance up at your radio as her long brown hair swishes.

“I’m here,” You breathe, “found a kid.” 

Steering the conversation away from your currently bled-through gauze the silence on the other end is strangling you. 

“Do you think that’s smart?” Ghost knows what you’re doing, he’s not stupid, and Soap catches on not a second later.

“You’re taking it with you?!”

“Did you really just call a child an ‘it’ Soap? Come on now.” You open the back door slowly, peaking your head out, and see only an empty, flooded, cobblestone street. Abandoned cars and trash litter the city, “If I leave her here she dies. I don’t know if Price told you, but I draw the line at leaving innocents behind. I’m sure he mentioned Serbia at some point.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, Goldfinch.”

You cut the line, looking down with a moment of contemplation at the girl with your lips pulled thin. But your chest beat with a surety that was deeply ingrained since childhood – what drove you into the life you lead now. 

“Alright,” You whisper, “Here we go, Kid, keep close.” 

She blinks, doe eyes wide as she tightens her hold on the plushie against her chest.

Hell, she doesn’t even know what’s going on. She doesn’t know…Fuck.

As you both step outside, your boots stomp where her bare feet slap, water splattering both of your heads as the rain still pours. The girl brings on hand to her head, trying to wipe away the racing droplets that fly down her cheeks. Stifling a laugh, you tilt your head and smirk. 

Turing into the night, your side steadily burns more with every step you take, skin ripping as the rag drips a trail of crimson that’s wiped away by the storm not a second later. 

“Jilguero,” The girl whispers, and with a tight face, you turn your gaze down. She points to your face and brings a finger to her lips, making little ‘shoosh’ noises that make your chest feel lighter.

“Yeah, Kid,” You mutter, “Jilguero.”

Playing copycat you bring the knife to your lips and shoosh before turning your attention back to the road, pulling forward into a back alleyway with iron wrought bars at the top of the walls. Light flows through the openings like a cage, making kaleidoscope images over your face. 

The darkness spreads, and all you hear is the labored breathing of your sputtering lungs; tiny feet pattering at your side. But in your mind, there’s a brand like a curse and a voice that never leaves. 

Not impressed. 

The scar on your chest burns.

–

You never make it to the church. 

Quickly picking up the girl, you duck behind an abandoned car as she yelps into your hold, dropping her stuffed animal. Shadows flooded the path ahead, leaking into the road from ransacked houses in groups. By now the rain had slowed – it was still coming down hard, of course, but it was just shy to the point of being safe to speak openly. Looking down, you place a finger to your lips, and a tanned finger mocks the action from the child at your side.

“--Found the three yet?” A shadow calls, and you tune in with a cocked eyebrow, eyes narrowed as your grip on your knife tightens.

“Nah, but I’ve heard comms are going silent from all different sections of the city. They’re out here somewhere. Cornered just like animals in a trap. We’ll flush ‘em out, then we go home and get our paychecks.”

A laugh.

“Yeah!” The previous Shadow yells out into the night, and you flinch slightly lower to the ground with a grimace, “You hear that?! We're gonna find you, Fuckers!” 

“Jamie, shut the hell up!” Jovial slaps to shoulders echo, and you don’t repress the growl that builds in you, anger shimmering as you glare holes into the ground. Mistake.

“Aye, what was that?”

“Shit, you heard that too?”

Fuck. 

Grabbing once more onto the girl’s arm you’re just about to make a reckless run for it when a small tapping catches your attention. You snap your head to a small window level with the ground, no bigger than a bookshelf cubby installed in the side of a dead house. Inside you see the scared face of a middle-aged man, dark-haired and sun-kissed skin, a beard over his cheeks. 

He waves a hand wildly and cracks the window open, eyes wide and snapping from you to the street. 

“¡Dése prisa! ¡Dése prisa!” Hesitating only a moment, you and the girl dart forward. Letting her shimmy her way inside first, you frantically look behind you as you place your free hand above the window; hearing footsteps splashing closer with a pounding heart. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” You mutter, knees pressing into the ground. When the girl’s blue nightgown fully disappears, you swing your rifle over your head and shove it into the opening. Feeling hands grasp it not a moment later and yank it inside, you sheathe your knife and dive in feet first, body slamming to the ground with a grunt and a cloud of dust. Your vision gets blurry as you lay there, trying to get air into your lungs, nearly dry-heaving from the pain radiating through all of your nerves.

The window snaps shut. 

“Get up,” A gruff voice ruffles your feathers as the back dots in your vision peel back, your survival instincts forcing unconsciousness away. Shit, you really needed a Medic, this was bad, “I said, get up!”

Panting, you drag yourself half-up with an arm, the other gripping the dripping gauze at your side. Blood hit the floor and your head feels like it's floating. 

You feel your throat flex, turning your gaze to the same large middle-aged man that now holds your rifle against his shoulder, familiar gold-plated barrel now level with your pounding head. 

“You fire that, you’re as good as dead.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” The man wears a blood-stained white shirt and jeans. Around his neck a silver locket glints.

Your heart skips a beat as you grunt in answer, and you turn your head to look for the girl. Feeling your eyes widen when you find her in the hold of an older woman, who looks at you as she presses the confused girl’s head into her breast. 

There’s a group here of at least fifteen people, huddled with fearful eyes. Most are women and children, but a few men watch you with distrustful eyes. 

In the older woman’s grip, the girl pulls back and eyes the man holding your rifle. She points at you as you blink in delirium.

“¡Jilguero!” Your arm buckles, but with a wet cough you catch yourself before you hit the ground as your radio sizzles to life.

“Goldfinch, you copy? Haven’t heard from you in a while, Ma’am,” Your breath sputters in your chest as Soap’s voice filters out, but you don’t answer right away. 

The man’s grip shakes the gun, but he keeps sending glances from you back to the girl. With a clenching of his jaw, he lowers the rifle.

“The only reason,” He growls, “you are here is because of her,” He looks at the child before walking over to you. Holding out a calloused hand as a peace offering, he continues, “If she wasn’t I would have let that Hijos de puta put a bullet in your head.” 

“Goldfinch,” Ghost now weighs in, “report. Now.” 

“I suggest you get that, Jilguero,” The many people around your two shuffle nervously, and your thoughts run.

How long before more Shadows break down the basement door of his place and find these people? 

“What do I call you?” You ask the man, slapping your hand into his own and allowing him to pull you up with a choking breath. 

“Just call me Manuel. Here,” He jerks his arm forward awkwardly, holding out your gun. It didn’t take an expert to know he had no clue how to handle the thing, “This is yours, I believe.”

“Word of advice, Manuel,” You send a slow smile his way before you grab and swing the weapon over your shoulders, “If you’re serious about using it, click the safety off next time.”

“Erm…”

You press the button on the radio as you look out the window, seeing a large group of flashlights descend into the darkness down further in the street. The Shadows were leaving.

“This is Goldfinch,” You flinch, fixing the weight on your legs, “No need to worry, boys.”

“That’s our job. Be lucky you have such enthusiastic partners whispering into your ear… You could have had Price barking orders instead.”

“Soap, never bring up the Captain. I can feel his hatred over the line just at the mention of his name.”

“Hatred? Is that what you think it is?”

“Both of you,” Ghost interrupts, and you have to hide a relieved sigh, “Shut the hell up.”

“Ah, you’re no fun, L.t.”

“Never said I was, Johnny.”

With that, you released the button and sank against the wall – utterly spent for the time being. Fisting at the wrappings around your middle, you draw them back just enough to peak at the damage to your side. Sucking in a deep breath sparks needles all along your ribs, but it’s all you can do to try and process the utter havoc that’s left of your flesh. The rag had helped stop the bleeding, but it had also made your flesh rip out in a way reminiscent of lightning, slowly making the wound bigger inch by inch.

It was drowned all the way through with crimson, and so too was the gauze. The sickly thick liquid you had felt when you were hobbling along in the streets hadn’t been rainwater. You had probably lost more blood than was good for you, by the way your limbs started to go numb and your fingers shook with shock. 

“That doesn’t look good,” Manuel comments, having kept a close eye on you during your conversation. 

“Yeah, doesn’t feel good, either.” Whimpering, you move the gauze and take the ends of the rag one at a time and ring them out, listening to the splatters of blood as they make slick pools on the floor. The pink skin of your insides is visible as your prod and pry. At least you know the bullet never hit anything important – you’d be dead by now. That didn’t make your dark thoughts take a break, though.

Trying to distract yourself and catch your breath, you send a glance around the room, looking at everyone present until you land on a flushed-faced Manuel. You weakly smirk, telling yourself not to scream as your legs nearly give out from under you.

“Don’t suppose you have a doctor in this room with you, huh?”

“Unfortunately not. I-I’m sorry,” You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. Your eyes are glossy before you take a deep breath through the weight on your chest.

“No worries. Hey,” You try and straighten up, nearly doubling before you force yourself straight, “which way to the church? I have to meet up with my boys, and I, uh,” Chuckling as you stumble back into a wall you clutch your side numbly, “I just have to meet up with my boys.”

“You have a way out of the city?” Manuel perks up, taking a few steps closer to grab you by the shoulders. You flinch, but let him, watching his eyes fill with false hope.

“No,” His expression falls, “But if I make it there, I may find one. Ghost and Soap are some of the best men I’ve worked with. When we all get our brain cells clacking together, a plan’s sure to form.”

Probably not a good one, You keep the last portion to yourself with a grimace. 

Manuel turns his head away before squeezing your shoulders and releasing you. You watch him look around the room, taking in terrified faces and tear-stained cheeks as the dark walls swallow the area. The man looks back as you struggle to keep upright, one arm behind you and hand splayed against the wall. 

“You won’t make it there with that,” Manuel points to your side and shakes his head, “No way. Not a chance.” 

“You want me to drag you all with me?” You raise an eyebrow, pushing off the wall and focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, stumbling to the basement door, “No. One was alright, but more than three is suicide. Everyone is–”

“--Safer here?” Manuel rushes after you, going to halt a few feet in front of the door with his arms out. He looked pitifully desperate, “Can you say that with certainty?” 

You growl, shoving past him and side-stepping limbs on the floor that skirt out of your way, “No, but you have more of a chance.”

“Goldfinch, change of plans,” Your eyes widen at the breathy-toned Manchester accent entering the room, “Church is compromised – Shadows have the place torn up. Make for the Market. And no need to fret over Johnny, the bastards’ with me.” 

“Shit,” You bring your hands to your head, running them over your hair and leaving streaks of blood in the strands before you grab the radio. You take a deep breath, “Copy.” 

Saying the words so calmly feels like a betrayal of your emotions. You were anything but undisturbed. Swallowing the blood and mucus in your throat, you hesitantly turn your head to Manuel, side-eyeing him.

He smiles smartly, “The Market’s one mile up the road.”

“...I want everyone up and ready to go in two minutes. Move it.” 

Hobbling to the door, you place your hand on the smooth texture as Manuel rushes to rouse the others. Taking a glance behind you, the girl stays close to the older woman who held her prior, clutching an apron that she wears. Your chest tightens as she stares at you.

Someone she knows, You think to yourself, good. They’ll look after her better than I could.

Two minutes come and go, and soon the small group is all standing holding meager belongings and family members to their chests. 

“Alright,” You mutter, nodding, “You know how to shoot?” Looking at Manuel, you grab the Basilisk on your thigh, flipping it to hold into the barrel and point the grip at the blank-faced man, “It’s a revolver, so it has one helluva kickback on it – only holds five rounds too. If you have to shoot, make it count.” 

“I-I’ve only shot a pistol before.”

“Well, then I hope you learn quickly. Safety’s off.”

Handing him the gun carefully, you swing your rifle over your shoulder and check the number of rounds you have left. Doing mental math as you shoulder the basement door open, you slowly ascend a set of stairs and end on the amount of twenty-five. 

Your jaw clenches.

Graves had turned before you could re-stock in Alejandro’s facility, leaving you with the bare minimum. 

Behind you, the group moves with muttered exhalations, whispering to each other fearfully. God, you could hear their heartbeats pounding in their chests without even looking; but it wasn’t like yours wasn’t beating just as fast. 

Almost got him killed in Serbia. 

“Shut up,” You growl to yourself, “Not now.” Leading them over the landing, your boots connecting with the hardwood floors; heading towards the front door as the world tilted. Bright colors shot across your vision like passing racecars.

“Easy there,” Manuel’s presence is heavy behind you, steady. You shuffle forward with a shake of your head. 

The Market, You do a head count behind you as you grab the front door handle, I just need to make it to the Market. 

Creaking the door open, you hold your rifle tighter as you stick your head out. 

Empty. 

“You stay on my ass, you hear me?” Throwing the inquiry over your shoulder you leave the house with your weapon scanning the streets, knowing that a Shadow could pounce from any angle. You had people to protect now; there was no bullshitting this.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Jilguero.”

“Very funny. Look, can’t you see me blushing.” Behind you, a nervous chuckle bounces off the dead houses, making an uneasy tremor wrack your spine. Keeping the conversation going, you wave the rest of the people over into an alleyway, watching them scurry to you and Manuel.

“‘Jilguero’ is Goldfinch in Spanish, I’m guessing?” 

“You would be right, take the next left, but I can’t help but tell you that’s not much of a name,” The man whispers as you hear your feet splash in a puddle, taking a corner, “What do you call yourself – besides Goldfinch of course?”

You take the next left as directed, “Nothing.” 

You make it to the market without having to fire a single bullet, though your knife has a few more stains to add to its sheen by the time everyone is staggering to a halt in the alleyway. Holding your hand up behind you to make them stop, you motion to the empty house to your left with two fingers and hear Manuel whispering in Spanish to help the civilians understand. 

When they all safely make it inside, you and Manuel wait as the pitter-patter of rain hits your heads, dripping down your cheeks and chin. Swallowing, you look out over the empty stalls and businesses and grip your rifle, but the Shadows are nowhere to be seen in the reflections of windows or heard on the wind. A red pickup truck sits near an overturned booth, and you blink at it in contemplation.

Bright white street lights illuminate the city, creating dark spots over the cobblestone. Bringing a hand to your radio, your gun sits under your armpit, parallel to your chest as Manuel shifts nervously behind you. You hear his quick breaths and frown.

“Ghost, Soap, I’m in an alleyway just outside the Market. Where are you?”

“Copy,” Soap responds first, only a moment after an unsteady silence weighs on your shoulders, “We’re nearly there.” 

“Copy,” You hesitate, “When you get here there’s a problem we need to address.”

“Anything deadly?”

“Heh,” Chuckling, your face twists in pain, “maybe.”

“We’ll get there as soon as we can, Goldfinch. Take it easy.” On the other end, the Sergeant was panting – running you realize. They must have really gotten into trouble leaving the Church, “Don’t want our favorite American kicking the bucket.”

“Favorite – I’m flattered.”

“Laswell takes a close second.”

“Less flattered.” 

Soap’s laughter cuts out when the sound of running feet from across the Market draws your attention away from the small device. Snapping your hands to your rifle, you steady your stance with half-lidded eyes, though you still feel your hands shake. 

Blood loss is one hell of a problem when you’re being hunted like an animal. 

Across the road, two men rush out into the light, large frames creating more moving shadows as their steps bounce off the buildings. 

“That’s them,” You turn to Manuel and nod your head, “Don’t shoot ‘em.”

The man lowers the Basilisk to his side. 

Bringing your fingers to your lips, you feel your lungs sputter as you let out a thin whistle, impersonating a bird call. 

Ghost’s masked face and Soaps tense one snap to you with their guns raised. Instincts still sharp as a blade despite the overwhelming circumstances they were in. Immediately the two noticed your disheveled form and shared a quick glance. 

They rush over with pounding feet. 

“Hells Bells, Goldfinch,” Soap grabs your shoulder with one hand, the other still clutching his gun with tight fingers as you stare at him blankly. He got over to you so fast you feel like you blacked out for a second, “You never told us it was this bad.”

Ghost grunts as he eyes Manuel, pointedly glaring at the revolver in his grip with untrustworthy eyes. He comments to you, “Can you keep going?”

“Always, Sir.” You respond immediately, a wavering smirk coming to your face. Letting Soap help you stand to your full height, you suck in greedy breaths, “But we have a bigger problem.”

The Scot scoffs, looking you over, “Bigger than a damn hole in your side?”

“Yes,” Nodding to the house where the group all huddle, you see their heads peaking out from under the window. The child’s little hands grip the windowsill like a kid on Christmas, trying to sneak the last cookie away, “namely a group of CIVs.” 

Manuel takes a step forward, and you feel Soap's arm on your bicep tighten. He slightly moves to put you behind him, his shoulder bumping into your field of view. He had noticed the man before – they both had – but seeing your Basilisk in his hands had made them overlook his presence for a moment. If you had given the man your revolver, you trusted him with it, and seeing if you were alright took priority.

“Easy,” You mutter, “He’s with me.”

“The group is mostly women and children,” Manuel pleads, “If the men from before come back, they’ll all be killed. I have to get them out of the city, tonight.” 

“That’s not our problem.” Ghost’s voice is cold and logical. He won’t endanger his squad’s lives, “You’re not our mission, and you’ve done fine so far.” They’ve all been put through the wringer, and dragging along others will attract attention that no one wants. It was more about saving his squad’s hide than the other way around.

But that’s a death sentence for the innocents who are watching from behind the window, eyes wide with fear. You made your decision the second you dragged them out into the street. They were your responsibility now.

“That’s nearly what she said,” The local man points to you and Ghost takes a step forward threateningly. In any other situation, the response from your boys would have been heartwarming.

“I’m not…leaving them here.” You force out from numb lips and feel more than see Soap whip his head down to you. 

“Your joking! Lass, you can barely walk by yourself!”

“We don’t need another Serbia on our hands, Goldfinch. You’re coming with us.” Laughing, you shake your head at the Manchester man.

“Next time you see Price, tell him he was right, yeah? He’ll know what I mean.”

“Goldfinch,” Ghost thumps over to you, gargantuan body making you seem even tinier, “I don’t think you’re understanding me: that’s a fucking order, soldier.”

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I only take orders from Laswell?” You chuckle, shaking off Soap's increasingly tight grip; like he could drag you away into the night without you clocking him in the jaw. Your head turns to the red pickup with intent.

“Hotwire the truck – get the hell out of the city.” 

“Bullshit. No way in hell are we leaving you here for the Shadows.” Soap spits, taking a step back from you and shaking his head so hard his wet mohawk sprays more water into your face, “I won’t stand for it. We leave here together, or not at all.”

“Graves’ll tear you to pieces if he finds you here,” Ghost stares you down with those unblinking eyes before looking to the tuck in the Market, “not to mention you’re wounded. You won’t last on your own, and with a group of CIVs to keep under check your chance of survival drops to zero.”

“Alejandro said he had a safehouse, yes?” You begin, not finding any other option for yourself to make them understand, “you know the way by road, Ghost, but he also explained a way through the mountains. It’s long, but it leads to the same place. I know the way. I can lead the people through it; get them to safety. I doubt the Shadows will follow beyond city limits – that's not their orders, and Graves is a little shit about that kind of stuff.”

A beat of silence. Soap clenches his hands and gnashes his teeth. He would be more difficult to persuade about this than Ghost. Too loyal to people; cares too much.

It’s not a bad quality to have, You say to yourself, but it clouds your judgment. Makes you…sloppy.

Something clicks in your head, but you don’t have the time to think about it before Ghost is answering you with a grave tone.

“That adds nearly half a day of hard hiking, Goldie…You sure you’re up for that?”

“You can’t seriously be considering this, L.t.!” Soap yells, voice bouncing over the rain, “She’ll die!”

“Better it means something, eh?” As his face drops, you send the Scot a small smile, “Soap…I can’t leave these people to die here. Never been able to, and I won’t start now. You can fight me on this, but you know it won’t end well for you.”

Manuel lets out a snort a few feet away but quickly shuts up when Ghost sends a glare his way.

You watch with guilt in your chest as the bear of a man’s shoulders deflate, eyes turning into that of a kicked puppy. Looking to the side, he grunts.

“...Let me look at the gunshot wound.” Soap gives in, knowing he can’t change your mind, and swings his weapon over his shoulders before ripping open his medical pouch, “No way am I letting you go without trying my best to patch you up.”

Pulling back the gauze and the remains of your shirt, you hike your vest up so he can get a better look as his fingers poke at the skin. The wound festers with sickness, puckered flesh-like lips around the sagging rag it clings to. You don’t even want to look at it, and judging by Soap's quick breath in, he doesn’t either. Ghost burns holes into the side of your face. 

The Scot’s finger prod at the rag, eliciting a snarl in turn from your mouth.

“Ask a girl out first before you go lifting her shirt up?” 

He doesn't miss a beat.

“I’ll leave Price for that – if the man ever gets his shite together that is. You both deserve each other.”

“Stubborn bastards,” Ghost agrees, leaning back to look into the Market impatiently, “Make it quick Johnny.”

You feel your face heat to an unexplainable level, disbelief pulsing in your veins. All of these comments about Price – Price this, Price that. God, what were these boys trying to do here?

Ask me out? What the fuck is this man on? How many times do I have to tell him how much Price hates me before it takes hold?

But you stay quiet, holding your tongue as the Scot gets to work.

Soap can’t do much to help without making you immediately bleed out in front of him. They have no intense medic experience, no good equipment, and no hope of making the wound disappear into thin air like a magician: though you have no doubt Soap would have tried if it meant it would make you better. 

All he does is apply an antibacterial solution and re-dress the wound, getting his gloves all bloody in the process as they drip crimson down into the street. As he packs more gauze around the rag to suck up more blood and try to stop the bleeding, you force back the nausea in your throat. 

“Not a chance you have any Advil in that pack of yours, Suds?” Soap sends a serious look up at you, now going to string a long tourniquet around your waist. He ties it tight.

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Damn, knew I was unlucky today, ” You pant.

Ghost steps forward, hands still gripping his gun, “Johnny,” He whispers, “We’ve got to go. Shadows on the move, I can hear ‘em coming.”

“Go,” You mutter, grabbing his hands in your own and forcing them away. Grabbing the rifle you had put aside, you take a few steps back from the boys who had just gone through hell to get back together and make it out. The only problem was they were now one member short, “I’ll get these people out of here and we’ll meet at the safe house in a day’s time max.”

“We better see you there, Goldie,” Ghost grumbles, “I never gave you permission to die on me.” He turns first, jogging his way to the pickup as shouts pick up on the other side of the city. 

“Yes, Sir,” You snort, nearly feeling your legs give you before you right yourself. Soap stands still, watching with guilt-ridden eyes. He reaches into his medical pouch and produces a single white stick. You tilt your head.

“Adrenaline shot,” He explains, walking over to you and slipping it into one of your front pouches. He swallows thickly, “I better see you there, Goldfinch.”

You smile lightly, eyes crinkling despite the hopelessness of his tone, “Get Alejandro back in the meantime, yeah? He still has to play guitar for me at some point.” 

—

Price has never felt like this before. His chest sputters, heart palpitating in his breast harshly. He knew how to respond to any situation imaginable – a gunshot, a stab wound, his comrades falling around him like flies and how to push on through it. But this…? Why did he feel like this now?

Where the hell is that damn woman, He feels his lips turn into a harsh frown as he enters the armory of the safe house, multiple racks of weapons and armored trucks passing in the corners of his eyes like phantoms.

It’s been two days since anyone had seen or heard from you, and in the meantime, Soap, Ghost, and Rodolfo had broken out the Mexican Special Forces from their overtaken HQ, and Price and Gaz had come in to assist. But still, there was no Goldfinch. 

The Captain could tell the tension in his shoulders had gotten worse. When he hadn’t seen you with the boys breaking into Alejandro’s HQ to free the men…

It was like his heart had stopped working properly since.

“Ghost, Soap!” John calls, voice authoritative as it echoes off the wooden walls. Many of the Vaqueros in the room turn to look, backs unconsciously straightening at the Captains intimidating presence. The named men look up from the large brainstorming table they were hunched over. Alejandro and Rodolfo stand next to them while Gaz trails behind Price swiftly, watching the older man with concern, “Anything on Goldfinch?”

Soap glances at Ghost.

“Nothing, Sir.”

“Negative,” Ghost continues, straightening his spine, “I checked about a mile down the path – there’s no sign. Nothing from the radio either.”

Alejandro speaks up, his face twisting down into a frown as Price and Gaz make it to the table, “The mountains are difficult terrain – radio antennas can’t get a signal out through it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you the way when we first met,” He clenches his hands over the table, looking down at the map set over the wood, “Taking that path…It’s not something most of my men would ever dare to do.”

“And taking it injured – nonetheless with the wound that Soap described,” Rodolfo takes a glance at John, shaking his head with a hesitant look in his brown eyes, “It’s not promising, Captain.”

“The girl’s strong,” Soap grunts, tilting his head in denial as his jaw clenches, “Goldfinch is alive. We just have to wait–”

“We don’t have the time to wait, MacTavish,” Price interjects, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his legs shoulder-width apart, looking down at the map with hidden emotions. The mission came first…right? 

Then why did John feel so fuckin’ bad about his decision?

“Graves’ll be vulnerable because of the prison break – on high alert, but that type of thinking always makes people like him sloppy. We have the advantage right now,” Price sighs, lowering his voice to no more than a grunt, as the bucket hat on his head tilts forward, “and I’d rather not lose it.”

A tense silence settles before Gaz speaks up.

“Are…you sure that’s best, Sir?” The man asks, “Goldfinch is one of us. We can’t just leave without her.”

“She made her choice, Sergeant, eh?” Price mutters, eyes snapping from one marked-out path on the paper as if he could find your body between the folds and red ‘x’s’ or if you’d magically appear from the fibers popping up with that damned happy-go-lucky smile that made him want to smash his lips against yours. 

Price stills at the thought, hands tightening over the flesh of his arms.

Anyone could see John was pushed against a wall with this. 

Graves, or you. The mission, or…you.

He’d never have brought you into this if it had been his choice – tried to shove you away from it with all his power already. But all he had done was force you right into the middle of this shitshow with all of your infuriating goodness. John wouldn’t have bothered to drag civilians into this; his mode of thinking was the needs of the many over the few, as you had pointed out to him in Serbia with such an outburst that the man was half convinced you would give yourself a heart attack. You were just so different from him.

That’s why you love her, A voice hisses in the back of his head.

I’d known she’d do something like this - put her damn life on the line like it meant nothing, Price clenched his teeth, and I sent her away anyways. I should have been here…fuckin' hell.

“We take back Alejandro’s HQ in two days,” John relents only slightly, cursing the hope in his chest singing that you would show up. You had to. Everyone at the table perks at the comment, not previously having any ideas of how to persuade the mission-focused man to relent in his choices. 

Soap has a large smile blossom over his face, and he and Rodolfo share a mischievous look; Ghost shakes his head at the pair and their insurance of getting involved in whatever Goldfinch and the Captain had going on. 

But it was incredibly confusing to everybody, to say the least. 

Even some of the Vaqueros you had been friendly with looked at each other with smiles on their faces. None had wanted you to be presumed dead.

Price continues, “But I can’t do more than—”

“Alejandro!” A yell shatters the Safehouse, and soon one of the Colonel’s men comes springing into the room. 

Everyone’s hands are on their weapons in an instant, bodies tense and ready to strike.

“Shit, is it Shadows?!” Gaz asks, but the individual rushes past and grabs Alejandro by the arm.

“¡Es Jilguero! ¡Ella está aquí! ¡Ella tiene sobrevivientes de Las Almas con ella! ¡Venga, rápido, coronel!” 

“Jilguero?” Price asks with a hard voice, partially already knowing but not wanting to be disappointed, “What does that–”

“It’s her!” The man says, rushing past the others as everyone else immediately begins sprinting out of the room, talk of Shadows and strategy thrown to the side without a second thought. 

It was you. Impossibly, it was you.

John doesn’t think as he rushes past everyone, adrenaline pumping from his heart down to his feet. He can’t seem to think about anything else besides you – your face, hair, body – and feels his stomach roll with an unidentified emotion. All that mattered was you, and he hated himself for it.

She’s back. She’s alive.

Price reaches the front door faster than anyone else, the packs on his vest weighing him down, and the gun over his shoulders jolts with every heavy step that slams to the dirt floor. He slams it open with a shoulder, feet skidding over the ground. 

—

You don’t know where the pain stops and you begin. Stumbling forward you hear the happy cries of the people who had come into your care meeting the warm afternoon air, stirring the leaves and bushes. 

“The safe house is just ahead, Jilguero,” Manuel keeps you upright with a hand around your waist, your arm over his firm shoulders. No doubt he was covered in your blood from head to toe – he’d been the sole thing keeping you on your feet for half the day.

You’d been forced to cauterize your bullet wound yesterday, and, admittingly, it was a shotty job. Your hands had been too shaky to hold your combat knife steady, leaving long sections of your side burned and blistered that weren’t even connected to the source of your problems. 

But it had stopped the bleeding for a while, at least. Manuel had to stitch you up, using the fishing line and needle you had stuffed into your medical pouch when this nightmare had begun. That too was suspect to improvement, but the man had done the best he could while panicking over your unconscious, flesh sizzling, body. All things considered for his first time stitching skin, he had done better than expected.

The sutures had ripped open on the last stretch of the hike.

“‘Bout time,” You wheeze, forcing your feet to carry your forward. The amount of sweat, blood, and dirt that was caked over your body made you want to gag, but no one else was any better. You suck in weak, gasping, breaths.

“Let me walk,” Gasping, you begin moving away from Manuel the closer the outline of trees becomes. 

“Whoa, careful there,” He says, but lets you go. Manuel stays close, watching you limp to the treeline on unsteady legs, “Stubborn.” The man mutters under his lips.

“Heard that,” You snort painfully, slowly making your way into the open with one hand over your side, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum. 

When you enter the safe house’s clearing, your eyes squint against the light, turning your head away sharply. 

“Goldfinch!” Gaz’s voice reaches you first, making you flinch from how loud it was. Lifting your head, you blink away the dots and lock onto the multitude of people all gobsmacked on the lawn. You raise an eyebrow glancing for a moment at the various civilians being embraced by Vaqueros. 

Many were crying.

Family members? You ask yourself, watching with a small smile before looking back to the task at hand.

“Hell, you really brought out the welcoming comity, didn’t you? Miss me that much, boys?”

Soap points at you, beginning to make his way over, “You’re a damned day late, Ma’am! You should get written up for all the worry–”

Price places a heavy hand on the Scot’s shoulder, stopping him with a small skid across the earth.

Oh, fuck, You curse. 

You hadn’t even noticed the Captain, too focused on getting somewhere to rest, and finally, put the burning behind your eyes to bed. God, did your side ache something awful.

“C-captain,” You laugh breathlessly, voice cracking and eyes nervously filtering about. Manuel leaves your side to go greet a Vaquero who claps him on the shoulder lovingly, “Good to see you, Sir.”

Silence. 

He’s pissed.

Price takes a deep breath, and you see his chest inflate as he stares you down with those narrowed blue eyes that you love to hate. His body is partially vibrating with rage.

Not Impressed. 

Nearly got him killed in Serbia.

“Price…I–” You’re cut off with a sharp bark.

“You disobeyed orders!” The enraged man begins, face becoming a deep red under his beard. You watch with tense shoulders as John begins stalking over, his feet so heavy on the dirt they create puffs under his feet. Everyone halts to listen, too afraid to intervene, “Ran off without the security of your squad! Put your life in danger and yourself above the mission!” 

Your head sags, chin falling to your chest as you stare hard at the ground. Price’s shadow gets closer, his voice not falling as that authoritative tone rips into your self-confidence.

“Nearly got yourself killed! What do you think would have happened if you died? Who’s fault would that have been, Goldfinch? Oh, right, your sorry Muppet self!” 

His body heat leaked into you as you took the words he spits at you, British accent becoming even more prominent as his rage rises to new heights. You’d never seen him this angry before. Against your will, glossiness coats the sheen of your eyes, collecting in your tear ducts. You could feel John’s ragged breath on the top of your head, rustling your hair. He was breathing so heavily you would have thought he had just run a marathon.

He’s so warm, dizzy, and more exhausted than you had ever felt before, you take a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder to stand every second. But you were so done with this cat and mouse game, Price, please, hold me. I’m tired. 

You don’t know where the thought comes from, but this one you don’t try to fight. 

“Is there anything you have to say for yourself, Agent?” John growls, and you look to see his hands clenched at his side. Shaking. 

You don’t look at his face, content with watching his heart beat wildly in his chest, a small smirk growing on your lips. Maybe you’d just cracked the code for all of his attitudes, his supposed hatred.

Maybe he loved to hate you just the same as you did him.

Your head falls forward, hitting on his chest just above his heart. You feel more than see his chest still in shock as your forehead angles itself above the bulkiness of his pouches. 

“You can yell at me all you want, John,” You whisper, “but let me lean on you, first. You’re warm.” 

Price’s body jolts like you electrocuted him, but after a minute of steady breathing and feeling his eyes boring into the side of your pain-screwed face, an all-encompassing hand makes its way to your head. Finally. It presses into you, pushing your body just a little closer to the man who, up until this moment, had never understood. But, apparently, he didn’t understand you, either. 

That was probably because both of you were stubborn bastards. 

John’s breath tickles your ears as he tilts his head to the side, knocking it against yours as you feel that stupid hat hitting your scalp. You release a gentle sigh, letting the tension leak out of you as whispered conversations flow all around. But here, at this moment, all you think about is John. About the way his hand fit so perfectly at the back of your head, his thumb moving up and down in soothing motions that leave your eyes fluttering shut in safety. His other gravitated to your waist, carefully whispering over the bandages of your injury. Checking the wrappings and running calloused fingers over the bulk of the stitches.

Was this what you had been missing this entire time?

“Stay awake for me, sweetheart,” He mutters, anger turning into something else as John’s lips caress against your skin so sweetly it leaves you with tears tracking down your cheeks; muffled inhalations of sobbing breaths stuck in your throat, “You’re alright, now. I’ve got you.” 

“Don’t let go,” You sniffle, body shaking despite your best efforts. The hand on the back of your head travels to your cheek, wiping away the rouge tears as his callouses scratch your skin perfectly. 

Your eyes open slowly, locking immediately on deep ocean blue, with lighting striking every time eyelids closed delicately. You hadn’t seen those eyes so softly meeting yours since before Serbia. 

“Never,” John whispers, thumb once more rubbing over your flushed cheeks, so close you could move an inch and your lips would connect. “Never again.” 

All you do is smile, feeling the heat in the air become thicker the more you feel John's breath over your lips, his gaze flickering down before snapping back to your shimmering eyes once more.

But, unfortunately, there is a time and a place.

“Fuckin' finally!” Soap’s voice shatters the calm moment, rising above the chirping birds and jerking the two of you out of whatever was sparking, “Ghost you owe me a fifty!”

“Johnny, do me a favor and shut up, would you?”

Laughter bounces, but all you do is close your eyes once more, pulling away to nuzzle your face into John’s neck. Your arms stay limp at your sides.

“Think you can walk for me, Finch?” He asks lowly, pressing his lips to the side of your head and making your face turn into a bonfire as he leaves a kiss behind.

It was a promise – we’ll talk later. 

Your pride rears its head inside your breast for a moment. 

“Y-yeah,” You stutter, head pounding when you force your eyelids open to see the path ahead of you.

Price grunts.

“Stubborn,” Suddenly hands are gently moving you up into a hold, arms settling under your knees and over your shoulders. When he lifts you so effortlessly, you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Your rifle sits uncomfortably along your back, but you don’t complain, because John had somehow managed to lift you without aggravating your wound further,. But of course he had – this was Captain John Price, “We’ll have to work on that, Agent.”

“No more than I’ll have to with you, Captain. You’ve got it worse than me.”

“Hm, you’re probably right.” Blinking at him, your eyes crease in confusion, but he only smirks, white teeth flashing. 

Scrunching your nose, you put your head under his chin, forcing his head up with a grunt. 

You grumble, “Tell Manuel to give my Basilisk back, would you?” 

John walks through the threshold of the safe house, nodding to the others to tell them he can handle it as Gaz sends a smirk and a tweaked eyebrow his way. Price won’t even try to decipher that. The rest give you soft glances that you miss, and Alejandro knows he’ll have to thank you personally later for everything you did for Las Almas and its people. But he knows that right now there’s something special going on. He’ll wait.

The Captain chuckles at your comment, even if he doesn’t know who the hell ‘Manuel’ is, “Well, it’s your gun, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell him, eh?”

But all he felt was the sensation of your sleeping body slotted under his head, lips touching his Adam’s Apple and making him shiver as soft breaths fall. John pulled you impossibly closer.

Making his way to the corner, he carefully rested your body on an empty cot and waved over a Vaqueros with medical supplies and ample training. 

As the Medic worked on you – lifting up your shirt to see the mangled remains of your side and the botched sutures – Price sucked in a quiet breath and watched with his arms folded over his chest. 

In his head, he was telling himself to not reach out to you, let the Medic work, but when your unconscious face twisted in pain he didn’t hesitate. He snatched your hand with your own and watched the wrinkles in your forehead soften as his thumb rubbed the length of the back of your hand.

Pride blossomed in his chest. He could fix this mess he made; you both made.

He smiled.

“You impressed me, Goldfinch. Always have.”

—

Serbia: August 15th, 1700 Hrs. – 

You swore if you lived, you would love John Price for the rest of your life. 

“What in the bloody hell were you thinking, Muppet!?” The Captain screamed at you as he hand a tight compression to your chest, blood leaking from his fingertips and pooling on the ground, leaving your combat vest in tatters. 

If you hadn’t been prioritizing those damned civilians this never would have happened. A knife to the chest is never a good thing, and John was sure that you were going to die under him as he screamed at you in anger and fear; eyes glossy.

An imposter in the crowd, a liar, and the second you had checked to see if the man was alright, he had struck. 

John had seen you go down and immediately put a bullet through the man’s skull with an enraged yell. He watched you hit the ground like you meant nothing.

“I told you to run! Goldfinch, I fucking told you to run!” Blood shot from your mouth, splashing Price’s face in a spray of gore. Your eyes were fluttering.

No, no, no. Not like this.

“You never listen! Fuck!” Damn you for making him fall in love with you. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Always running into danger, going where he can’t follow, you gave him a heart attack every time you were away from his side.

“Keep your bloody eyes open, Goldfinch! Keep them on me…! Fuckin' hell…where's the damn Medic!?”

John Price swore to himself that, if you lived through this, he would hate you for the rest of his life. 

[inevesgf]

TOUGH LOVE ⠀,⠀ chrismd.

synopsis ✩ what it’s like dating chrismd!

warnings: mentions of sex.

authors note: had to whip up a lil bit of chris content <3 trying to do some headcanons in between publishing fics, so i hope this makes up for my weird uploading schedule. in the mean time, if you haven’t already please go check out my lux fic!

• a bloody sucker for psychical touch

• probably clingy ( clingymd all the way )!!

• i imagine you having to get out of bed earlier than normal in the morning and him pulling you by the waist back into bed.

• begging you to stay in bed just a little longer all groggy in his morning voice.

• when you do, he kisses your neck and jawline all lazy, pulling you in closer by the waist.

• actually the BIGGEST cuddle bug ever.

• “i was thinking for date night we could just stay in, watch a show and cuddle”

• loves to go out for dinner with you, but would definitely choose a night in over that anytime.

• not too big on pda, but isn’t afraid to show everyone you’re his with little bits of affection.

• when you’re out at party, he’ll snake his arm around your waist, making sure all the men there know you’re taken.

• definitely loves to hold hands while walking next to each other. he’ll lock his fingers between yours and massage his thumb slowly over the top of your hand.

• HOLDING HANDS UNDER THE TABLE WHEN YOURE OUT WITH FRIENDS AUGH

• most importantly he loves to show you off!!!

• will make you do football videos with him because footy is your secret talent.

• “that’s my girlfriend!” after every single shot.

• “my girlfriend and i are the best football players on all of youtube, let’s be real!”

• also low key leaves little love marks on your neck to make other guys who fancy you jealous.

• actually THE number one golden retriever boyfriend! bonus points if you’re his black cat girlfriend <3

• shows his love in sososo many wonderful ways.

• like i mentioned earlier — he definitely loves to leave hickeys.

• will sneak up behind you and kiss your neck while you’re editing, cooking, etc.

• showers you in kisses EVERYWHERE and i mean everywhere …. if yknow what i mean

• besides your lips, his favorite places to kiss are your cheeks and forehead.

• will tell you he loves you at random moments.

• you could seriously just breath and he’d be like “i love you so much”

• definitely praises you during intimacy with little “i love you”s.

• FOR SURE would call you princess or darling.

• makes little date nights for you to go on every week.

• alternates every other between staying in and cuddling or going out for dinner or to the cinema.

• all of his friends love you.

• especially if you play football and are at least a bit decent at it.

• they always ask how you’re doing when you’re not around, and chris always answers happily.

• he loves to talk about you to the boys.

• will tickle you any chance he gets because he knows you hate it.

• just his revenge for you slapping his ass all the time smh

• loves to play with your hair. he probably even tries to braid it sometimes but always ends up knotting it

• LOOOOVEES when you tangle your fingers in his curls.

• probably loves to have his hair pulled slightly i won’t lie..

• makes for the best boyfriend ever.

• gets you flowers at least once a month and you don’t even have to ask.

• “i know you like white roses, but this time i thought id get you tulips because they remind me of you”

• definitely associate the song “mirrorball” by taylor swift to him.

• “work song” by hozier is YOUR song. i imagine he would love to slow dance in the kitchen after you two just enjoyed a nice home cooked meal.

[betterthanyalls]

Happy Valentines day!!! This is a gift for my platonic valentine!!! Love u pookie

Fake Proposals

Words: 1.5K

Published: 2-14-2024

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is such a bad idea.”

"Oh, c'mon, Peach! It’s free food!”

“If it works, which it probably won’t,” Y/n explained to her boyfriend, "plus, aren’t you a demon? Can you not just disguise yourself and steal the food?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Have some faith, Peaches!” Wukong encouraged, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. He held Y/n tight and guided her into the high-class restaurant that stood tall in front of them. Wukong let go of Y/n, to his dismay, so he could hold the door open for her. He may be an egotistical demon, but he knows how to treat the love of his immortal life.

Y/n smiled at her partner’s kind gesture, “Thank you, love,” and entered the small entrance of the restaurant. When Wukong entered, his hand instantly found its way to Y/n’s, holding her in a tight yet gentle grip. The couple stood near the host stand, waiting for a server to come to seat them. They stood there for around five minutes until Wukong started getting impatient. His foot was tapping rapidly on the ground, and his tail was swaying, brushing Y/n’s leg every few passes. Noticing this, Y/n lightly squeezed his hand in a few pulses. Her eyes watched as Wukong’s tail slowed its sways and his foot stopped tapping.

Smiling softly, the young woman cast a glance at her boyfriend. She saw how he was looking around, trying to spot any servers standing around. Eventually, someone who looked like a hostess walked up to them.

“I am so sorry for making you wait! I was told someone would cover me when I’m on break, but I guess not,” the girl, who looked the same age as Y/n, spoke quickly. Y/n observed how the girl kept taking glances at Wukong, each one longer than the last. Normally, Y/n wouldn’t mind people looking at her boyfriend; he was a demon after all, but this girl had a different emotion in her expression. Y/n read the girl’s name tag and couldn’t help but notice how much the girl looked like Y/n. ‘Analise’, was the name carved into the metal tag. “That’s ok, my boyfriend and I would just like a couple table. Please,” Y/n spoke through a strained smile, moving closer to Wukong.

Wukong, somehow, didn’t take notice of the way Analise stared at him or how Y/n moved closer. “Right away,” Analise glared at Y/n before turning and guiding them to a nearby table made for two. As they walked, Y/n gripped Wukong’s hand tighter. She could see from her peripheral view when her boyfriend looked down at their hands and looked at her face. Y/n looked at him when he mouthed a question, ‘You okay?’. Now that Wukong knew she saw him, Y/n couldn’t ignore the question. Looking at Analise, who was still walking in front of the two, Y/n let out a sigh and shook her head, ‘No’. Wukong’s eyes held hers, filled with sympathy and understanding, and simply nodded. It didn’t take long for them to reach a two-person table in the center of the restaurant. Y/n smiled when she saw the mischievous grin spread across her lover’s lips.

“Here you are, sir... and ma’am,” Analise finished her sentence with resentment. Hearing this, Y/n gave the worker a tight, sour smile before sitting down across from her partner. Analise left the couple to view their menus and choose the food. Scanning the options, Y/n paused when she felt a foot tapping hers. Looking up, she was met with Wukong’s iconic smirk. “So, my dear Y/n was jealous of some random girl?” His tone was laced with tease as he smiled at her. Y/n rolled her eyes and softly kicked her demon lover, a small smile forming on her lips as she looked away to hide it. “Shut up, just stick to the plan, ok?” The young woman spoke through her embarrassment, still not meeting Wukong’s eyes.

Y/n heard his chuckle and the shuffling of fabric. Looking up, she watched as her boyfriend pulled a small black box from his pocket and set it on the table with a mischievous grin. The two looked around, trying to see if any staff was nearby to see the plan in action. “I think that’s the manager right there,” Y/n discreetly pointed to a man standing about a table or two away. Looking back to her partner, Y/n nodded to him with him doing the same in response. Clearing his throat to gain nearby attention, Wukong stood up and took the box. Walking over to Y/n, he knelt in front of her. She could see a glimmer in his eyes as emotions danced like lightning on his expression.

“Y/n M/n L/n, we have been through thick and thin together. I can’t even fathom how you could survive with someone like me and yet you do it anyways. You have always meant the most to me; the flame to my candle, the moon to my sun, the rainbow to my cloud. I can’t explain in words how much you mean to me, it’s simply impossible. You deserve everything in this whole messed-up universe and I will make it my goal to deliver it all to you. Anything you want, it’s yours. I’m lost without you, Peach. I want to be your crutch, your support; the one you rely on when you can’t even rely on yourself. I may not understand everything but I will do anything to let you show me. I am willing to change anything just for you to glance at me. The longing I get when you have to leave from a date or when I can’t look at you for even a moment. Your eyes, your hair, your cheeks, your nose, your arms, your everything. I love every little detail about yourself. All your flaws are gone, you never had any to begin with. I know you might not be able to see yourself the way I see you but I want to let you even get at least a glimpse of how I see you. You are so perfect to me that even the stars moon and sun envy you. You shine your light of kindness and care to anyone, proving anyone can be themself around you. I feel so safe with you and I want you to feel that around me. Y/n M/n L/n, I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I will do anything to make you mine. So, what do you say?”

Shock and embarrassment overwhelmed Y/n. She had expected some cheesy speech, but the way he said it and the way his eyes glowed. Y/n knew he meant every single word and it left her speechless. Her mouth opened slightly, trying to say something but no words or sounds came out. Wukong held an expectant look like he didn’t think this whole spiel would catch you off guard. The whole restaurant was looking at the two of you. The suspense was thick in the air and even the blind could see the anticipation. Finally, Y/n found her voice.

“Yes,” She whispered before making her voice audible, “yes! 100 times yes!” Wukong stood up and brought her up with him before picking Y/n up and spinning her around. Laughter echoed from them as the restaurant erupted into cheers and applause. A huge smile graced both the couple's faces when Wukong slid the ring onto Y/n's ring finger. The duo hugged tightly before feeling a hand on both their shoulders, it was the manager. At first, they thought their plan had been a success until the manager pointed to an extremely small sign across the room that read, ‘NO ROMANCE ON PREMISE!’. “Well, that’s ironic.”

Now walking hand in hand down the dark street, Y/n and Wukong just talked. “I wanted that free food,” Y/n complained. “I know Peach, but I can just steal some food from Pizza Hut or something if you would like,” her boyfriend shrugged. Pausing in her steps, Y/n looked at Wukong with an ‘Are you serious?’ expression. “What?” “Why didn’t you just do that earlier before we got kicked out?!” Y/n exclaimed to her clueless boyfriend. “I…uhhh….” Wukong stumbled on his words, trying to find a reason before Y/n found the truth. “Wait a second,” Y/n spoke, a smirk forming on her face and turning to her lover, “did you just do all this so you could propose to me but not officially?” Wukong was looking everywhere but his girlfriend now and not answering her question. Y/n smiled softly at her flustered partner before taking his face in her palms and giving Wukong a soft kiss on the cheek, ruffling the fur atop his head when she leaned back. Y/n chuckled a little before she turned and kept walking, leaving a stunned Monkey King behind her.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hello!

I've always wanted to do a stealth game/campaign, but all my attempts to hack it into DnD have failed. Do you have any suggestions for a stealthy system? Not something as abstract as Knives in the Dark (tbh, I just have never been able to get into it) but something that hits the Assassin's Creed feeling of watching the target, making a plan, and then sneaking through the base taking out guards and hiding their bodies and such. Preferably on a grid map or similar, s we're terrible at theatre of the mind.

Thanks!

THEME: Stealthy Games.

Hello there, so I did some digging and I found plenty of stealth games, although none of them seem to really require a map in order to play. That being said, I don’t think that should stop you from providing maps to your players, even if they’re abstract! Some of these games might ask you to sketch out a rough map of the town or building that you’re in, which may help you provide your players with some visual references as they sneak around, trying not to get caught. When it comes to stealth, I think of three things: horror, heists, and spies.

Delta Green, by Arc Dream Publishing.

Born of the U.S. government’s 1928 raid on the degenerate coastal town of Innsmouth, Massachusetts, the covert agency known as Delta Green opposes the forces of darkness with honor but without glory. Delta Green agents fight to save humanity from unnatural horrors—often at a shattering personal cost.

Delta Green comes highly recommended as a great way to play an X-Files type rpg, mixed in with the Cthulhu mythos. It uses a d100 system and is based in the modern day, casting your characters as former members of government agencies, recruited into a super-secret bureau that investigates supernatural things - and keeps those things hidden from the common public. The stealth of this game is mostly about covering up the eldritch and unnatural, even if it means framing someone else or condemning a beloved building.

Your characters in this game have some familiar pieces to them, such as six stats with the same titles as you’ll see in games like D&D. However, you’ll also have pieces like Bonds, which represent relationships that keep your character grounded, and a Sanity system that I’m personally not crazy about (I do not recommend this game for a group that doesn’t like trite mechanization of mental health disorders), but that gives you a way to incur penalties that aren’t just physical damage.

This looks to be the closest to a traditional rpg on this list, and with all the elements to keep track of, I can see how a physical map would be helpful. However, keep in mind that there isn’t a pace or speed stat attached to these characters, so things like line of sight or distance probably won’t be super granular - if you are shooting things you may have broad range bands to determine how difficult something is, but the final decision will be a GM decision, not something necessarily determined in the rulebook. Because the setting is a modern one, I think finding visual references for locations in this game would be very very easy.

If you want a taste of the game before you put your money down, you can check out the Free Starter Rulebook!

Minutes to Midnight, by Oliver S.

Minutes to Midnight is a game powered by Blades in the Dark about a crew of spies, trying to disrupt the balance of power in a modern cold war. They will have to stand strong in the face of their vicious opposition and handle a fragile web of untrustworthy informants, devious intrigues and deadly lies.

We play to find out if our agents can thrive in the cutthroat world of espionage. While the public may never know about their impact, their actions shape the political landscape and outcome of conflict. Will the players prevent the outbreak of a global disaster and use their influence to create a better future? Will they attempt to send the opposing bloc into a turmoil and establish a lasting hegemony? Or will their actions lead the world down a path of war and nuclear destruction?

The Forged in the Dark system uses a cycle in between missions and downtime, sinking your characters into the heart of the action as they pursue clandestine missions in locations built by the group in a session 0. Since the game takes place in the real world, using maps of real cities might be a great way to keep they players visually engaged, and using a city that the group has been to or is familiar with might also make it easier for the group to visualize the kinds of buildings and streets where their spies may be sneaking, scheming, and sleuthing.

Madstones, by xiombarg.

Those who know magic exists at all are the rich and teams of breakers like yourself that go into the jartowns for the Archons. Jartowns are created by burning folk alive in a wicker man, in a ritual known only to the oldest jet-setting Archons.

A jartown is an isolated area of spacetime that was cut out of our reality. Most jartowns consist of a small amount of space (enough for a suburb or town) and a loop of several years. Jartowns become more magickal and horrific with each loop, creating madstones. 

Madstones are small things, from actual stones to human organs, infused with concentrated, distilled magic. They're secretly coveted by the wealthy.

In this tiny 24XX-based tabletop RPG, players are breakers, desperate folk from the occult underground who find a way into the jartowns, hothouses for magick, to perform errands for the ultrarich Archons.

Play as a variety of roles, from sawbones to sinner to spook, and choose to hail from one of four origins, including jartown native.

24XX games are another toolbox that you can pick up and play around with to help you get started with creating your own experiences. Your character consists of a few skills and gear packaged together in a character class. In Madstones, these classes are various specialists, trained to deal with different elements that might pop up when you go delving into eldritch pockets of reality. There is both a stealth and a combat specialist in this game, but there’s also classes for things like a getaway driver, a hacker, and an occult specialist.

24XX games also exist because of their OSR predecessors, meaning that combat is risky, and often deadly - and therefore finding other ways to solve the problem is implicitly encouraged. However, the openness of the system means that your players don’t necessarily need to resort to stealth - they might prepare an elaborate ritual, create a unique piece of technology, or just decide to run away as fast as they can. In regards to maps, I think you could probably use a typical dungeon framework: leading the characters through various rooms or sections of the pocket dimension, and throwing horrors and weird environments their way.

Night’s Black Agents, by Pelgrane Press.

The Cold War is over. Bush’s War is winding down. You were a shadowy soldier in those fights, trained to move through the secret world: deniable and deadly.

Then you got out, or you got shut out, or you got burned out. You didn’t come in from the cold. Instead, you found your own entrances into Europe’s clandestine networks of power and crime. You did a few ops, and you asked even fewer questions. Who gave you that job in Prague? Who paid for your silence in that Swiss account? You told yourself it didn’t matter. It turned out to matter a lot. Because it turned out you were working for vampires.

Vampires exist. What can they do? Who do they own? Where is safe? You don’t know those answers yet. So you’d better start asking questions. You have to trace the bloodsuckers’ operations, penetrate their networks, follow their trail, and target their weak points. Because if you don’t hunt them, they will hunt you. And they will kill you.

A combination of modern spy fiction and vampire intrigue, Night’s Black Agents uses the GUMSHOE system, which is an investigative roleplaying system that provides your characters with resources they can spend to get into secret locations, compete against vampiric agents, and pick up information to help you put together the details of a conspiracy. In Night’s Black Agents, finding clues isn’t left up to chance - you will always get information as long as you tell the GM that you’re using a relevant skill. The obstacles in this game are more likely going to involve getting in and out of sticky situations - and if your opponents are vampires, well, stealth is likely going to be a more appealing than trying to slit their throats.

GUMSHOE games don’t need grid maps either, but a rough map of the city or country is probably very helpful, and it might be fun to draw the floor plans of various buildings that your players investigate in order to help them determine what areas may be the most interesting places to search for clues.

The Breathing, by Fistful of Crits.

You reside in The Archive, an unending and depthless structure spiralling deep into the dark and misty depths, devoid of life and presided over by a being known only to you as The Archivist.

The Archive is made up of windowless rooms and halls that vary greatly in their height, size and danger. All these spaces house numerous shelves containing the collected knowledge of the world outside of The Archive; a place you have been told you must earn your access to. The price of your freedom comes from the discovery of new or forgotten knowledge that can be found in the deepest parts of the structure. 

You, and a few others, are known as The Breathing, in a place full of creatures who were once like you but ultimately failed in their bid for freedom; now known as The Breathless. 

The Breathing is just an example of a broader style of game, using a system called Breathless. Breathless games use a series of polyhedral dice that deteriorate as you use them, with different dice attached to different skills. Throughout the game you pause to “take a breath”, and re-set your skills, bringing your dice back to their threshold. However, pausing to take a breath also gives the GM a chance to introduce a new trouble or complication, creating a cycle of mission, rest, mission, rest, etc.

As a game system, Breathless is pretty light and is fairly easy to hack. But the lightness of the rules also allows for creativity and add-ons, which could include rules for movement or placement. Since the game rewards finding ways to solve problems without having to resort to direct conflict, I can see games like this encouraging characters to think carefully about when to use their resources and when to just… sneak around the problem. If you want to include maps and a grid, you could provide a blueprint of a room inside The Archive and watch the players try to navigate it using their limited resources, with designated “rest areas” that they would have to get to in order to take a Breath.

This certainly isn’t a solution in a box, but it might provide some interesting tools to help you build the experience you’re looking for.

Night Reign, by Sinister Beard Games.

Night Reign is a roleplaying game of stealth, guile, violence and devilry for a GM and one or more players, set in a quasi-Edwardian metropolis perched on an inhospitable peninsula beset by toxic black rain and ruled by a corrupt cabal of Noble Houses.

You take the role of members of The Red Right Hand, a conspiracy loyal to the recently deposed royal family, using your talents in assassination, infiltration and dark sorcery to strike out at your oppressors.

A game all about the things you do in the shadows, Night Reign uses cards to resolve conflict, rather than dice. It also uses a token system to help you overcome obstacles without having to resort to violence - loud, messy, dangerous violence. The Ruled by Night system (which has an SRD that you can download for free) is about balancing the suspicion you’ve already raised against an increasing cost to being stealthy. You spend Shadow tokens in order to be able to attempt to do something, and try to get a hand as close as possible to 21, or at least higher than whatever the GM draws. Your characters will also have powers that can be very effective, but are likely to draw a lot of attention, so using them is risky.

Because of how this game runs, things like movement and speed are not likely to be tracked. However, I don’t think mapping out a location so that the players can understand where things are or what kind of space they’re in is going to hurt the experience. The SRD describes something called City Conditions, which appear to be elements of the fiction that might result from the characters’ choices, or provide obstacles to the players. If you have a map of the city in front of you, you could draw symbols on the map to indicate what’s happening as the story progresses, and even cross out places that have been destroyed.

Heist, by Hark Forsooth Games.

HEIST: Get the Crew Together is a cooperative RPG where you and a group of suave, savvy and slick fellow crooks plan and execute capers, grabbing the fanciest loot from the world's wealthy elite.

Heist is great for fans of shows like Leverage or movies like Ocean’s 11: you’re going to steal something shiny from someone who certainly doesn’t deserve it, and you’re going to do it with style. While combat is an option, your characters will also have to deal with suspicious marks, security systems, laser grids and bank vaults. The characters are composed of special talents and personal flaws, and the GM has the task of designing something the game calls Murphy’s Gun - a major twist that will reveal itself midway through the heist.

It can be tricky to determine what to prep for a game like this, but one thing that you can for sure prep is the location. Design the building, draw the floor plan, and come up with obstacles for the different areas - there’s not really movement tracking in this game but having the layout will certainly help your players come up with ideas about how to get in, get out, and get rich.

Another thing to consider…

Mothership doesn’t have any stealth skills, but what it does have is the incentive to be sneaky. If an alien horror is moving through the ship, you’re more likely to try and stay out of it’s way - and having no stealth skills means that the players have to describe what they’re doing to stay hidden; climb into vents, squeeze yourself into cupboards, and try to wriggle into the space suit. However, this doesn’t mean that you’re not rolling - you might roll to clamber over something or to fit yourself into something, or you might roll to scope out a location to find an exit or suitable hiding place. It’s also excellent in terms of maps - plenty of adventures will provide at least a blueprint of the space station or ship that you’re exploring, which you can use to spook your players with fresh horrors.

[sheep-from-rad]

Spicy Imagines (ft. Alhaitham and Kaveh) Genshin x Reader 

Note: I had these ideas as separate fanfics but it was too short so I just made them into one. I would have published it earlier this week but I have fallen down the Alhaitham/Kaveh angst rabbit hole and wasn’t able to get up from it until this afternoon. Anyway, enjoy!~ Extra note (please read): I will be entering the big city soon meaning I will be leaving some of things here at home. I might not be able to go publish a fanfic for weeks and weeks because it will be a clinical internship. Still, I will try my hardest to make content!~ Warnings: spicy, mentions of bondage and toys XD <Masterlist 1> ------- <Masterlist 2>

Kaveh 

Being an architect and being named as the Light of Kshahrewar, being meticulous and having an eye for detail is something that Kaveh is very talented with. 

Whenever Alhaitham is out, he makes his merry way to make the shared house more ‘homey’. He’ll decorate it with paintings, with flowers, and with furniture, which sometimes lead to petty fights whenever the scribe is home. 

Having an eye for detail is probably one of the things why after one magnum opus, he found himself down in debt and still drowning in it. Well, it’s not like he can just make a building and that’s it right? 

He takes the habits of looking out for detail everywhere especially inside his room once the doors have closed and his roommate is out. 

Kaveh will take his time typing you up with the ribbons that he soaked in warm water beforehand, making sure that it won’t leave a mark on your skin. That after all is his job to do and not the ribbon’s job. 

He’ll fix the lights inside his room, making sure that it will show the awaiting flower fastened with ribbons on his bed. 

Kaveh is taking longer than usual. His eyes already darkened by the dim lit room looked like predatory glances at the corner of the room. His hands skillfully erased and redraw the lines in his sketchbook, taking notes of every detail present in front of him. It’s fascinating how he never seemed to miss any detail at all. From the ribbons that tie your thighs apart, to the sweat that drips from your neck down to your chest, to the way your eyes roll from every thrust the hand operated toy gives you, and to the wetness that pools and is slowly staining the sheets beneath you. 

It’s a shame that the paper and charcoal can’t capture your whines and pitiful whimpers but that’s for him to savor once he puts his sketchbook down. 

Alhaitham 

Theoretical and then practical. It is one unwritten law that every scholar learns once they enter the Akademiya. A lesson that became a practice to Alhaitham even after his days as a scholar. 

While it is a standard, it is not really something that should be done in everything. If it wasn’t for Kaveh noticing his attempts for courting and then for sure Alhaitham would still be spending his nights wide awake reading books about courting and planning the best possible scenario to make you say yes. 

Alhaitham was very vanilla behind closed doors. He’ll make sure that both of you are satisfied and properly cleaned every night you lay together. If he makes a mark that sure will bruise, he’ll look at the ice crates and make sure you’re treated properly before he can go to sleep so you won’t worry about covering anything when morning comes. 

It all comes to a stop when a tired student accidentally passes a folder with an erotic book instead of his thesis proposal. This man hates novels, he just reads them for the sake of reading and then forgets they exist afterwards. 

He’ll rather stick with boring and nonsensical drafts made by students than read a romance book but here he is spending his whole night trying to make sense of the book and a mind full of thoughts on how he could make use of the book. 

You wondered what happened. The best guess that he’s stressed out from the ‘junk’ that the scholars are passing on his desk. There was never a time where his office was clean and lucky for him the ceilings are high or else the room will really be flooded with papers by now. One particular harsh thrust pulled you out of your head evoking  a loud moan at the same time and knocking you off your hands and knees. 

“Oh god !” 

The said man only let out a miniscule smile as he continued the rough pace. “There is no god here darling, you’re calling the wrong being”, he said, emphasizing each word with a thrust. HE snaked his hands underneath your form, scooping you up from the sheets, before resting it on your throat. 

“You know my name right? Why don’t you call it that?” As he felt your heartbeat tripled in pace, Alhaitham mentally thanked the student that accidentally passed the book. Maybe he should consider their thesis proposal.

Taglist: @uchihaeirin @eccedentesiast-sapphic @tinandabin @chihawari

[zahri-melitor]

If you want to read comics and you want to test the waters:-

Yes, RCO and clones exist, everyone uses them, I do it weekly too for titles I cannot access any other way (The Warlord) but let me tell you, it’s not the only option, particularly if you want to read reasonably modern comics back issues rather than deliberately suppressed obscure stuff. Plus, don’t you want to look at comics without worrying about getting viruses?

Your Local Library: your library probably has comics as trade paperbacks, and inter library loan will have more. It’s not the most consistent way to find things, but you should definitely look them up, there’s probably something there you’d be interested in reading. Good for having multiple presses, and most take suggestions for their collections, which is a slow but free way to read titles with highly detailed art like Wonder Woman Historia in person.

Digital libraries: my local libraries have ComicsPlus subscriptions, which I can use for free. Now you won’t get DC or Marvel on them, but BOOM!, Dark Horse, Image, Oni Press, Papercutz? All options. A really helpful way to easily sample other presses.

Internet Archive Library: the IA is again going to have an eclectic collection and be difficult to search, but it’s there and it has a lot of stuff and you’re not going to be worrying about computer viruses.

DCUI: if you’re in US, UK, Canada, AU or NZ, you can get a DCUI account. There’s a free trial available of course, and if what you’re interested in trying was published more than 6 months ago, you don’t even need to shell out for Ultra. It costs me less than a Netflix subscription per month, even for Ultra. There’s also a small handful of comics you’ll be able to access for free without ANY subscription - essentially advertising for new runs etc.

MU: just like DCUI, only Marvel, and available more places. Also runs on a subscription model. MU also has the quirk that you can manage digital ownership of individual issues also through their app (if you buy Marvel floppies there is a mechanism to obtain a legal digital copy within ~6 months of the publication date)

Local Comics Shops: you can also…buy floppies and trade paperbacks for yourself. If you really love a story and it’s out in trade, I highly recommend buying it for yourself to have forever. It just sidesteps so many future problems. An LCS is also more likely to have a back catalogue of titles available - if you’re looking for a trade published 8 years ago, they might have it while an ordinary bookshop won’t. If you’re less certain, events like Free Comic Book Day and Batman Day are largely a marketing exercise more than new original material these days, but they’re also a good way to get to handle and own actual comic books if you’ve never done that before.

Other bookshops: if you don’t have a local bookshop with a specialist comics and manga collection (I do) it’s going to be a bit like trying to find comics at your local library: you’ll see lots of stuff with Batman and Joker in the title, and a random selection of anything else. Sometimes you can get surprisingly good deals from them as collectors are less likely to use them to get titles.

Overstock/Remainder Sellers: always worth a look, particularly if you’re trying to pick up titles printed several years ago. My local one has found some absolute gems for me, at a significant discount (I have picked up parts of Dixon’s Nightwing run, Bennett’s Batwoman run, Rowell’s Runaways, some Wonder Woman trades from Rucka and Perez, Gotham Central, I just managed to get the second n52 Blue Beetle trade…)

EBay/second hand shops/Abebooks/Biblio: a decent way to measure what the actual value of a comic title is on the second hand market. Sometimes you can find that the market value is far lower than you expected (Cassie’s Wonder Girl series is remarkably affordable). In other occasions you realise DC is leaving a LOT of money on the table by not reprinting (look up Red Robin trade prices and weep).

Friends: do you know anyone else who likes comics? They may already own stuff they can loan to you! (Once I lent out my Birds of Prey collection to a friend and he returned it with the first two n52 titles added. Still unsure if that was meant to be a kindness or just letting me store them)