theminecraftbee · 2 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
[image ID: joe hills's resume. it reads:
Joe Hills: Laugh at me. Hermitcraft: 2012-present. Professional adventurer. Poet, lyricist, writer. Two albums out now: Sean Hlls Sings Joe Hills Volumes 1&2. Tournament pinball player, rank 3878 globally (earth). Licensed goat horn operator, class A.
/end ID]
i'm glad to see the list of what joe thinks his important qualities that will sell him as a new member of one of their empires includes that the globe he has a pinball rank on is earth and that he's a licensed goat horn operator. these are very important qualities.
638 notes · View notes
ifonlyyuweremine · 25 days ago
Text
Captain’s Girl. [Part I]
Tumblr media
John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)
Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?
Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.
Word count? You know the drill, it’s long.
.・゜゜・  ・゜゜・..・゜゜・  ・゜゜・.
‘Captain John Price.’ You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.
But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.
‘All personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-’ Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiver…
“Look, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current team…”
You'd raised an eyebrow, “Laswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.” You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. “[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know… integrate themselves for the time being.”
You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, “Okay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.”
…You read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.
A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it “integrating.” To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the first…
It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.
You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.
Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.
You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.
The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.
“Sisters.”
You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. “I-What?” You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. “S’who I was talking to.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. “Oh, okay…You uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?” You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. “Nah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.”
You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. “Ah, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.” He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, “How many siblings?”
You smiled, “Just two, a brother and sister.” The man hummed, looking down at his tea. “Gotcha…” A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. “You a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.” You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. “Yeah, new transfer to 141.” Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, “You're the newbie?” He said, astonished.
You chuckled softly, “I wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.” His face cracked into a grin, “No kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.” He held his hand out to you, “Johnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.”
Your eyebrows raised, “You're a part of 141?” His smile didn't fade as he nodded, “Aye, sharpshooter and sniper.” You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. “I’m [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap is…uh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?” You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, “Well, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?”
You shook your head, “No, I guess my name has always just done the job.” Soap pat you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you one.” You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. “Aye, Bonnie, why don’t I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.”
You smiled, “Yeah, why not?”
…The more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny was…well, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.
Kyle Garrick, or ‘Gaz,’ was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.
And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.
You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. “Maybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.” Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. “Tough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.”
Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tablet…
It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.
Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you weren’t required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Price’s whereabouts from Gaz: “I haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.”
Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Price’s office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving “Price” carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.
So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.
“Can I help you?”
You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.
Damn.
You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I’m-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.” You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.
The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. “Well, you found him.” He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. “Oh,” you breathed, “great then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.” You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.
“[Name], I know. I read your file.” He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, “Great then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?” You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.
“Yes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.” You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. “She said you guys needed someone…?”
Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, “That’s her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.”
You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you… for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were ‘just a precaution.’ “Well, I hope you won't hold a grudge.” You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.
“Wouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.” He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. “Good, then I won't either.” You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Well, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?”
This guy.
Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, “It was nice meeting you, Captain.” You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.
Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.
…You had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.
News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.
You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Price’s voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.
Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.
Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.
“I swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.” Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.
Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.
You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.
Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many ‘coincidences’ back to back. 
Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
It was one of those off days where you didn’t have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.
With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: “It's not real tea.” You found it incredibly enjoyable.
As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.
You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.
He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.
You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.
“Interesting mug,” he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. “It's my favorite.” You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.
He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, “What?” You said, suspicious.
His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. “Nothing, s’just that's my mug.” He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.
You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. “That's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.” You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.
He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. “Look at the bottom of the cup.” He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.
JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadn’t he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.
You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. “But- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.” You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.
Price raised one eyebrow, “And you believed him?” He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “fucking christ Soap.” You muttered, primarily to yourself.
The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, “Here. It's yours, I'll get another one.”
Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. “No need; I've already got this one.” He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.
He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, “Not a fan of coffee now, are we?”
You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. “I like coffee-” You clarified, “-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.” The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, “noted.” Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.
You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a ‘thanks’ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.
Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.
He shot you a sideways glance, “You're staring.” Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I was…zoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.” You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.
Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, “The wall you said?”
Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, “It doesn't matter-” you huffed, “Point is, I was zoned out.”
That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. “Let's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list of…qualities you have.” Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Which are?”
Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. “Theavory, for one.” Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.
“Funny.” You said sarcastically.
A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.”
There was a pause.
The way he said ‘between us’ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.
Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, “The mood you created?” You bit the bait.
He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. “Look… [Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.” He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.
You crossed your arms. “You could've apologized,” you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, “Why would I need to apologize?”
You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, “You called my job a ‘precaution,’ and me, a ‘human blockade-’” You deadpanned, “-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.” Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.
“But you are a precaution.” He said, “That's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.” It was like he was explaining something to a child.
You huffed, “Captain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?” You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.
“You don't belong here, though,” Price said frostily. “You're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.”
You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, “Just because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just don’t understand why you’re too stubborn to even see that.” You huffed.
Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. “I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.”
Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. “Well, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your ‘lack of free time.’ And- I’m not asking you to make me feel included; I’m not an infant. I’m asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.” You hissed.
It didn’t surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.
“Maybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.” He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.
“I’m not though- I’m clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have this…this grudge against me you won’t even listen to me.” You huffed.
Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.’ 
Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp ‘clank.’ “Fine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.” You breathed through your teeth.
Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. “You want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.”
Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his ‘I'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toilets’ voice.
You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. “Nothing, Captain.” You said through your teeth.
Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, “That's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.
You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, “Fuck you.” You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering ‘fuck you’ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.
Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.
You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
“Shit!”
Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.
It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.
Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.
Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.
“Price whats going on? talk to me.” You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing ‘shit!’ wasn't a good sign.
In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Price’s footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.
Shit!
You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.
You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, “Price you copy?”
After a moment you heard someone move, “Yeah-” Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. “Yeah, I copy.” He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.
You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.
“This guy was alone.” You said, eyebrows furrowing. “And his aim was shit.” You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, “Price?” You asked looking around.
“Over here.” He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.
You jogged over to him, “What's the matter?” you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.
“Shit.” You breathed.
This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. “Can you still walk?” You asked.
Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, “Yeah just fuckin’ hurts like hell.” He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.
“[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.” The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.
Price answered, “We’re fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?” He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.
“We just found it, nobody’s here. S’a fuckin’ ghost town… no pun intended.” Ghost’s staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.
“That makes no sense.” You chimed in, “If this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.” You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.
“Price.” A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. “The labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.” You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.
You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. “They knew we were coming.” You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. “We need to fucking leave, right now.”
Price gave a small nod, “Everyone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.” Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of ‘copies.’ You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.
You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, “I can keep up, I'm not immobile.” He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.
You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.
Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. “You can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-” Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. “-I’d much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.”
That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.
A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.
You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, “Thought you said the bloke nicked you?” He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.
Price grunted, “Yeah well he nicked me good.” He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, “That’s gonna be a pain to heal I’ll tell you that.” Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. “No kidding.”
Price’s frown deepened, and he let out a breath. “Gaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?” Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, “I’d say twenty minutes give or take.” That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.
A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.
“So…you okay?” You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. “I got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.” He deadpanned.
You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, “Right.” You breathed, “I just… wanted to check.” On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.
The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, “Thank you.” He said.
You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. “For helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-”
“-you uh, you did good.” He clarified.
Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, ‘you did good.’ The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, “Don't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.”
Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, “Right, uhm thank you.” You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.
After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?
Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.
Your shoulders slumped, it didn’t really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.
Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it could’ve. Not counting Price’s foot.
Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.
“You make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?” He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?
“I wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.” You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, “I glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.” He said back, calm as ever.
You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.” You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, “How’s the foot?” You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.
Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. “Feels like I got shot in the foot, so…not great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.” He breathed.
You nodded, “You ever been shot before?” you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. “Two years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckin’ hurt like hell too.”
You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.
What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.
You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)
Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. “See something you like aye?” He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.
“You wish,” You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.
Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. “Keep telling yourself that [Name].” Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.
You glared at him, “You're so full of it you know that?” You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.
“Didn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?” He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, “It didn't.” You said through your teeth, “Then again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.” You grumbled.
Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. “I never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?” He grinned.
Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. “I think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.” You said frostily.
Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. “Glad the feeling is mutual.” He spoke calmly.
Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the ‘I don't have to want you but you have to want me.’ Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.
“Yeah,” You huffed, “Super glad.” You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.
The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.
You sat at a bench in the ‘commons,’ a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.
“If I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.” Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gaz’s small chuckle.
Soap grinned, “Don't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Price’s injury.”
You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. “Hey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?” You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.
Gaz shrugged, “He was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, he’ll probably show up soon.”
Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. “Awful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.” Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.
“I'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.” You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.
Gaz looked at you, “What about the other day when you helped him out of the building?” Soap was next to chime in, “Or that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?”
You shot Gaz a glare, “First, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.” Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, “Second, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.” You said through your teeth.
Ghost smirked, “Sounds like you care.”
Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. “I do not.” You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. “I'm not hungry anymore.” You said dryly.
Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. “Come on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?” You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.
“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” you replied as you dumped the remanence of your ‘lunch’ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.
“Oh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!” That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.
You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.
It was Price, because of fucking course it was.
But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. What’s worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.
‘Sounds like you do care,’ Ghost’s words echoed in your mind, haunting you like a…well a ghost. Ironic.
“Do you mind?” Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.
“You ran into me.” You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Price’s eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.
“Why are you red?” He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, “I-What?”
Price’s eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. “Your face. It's red,” It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.
Oh my god.
Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.
You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. “I'm allergic-” You blurted out.
A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. “Allergic?” He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? “Yes… to the dessert paste.”
Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. “What the hell is dessert paste?” He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.
“Ask soap.” You said as you made your escape, “I'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.”
That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. “What’s this?” You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.
“This is how we’re going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.” He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.
It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soap’s words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, “The hell did you get that from?”
Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft pop’ “Since it is our last night, why not celebrate?” He went on.
You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, “I'll take what I can get.” You sighed.
Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soap’s knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Well…It could be worse.” He muttered.
Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.
Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, “Leave some for Price Jhonny.” He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. “The old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkin’ on base, something about ‘not mixing business with pleasure’” He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.
“I don't think Price takes ‘pleasure’ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.” You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.
Ghost’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk, “For someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.” He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.
“Oh fuck off will you?” You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. “I say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.”
Soap grinned, “You said it lass, not us.” He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost who’s hands were now raised in surrender.
“Come off it [Name], we’re just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.” He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.
“What do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?” You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.
Soap spoke up, “It's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.” There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were ‘some people??’
Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. “Fuckin’ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.” Ghost said facing you. “He's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.” Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.
You shook your head, not ready to let it go. “No, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said ‘taking it the wrong way?’” Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. “Gaz what's he talking about?” You asked firmly.
He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. “It's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.” Ghost shot him a firm look, “Kyle-” He warned.
A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. “What rumor?” You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. “If it's about me I deserve to know.”
Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. “There is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shaggin’ the boss. People started calling you Captain’s Girl.”
The pit of your stomach dropped.
You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say ‘got you!’ but it never came. “You're joking right?” You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.
Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. “We didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of ya’ and it was just too far.” You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.
Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss ‘Hard to Get.’
“We tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,” Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched in…guilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.
You sat there in silence, processing everything. “But- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.” You sputtered.
Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, “We know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.” A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.
Captain’s girl.
What. The. Fuck.
This was Price’s fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.
Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. “[Name]? Where are you going??” He called after you.
“To find Price!” (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.
Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.
You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.
He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. “What are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?”
You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!”
Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. “Excuse me?”
You marched straight up to him, “You heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?” You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.
He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, “[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.”
His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. “You know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!” You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.
“Are you drunk?” He asked incredulously. You shook your head, “No! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-” You rambled on.
His eyes turned to narrow slits, “I don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.” He groaned.
“The name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!” Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.
You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.
Price’s eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. “That's what this is about.” He breathed, “Look, I’m just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.”
You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, “-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.” He said calmly.
It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. “I- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And I’m just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.”
Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. “I don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.”
“Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!” You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.
A vein bulged in Price’s temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. “I don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.”
“Well, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that we’re sleeping together out of thin air.” You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.
Price scowled down at you, “What do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.”
Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.
“I want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.” You fired back.
The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Price’s lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.
“You want me to show you? Fine.” He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.
His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as ‘a hungry kiss.’ The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.
Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.
You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.
You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.
“[Name]!”
Gaz’s voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.
His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.
You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.
Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like he’d been running around for a good amount of time. “[Name] Price didn’t start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-” He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. “I…uhm I guess you two worked it out?”
There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. “She’s aware… You two go back to the tent, it’s late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.”
You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say ‘party's over, let’s go.’ He nodded at Price, “Right, see you in the morning Cap.”
Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You alright?” He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, ‘Honestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,’ was appropriate.
So, you settled for a simple: “I’m fine.” Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, “What happened to you? You look shell-shocked.” He laughed.
You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.
Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.
You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.
.・゜゜・  ・゜゜・..・゜゜・  ・゜゜・.
Hey, wait! Don't go!
Well… hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.
There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you won’t have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so I’ll try my best to be quick!!
I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3
Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
.・゜゜・  ・゜゜・..・゜゜・  ・゜゜・.
2K notes · View notes
just-some-random-blogger · 2 years ago
Note
i was reading your fics, and was reading one where daemon is going up against cregan a little bit. i got this idea, cregan giving the reader a direwolf puppy as a gift. daemon makes a snide comment about it and cregan just turns to him, telling him that your enjoying your new pet, and who knows, maybe one day cregan will give you puppies.
daemon seethes as cregan walks away, acting as if he didn't just imply he was gonna breed you.
Puppy Love
Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Cregan Stark x Reader
Summary: Ever since you came of age, you became the jewel of the court and your father turned down proposal after proposal, knowing if the man didn't want your massive dowry, they wanted to claim and corrupt your beauty and kind nature. And the only reason why your father hasn't chewed up the all too friendly dragon prince, was because he was doing most of his job for him. And anyway, your father knew you were too kind to think his attentions to you were anything more than friendly.
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: Fem!reader, 'too kind' reader, jealous!daemon, smitten!cregan, fluff, typos, etc.
A/N: first of all, i have written quite a few fics were I've added cregan as uh an opponent for daemon so HAHHAH im not sure which one you mean, though I have an inkling it's Wish I Was Her (this is not a p2 of this btw) second of all, /: cregan dumb for giving away a direwolf to some rando dafaq. third of all, i really want do a take on a 'traditionally feminine reader' since i normally dont do that lol so im tryna make reader fit the period more, without making her a damsel in distress. wish me luck Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony
Tumblr media
You straighten the brown paper in one hand while you fiddle with the wax seal that was on it moments ago. You snort through your nostrils, beaming at the ink on the the letter, eager to both reach the end of the page, and not wanting the words to end at all.
Daemon, who had been walking with purpose, forgets where he was going along the way when he spots you. You, the giggling lady, sat comfortably on the stone blocks that separated the garden and the hall.
The prince's stoic demeanor melts into an expression similar to yours when you smile at what you were reading. What were you reading? A letter? A letter from-
Quickly, the realization of what kind of letters a lady such as yourself would be receiving that would cause you to giggle like that makes his expression splat into annoyance.
With twice as much purpose, he struts over to you and calls out your name. You immediately avert your gaze, smile widening at the sight of him.
Good.
"My prince," you speak, bowing your head just as Daemon reaches you.
Daemon raises his brows and drops his lips, eyeing the paper in your hand, "a good read?"
You release a chuckle at the expression he pulls, "a very good read. I say Alaric is as good with the quill as he," you point to the paper, "harks to me how good he is with the blade."
He grunts, "Alaric." Where has he heard that tatty name before?
You chuckle as you watch Daemon stiffen. He places his hands behind him, slowly walking to the other side of the block you were sat on, sitting there across you, "which moronic suitor is he again?"
You drop your letter on your lap, tilting your head at the fuming prince, who now had his arms crossed. "Alaric," you start with a chuckle, "is my darling cousin, Anna's, son."
Ahh, Daemon blinks, that's why his name is familiar.
You snort, "he has merely just turned ten and one, your grace."
He clears his throat.
"Do you not recall rejecting my offer to attend the boy's nameday?" you speak through an amused grin.
"I've never cared for namedays," he trails off, crossing his arms.
You laugh. He turns to you because of it. How could he not when your laugh was like that? Your being beams in amusement, glowing like a star. It makes the prince emit a soft chuckle.
"If I didn't know any better," you say in between catching your breath, "I'd you were jealous of a child, my prince."
You catch the small smile on Daemon's face as he pretends to be offended, "and I'd say you've been reading too much."
Very suddenly, you gasp and point at him, making him pull his head back and his expression drop. His concern drops when you say, "is that a blush I see? Ooh!"
Daemon's arms loosen at your words. As if eager to make your words true, he begins to feel his body burn. Damn body.
You gasp the second time before throwing your head back in laughter, "I do say," you sigh, "scarlet suits you well."
Daemon rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he stands from his spot.
"Well, I mean, it is one of the colors of your house."
"Yes," he drops his hands to the side and walks over to you, "and I should well ought to make it your own."
And though Daemon smirks when he says this, your brows furrow at the thought. His vanilla baby.
"It would be pointless to try and convince my father to change anything about our house."
He sighs as you refold your paper, trapping a waxen seal in its center, and move to stand next to him, "in our actual house, I had to argue with him to change our drapes."
"No," Daemon says in shock, as if he actually cared.
"Yes!" you shake your head, "it was terrible! I had to remind him that I was now the woman of the house."
"Oh, that does sound terrible," Daemon huffs, eyes widening. He watches you as you believe in his empathy. He watches as you smile at his disingenuous words. Two beasts rip at him from within.
Normally, naïveté and slow-wittedness were traits that repelled him, especially in its womanly form, as it was drawn from the sheltered nature ladies like yourself were bred into. The dragon in him found this dull and all too conforming. He liked the burn from the whores, who would snarl if you took more than what you paid for.
Yet this personal brand of innocent on you was dizzying to him. One beast wanted to protect the purity within you, while the other wanted to taint it until all remained was him.
"And yes-" you take a moment to continue, "those were my mother's beloved drapes but... they had not been changed since her passing."
Daemon presses his lips together when you turn to the ground with a solemn expression. He does not get a moment to share the semblance of comfort in which he was capable of, because you quickly smile at him the way you always do and comfort yourself, "it is good to remember those who have passed, but they would not want for us to mourn them too long."
For once, he responds with honesty, "they would not, no."
The moment you smile at his words, your attention is taken from the prince.
You are called by a servant, who tells you there is a man waiting for you in the main hall. You courteously thank the servant and turn to Daemon, "thank you for ke-"
"I will escort you to your visitor," Daemon smiles, though not a real one.
You return a genuine one nevertheless, "I am grateful, but I do not wish to bother you, nor take up more of the time you already so graciously offered me."
Daemon takes your hand and pulls you near him with little regard, "you dare dictate what I do and do not with my time?"
You press your lips as you body collides with him.
"As though you were my wife?"
You clench your jaw, unintending to overstep, "my prince, I did not mean for it-"
"Yes, well," he cuts you off, "let us meet this moron who wishes to meet you."
"You know," you smile, "it may well not be a suitor."
Daemon chuckles, "I'm surprised you even caught onto that."
"Well, how could I not?" you chuckle, "when you were just jealous a child!"
He loses his smug expression. He scoffs into a chuckle as you laugh at him. "Oh very good," Daemon rolls his eyes and slowly claps his hand, "I'll give you credit. I did not expect that."
But what he very much did expect was that your audience was sought by a suitor; one large, slobbering dog of a suitor.
Very truly, Daemon's grumbling was merited, for why were you so enamored by the wolf-man and this overgrown rat-pup he bought with him?
He scoffs as you coo at the furry creature for the hundredth time, and for what? For doing absolutely nothing but expose its incompetence to walk in a fucking straight line?
And what's more, for every time the degenerate baby wolf toppled over, you tugged at its master's arm and pointed, leaning into him as you laughed and expressed jovial sentiments over the creature.
The prince rolls his eyes from the armchair he was sat on.
What was so impressive about a dog? There were dozens of strays outside the walls. He could get you twenty right now. A dragon egg should have elicited such a response from you, not this.
"Oh, dear Cregan-"
Gods, dear Cregan, she says.
"-your pup is a ray of sunshine on this chilly day," you speak.
Daemon watches you smile angelically at the large man with muddy dark hair and wiry curls. He watches as the cretin bares his teeth at you like a wolf does its prey, and you mistake it for genuinely, as always.
"If you are cold, my lady," Cregan says, removing the brown pelt on his shoulders, "then allow me to warm you."
Daemon straightens where he was slouched.
You recoil at Cregan's generosity, raising your hands as you shake them, "oh, my lord, I could not possibly accept the clothes on your back."
You watch as Cregan's rosy cheeks pull up with his smile, "then would you prefer I give you one your own?"
Cregan put on his fur again. You open your mouth to speak, but it is Daemon's voice that sounds, "she would rather you fuck off back to the North, dog."
You still at Daemon's words, promptly turning to him with a hardened expression of disbelief, "my prince-"
"And you best take your defective animal with you," he adds, grimacing at the wolf-pup chewing at a ball of wound fabric.
"Prince Daemon," you call tersely.
Daemon turns to you, expression unable to melt with the presence of that oaf on your side.
"Please do not speak for me as though your sentiments and mine own are one and the same," you calmly say.
Daemon scoffs. Cregan chuckles.
You turn to Cregan with a guilty expression, "I apologize on the behalf of ill-contrived words against you, Lord Cregan."
"No, you don't," Daemon quips as he stands, "don't fucking-"
"I appreciate your sentiment, my lady," Cregan ignores the whimpers of the lizard prince, "though you needn't worry yourself, for I am not wounded by words from the likes of him."
"The likes of me?" Daemon sneers as he storms over.
You turn to Daemon, suddenly at your side. Your eyes widen at the fury on his features. You hands instinctively come to his arm when he appears as though he is about to lunge at Cregan.
Cregan watches you do this, watches you calm the hot blooded fiend. Part of him burns in a shade green at your shared familiarity, but he is more amused by the fact you turn to him with a concerned look, nonverbally expressing your concerns that you, in fact, to not want him to pound your prince if he attempts anything. And so he laughs.
Cregan laughs and takes a step back, allowing you to step between them and push Daemon away in return.
Daemon's ire is fueled further, "what, you halfbreed?!"
You grunt as you turn back to Cregan, relieved he was smiling and not partaking in the hotheadedness the other man was.
"Did you fuck your wolf yourself to offer the pup to her?"
You recoil at the grotesque notion. You cannot stop yourself from calling out the prince's name in anger and bewilderment, "Daemon!"
Cregan laughs. It draws your attention. You sigh, "Cregan, I beg your par-"
"No!" Daemon barks, peering down at you, "he's come here on the intent of you bearing his pups, girl, and you'd so readily drop on your knees for him?!"
"He's brought one pup, Daemon!" you quip pulling away from him as you shake your head, "and I have no intentions of keeping the little wolf," you turn to Cregan, "for I have no such capabilities nor capacities to care for one!"
Daemon grinds his teeth. You heave.
Good enough.
The prince finds slight catharsis in your words. His anger does not fade however, because Cregan's grin is as wide as ever.
"Actually," Cregan raises his hands casually, "I have spoken to your father about the pup and he said he would accept it, for I am also giving you one of my servants as an aid."
The two men watch as you perk at the idea.
"Oh!," you gasp in disbelief, "so..." you break into a wide smile, "I can keep the wolf?!"
Cregan laughs as he nods, "and even better, you can name it."
Daemon is appalled by your next actions.
You run and throw yourself onto Cregan, sealing him into a hug for a moment before pulling back in realization your actions were most indecent.
Cregan however prevents you from pulling away too far, hands coming to your waist as he smiles down at you. He speaks with a lopsided grin, "I have been meaning to bring you the pup ever since we spoke about my pregnant wolf when you visited me in the North."
When you what?
"Will your dear Luna not mourn the loss of her puppy?"
LUNA?
Cregan chuckles, pulling his hands away from you, not because he wanted to, but because, between the two of them, he was currently the more amicable in your eyes, and he was not about to ruin that, "I assure you, she will fair fine, as she is preoccupied with three more at home."
You frown, stepping back from Cregan to turn to the pup, not at all seeing the twitching face of your prince, "still... I must not let him be forgotten by her mother and likewise."
Cregan smiles at the sentiment, "you have a kind heart, my lady," he takes your hand, "I would be glad to bring my wolves to your home whenever you want."
You are horrified by the notion, "oh please, it would be much better if I came to you."
Cregan nods, lips in a smirk, "I shall await then."
You seemed to be caught off-guard by the fact you unwittingly just made plans with the Stark.
And you had meant to explain you could not simply agree to his offer, but you were distracted by the string of High Valyrian being spewed into the air, paired by the loud sound of the prince marching out of the room.
4K notes · View notes
cera-writes · 3 months ago
Note
HII so I found your page the other day and I loveee your work😁😁. Anyhow I wanted to request if it was okay for me to ask for a story about gambit x reader angst/smut/fluff (it’s a lot I know😭🙏). And let’s say reader gets really drunk at a party and they’re making a fool out of themselves and gambit tries to help you out of the situation and the reader is being bratty in their drunken state refusing any help and it causes gambit to snap at them a bit but ends with some smut and fluff, BUT if that’s Okayy ofc🙏😁. Keep up the great work😁🤍
A/N: I love this idea! And thank you so much! I try! <3 pairing: Remy LeBeau "Gambit" x gn!Reader Tags: Swearing, intoxication, partying, fluff, angst, smut, spanking, reader has a bratty side, Remy punishes reader in all the good ways Summary: Reader is having the time of their life at a party thrown at the X-Mansion while Charles is off taking care of business. Reader gets carried away and has a little too much to drink and well, let's just say Remy is there to deal with the aftermath which eventually leads to smut~
Drunk in Love
Tumblr media
The music pulsed through the mansion like a relentless heartbeat, the bass vibrating through your bones. Laughter, shouts, and the clinking of glasses filled the air. You were supposed to be having fun, but the world was spinning, and your vision was blurring at the edges. Each sip of alcohol seemed to send you deeper into a hazy oblivion.
It all started when you made a bet that you could outdrink Logan. You knew damn well you couldn't hold your liquor. But that didn't stop you. Morph was egging you on and hyping you up the entire time. Then, before you knew it, you were shotgunning a can of beer, which, in turn, led to the oncoming of disastrous events afterwards.
Logan, still somewhat sober after his sixth drink, smirked at you as you swayed back and forth after your third shot of whiskey. He knew he had won, but you weren't gonna take that loss by any means.
You found Charles' wine cabinet and poured a glass of Cabernet. You weren't completely drunk but damn were you feeling very tipsy.
A hand landed on your shoulder, steady and grounding. You swatted it away, giggling inanely. “Go awaaay, Remy,” you slurred, your voice a childish whine.
Remy LeBeau, your ever patient best friend, sighed. He’d been watching you for the past hour, his brow furrowed in concern. You were usually the life of the party, but now you were just a stumbling mess. “Mon cher, maybe it’s time to call it a night,” he suggested gently.
You scoffed, your laughter sounding more like a hiccup. “No, I’m fine!” you protested, your voice rising in pitch. “Best. Party. Ever!”
Remy exchanged a look with Scott, who was hovering nearby, a mixture of amusement and worry in his eyes. “Maybe we should get her home,” Scott suggested.
You turned on him, your face flushing an angry red. “I don’t need a goddamn babysitter!” you shouted, your voice echoing through the room. A few heads turned, and you felt a surge of embarrassment.
Remy’s patience was wearing thin. “Enough, mon cher,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re embarrassin' yourself.”
Your eyes narrowed. “Y-you’re e-embarrassing me,” you retorted, your voice slurring pretty badly.
A wave of anger washed over Remy. He hated seeing you like this. He hated the way the alcohol was taking control of you. He hated the way you were pushing him away. He'd always liked you of course, and just because the two of you hadn't made things official didn't mean he still didn't treat you like you were his, especially at times like this.
But seeing you dance on all the strangers at the party, giving them the attention he craved from you, struck a match in him. He wanted to be protective of you, but you were also pissing him off to no end.
"Jus' the alcohol talkin' cher. C'mon, I'll take ya home."
When he tried to reach for your arm, you snapped on instinct. You reared back and slapped him hard across the face.
The sharp crack of your hand against Remy's cheek echoed through the room, cutting through the din of the party like a knife. His eyes widened for a moment in surprise before narrowing, a flicker of something dark and dangerous passing over his features. He rubbed at his cheek, not in pain, but as if to confirm the reality of the slap. Then, he smirked, a wicked glint in his eye that sent a shiver down your spine.
"Don't touch me!" you spat, your voice thick with anger and defiance. But even as the words left your lips, a wave of regret washed over you. You hadn't meant to hit him, not really. It was the alcohol talking, fueling your actions with a boldness you didn't possess otherwise.
Remy stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, backing you up against the wall. The heat from his chest seared through your clothes, mingling with the warmth of the alcohol in your veins. Amidst the music still pulsating loudly through the room, he leaned in close to your ear. "Is dat how it's gon' be, cher?" he murmured, his voice low and husky, a challenge in every syllable.
You could practically smell the scent of whiskey and cigarette smoke lingering his lips. He'd never been quite this close to you before and it made your heart race.
You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. The room spun around you, the lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. "I-I...," you stammered, your resolve wavering under his intense gaze.
His hand slid up your arm, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. "Y'think ya can jus' hit me and walk away, cher?" he asked, his tone teasing yet threatening.
You shivered, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through you. "I... I didn't really mean it," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
Remy leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Maybe Remy liked it," he confessed, his breath hot against your skin. "Maybe he want more."
Before you could respond, his hand moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You could feel every inch of him, hard and demanding. "What're you doing?" you breathed, your mind racing as your body betrayed you, responding to his touch with a surge of desire.
"Showin' you what happens when you mess with me," he whispered, his lips trailing kisses down your neck. Each touch was light, almost playful, but there was an underlying intensity that made your heart race. "Don' think I ain't noticed the way you been dancin' all night."
You moaned softly, tilting your head back to give him better access. The alcohol had blurred the lines between right and wrong, making every sensation more acute, every emotion more raw. "Remy..." you pleaded, unsure of what you were asking for but desperate for more. You wanted whatever this was, desperately.
Maybe he'd had a bit to drink too, in all honesty. He just knew he had to have you, too. Right now.
He chuckled, the sound deep and resonant, sending vibrations through you. "Say my name again, cher," he demanded, his hand sliding up to cup your face. His thumb traced your bottom lip, his gaze locked heavily on yours.
"Remy," you repeated, your voice thick with need. You felt trapped, pinned against the wall by his body, but instead of fear, there was only surrender. You wanted this, wanted him, despite the chaos swirling inside you. You'd wanted this for a while, although you'd never been one to make the first move.
"Dat's right cher," he praised, his eyes darkening with satisfaction. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."
With that, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you towards the stairs. The crowd parted for both of you, whispers and stares following your progress. But you were beyond caring, lost in the haze of alcohol and Remy's commanding presence.
He kicked open the door, stepping into a dimly lit room. You'd guessed it was his. It honestly wouldn't have mattered if you two had decided to fuck in a broom closet for all you cared.
The air was cooler here, a contrast to the heat building between you. He set you down on the bed, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Ready fo' round two, cher?" he asked, his voice a seductive growl.
You nodded, your mouth dry, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.
Remy smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Den let's begin," he said, his hands moving to unbutton your shirt.
Remy's hands were rough as they tore at your clothes, the fabric rending under his urgency. You gasped as the cool air hit your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Remy's body. His lips found your neck, pressing hot kisses that quickly turned into bites, each one sending a shock of pleasure and pain through you.
"Remy!" you hissed, your voice mingling with the sounds of your clothing being discarded. His name was a plea, a demand, a surrender all at once.
He chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. "Ya like dat, cher?" he murmured, his tongue caressing the skin at your neck to soothe the marks he'd left.
You nodded, unable to form words as his hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming. The room spun around you, the world reduced to the sensations Remy was creating.
Without warning, he flipped you over, your stomach landing on the bed as he positioned himself behind you. You felt his hand on your back, pressing you down as he whispered in your ear, "Y'need to be punished."
His words instantly sent a thrill through you, a mix of shame and excitement that pooled low in your belly. You whimpered, arching your back slightly, inviting him to continue.
His hand lifted, then came down hard on your ass, the slap echoing through the room. You cried out, the pain sharp and sudden, but beneath it, there was an undeniable rush of arousal.
"Dat's for hittin' me," Remy said, his voice thick with desire. He spanked you again, harder this time, the force making your whole body tremble.
You moaned, your hands gripping the sheets as he continued his assault, each strike more punishing than the last. The pain was intense, but it was laced with such overwhelming pleasure that you couldn't help but push back against his hand, begging for more.
"Please," you gasped, your voice raw. "More, Remy, please."
He paused, his hand resting on your reddened flesh. "Y'want more, cher? You wanna be taught a lesson?"
You nodded, your breathing erratic as you waited for his next move.
Remy chuckled, the sound dark and pleased. "Den let's see how much you can take."
With that, he slicked himself up with something you'd seen him reach for in his dresser drawer and entered you from behind, his thrusts deep and hard, each one hitting your core with unrelenting force. You screamed, the sound torn from your throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you.
"Yes, yes, yes!" you chanted, your body moving in sync with his, lost in the rhythm he had set.
Remy growled, his grip tightening on your hips as he pounded into you. "You like dis, don't you? Bein' punished by me? Such a-mm!-good lil' slut you're bein' fo' Gambit." He bit back his own moan, biting down hard on his bottom lip.
You could only moan in response, your mind too consumed by sensation to form coherent thoughts.
He reached around, his fingers finding your center, touching you in all the right ways as he continued to thrust. The dual stimulation was too much, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
"Come for me, cher," Remy commanded, his voice ragged with his own need. "Show me how much you love bein' punished."
That was all it took. With a final, desperate cry, you shattered around him, your body convulsing in release as he continued to thrust, chasing his own climax.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice a mixture of awe and triumph. "S'good fo' me."
You felt him tense, then he was coming inside you, his seed filling you as his body shuddered with his release.
For a moment, there was silence, the only sound your heavy breathing and the pounding of your hearts. Then, Remy collapsed beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close.
"I think we both needed that," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.
You nodded, too spent to speak. The alcohol had fueled your actions, but it was Remy who had taken control, guiding you through a night of passion and punishment that neither of you would soon forget.
178 notes · View notes
silverameco · 7 months ago
Text
Bookshop AU - @wolfstarmicrofic - 763 words
Sirius loved Tuesdays, because he didn't work the afternoon, and could go annoy his brother. Regulus had been working at Lily's bookshop for a few years now. It was striking how well he fitted in the place. When Lily openned her shop, Sirius never thought he would ever see his brother in it. And now, he couldn't imagine it without him.
Sirius was leaning against the counter, bickering with Regulus who kept rolling his eyes, pretending to be bother by it. Sirius knew he was enjoying his presence every Tuesday. They never thought they could have this, after all.
Regulus left him alone to fetch something at the back of the store. Suddendly, the bell of the door tinkled and Sirius turned his head to face the stranger. It might be the best thing he ever did, because the man standing before him was the most beautiful sight. He had sun bleached curls, tiny freckles on the bridge of his nose, and a scar crossing his face. Most of all, he had amber eyes glinting in the sun that filtered through the glass door. Sirius felt like he himself was glowing under his gaze.
"Hi, I'm looking for-", the stranger began.
"A book ?" Sirius interrupted with a cheeky grin. "I think you might be in the right place. A bookstore, that is."
The man sent him an amused smile. "Er, actually-"
"Sirius stop being rude to my customers, and my friends." Regulus said with an annoyed tone and his usual frown, coming back from the backstore. "Hi, Remus, ignore my stupid brother." he added to the stranger's attention.
Sirius couldn't process the information that this beautiful man was friend with his brother of all people. His mind was just a litany of Remus, Remus, Remus.
"Err- hey ! I'm not being rude." he said after a beat. "In fact, Remus, maybe I could help you find this book we were talking about-"
"No, you can't, you don't work here, Sirius." cutted his annoying shit of a little brother. "Come on, Remus, I'll show you the books we were discussing the other day."
He took Remus' arm, dragging him away, between the book shelves. Remus followed, but Sirius noticed his gaze lingering on him, a glint of something in his eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his lips.
So he waited patiently - maybe not so much - for them to come back at the front of the shop. When they did, Remus was holding three books. Sirius looked at the books while he payed for them. He could feel Remus very close to him, because Sirius was still against the counter. He didn't intend to move one bit.
Two of the books he didn't know, but the third one was Les Fleurs du Mal, by Charles Baudelaire. Poetry, then. With a flash of inspiration, he snatched the book from his brother's hand, ignoring his exasperated sigh.
"This one," he said, "is a very good choice."
Remus raised an interested eyebrow at him. "You like Baudelaire ?"
"Nah, I'm more of a Rimbaud kind of guy." answered Sirius with a knowing smile. "But this one is a very special edition."
"Oh, is it ?" Remus asked with an amused smile, seemingly waiting to see where he was going with this.
Sirius took a pen laying on the counter, openned the front page and began writing. He took his time, letting Remus pay meanwhile.
"Yes." he said finally, handing the book back to Remus. "It has my number on it. Call me, if you want."
Sirius said it with what he hoped looked like a confident smile, but really he was shaking a bit.
"You don't have to. He's annoying." Regulus said.
But Remus kept looking at him and smiled. "Yeah, but I think I will." he answered finally. Sirius felt his heart roared.
"You're both hopeless." commented Regulus.
"Bye Sirius." Remus said with a wink and then he was gone already.
Sirius looked at his brother with a huge grin, to which he answered with a glare.
"Do you really have to flirt with my friends ?"
Sirius gasped in offense. "You're literally dating my best friend and his girlfriend who is also my friend !"
This particular Tuesday would become one of Sirius' favorite days ever.
141 notes · View notes
wileys-russo · 10 months ago
Note
niamh charles, "me jealous? Yes." morocco pre-season camp
niamh charles
normally post a covid world there wasn't any shared rooms on camps and that was something you were immensely grateful for. however with a slight mess up from the hotel booking system you suddenly found yourselves all sleeping three to a room until alternative arrangements were made.
it suited you well enough, you'd grown up with five siblings and shared a room for most of your childhood. you'd learn to take up as minimal space as you could, keeping your head down and taking whatever you could get.
so when you were slotted into a room with niamh and jessie you breathed a sigh of relief, much to the canadians protests she didn't want to be the third wheel or witness 'adult activities' as niamh smacked her upside the head and told her to shut up.
the three of you grabbed your bags and raced for the elevator, stepping in and sticking your tongues out at jess, erin and guro who were forced to wait for the next one.
"dibs!" jessie dropped her bags and dove onto the double bed, leaving you and niamh with the single. "oh in your dreams fleming get off!" niamh grabbed the poor girls ankles and dragged her to the floor with a yell and a thump.
"m'lady." your girlfriend gestured to the bed with a charming grin as you helped jessie up who huffed. niamh squared up to her as they went chest to chest, the canadian letting out a war cry and tackling the defender to the floor.
"but you're the third wheel? sure jess!" you rolled your eyes with a chuckle, stepping over them and dropping your bag to the bed, grabbing out your toiletries and moving them to the bathroom.
"babe help!" you heard your girlfriend cry out as you returned to the room, finding jessie sat on top of the taller girl with her arms pinned beneath her, quite the amusing sight as niamh struggled and squirmed.
"i wrestled for fun in college." jessie beamed to your questioning look as you laughed. "of course you did flem." you patted her head and dove onto the bed, niamh finally shoving her off as the two of them continued to smack each other around.
leaving them to it you grabbed your book out and settled on the bed getting comfortable, though before you could even turn a page there was knocking at the door.
"oh i'll get it shall i? no worries." you rolled your eyes as neither of the other girls made a move, too busy now laid down and arm wrestling on the floor as you stepped over them again and hurried for the door as the knocks continued.
"im coming im coming!" you huffed flinging it open, barely able to step aside before a horde of bodies piled inside. "oh do come on in!" you rolled your eyes as they made themselves comfortable.
"you brought it right jessica?" zećira asked impatiently as the canadian jumped off the floor with a nod, rummaging through her bag and unpacking her switch, making a move to connect it up to the tv.
"oh come on! we're in morroco and you're gonna spend the night playing fifa?" you sighed in disbelief as the game loaded and jessie tossed niamh and guro a controller each.
"what else are we supposed to do? we've got curfew remember, no leaving the hotel after eight." guro shrugged moving over so jessie could slot in between her and maren.
"its only six!" you laughed, only receiving dismissive waves and shushes as you sent a pleading look to your girlfriend who was busy selecting her team. "fine!" niamh groaned as she was unable to avoid your gaze any longer, handing the controller to sophie and wriggling off the bed.
"come on then." niahh took your hand and allowed you to drag her out of the crowded room. "i love you." you grinned happily, kissing her cheek a few times as she rolled her eyes as if bothered, cracking a smile and moving to properly kiss you before the doors opened.
"so miss tour guide where we goin then?" niamh chuckled as the two of you strolled out of the hotel, pausing for a moment to look around as you pulled your phone. "theres a beach over there!" you pointed in a random direction.
"or maybe there?" you frowned as you turned your phone making niamh chuckle. "i'll do the navigating then. you just look pretty!" niamh cooed taking your phone and kissing your cheek.
"well that comes easy for me." you shrugged cockily, swinging your intertwined hands as niamh guided the two of you away from the hotel. "oh ice cream!" you perked up, niamh nearly dropping your phone as you yanked her into the small shop.
"see! easy." niamh grinned happily as the two of you arrived to the beach, taking a seat on the sea wall overlooking the ocean side by side. "you nearly done babe?" niamh sighed, head falling to your shoulder with a pleading look upward as her bottom lip jutted out into a pout.
"why?" you laughed, taking another bite of your ice cream. "its gettin more attention than i am." the girl huffed as you gave her a look. "annoyed my lips are touching something else are we?" you teased as your girlfriend groaned, laying down and glaring up at the sky.
"niamh!" you laughed in disbelief, poking the sliver of skin which poked out where her shirt had rode up. "what?" the brunette pouted as you took another bite of your ice cream.
"are you jealous of an ice cream?" you challenged with a smile. "me jealous? yes." she laughed then looked at you dead serious making you shake your head. "you're ridiculous charles." you tutted, gently tapping her nose with your ice cream and a grin.
"baby!" niamh gasped as you did it again, leaving a trail of ice cream against her lips, ducking down and pressing your own against them as her breath hitched in surprise.
but the moment was ruined as something sticky landed in niamhs hair, your girlfriend gently pushing at your chest as she sat up. your hand flew to cover your mouth with a guilty smile, a now empty cone in your hand as the last small mound of ice cream sat melting into your girlfriends hair.
"i mean love you did say you wanted to wash your hair tonight right?"
371 notes · View notes
dawneternal · 5 months ago
Text
The Benevolent | Eris x Healer OC | Seven
☁︎ Notes: okay I mention Aya's powers a lot in this chapter. Bear with me, there's explanation coming soon! The plot picks up a lot after this one. 👀
I tried to stay true to the order of events in ACOWAR but it was melting my brain a little bit so if you see something wrong no you didn't
Aya's Dress
☁︎ Warnings: Angst, female character is called a slut, canon fighting and violence
☁︎ Word Count: 4k
☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist
☁︎ Taglist: @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams
Tumblr media
The sky was an annoying shade of blue today. Its cheerfulness was obnoxious and mocking. If the sky would not respect her dismal mood, it could at least have the respect to be a little more solemn with the threat of war hanging over Prythian.
Aya sat at her desk in the classroom, staring out the arched window with her chin resting on her palm. Her other hand was curled into a fist, knuckles tapping on the table top. She was vaguely aware of a voice drifting in her direction and it took her a moment to untangle her thoughts from her grudge at the sky. 
"Did you say something?" She turned toward her instructor, hoping her tone didn't hold any of her grumpiness. 
"I said I have another job for you," Helene answered from behind her desk, her eyes glittering with amusement, "Set up for a visiting lecturer. Pays 40 marks."
Aya nodded, her gaze turning toward the window again. 
"What's got you in such a mood?" Helene asked, swallowing her chuckle. 
Everyone else avoided Aya in this state. Her temper was not easily provoked, but the consequences of it were weighty enough to make most steer clear. Helene, however, had never been scared of Aya. Not of her power, her temper, or the fact that her cousin was High Lord. 
"Thesan will not let me attend the High Lord's meeting," Aya grumbled, brows drawn together in a deep scowl. 
"What on earth would you want to do that for?" Helene scoffed, "You hate politics."
That was something Aya was having a hard time answering for herself. She didn't know exactly why, only that the unfairness of it burned in her chest like she was a child left out of something fun. It unraveled a restless feeling that she thought she had stitched down a long time ago. She knew that if she wanted to, she could dig deep and find the words to explain what she was feeling, but she was not ready.
"It's the principle of it," She said, "Zoren gets to go."
"There's nothing of interest for you there," Helene soothed. 
"It's just such a rare opportunity," Aya sighed. 
That much was true. What she did not tell her teacher, or anyone, was that she planning to do something incredibly stupid, because it was the only thing that would quell the rising beast. She was going to break her own vow not to snoop or sleuth, and she was going to take a page from the Autumn Court’s book to get what she wanted. 
"At least you can still mingle," Helene said, "You could buy a new dress for the parties."
The rest of the students began to file in, the bell chiming in the distance to signal the beginning of class. Helene had managed to find probably the only silver lining of the situation. The prospect of a new dress managed to cheer Aya up just enough to stop glowering at the undeserving sky. 
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Aya stood in front of her mirror, pale light illuminating her wide eyes and parted lips. She barely recognized her reflection, bundled in a wool shawl, thermos tucked under her arm. She asked herself once more if she was really going to do this. And something stubborn snapped in her chest and she knew that the disappointment of not doing it would be unbearable. 
But as she squared her shoulders and wiped that cowardice from her expression, another question drifted into her mind. What was she doing this for? Aya watched her face fall again in the mirror, something solemn and pensive taking over. She still did not have an answer. Maybe by the end of the day, she would know.
Outside, Aya was surrounded by a blend of lovely pastel colors, a classic Dawn Court sunrise. As if the sky knew of the impending meeting and sought to showcase all of the beauty the court had to offer. The morning air was chilly and sweet-smelling, caressing her skin with a soft touch as she flew to the hiding place she had scouted. 
In between carved sunstone ornaments and billows of ivy and flowers, there was a blind spot in the eaves where no one would see her. It was just inside the wards Thesan had set up, but she stepped through them easily. Closing her eyes, the layers of wards appeared as closed gateways, each one faintly humming and glowing a different color. She had never tried to pick apart other wards before, but she had always been able to dismantle Thesan's easily. She had never told him that fact.
Guilt spread through her body with every beat of her hammering heart as she caught sight of Thesan and Zoren waiting in the meeting room. Thesan had not exactly forbid her from attending, but then again he had never had to use such harsh wording with her. He would probably never think to check the eaves for a spying Aya. 
Zoren might, however. He was not as biased in his view of her, seeing her from an angle that her cousin could not. He saw her cunning and zealousness plainly. But neither one of them looked up. Their soft, lovesick laughter echoed gently through the tower as they leaned into the other and shared their secrets. An ache spread in Aya's chest at the sight of it. 
The lovers quickly straightened as Kallias made his arrival. The air around him was hazy with frost, his almost-white hair and skin stark against the warmth of the golden sunstone. Thesan rose to his full height as he stood, his unassuming power wrapping around him like a shield. Aya could see the personal wards around each figure, faintly humming and each glowing a different color. Vivian's lovely laughter filled the room as she joked with the rest of the group. 
Each High Lord had loosened their glamor, for reasons both arrogant and practical, and each arrived in a wave of grandeur, the essence of their court filling the air like perfume. It was a dizzying experience to behold it all in one place, the earthy smell of spring, the frost of winter dancing through the air. At certain angles, Helion was almost painful to look at, like he reflected the entire sun. Staring at Tarquin for too long made the room start to sway, as if the space around him moved like the ocean. 
As for the High Lord and Lady of Night, Prythian may have plenty of opinions, but it could not be said that their entrance was not impressive. Their powers seemed to dance together in a way that others did not, like Feyre's magic had been elevated with her status. Or it was simply their mating bond, as visible as their matching tattoos. The air around Rhysand rippled with darkness, and Feyre beside him was the glimmer of starlight. Both held equal measures of bite and beauty.
Aya had a personal policy of not believing rumors, one she shared with Thesan. In part because nearly every High Fae was robed in legends, myths, and lies. And in part because the truth always proved to be worth pursuing. And in turn, it never proved to be beneficial to believe in rumors about women that were started by men. She guessed that this was the main reason for Thesan's attendance. He wished to begin untangling truths and lies. 
She knew it was true as she watched him, sitting quietly and listening with intense focus, his eyes darting back and forth as he pulled the threads apart in his mind. He had no idea how much her powers could have helped. 
Watching her cousin's gaze flit back and forth around the table, paying attention to what he paid attention to, Aya listened to the High Lords’ examination of Rhysand's character. Given the events of Under the Mountain, it did not seem unfounded. Especially because they could not see what Aya saw. The High Lord had his fair share of dark threads weaving through his being, ego and temptation like clouds that sometimes drifted over the moon. But despite those things, despite the blood on his hands and the red in his ledger, he wanted to be good. 
The Autumn Court’s late arrival interrupted the interrogation. They walked in a formation, Edana tucked into Beron’s side looking regal and lovely, despite the fact that she had shrunk herself into the shadow of her husband. All fire and cunning gone from her eyes. The entourage glittered in fabrics of deep green and plum, gold trim catching the sunlight. 
Beron had relaxed his glamor like the other High Lords, but Aya noticed that Eris had not. Even so, he was easily the most beautiful of the group, borrowing so many features from his mother. Something he had in common with Lucien. His strong jawline and thick eyebrows contrasted with soft eyes and full lips. A lean and well-built body, covered in countless scars that hid underneath the velvet of his suit. The sunshine followed him, glowing with an extra warmth in every place it touched his skin, threatening to erupt into flames. Eris kept a leash on his power so he would not overshadow his father. 
With Eris present, Aya became so acutely aware of herself that she was certain she would be noticed, that someone’s gaze would drift just a bit too far upwards and she would be caught. But all attention was stuck on the other three brutish brothers, staring down each attendee like wolves circling their prey. Eris hissed a command and they backed off, ending their show of power. Aya could not tell which brother was the one she had healed in Eris’s room, but none of them looked like they would like to express their gratitude if they knew.
As the meeting continued and more voices joined the din, it grew difficult to catch every word. The roaring wind swept away half of the conversation, other bits drowned out by the chattering birds. Aya could piece it together with context and a few of her secret talents, but when Tamlin began throwing his tantrum and hurling insults, she let the words remain lost. Beron and Helion seemed to enjoy the discourse, but Aya did not care to listen to it. 
Aya did not know when the conflict between Tamlin and the High Lady had dissolved and the tension between Eris and the Night Court began. She watched each tense face carefully, straining to hear what the Autumn Heir was saying.  
“....like a slut.” Were the only words she caught.
The last word reverberated through the room, and time seemed to move slower as Aya watched the Morrigan’s face contort in pain and anger. It was not even a full second between the insult leaving Eris’s lips and the shadowsinger pouncing. Azriel slammed into Eris, pushing him to the floor and enveloping the pair in a bubble of cobalt magic. Aya pressed a hand over her mouth, heart racing as she watched them grapple. Her wings threatened to spread but she pulled them in even tighter, so tight that her back cramped with the effort. Eris was not fighting back, only fighting to get free. He did not try to move out of the way of Azriel’s fist.
Several called out for the fight to stop, but it was the High Lady’s voice, low and calm, that made the shadowsinger pause. Aya watched, her breathing ragged, as Azriel knelt and whispered something into Eris’s ear, and then stood. She turned her gaze over to Edana, gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles, still unmoving. Eris stood, murmured an apology, and smoothed his jacket. 
The meeting moved on quickly, but Aya could not stop hearing Eris’s voice echoing through the tower. She almost wished she had not heard it, that the whole scene had been swept away by that persistent wind and then he would be the same Eris as before. She had heard a vague version of the
 events between him and the Morrigan. She had never really thought much about it. Every person sitting at that table had done terrible things for good reasons. And everything Eris did was calculated, he would not have said such a thing without a reason. Or would he? The Eris she had built in her mind was crumbling, growing fuzzy at the edges as she realized that she might not know him at all. 
She held the secrets of his scars, had collected handfuls of late night meetings, but that could very well mean nothing in the grand scheme of knowing Eris. There was a chance he was just like the rest of them. Cold, jaded, cruel. And there was a chance that up here, on the outside of everything important, she would never get close enough to find out. 
The uneasiness under her skin heated to a simmer as she watched Nuan enter and present her antidote. Nuan, beautiful and smart and clever. It was a childish thing that should have faded a long time ago, but Aya could not rid herself of the jealousy. There may be plenty of room at Thesan’s table for his found family, but some days when her mind grew cloudy, she wondered if she had a place there at all. 
That mood continued to roll in like a thick fog, and she laid down on the sunstone, pressing her cheek to the cool, sleek surface. Pulling the wool shawl tighter around herself, she continued to half-listen to things she only half-understood.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Just as Aya had begun to grow bored, the tension began to rise again. A long string of scathing insults poured from Beron’s mouth, filling the air with burning heat. He spat each one with more disdain than the last, not once heeding the High Lady’s warnings. He should not have been surprised when Feyre exploded. A wave of brilliant fire pushed through Beron’s wards and managed to singe him. The vibrant flames caught Edana’s sleeve, and Aya stiffened, a choked sound leaving her throat. 
Beron gathered himself and his wards, but Feyre did not relent, sending waves of water next. Aya dared to glance at Eris and saw his eyes gleaming with wicked hope as his father struggled. The others gaped at the reveal of Feyre's powers. Rhysand persuaded her to stop, managing a few jabs towards the Autumn Court as he did so, and the damage was done. None of the High Lords were particularly happy about their supposedly stolen kernels of power, even Thesan. Aya thought to herself that they didn't seem to mind so much when Feyre was the Cursebreaker and freed them all.
Beron was furious at all of it, declaring the meeting over as if he had the power to do so. His loyal entourage stood, following his every move, save for Eris.
The High Lady’s sister rose from her seat and spoke before they could leave. She had the whole room within her grip, something terrifying and ethereal in her eyes and voice. But Beron only muttered his dismissal and winnowed. A chorus of snaps filled the silence as the rest of his group followed.
Eris lingered just a moment longer, his gaze flickering upwards and finding Aya in the eaves. Almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head toward the door.
Aya's heart leapt into her throat and she forced herself to move slowly and quietly as she backed out of her hiding spot. Careful not to rustle the ivy, she crossed back through the wards and scrambled down the levels of pillars and carvings. 
Eris had winnowed to the hall outside of the door, waiting with his hands clasped behind his back. Aya stood before him, her breathing heavy, eyes widening as she caught sight of the blooming bruises around his neck. His brows were knit together tightly, worry etched into the space between them. 
“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice still that of the Autumn Heir. 
Aya opened her mouth to answer and found that she still had not thought of a good answer to that question. I wanted to see you, was on the tip of her tongue, but she would not let it loose.
“This is my court,” She stammered. Her mind felt slow, frosted over. His eyes searched hers and she was terrified he could somehow read what she refused to say.
“You shouldn’t be here,” He said, face softening into something more recognizable.
“Why not?” She whispered, swallowing hard.
“The other High Lords would not take kindly to finding a spy,” His voice was tight, “My father could have killed you on the spot.” 
He was right. She had not thought of that. That Thesan could not go easy on her if she was caught in front of everyone. Her gaze flickered away from his intense stare, landing on that necklace of purple fingerprints. She could not help but focus a spark of her power on them. Eris frowned as he watched her expression turn distant, and then his eyes widened. 
“Stop that,” He hissed, taking a step back. A hand flew to his neck, as if to keep the bruises from disappearing.
Aya flinched, her focus returning to his face. To his flushed cheeks and wild eyes.
“You can’t heal me,” He said, “My father would know.” 
Aya just shook her head. This was all wrong.
“I have to go,” Eris sighed, looking over his shoulder, “Just go home, please.” 
He was gone in an instant, the air crackling as he winnowed. Aya stood still, staring at the space where he had been, feeling like something of a liability.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Aya smoothed the front of her dress, a slip of dusty pink silk with golden trim. She had picked something similar to the one Eris had seemed to like so much, with a low back and draping neckline. Her jewelry was all pearls and gold, bracelets clinking as she moved. She took one more deep breath and walked through the archway into the party. 
Soft Dawn Court music played through the circular room, every surface draped in lovely fabrics and pillows. Trays of food and flutes of champagne littered the tables, servers swirling through the crowd to refill and take away plates. There were groups playing cards, boisterous laughter over drinking games, dancing, and pairs flirting in candle lit alcoves. Colors of all the courts mixed together, a rainbow of merriment. 
Aya’s gaze swept through the mix of faces, searching for one peppered with freckles. She found him, sitting on a velvet couch with cards in his hand. And one of her classmates sat on the back of the couch, giggling down into his smirking face, her fingertips grazing his neck as she made his bruises fade.
If Aya had thought she felt sick earlier, it was nothing compared to now. Dizziness overwhelmed her as she understood a dozen things at once. She was realizing how attached she had grown to him, how much she had wanted his compliments on her dress. She was realizing that, somewhere between the healing sessions, in the quiet and dim light of Eris’s room, she had begun to think of herself as his. 
His healer, his angel, his friend. 
Now, to think she had dreamt up that intimacy was too painful to bear. And it was Fleura healing him, the one who hated her most, never failing to toss Aya a look of disgust. She stood there frozen in the archway, gaze glued to him. To make matters worse, Fleura noticed her, flashing a look of mocking pity before she giggled behind her hand. Eris followed her gaze, locking eyes with Aya, and his smirk faded. 
The rest of the party disappeared. It was only Aya and Eris, staring at each other with miles of unsaid things between them.
“Are you coming or going?” A deep, smooth voice pulled Aya from that moment. 
She turned and looked into the face of the High Lord of Summer. The weight of Eris’s stare was heavy, but she willed herself to hold the gaze of the turquoise eyes looking down at her. 
“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” She stammered, stepping aside when she realized she was blocking him in. 
Tarquin gave her a crooked smile, revealing perfect, shiny teeth. A bit of her angst melted under the pure sunshine that radiated from him. He smelled like sea salt and coconut and summer.
“I thought I might go,” The High Lord said, “But the most interesting people keep appearing in this archway. I think I'll stay.”
Aya’s cheeks burned as she returned his smile. He offered an arm to her and added, “Would you like to get a drink?” 
“Yes,” Aya breathed, taking his arm and trying to quiet her dizzy mind as he swept her away toward the bar. 
She decided to be a little wicked, letting her billowing skirt brush over the arm that Eris draped over the couch as she walked by. She did not turn to see if he was looking. To inspect for any sliver of jealousy on his face. Though it felt as though her heart was splitting as she looked back up at Tarquin and realized that as lovely of a color as blue was, she still liked amber better.
⋆。˚ ☁︎ ˚。⋆。˚☽˚。⋆
Eris did not sleep well that night. 
He did not particularly care for the open, breezy rooms of Dawn, all stone and sheer fabrics. None of the cozy velvet and dark wood he was used to. There was also no fireplace, depriving him of the comforting crackle of fire as he slept. With everything that had happened, he should be tired enough that it didn’t matter. But he lay awake, trying and failing to catalog the events of the day. 
He would not forget the look on Aya’s face when she had spotted him sitting there with that giggling, air-headed healer. He should have just shoved the girl away, but it was like all of the fight had drained from him and for some gods-damned reason he had simply disguised his grimace with a smirk and hoped she left him alone soon.
The image haunted him, continuing to appear no matter how many times he shoved it away. Aya, standing in the archway, her wickedly lovely dress shimmering in the candle light, with the unmistakable look of someone who had been betrayed. He should have stood, should have rushed to her, should have confessed.
I came back for you. I've been waiting for you. 
But something about her never stopped causing him to act the opposite of how he wanted. So he sat there like an idiot while she was spun away and charmed by Tarquin. Young and powerful Tarquin, likely better suited for someone like her.
When he did sleep, he was plagued by a new nightmare. Cobalt blue slammed into him over and over, breaking something new every time. Those golden brown hands wrapped around his throat and pinned him down, that deep voice whispering in his ear and echoing again and again, 
“Your Sparrow in the eaves has a long way to fall.”
And then Eris would shift his gaze from the soulless brown eyes above him. Up and up into the eaves of the meeting room where Aya was hidden. Blue light would wrap around her ankle and pull hard, causing her to stumble and fall. The floor would begin to crumble and give way into blackness, and the blue light would bind her wings so she couldn't fly. He would be forced to watch as she fell into the inky abyss, screaming his name until her voice disappeared into nothing. 
Then he would wake. Calm his breathing and take a drink of water. Fall asleep, and dream it all again.
If he had known then that he would not see her again until the Battle of Hybern, he would have made very different choices, indeed.
57 notes · View notes
madammidnightsblog · 1 year ago
Text
BTS BUTTPLUG
Warning: sex, buttplug (m&f), public settings, sub idol, dom f!reader, Bang PD (brief), park setting (once), handcuffs, voyeur , fan meet (once)
Namjoon
Namjoon isn't really into buttplugs but he is more than willing to wear one if you ask, there is almost nothing he wouldn't do if you asked. But he feels funny wearing one in the studio with Bang Hitman working alongside him, the toy occasionally humming softly against a sensitive spot if he squirms too much and to make it worse, you were sitting in the same room. Your eyes staring at the back of his head which made his heart pound even more against his chest and he felt himself grow more aroused at the thought of you turning the toy completely up and having him a moaning mess in front of the older man. It really took everything in this man to cover every moan that would slip out and from palming himself through his sweats to somehow make the agonizing pace of the plug to grow more intense and just give his poor dick some friction that it was silently begging for.
"What do you think? Do you think it would work with the chorus or should we move it to the bridge?" Bang questioner as he skimmed over the roughly scribbled idea, wanting the younger man's opinion to organize the chaos that filled the page.
"Uh, well," Namjoon mentally slapped himself for not paying attention but could you blame him? He was in a tough situation and really wanted to work as diligently as he could but the damn plug really made it it hard to prioritize.
Bang notices how confused he looked and took in considering that they were working for about five hours and it was close to two in the morning so he thought he must be tired so he started to pack up, "Don't worry about it. You must be tired so we can finish later after some sleep so get some rest and I'll call around one- thirty." With that, he felt after bidding you goodbye.
You got up and walked over to the panting male as he leans back in his office chair, eyes screwed shirt while his right hand came down to his crotch to gently rub his erection, "You did such a good job baby." You praised as you sat in the chair that the former CEO was seated.
Namjoon whimpered softly as you took out your phone and turned off the plug, "May I cum now?"
You looked up at him surprise. You were sure he silently came a few times but those sucks in breath and squeezing of the arm rest was him holding back? Now that was more amusing. Cocking your head to the side and folded a leg over the other with a smirk, "Why didn't you cum pretty boy? You had about three hours of torture and all the chances to do so."
Namjoon turned his chair toward you, his hands were tugging at the draw strings in anticipation, "Because you never told me to." He whimpers.
"Go head baby. Cum as many times you want, you earned it for being such a good boy for Mommy." With that, he yanked down his sweats and boxers to reveal a twitching and leaking dick.
Jin
"I can't-please-can't!" He cried as his hands yanked at the cuffs, the metal clanking against the chair with every tug.
You sat in front of him, sipping your wine with a pleased smile as you watched as he breaks down in front of you after his third orgasm washed over him, painting his stomach and lap in his release. Something about watching him cry and cum without stopping makes you feel so powerful because of the pretty way he cries and begs and the way his beautiful body shakes with every release, the pearly white liquid painting his golden skin. His moans and cries were heavenly, almost as if he was singing such a beautiful song and the sobs came out like a loud yet sweet chorus that he made specifically just for you and it made your pussy ache. The plug in his ass and the vibrator that was tapped to his dick was the cause of his pleasure and the reason of his uncontrollable orgasms and they weren't stopping anytime soon, not until he said 'sheep'.
"You can take it, you've done it before." You singed before taking another sip, the refreshing taste of Pinot Grigio made you hum.
"Fuck, Mommy, please!" He sobbed, his dick twitched against his abdomen.
You hummed in thought, eyes staring at the glass in your hand and watched how the golden clear liquid that swirled with every soft roll of your wrist. You really didn't need to think about joining your boyfriend but you wanted to make him wait, keeping him on his toes and holding to the desperation which was what you did. Flicking your eyes back at him to see his glossy eyes as they stared into yours before placing your glass on the table next to you before getting up, slowly making your way over to him which had him whimpering for you. The clicking of your heels made his fingers dig into the armrests in attempt to hold what's left of his control and the fact that you were in just heels and one of his button of shirts made his dick ache.
Standing behind the chair, you slowly slid your hands down to his wrists to gently rub at them, "Are you sure you want me to do anything, darling? You seem to have enough fun with those toys." You teased as you eyes the two vibrators.
A sob left his lips, "Y-Yes, touch me, fuck, please."
Hoseok
He isn't the type to act honey in public or even attempt to do anything that remotely resembles a sexual act that isn't dancing so when you asked him to wear a plug and go for a walk at a park, he was quick to turn it down. So when you said you'd wear it instead, he was more nervous about it but didn't mutter a complaint since you were the one to want to do it but he was scared that a child would hear or an elderly person would see how your legs were wobbling and the no so quiet moans and call the cops. Everything was going smoothly, your wobbles were so noticeable and your moans were at a minimum or seen as coughs which did get you two some odd looks but Hoseok didn't care because his mind was occupied with the flashes of you putting the plug in but that was until you held onto his shoulder.
"Fuck." You moaned softly, your free hand was itching to cup your crotch in hopes to touch yourself.
Swallowing dryly, Hoseok did his best to guide you towards an empty and closed off area, "J-Just give me a second." He whispered.
The poor man almost tripped over his feet when he heard you moan his name. He was trying so hard to avoid any issues so you two could be in private but a woman that was jogging by turned around once noticing how you struggled to walk properly thanks to the rising volume of the plug, "Hey, are you ok? Do you need an ambulance?" She questioned while taking out her earbuds.
Shaking your head, you forced a smile which looked borderline lewd, "I'm.. I'm fine. Just got a cramp." You quickly said, trying to avoid slipping out a moan.
The woman eyes him before looked back at you but when Hoseok helped you stand up better, you bud goodbye before you two made your way to the public bathroom. Once inside, he quickly but slowly dragged you to a stall which you were glad he did because you were too overwhelmed with pleasure you were sure you wouldn't be able to walk anymore without someone realizing what was up. You took off your shirt and sat on the edge of the toilet, pulling your legs up to your chest after making sure you wouldn't fall off and told him to hurry. It was hard to keep going without his dick inside of you by know.
Jimin
"I'm so full." He moans as he spreads his cheeks to show off the pretty blue plug in his ass, his white thong pushed to the side.
Biting your lip, you slipped onto the bed while reaching a hand out to rub his erection through the damp material. Soft purrs left his pillowy lips made you shiver in excitement, wanting nothing but to rip the thin fabric off and suck his cute cocklet. With every rub to his small dick, you spewed out filth which had him whimpering and rutting up against your hand which you allowed, loving how needy and desperate he is for you. You were more than happy to make him wait for you until he was a sobbing mess, getting turned on by the way he sobs for you and his big pretty eyes filled with tears that spill down his round cheeks. Tracing his bugle through the material had him shaking and breath hitching, the vibrator purring softly as his velvet walls squeeze around the toy as if it will slip out.
"Such a pretty kitty," you swallowed thickly as you took in his beauty, "And all mine." With that, you yanked the panties off which made him gasp in shock.
You got tired of seeing the thin material already, wanting to see him bare under you and marked so you wasted no time, lifting a leg of his to press a kiss to his ankle and slowly made your way to knee. Lowering yourself slowly, your eyes stared into his glossy ones as you slipped your tongue out and licked a stripe to his inner thigh, licking before pressing sloppy kisses to the soft flesh as his moans came out in soft puffs. Legs spreading further to allow you to lay comfortably between them and placed playful bites to the area before turning your attention to his twitching cocklet once again.
"Want help?"
Biting his lip as he looked away shyly, "Yes, please."
Jungkook
He's bold with anything kink related, believing it will be better if taken risks so the plug was pushed into his hole before a fan meet and he was more than excited. You being a staff member, you were there playing with the remote in your pocket and watching how he would struggle to speak and even sing which did get him concerned looks from the members and fans but it only made you both aroused. Trying to sign an album, he leaned his head onto the table and let out a shaky moan as the toy was turned all the way up, his eyes squeezed closed and jaw going slack which made the fan in front of him worry and Namjoon and Taehyung next to him ask him if he was alright. He was shaking and squeezing the pen as his thighs squeezed together, trying to calm himself down from his high but his mind was just going blank.
"I'm fine, fuck, I just got a cramp." He gasped, shifting slightly in his seat as the toy was turned down to the lowest setting.
He was trying his best to ignore the mess he made in his pants but when you came into view he was whimpering softly, wanting you to hold him and call him your good boy for cumming but you couldn't. Pouting, he quickly scribbled down his signature and got ready for the next fan, ignoring the looks the members and the manager shot him while forcing a smile to the squeaking fan. Every second talking, singing, and chatting with the small span of time with the fans was exhausting since all his entertainment was drained from that orgasm but thankfully it went by quick without the toy going past low so he managed. Once everything was finished, he rushed off the stage and to the nearest bathroom with you in tow and thankfully no one was around the area to stop you from following him into there. Locking the door behind you, you barely got to turn around without him yanking you into his embrace.
"Bunny, calm down. Don't wanting anyone bothering us." You whispered, noses touching from how close you were.
He whined, "Hurry up then Mommy, need a kiss."
With that, you closed the gap by smashing your lips against his which made him moan into the kiss as his hands shot down to his belt and unbuckled it. Hastily, he undid his pants and pushed the down to his ankles while you did the same with yours. Pulling back earned you a whine but you shushed him before pushing him onto the toilet after he dropped his boxers. Knowing you two had to be quick before they started to look for him, you pushed your panties to the side to reveal your sopping cunt which had him moaning at the sight of your slick sticking to the fabric of your panties.
"Be quiet baby." You ordered before hovering over his dick, slowly sinking down onto it with ease.
Taehyung
"Mommy." He moans against your breast, his tongue lazily swirling around your nipple which made you sigh.
Your hand pumping his dick made him whine and moan as your thumb pressed against his utheral hole teasingly. His eyes closed in bliss as he sucked contently at your swollen bud which you were more than happy to see because his flushed face was pressed against your breast cutely. Times like this is why tented windows of the company van was a wonder, letting your cute baby boy suck onto your breast while you have him a handjob, doing your best to match whatever spear the plug in his ass was going. With you in his lap, he was comfortable since your scent and warmth made it better to him and the toy in his ass had him holding you tighter, making it a little difficult to move your hand between both of your legs.
"You are so needy. I spoil you too much, don't I? Taking time out of your schedule to make my prince feel good because he is so needy for his Mommy, hm?" You sighed mindlessly, knowing his mind was somewhere else based how he tried to fuck up into your hand.
His eyebrows furrowed as the pleasure built up, the knot in his stomach slowly coming undone so he squeezed your waist, sucking harsher which made your head press against his as you moaned. Thrusting upwards sent him over the edge, spilling his release onto your hand and his thighs, detaching his lips from your bud to moan out your name. Panting softly, he leaned his head back against the seat while you reached behind you and into the glove compartment to get the wet wipes and cleaned him up while handing him his water bottle. You smiled and praised him while cleaning up the mess and he couldn't help but bury his face into your neck, breathing in your scent as he closed his eyes.
Yoongi
Yoongi would never be caught dead doing anything sexual in public, he wouldn't allow himself to be lewd anywhere that wasn't in the safety of your shared apartment. It would take a lot to convince this man to wear a plug in public for more than twenty minutes out of fear of someone noticing him and try to approach him. He was way too well known for something like that to happen to you decided to make him do it when the members were supposed to come over and have dinner. You were cleaning up the kitchen with Namjoon while Yoongi tried his best to stay quiet on the couch behind the maknae line sat on the floor, playing scrabble while he pressed the couch pillow against his chest in hope to ground himself. It was hard for him, the toy was coming in waves that thudding against his prostate thanks to the larger plug of choice. Having such a hard time, he got up and excused himself to the bedroom, in hopes to lock himself in for a minute and cum.
"I'm going to grab something from the bedroom and I'll meet you on the balcony." You excused yourself which Namjoon happily made his way to the balcony with his beer.
Making your way quietly down the hall, you heard Yoongi's soft moans between the laughs and fight of the younger members which made your heart race. You were itching to touch yourself at the idea of him taking care of his boner with everyone within earshot, it really made your pussy throb knowing if they wanted to they would hear him. Sneaking into the room that he forgot to lock, you watched his he humped the armrest of your chair in front of your makeup table, his pants straining his erection with every rut. Locking the door, you made your way over to the door and stood behind him, holding his waist which made him jolt back to reality and tried to pull away until you stop his to relax. Knowing it was you, he went back to rutting the armrest while letting out louder moans of your name.
"Just like that baby, move with the vibrations." You moaned as you pressed yourself against him.
378 notes · View notes
clickoly · 4 months ago
Text
O'Knutzy Week - Day 2
Part II of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU
Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024
Prompts: Changes, Racing
Links to: Part I, Ao3
Here comes Nutter Butter 🌻
•••
Endless weekend on a wave 
FormulaNews24 @formulanews24 (1d)
Eyes on the track as we witness history in the making! Silver Racing unveils a new bold addition to Tremblay's strategy team. Meet 22 year old Leo Knut, the youngest race engineer in F1 history. 
#ItalianGP #SilverRacing #LT10
"Loops!" Finn shouted. His curious eyes darted over the picture of a smiling blond man on the X For You page.
Qualifying was about to start and Finn was killing time, trying to calm his nerves before jumping into the car. 
The fireproof undershirt felt suffocating, and his cherry red racing suit lay unfastened and loose around his hips, in a hopeless attempt to beat the sweltering heat. 
Finn locked the phone's screen and pulled up from the desk he was leaning on, scanning the noisy garage. Remus was sitting on a stool, one leg shaking nervously on the footrest, lips pinched between long, bitten fingers. His full attention was caught between too many monitors at once.  
"Loops." Finn moved closer. 
Remus didn't bother to acknowledge him, he just pointed to a sheet of data on screen. "Here," he said. "You're braking too early over there, before the chicane."
"By how many–"
"Two hundredths," Remus was always one step ahead. "I've been up all night studying the numbers, Harz," he turned to him, looking resolute. "This is your only chance to get the pole." 
Finn blew out a long, deep sigh. "I know it is." 
"And I know you can do it." 
Can I ? Finn couldn't help but wonder. 
"Aw, Loops," he cooed instead. "You're gonna make me cry." 
Remus just shook his head affectionately. 
Starting from the front row on Sunday wouldn’t be enough. Finn wanted the pole position. But weighing down the load of an emotionally tough week were the expectations of too many people he couldn't disappoint. It was the Scuderia's home race, after all, and all eyes were on him and his teammate Kasey. 
Right now, however, Finn couldn't bring himself to think about numbers, times, and strategies. Together with his team, he had discussed all the details a hundred times that morning, right after the third and final free practice session. Because Logan had set the fastest lap. 
Finn knew exactly what to do and how to do it. He just wished he could escape that oppressive weight on his shoulders, the intrusive fear of failing—a bitter consequence of the events of the past week.
So he dared a topic switch, if only to avoid giving himself and his concerns away. 
"Hey, where's Black?" He asked casually. 
Remus eyed him suspiciously. "How should I know?" 
"I understand that you want to be professional," Finn arched one of his dark red eyebrows. "You know, being friends with the enemy," he pretended to whisper. "But honestly, you two are as thick as thieves." 
The veil of pink that brushed Remus' pale cheeks betrayed him. "You're the one to talk," he grumbled back, then pretended to check the time. "Green light in five, Harz. Go get ready." 
"You're no fun, you know that, right?" 
"Yeah? Want to trade me for your bff' s new race engineer?" Remus' grin was teasing. 
"No need to get defensive," Finn scoffed indignantly. "And that's why I asked about Sirius, by the way." 
"Meaning?" 
"I'm curious," Finn shrugged. "I thought he might have told you something about their new acquisition." 
Remus went back to the screens. "He didn't say much. Just that Knut's young and talented. But rumor has it he's a real hothead."
"Well," a familiar voice chimed into the conversation. "He sure is hot." 
A sharp elbow hit Finn's waist and he found himself shoulder to shoulder with a smirking Natalie Darcy.
"What's up Loops?" 
"Hey Nat," Remus laughed. 
"What?" Finn asked, confused by her amused face. 
"Were you blushing, O'Hara?" 
"No. I... I'm," Finn stuttered. "What? I wasn't blushing." 
"If you say so," she smiled smugly. "Sorry to interrupt, guys, but I need Freckle here," she gestured toward Finn with the camera in her hands. "Gotta get some shots for the qualy posts." 
"Better do that in the car," Remus suggested. "Harz, radio check in two minutes." 
"Copy," Finn nodded, then spun on his heels to go grab the rest of his equipment. 
"We should do another close-up with the helmet on," Natalie offered as Finn stepped into the car. "Fans go crazy for those big eyes, you know?" 
"Yeah?" Finn tried to act casual as Natalie nimbly captured his movements from different angles. 
"Yep," she twisted the lens again with a smooth flick of her wrist. "But I prefer Kasey's." 
"Of course you do," he chuckled, then finally pulled down the visor. "Wish me luck," he said louder as the engine roared to life. 
Natalie patted his helmet. "You won't need it."
There had always been a moment before a race when Logan would simply close his eyes and breathe deeply. A peaceful silence would permeate his mind, leaving out the deafening noise of twenty rumbling engines ready to run, and the roaring crowd, ecstatic and impatient for some action. It was a much-needed release to make room for concentration and nothing else, right before the emotional rush that washed over him every time the countdown began.
That Sunday, Logan was starting from P2. To his left, perfectly positioned on the first grid slot, was Finn's car. The crimson livery shone brightly in the few rays of a timid sun. The pattern of red and yellow lines on Finn's glossy black helmet, partially hidden behind the halo, reflected the afternoon light perfectly, drawing a slightly curving 17 on top of his head. 
Logan had tried to be mad about it. He'd wanted the pole, he'd put in a fantastic lap, and yet Finn had overqualified him by three hundredths of a second. He'd really meant to be upset, if only for the sake of appearances. But as soon as they'd climbed out of their cars, sweaty and out of breath, the glow that had brightened Finn's face at the crowd's loud cheers had instantly tamed Logan's furor.
On the other hand, the hint of disappointment in Leo’s voice had also been a hard pill to swallow. I’m sorry , he’d said over the radio at the end of the Q3 session, as if it had been his fault. But Leo had done a perfect job. He’d been confident and meticulous, showing his professionalism to everyone in the pit wall, and to Logan as well. He didn’t want Leo to feel guilty about that. Sharing the front row with Finn was a good starting point for a thrilling battle for the win. 
Still, Logan understood his concerns and the impulsive urge to prove that he was worthy of the responsibility he’d been given, despite his young age and all the rumors that had made their way to the paddock. 
Now, feet ready on the pedals and hands tight on the steering wheel, where gloved fingers brushed over the shift paddles, Logan looked out at the clear track in front of him and felt the first wave of adrenaline run down his spine. 
"Mode A on," Leo’s voice came through the earbuds. "Lights out in thirty seconds." 
"Let’s bring this home, Nut," Logan grinned to himself. "And tonight we're going to celebrate together." 
The next second, his eyes were locked on the starting gantry, intent and alert. Somewhere near the end of the pit lane, the hand of a clock marked two o'clock, and the five lights ahead of him began to turn on in sequence.
One.
Two. Breathe.
Three. Focus.
Four.
Five. 
It’s lights out and away we go here in Monza! Amazing reaction time for both men in Red, with Logan Tremblay still in between, contending the lead with O’Hara and Winter down to turn one. Here comes O’Hara first, then Tremblay, and James Potter goes to the inside, but Winter has the power to hang on to third position, as they all make their way through the first chicane. 
It wasn't until Turn 3 that Leo realized he was holding his breath, caught in his dry throat. He scanned the monitor, looking for anomalies, the back of his pen clicking insistently on the full page of notes in his journal. Everything seemed fine. 
The live feed showed Logan darting away from Kasey and rushing behind Finn, waiting for the best chance to overtake him.
"You all right, Knutty?"
Leo lowered one of the earpieces of his headset and faced Sirius, nodding briefly and giving him a polite smile.
"Good, you're doing great," Sirius smiled back, and once again Leo couldn't believe his luck. 
How many times he'd imagined this exact moment, he couldn't say. Late, sleepless nights spent over books. Endless days of training, split between work at the factory and research for his thesis. Leaving New Orleans, his family and friends, and moving to England to fulfill his dream. It all finally made sense, because this was where he was meant to be. 
He could be grateful for all the risks he'd taken, all the sacrifices he'd made. And on top of that, he'd been assigned to Logan, Silver Racing's star driver, to assist him in one of the greatest battles for the world championship ever witnessed.
Leo reached for the radio console with one hand and held the boom microphone to his mouth with the other as he spoke. "DRS is enabled," he told Logan. "Right now you're 0.4 behind."
Logan's voice came back scratchy, slightly static. "I'm trying," he panted. "He's too fast."  
As a fan of the sport, Leo had followed both of them throughout their careers. Finn was an incredibly gifted driver, and Leo remembered the struggle of the past few years, trying to get the best out of a very problematic car that had allowed him only a few wins. Logan was just as skilled, born to speed through tight corners and sharp hairpins. Lucky to drive an exceptionally fast car that had rarely been beaten in recent seasons.
Watching them race against each other had always been astonishing, an emotional experience like admiring a masterpiece of art. So it shouldn't have surprised Leo to see them battling for the lead, showing off technical offensive and defensive moves that were driving the crowd crazy.
Until something unexpected happened just before the start of lap thirty-five.
"Shit, look at that," Sirius nudged him, pointing to his laptop.
Leo watched as the track map on screen slowly filled with patches of different shades of blue.
"Heavy rain expected in ten minutes," he heard Sirius tell James over the radio, before looking back at him expectantly. It was then that Leo noticed the dark clouds approaching rapidly with the increasing force of the wind. 
A strategy. They needed a new, effective strategy. Quickly.
"Finn has fresh medium tires," Leo began, twiddling the pen between his long fingers as he spoke. "They're going to pit Kasey first, 'cause he won't have any grip for a full lap with washed hards."
Sirius kept humming as he followed his train of thought.
"And they might be expecting a red flag, or maybe a safety car if someone slides off the track. But if we call Logan in for inters as soon as it starts raining harder..."
"What if they don't want to wait?" Sirius said. 
"We'll pit him anyway, just follow plan A. Same strategy as the leader," Leo explained. "But if we manage to get Logan in before Finn, he could easily end up leading the race."
Sirius rubbed a hand over his dark stubble, his icy grey eyes telling Leo he was thinking a mile a minute. "Okay," he breathed. "But James is coming in with him."
Leo nodded. "It's going to be chaotic, but it'll work out."
Please, I need this to work out.
At the other end of the pit lane, the mechanics rushed to grab two sets of new intermediate tires. Then they took their positions in the pit stall, helmets on, ready to spring into action.
Leo felt the smell of rain first, the strong scent that the contact with the hot asphalt released. He spun around in his chair to hold a flat palm over the canopy, where a gentle drizzle wet his hand, the intensity increasing by the second.
He locked eyes with Sirius again as they silently agreed to proceed with their plan. A single, confident nod was all he needed.
"Box, box," Leo chanted over the radio.
"What? Already?" Logan protested.
"Yes," he insisted. "Please Logan, confirm the pit stop."
Now, this is unusual. Silver is calling both of their drivers to box on this lap. That's Tremblay coming into the pits, followed by Kasey Winter and, wow, it's getting crowded out there. It's going to be a real mess with the intensity of this rain. 
O’Hara stays out, and with a quick look at the data I can tell you he’s slowing down considerably to keep the car on track. 
With a 2.2 second pit stop Logan Tremblay leads the way out of the pit lane, Winter and Potter on his tail. And isn't that brilliant? They're coming back right behind the nine cars being called to pit right now! 
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new race leader. 
The whole grid held out for eighteen laps in wet conditions, and despite the downpour, Logan managed to gain a considerable advantage over the others. Finn made his comeback to second place, overtaking car after car in almost zero visibility—a true racing masterclass that had sent a thrill up Leo's spine.
But Finn couldn't reach Logan, too far away, now engaged in navigating the infamous high-speed parabola just a few meters from the checkered flag. 
"Leo," Logan shouted into his ears. He could picture some kind of delirious grin on Logan's lips just from his voice.
And wasn't Leo delirious himself.
He stared, heart in his throat, as the GPS signal of Logan's car crossed the finish line. Only then did he realize what had just happened.
Leo didn't know what face he was making when Sirius clapped a strong hand on his back. His smile was euphoric, so wide it began to hurt a little in the corners. But he held himself still, enough to look composed if a camera caught him.
"Well done, Logan." He smiled into the mic. The radio message would certainly have been broadcast on tv. "A well-deserved win. You did a fantastic job today."
"I want you on the podium," was Logan's reply, a little breathless. Leo swore he could faint right then and there. "This one is yours as well." 
If this was a dream, Leo didn't want to wake up, ever .
Sirius had dragged him to the cool down room to wait for the top three drivers before the podium ceremony. He'd also insisted that Leo should be the team representative to accept the trophy for their victory. And as if that wasn't enough, Leo's mind was blown the second he spotted Logan and Finn walking together to their assigned posts, soaked from head to toe—their hair a complete mess from the helmets.
"Looks like I have a new nemesis," Finn greeted him with a teasing wink.
"Oh, you better be careful out there," Leo bit back, unable to stop himself from giggling when Logan rolled his eyes—a shade of green that stood out perfectly against his black racing suit.
"Not tonight," Logan said. "Tonight we're having fun."
"Yeah?" Finn sounded surprised. “What are you up to, Tremblay?”
Logan looked mischievously between them. "You're going to find out. Hey, Bliz," he turned to Kasey, who was busy chugging a bottle of water in one go. "You with us?"
"Sorry, guys," he panted a little, then smiled. "I promised a date to a fancy Italian restaurant."
"And you? What do you say?" Logan playfully shoved Leo. As if he could ever say no to something like that.
"Sounds fun." He crossed his arms over his chest, a mocking grin on his lips. "But wherever we're going, I am driving."
"No way," Finn and Logan chorused back, and a carefree laugh broke out of Leo's chest. He felt blissful.
And maybe it wasn't, but this all felt like a crazy dream.
31 notes · View notes
artemis-73 · 16 days ago
Text
Suptober Day 15: Sigils
By the time Dean gets back to the hospital, Mary is sitting up and begging her parents for a pudding cup. Her skin looks less sallow, her eye bags less pronounced. Dean knows that Castiel made good on his deal. The test results that come in over the next three days prove it. By the end of the week, Mary's back home.
Everyone says it's a miracle. A gift from God.
If Dean sends a thanks to Castiel through prayer, he's the only one who has to know. He's not even sure if demons can hear prayers.
Then with that uncanny itch under his skin that tells him the crossroads won't be the last time he sees the demon, he gets to researching. He knows he can't waylay his debt. In ten years, he'll die. But before that, he needs to keep the demon away from him and his family. Kansas State University's library has a small collection of scans of old religious texts. Some of them have pages of sigils they claim will keep all manner of creatures away.
He paints them behind the pictures that hang on his walls and carves them into the window sills. He puts a devil's trap under the welcome mat. He even gets a tattoo of the symbol that claims to ward against possession. It's small and hidden on his hip. He almost feels safer with it.
When he comes up for air, he finds Sam and Jess have adjusted to a new normal. Mary doesn't need them as much, and at a sage nine years old, she wants some space. For the first time in years, she has sleepovers with friends and gets to go on field trips. It takes almost six months for her to demand a weekend at Uncle Dean's. He doesn't take it personally; for a long time, he was just an extension of her parents, a safe place for her to stay if Sam and Jess were both busy.
Now, she gets to eat too much pizza and stay up past her bedtime. She's on her third slice—impressive for her size—when she blinks big blue eyes up at Dean and says," Thank you, Uncle Dean."
"For what, kiddo?" he asks absentmindedly. He might be a little too invested in Frozen 2.
"For getting the angel to heal me."
His blood runs like ice in his veins. "What angel?"
"Cassie-el." She trips over the name, but she says it like Dean should just know, and he does. He does. "Mommy and Daddy were in the hallway talking to Nurse Layla, and he sat on my bed and said you talked to him all about me and that you loved me so much he wanted to heal me for you. And then he touched my forehead—" She places two greasy fingers above Dean's right eyebrow. "—and I felt all better…except I was hungry."
"Have you seen him since the hospital?"
"No," she says around a mouthful of pizza. Then she turns back to the TV, like she didn't just send Dean's world reeling. He wrangles her into a crushing embrace that she whines and wiggles her way out of.
She doesn't say another word about it, and he can't bring himself to push, so he sits staring at the TV but not seeing a damn thing. She's half asleep by the time the movie ends, and it takes some convincing to get her to brush her teeth and wash her face, but finally, he tucks her into bed in the guest room.
With his mind still a 100 miles away at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere, he cleans up the living room. He's straightening the pillows on the couch when he feels it. He's not alone.
"Next time you start messing with sigils, make sure the scan is high enough quality to get all the details right."
Castiel is standing by the window, tracing one of the carvings with his finger. He looks the same: rumpled over-sized suit and sex hair.
"What are you doing here?" Dean asks. He angles himself so he's between Castiel and the hallway that leads to the guest room.
Castiel watches him shuffle across the room with what Dean thinks might be amusement. "I won't bother her. She's not who I'm here to see."
"Well, forgive me for being a little suspicious. First time she's spending the night, and suddenly you show up?"
"Oh, that's a coincidence. Our schedules just happened to line up."
Dean's not sure how he knows the demon's lying, but he feels it in his gut. And when Castiel's eyes dart around the room, he almost think it's not malicious.
"What do you want, Castiel?"
"A new boss, a branch transfer, some reprieve from the paper pushing…" He slips the tie from around his neck and crumples it in one pocket. As he undoes the top two buttons on his shirt, he says, "But I'd settle for a beer."
Dean weighs his options—he doesn't have many—and considers the time. He'd just be sitting up alone anyway.
"Fine. One beer. Then you leave."
Castiel ignores him, opting instead to start rooting through his movie collection. Dean leaves him to it. He grabs a couple of beers as quickly as he can. He's not a complete idiot; he's still wary of leaving the demon alone in his home, especially with Mary.
"You can stop worrying about her," Castiel says as he takes the offered beer. "I'm not going to hurt her. Or you, but you seem strangely unconcerned about that part."
"Forgive me for not believing a demon."
"I haven't lied to you yet."
"That I know of."
In a surprisingly human gesture, Castiel rolls his eyes. "You humans are so suspicious."
"You did short my dad eight years."
"I didn't lie to him for that. I told him if he wanted more, he needed to give more, and he agreed gladly… Or as gladly as I imagine he did anything. He was a miserable asshole, wasn't he?"
Dean grits his teeth. "Don't talk about my dad like that."
"You know, when John Winchester's son summoned me, I thought I knew exactly what kind of man I'd find. You are nothing like him. It's almost a shame to only give you ten years."
"Hey, if you want to give me more, I won't complain." Dean's voice wobbles strangely. He doesn't like the way Castiel almost sounds fond of him.
"Sadly, I can take more years, but I can't give them." Castiel actually seems disappointed. He shakes himself. "Let me fix the sigils."
"What, you trying to keep yourself out?"
The way Castiel looks at him makes him feel like a baby bird staring up at a hawk. "None of these will bother me," Castiel says finally. "Besides, there are things far worse for you out there."
Dean watches as Castiel fixes all the sigils he'd put up. He even does the ones in the guest room, and Mary doesn't so much as twitch in her sleep while he does. He adds some more and ignores Dean's questions about what they're warding against.
They're back in the living room, and memories of their first meeting are nipping at his heels when Dean says, "Thank you, by the way. For…you know."
"For Mary? No thanks needed. You did sell your soul for her. Besides, I heard your prayer."
"Oh. I wasn't sure if you would."
Castiel smiles then ducks his head to try to hide it. "Yes, well, I did." He fiddles with his half-empty beer bottle.
When they'd first met, in the middle of the night at a crossroads, Dean had known Castiel's eyes were blue. But now, standing in his living room with the lamp beside the couch on, he can appreciate the exact shade, like a summer day when the sun's just hot enough to bleach the sky a lighter blue.
He practically leaps backwards. He's not sure when or how they ended up so close to each other in the middle of the room. He pretends to study the sigils on the windowsill—the same one Castiel had been tracing not an hour before, he realizes belatedly. He can feel Castiel behind him. He knows that Castiel has gone back to looking at his movie collection. He closes his eyes and starts counting down from ten. When he gets to one, he'll kick Castiel out.
He gets to five when Castiel asks, "Is this any good?"
Dean turns to find him holding up a copy of Tombstone. He can't help but scoff. "Is it any good? It's one of the greatest Westerns ever made, man."
Castiel hums thoughtfully and goes back to studying the cover. And the thing is, it shouldn't matter. The demon can watch an old Western on his own time in his own cozy little corner of hell.
But.
But Dean loves showing people Tombstone, and he's never gonna say no to a rewatch. They sit on either end of the couch and burn through an entire six pack before the posse is even formed. Castiel's focus never wavers from the screen. It's like he's expecting there to be an exam at the end of it. Dean's pretty sure he spends more time watching Castiel than the movie.
He nods off before Doc kills Ringo. The last thing he remembers is Castiel taking the beer bottle from his hand. He wakes up the next morning in his bed with a glass of water on his nightstand.
15 notes · View notes
hiraya-rawr · 2 years ago
Text
02 // sly villain – diluc .
contains !! she/her reader, villainous reader, soft obsessive themes, mild violence, rated mature but otherwise sfw, angst? honestly a whirlwind
synopsis !! part two to you're a harbinger and the darknight hero caught your interest
note !! I know I said I'll post it after I finish my midnight deadline but the deadline was extended so now it's 2am and I have an 8am appointment but a deal is a deal! here we are!
word count !! 2.7k
chapters !! rewrite part 01 // original part 01 // (completed)
Diluc Ragnvindr stood with the aura you expected of a nobleman. He didn’t sport a polite smile or a welcoming atmosphere, yet he was beautiful and you craved for him. You greeted the ladies first with a small bow, exchanging quick pleasantries and introducing yourself as the 12th Harbinger before turning to the redhead.
He raises his hand — whether it was in an effort to kiss the back of your knuckles or to shake your hand, you’ll never know — Instead, he pauses when he sees the hand you place on his. Burn mark in full view where the imprints of his fingers never quite faded. You smile at him, the object of your obsession.
“I don’t believe this is the first time we met, Lord Ragnvindr.”
The momentary surprise fades from his face, as if it wasn’t there in the first place. His lips thinned into a line, cold eyes contrasting their fiery color. There are only two options for Diluc: one would be admitting to being played like a fool, and the other would be to feign ignorance.
He chooses the latter.
“Oh? I don’t recall.”
You frown. It’s evident to the two spectators that a tension was brewing– one caused by beyond your titles of Fatui Harbinger and Mondstadt’s Uncrowned King (but the fact that this was the anticlimactic second meeting between the lowly Cicin Mage and Darknight hero remains unsaid).
Jean clears her throat, “Now that the remaining participants have arrived, shall we go in? There’s much to talk about.” She states with a practiced smile and gesture of her hand. You return her smile, jutting out your hand to the man next to you.
“I’m unfamiliar with the Favonius Headquarters. Would you care to escort me in, Lord Ragnvindr?”
He stares at you with an aloof expression, almost hesitant. 
“. . . very well.”
~
The meeting was boring.
Boring.
Boring.
Boring!
You sat far from him, settled between an elderly Snezhnayan businessman and a credible trade merchant. You were beginning to think the Acting Grandmaster purposefully planned the seats to bore you to death, with your only source of entertainment being the occasional comment from his voice. 
And of course, making things difficult for him.
“The export of Dandelion wine is to arrive in Snezhnaya’s first port, where it will undergo checking before allocation to the taverns that signed the contract.”
“How can we ensure that the quality is maintained if the initial checking is done when the exports are already outside of Mond, Lord Ragnvindr?”
Had he not been trained to deal with annoyances and petty questions, he would have groaned into his hand for the umpteenth time at the sound of your voice. He tries to mask his irritation, “If you read the third page of the proposal, you would see that the Dawn Winery handles multiple quality checks before release. Anything that happens to the quality outside of Mond is beyond our responsibility.”
You let out a light laugh, hand over your mouth, “Of course, of course, I’ll go read it right now.”
You didn't, though. Deciding that pestering him with questions was much more fun, despite the wary looks of Jean Gunnhildr and the amused expression Lisa Minci hid.
When he started getting tired of your antics, he opted to casually point out your inconvenient questions with simple replies.
“–how will we divide the receipts when unconcerned merchants are involved in the trading process, Lord Ragnv–”“Check page six, section G, Lady Harbinger.”
Your title seethes in his voice. A tone that says I’m-done-with-your-dumb-questions. This was the other thing you both concluded within the boring meeting of one sided conversations.
He hates it when you call him Lord Ragnvindr.
Likewise, you hate it when your name isn’t on his tongue. He knows this very well, and he uses it to his advantage.
“Will there be anything else, Lady Harbinger?” He tries to hide the sly smirk on his face when he sees you narrow your eyes at him, jaw clenched.
“No. . . I have no other questions.” You grit through your teeth.
Despite the rather unpretentious official meeting, a storm whirled inside Diluc’s brain. It’s not that he had much to lose if his identity is revealed, but it would mean losing an advantage. His anonymity allowed him to do things in the dark, playing two faces had its benefits – one he had no plans of losing any time soon over some Harbinger’s petty reasons.
~
"Lord Ragnvindr, I must say, your galas live up to their title of Mondstadt’s most exquisite.” Your voice chirps from behind him. He sighs, turning away from Elzer who excuses himself to leave. 
With the flock of envoys and merchants who came for Mondstadt’s general assembly, Diluc felt it was wise to release the new line of whiskey and wine in a grand gala. Invites were sent to the visiting foreigners and the local powerhouses. Naturally, you found yourself with a letter as well.
A pretty, black letter, stamped with the Ragnvindr clan’s coat of arms in a dark crimson wax. It smelled of musk and grapes.
“Lady Harbinger, how nice of you to join in the festivities. Although, if by any chance your long journey has tired you, I suggest you rest early in the Grand Goth Hotel.” He says in what might seem to be polite concern, but you knew better that he’s only trying to get you to leave.
“I’m touched by your worries, but I’m not tired at all. In fact–” You take a step closer, eyeing the wine glass between his fingers, “I’m rather excited tonight. It’s not everyday I get the chance to talk to the Lord Ragnvindr of the Dawn Win-”
“Diluc.” He growls, taking a step back, “It’s Master Diluc. I would appreciate it if you avoid calling me Lord Ragnvindr.”
It was his Father’s title and no amount of status or influence made him feel like taking the name away from the patriarch.
Your eyes sparkle at the opportunity. Of course, Diluc. You turned the name over and over again on your tongue, it felt electrical, it felt like a step closer. 
“Diluc.” You say carefully, and he ignores the way you deliberately left out the formalities, “So long as you call me (Name), then I will do so.”
He frowns.
First name basis with the Fatui?
Not just a Fatui, but the 12th Fatui Harbinger.
Had this been four years ago, Diluc wouldn't have hesitated to add another number in his kill list — but he's smarter now, more careful and calculating of the risks — and right now, you knew his identity. Right now, you seem to want something from him— and he only needs to find out.
He didn't care if you'd announce his alias to the rest of Mond, of course. Hell, you could wave it on a banner for all he cares because what Mondstadter would believe that their most influential tycoon was running around in a mask fighting ‘bad guys’? (He borrowed the term from Klee. If it were up to Diluc, he’d simply refers to them as bastards.)
“(Name).” He tests the word on his mouth and it drowns out the crowd's noise around you. It's a privilege to call a Harbinger by name, whether it's their alias or their real name, “What is it that you want?” He all but scowls, feeling done with the game of pretend.
The ends of your lips twitch into a smile. He’s just as cute when he’s angry, if not even more entertaining. You tiptoe, leaning into his ear to whisper—
"You. . . wouldn't want anyone to know about your alias now, would you? Honorable," 
Your hand rests on his shoulder, "Dark,"
It snakes down his arm, "Knight,"
Reaching his own hand to pinch at the handle of his wine glass, "Hero."
"Get off me." He hisses and you pull away, standing upright again. His glass now held between your own fingers as you take a sip from its contents, curious of what to expect from a wine tycoon's highly refined taste.
The drink was sweet.
Too sweet.
You blink, looking down at the glass.
"This. . . is grape juice."
You look back up at him, "Why are you drinking grape juice?" It's a neutral tone, half by your stunned surprise and the other by your confusion.
"Last I checked, there's nothing strange about drinking grape juice."
"You're the owner of the biggest alcohol industry in Teyvat." You state as a matter of fact.
"And?"
One blink. Two blinks. You stare at the glass again, taking another sip. It's difficult to believe that the literal definition of an alcohol monopoly is holding grape juice.
". . . I suppose it is delicious."
"It's handpicked from the finest winery grapes, that's to be expected." He turns away from you, seemingly frustrated by the conversation. When did things get so out of topic? “–What do you want?" He asks, more politely this time.
"Is there some place we could be alone?"
"For what reason would you want to talk to me alone?”
“Some things are better said in private.” You smile, holding up your wrist. It's the one with the burn marks, flesh still healing from the imprints of his fingers. You could’ve easily gotten it healed, maybe order a hydro gunner or another mage and it’ll be gone in an instant. You refrained. It was a memento from your first meeting, after all.
Whether you convinced him by guilt or by threat, he sighs.
“We can talk in the study salon.”
It isn't unusual for Master Diluc to slip away from the parties he hosts on the pretext of a business meeting. It is, however, a first for the whispering crowds to see him escort a harbinger by the waist to his private study.
You can already picture the rumors that'll spread. Maybe even a tabloid article or two.
‘Mond’s Uncrowned King: a secret rendezvous with a Harbinger?’
What a scandal it would be! Moreso if it ever reached the ears of your fellow Harbingers. Before you could dream of the reactions of Pantalone or Tartaglia, your thoughts are cut off by the heavy wood doors closing.
Something akin to a growl emits from his lips. 
"Now what do you want." He crosses his arms, leaning his back on the edge of his desk.
"A night."
"What?"
"Spend a night with me."
He's silent. You chuckle to match his deadly gaze, holding your hands up in defense.
"Not in the way you're thinking, although, I wouldn't particularly min–"
"Spit it out."
“I’m simply asking for a date, I don't think that's too much to ask in exchange for keeping your identity?”
He eyes you suspiciously. Thinking over your words. You're both too cunning to resort to such simple measures. Everything must have meaning— but that's the thing about knowing Diluc Ragnvindr. He stirs up the desire of something so bleak such as his presence, you'd give up your trump cards for him.
“. . . I have better things to do with my time.”
“Like protecting civilians?” You sing, “Picking grapes? Ruining my coworkers’ plans? Not that I mind, of course, it only elevates my own status—”
He scowls, “You've been wasting my time. Since the meeting, and on this night as well.”
“Yet you play along with my whims!” You accuse, stepping closer to him as he stands upright, “You can't resist what I bring to the table because it's interesting– I would understand. I sincerely do! In a world so boring like this–”
“What in Teyvat are you talking about?” 
"—Drama.” You answer, a smile on your face, a sparkle in your eyes when they catch his own ruby ones, “You love it, don't you? Why else would you parade around in a mask, looking for a fig–"
"I don't."
"But you do! You have every chance to live a peaceful life, to be ignorant and sit on your throne of privilege–"
"Shut up."
"—yet you'd rather care for every single problem that falls in your hands. Honestly, it's like your knights are inefficie—"
You feel yourself get slammed to the wall, body reacting to the force and reflecting as you bounce bacck, only to be pushed back and pinned by large hands over your shoulders.
It's awfully nostalgic.
A replay of the scared cicin mage and the intimidating darknight hero.
Polished wood scratches itself on your back, you feel a bump on the back of your head. There’s nothing gentle about the way he manhandles you to stay still.
"Why are you here?" Diluc demands, lips turning to a scowl. You quickly answer, not of fear, but there's something exciting bubbling in your stomach.
"For diplomatic–"
"No. Why are you here? Why me? Did the Fatui decide to take back a persona non grata declaration to enact justice? Did you follow a trail to suspect me of destroying Fatui plans?" He hisses but the only thing you can think about is the fact that his face is oh-so-close to yours, that if you could lean down, you'd relish in a warmth from his lips that's as familiar as the warmth from his hands on your shoulders.
The mark on your wrist feels like it's being burnt all over again.
He's not even using his vision but you’re burning under his stare.
"Why you?" You repeat slowly, "You. . . because you're interesting. I told you.”
His eyes narrow as you continue.
"Not everyone is as privileged as you, you know." You whisper. He doesn't reply and you take the risk to continue.
"If I had the option to live—" Your eyes scan his red ones. If he stared hard enough, he'd see the somber look in yours, “—peacefully. Then I would. I'd take that option over this life at every chance."
You’re unsure if he’s satisfied by the answer. Hell, you’re unsure if he understood you at all, but the loosening grip on your shoulders proves to you one thing: that the darknight hero is more sympathetic than he looks.
He doesn’t reply as he stands back, allowing your body to slip down from his grip. He turns away from you, broad shoulders coated by candlelight. 
“A night, was it?” He repeats your request, “How long will you be staying in Mond?”
You compose yourself, hiding the way your nerves felt like fireworks as he walks away from you, “As long as I want. Till the end of the year, perhaps. There’s nothing I need to immediately concern myself with anyway.”
At least, nothing your agents can’t handle to do for you. 
“Fine. I’ll fit a night in my schedule.” He says, rummaging through a drawer. Items clack around hardwood and you wonder what he’s searching for.
“Are you asking me out to dinner?” You inquire, walking closer to peek.
“I’m merely taking advantage of the situation. As are you, I believe.” He says, mumbling a small aha as he finds the item.
He holds it out in front of you. You reach up, hands open as he places it down. 
It’s a wrap of bandages.
“There’s some ointment here somewhere as well. I’ll give it to you once I find it.” He mutters, looking away as you stare at him, his ruby red eyes prettier than any gemstone you’ve ever owned.
Diluc Ragnvindr is an enigma.
You chased after him because he interested you, a fire to your black and white.
Yet, as he places a bundle of bandages on your hands for the burn marks he caused (the same burn marks you refused for anyone to heal), your heart beats a little faster, a little louder than usual, and it’s not from the excitement or danger you usually felt when dealing with interesting things.
“Well? Aren’t you going to wrap it?” He looks at you expectantly, almost nonchalant. Kindness in this manner is strange. It’s unintentional, but it’s the most genuine thing you’ve felt.
You nod, taking the bandages to wrap them around your wound.
This is not a love story. It’s about villains and heroes, using the other to win.
But by the next time he sees you, you’re waiting by the corner of a hotel. He calls out your name. You call out his, waving as you approach with bracelets jingling on your wrist. There is no burn scar.
~
masterlist 02 || commissions || tip me on ko-fi?
note !! an unaccepted commission. I've since revised it and I think it's better to share it with everyone now instead. I would have written it as a darker fic but the request included angst so... here we are! do tell me what you think in the comments!
character talk // some things I'd like to point out! first is reader's personality. have you noticed the subtle obsession with entertainment? I figured the best kind of villain that would contrast Diluc's personality would be someone who sought fun for the heck of it, as if scared of being bored. I pretty much shaped MC's personality on an "obsession for the thrill"
and of course, there's the burn mark. in a way, it's a little symbolic by the end. MC is a villain who wants drama but the ending portrays a more domestic, "normalcy". I did this to hint at a somewhat "healing" stage? I don't think diluc could ever love a true villain, but maybe if said villain gets a character development arc then he could love them. the burn mark heals when previously, MC had an odd adoration for it (the same way people cling to self-sabotaging habits.)
next up! to avoid rushing the plot since diluc would never be so intimately involved with the fatui, much less a harbinger, so some measures had to be added. This is where MC's personality comes in! MC likes entertainment and that's a very easy mindset to understand. Diluc can easily use MC (and vice versa, as mentioned in the story) as long as he uses the concept of thrills. He's smarter now, more cunning, so he wouldn't mind getting closer to a harbinger who's already so-willing to put down their walls for the heck of him.
there's still some loopholes in the plot, but it's just fun to make these little explanations in the end. tell me how you feel about it?
491 notes · View notes
haveihitanerve · 4 months ago
Text
It was purely unintentional. Steve hadn't planned to let it slip. But it had. He’d never thought hed have to deal with the repercussions, or that anyone would even remember. 
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!” 
Steve blinked in surprise as the entire third floor of the Avengers Tower illuminated all of his friends. A massive, three tier cake stood proudly on the pool table and streamers and balloons covered the ceiling. “W-what?? Wow you guys.” Steve laughed, forcing a smile on his face. “This is- incredible! How’d you know it was my birthday?” Steve asked. Nat gave him a look. “Stevie, you have your own Wikipedia page. Its not that hard.” Steve laughed, giving her a hug. “Wow. You guys this is incredible.” “Happy Birthday Capsicle.” Tony greeted. “Tony.” Steve wrapped his friend in a hug. “Is this your doing?” Maybe his own panic was getting to him, but Steve almost swore his friends smile was a little forced itself. “Not entirely. Clint and Scott came up with the plan. I just helped see it through.” Steve let his arm drape across the billionaires shoulders. “Well thank you.” Tony nodded. “Of course. Cant let our resident old man miss another birthday.” Steve laughed and Tony smiled, a real smile, punching him lightly in the gut before excusing himself to grab them some drinks. “Happy birthday man.” Sam clapped him on the back and Steve grinned, hugging him back. “Thanks man.” “Helluva party too.” Steve laughed. “Yeah. Consequences of having a billionaire best friend.” “I think you mean benefits.” Tony corrected, appearing with drinks in hand. “Oh yeah of course.” Steve hurried to add, sending a wink at Sam. The other man chuckled, disappearing in the fray as Tony led Steve to the cake. “You really didn't have to do this Tony.” Tony ignored him, taking a sip of his drink. “You deserve to be celebrated Steve.” Was all he answered. “Now go on and cut the cake so we can eat.” Steve laughed. “Yeah, alright.” He reached for the knife just as Tony grabbed his arm. “Other old man alert.” He muttered, setting his drink aside. “Intercept him.” He growled before moving away and tripping on the glass table, drawing the attention of almost every guest. Steve hurried to Bucky. “Whats this?” Bucky asked in amusement, looking around at all the decorations. “Its uh, my birthday party?” Steve offered hesitantly. Bucky stared at him. “Steve Rogers you better not tell me they really believe your birthday is July fourth.” Steve smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?” Bucky burst out laughing. “Wow Steve. Wow.” “Don't tell them.” Steve begged. “Please please please don't tell them.” Bucky smirked. “Afraid they'll be mad?” He teased. “Afraid they'll publicly roast me.” Steve muttered back. Bucky almost lost a lung he was laughing so hard. “Easy on the oxygen waste.” Sam greeted, walking over and slapping the super soldiers on the backs. “Stevie go cut the cake.” “Yeah stevie.” Bucky wheezed. “Go celebrate your birthday Captain America.” 
Steve had hoped that was the last of it. He could survive acting like it was his birthday on the 4th every year. So long as noone discovered his birthday was actually in December. Especially not Tony. He would never live it down. But, as fate would have it, his other best friend was none other than Bucky Barnes, and of course he couldn't just celebrate Steve’s birthday on the fourth like everybody else. “Happy Birthday Steve-” Bucky greeted far too cheerfully, handing him an insanely bedazzled and over the top and completely unnecessary card. Steve reached out a hand to accept it when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He glanced around frantically bit there were no hiding places. The smug smile on Bucky's face revealed he knew as much. Without a moments hesitation Steve ducked low and tackled his friend through the window. 
(Bruce Banner looked up. “Uh Tony? Did you hear that noise?” Tony tapped on a screen a few steps away. “Oh yeah. Steve just tackled Barnes out a window because today is his actual birthday.” Bruce looked at him in surprise. “Really? Huh. We had no idea.” Tony nodded tiredly. “Wait,” The doctor frowned at Tony. “How do you know that?” Tony didn't answer, though his tapping grew a tad bit more aggressive. “Tones?” Tony’s fingers stilled and he sighed. “Because my father celebrated it more than mine.”)
23 notes · View notes
wannaeatramyeon · 1 year ago
Text
Jake Kim x Reader: Betting on love
Big Deal's gambling arc 2.0 but make it fun
Tumblr media
It was Jason that noticed the longing looks, Brad that cringed at Jake's increasingly corny lines, and Lineman that started the bets.
It was also Jerry who caught Lineman trying to solicit money from the other members of the crew.
"What's that?" Jerry looks down at Lineman, trying and failing to hide some paper behind his back.
"Morning Jerry! Weather's nice today, huh? May I say your bald head is looking gloriously shiny-"
Cobra-quick, Jerry swipes the sheets, eyes scanning over the page, one hand holding a flailing Lineman back.
Jerry furrows his brows at the list of dates, names and figures before him. Everyone is betting on when Y/N and Jake would get together?
He considers this.
"50,000 won. Put me down for 2 weeks time."
Listen, it didn't have to come to this. If you and Jake could stop pussyfooting around one another and make the whole of Big Deal feel less like a third wheel, that would have been preferable.
But you couldn't, and they might as well make a quick buck out of it.
Jake, shrewd and clever, would have usually noticed the escalating amount of shenanigans if he wasn't too busy following you around with heart eyes.
.
.
It begins with a book of pick-up lines left on Jake's desk.
(This reeks of Jason's handiwork, trying to work things to his advantage but thinking he could take the high road by being subtle.)
Jake's brows knit together as he flicks through the pages. Huh, some of this stuff is pretty good. A bit cliched but...
Like a puppy, Jake bounds over to you the next morning, greeting you with his usual cheesy grin. His arm comes round your shoulder, and you feel the heat of him like a brand.
You wonder if today is finally the day he asks you out. You're not dense, you know you're practically attached at the hip. Jake's flirting is obvious, your flirting is obvious. (The collective groan from Big Deal can be heard for miles.)
Instead,
"Hey Y/N! So God Dog, Hostel and Workers walk into a Big Deal bar-"
(The collective groan gets louder. Jason is the loudest.)
.
.
"Lovers' lunch offer?"
With pockets full of lint, you and Jake are never one to turn down a deal.
(Brad knows this too. Big Deal allowances are not generous. He has arranged this especially and feels like a goddamn mastermind.)
Lovers? Well it's certainly not an unwelcome thought. Jake sneaks a glance at you as you peer into the store window. He knows you like the back of his hand, he knows how well you would both fit. But the jump from friends to lovers seems gargantuan and completely terrifying.
"Come on!" You grip his wrist, dragging him in and breaking him out of his reverie.
Candles? Tablecloth? Friggin rose petals?
"They're really going all out here," Jake comments, smoothing down his shirt. It's just another place on Big Deal street, yet he feels oddly giddy. Fidgety. Like he wants to reach out and clasp your hand between his.
You raise your eyebrow in amusement at Jake's odd demeanour before examining the menu.
It's all prepackaged ramen.
Which, you guess is fine. If it's cheap.
...You gawk at the cost.
There is zero percent, absolutely no chance in hell, you are paying these prices. Did the owner think people were idiots? The markup is astronomical.
"This place sucks." you say, standing to leave.
"It does suck," Jake agrees and joining you, having seen the prices for himself.
Later that night:
"Brad, you idiot!"
"Fuck you Lua, you know I can't cook. You want me to serve them some burnt turd instead?"
"Then why the hell did you overcharge them so much?"
"You think candles and rose petals are FREE?"
.
.
"Who's been littering here?"
Jake frowns at the spread before him. Usually everyone knows to leave the street in a good condition, but sometimes stray teenagers still linger around and try to make the most of the pier and the ocean.
Lovers and troublemakers. Jerry does a good job of scaring them off.
It all looks a bit too organised to be litter. "I think they just left their stuff," you remark.
Crouching down and looking into the wicker basket, Jake sees everything still pristinely wrapped. It does look organised. Very fancy too. Some cheeses, unopened wine, a whole goddamn baguette. Whoever left this here must have gone in a hurry.
You squat down besides him, "Huh, all these things look untouched."
He recognises the look you give the food. He's seen you look at him like that sometimes too.
Either way, just because Jake is strapped for cash doesn't mean he doesn't have his dignity. He's not eating or letting you eat someone's trash that's been sitting out in the sun for god knows how long.
"Y/N," Jake pulls you away as you start to pout, "We're not eating that, that's pretty gross."
Upon seeing the Big Deal Leader bin all his precious food and ruin his meticulously set up picnic, Lineman cries on Lua's shoulder.
"That food was expensive as shit," he wails, "That's my whole week's allowance!"
.
.
You don't get to be Big Deal's No.2 without being able to pull a few strings.
It would send most people on a power trip, Jerry isn't most people. He's kind and patient and fair. So what he usually asks, he usually gets.
If he wants the Big Deal street to be empty and like a ghost town, it will be done.
You spot a tumbleweed, "Jake? Where's everyone?"
"Beats me."
Jake scrolls through his phone, just in case there was an event he's currently missing. Nope, nothing, nada.
"Y/N. I was thinking the other night... how would you rather die?" Listening round the corner, Jerry feels like he might die on the spot. With his limited experience, even he knows this topic is a romance killer, "I thought drowning might be peaceful but the water in my lungs..."
"Jumping to your death might be fun?" You tap your chin thoughtfully, "It needs to be super high up though-"
And if Jerry wants the Big Deal street to be crowded and absolutely rammed, then so be it.
"Is there a festival or something?" you ask.
Jake scrolls through his phone again, just in case there was a festival he's currently missing. Nope, nothing, nada.
Jerry watches from a nearby building, feeling like an all powerful puppetmaster.
Ok, so his initial idea of giving you two privacy was a bust. Now he has pivoted to forcing closeness.
You would get jostled about with lots of accidental touching, leaving both of you a blushing mess. Maybe someone would trip you up, and Jake would catch you in his arms. He would gaze down at you, the spark between you-
"EVERYONE!" Jake's voice drifts up to him, "I HAVE NO IDEA WHY IT'S SO BUSY. BUT IF YOU BUMP INTO Y/N AGAIN, I WILL KILL YOU. GOT IT?"
A chorus of "Yes, sir!"
Lua watches it all unfolding next to Jerry. "Cheer up Jerry. It was a pretty shitty plan, to be fair."
.
.
For the day Lua bet on, she was blessed with divine intervention.
The heavens parted and rain descended, catching you both stranded in the downpour. Doesn't every romance have a kiss in the rain?
You shiver in your t-shirt, arms hugging yourself. "Jake, take off your coat for us to use as an umbrella!"
With strength even Jake didn't know he possessed, he does not look at you. He cannot. The shower has started to soak through your top, making it almost transparent and baring your- Jake gulps.
He would be lying if he said he never imagined you and your body (almost every night, though that's completely besides the point). This though? This is indecent. Like he is taking advantage of the moment.
Jake starts to shrug off his own coat, deciding to let himself get soaked and to preserve your modesty until -
Look, Jake knows he has a great body. He keeps himself in excellent shape. Girls swoon over him, guys swoon over him, and don't think he didn't notice how your eyes rove over his chest and abs and tattoos. You thought you were being discreet? Discreet, his ass. And speaking of ass, he's seen you checking that out too.
But the thought of now revealing his body to you. Knowing that his shirt will be soaked through, and you will both be standing like you're topless. Not because he's been training, not because it's an unusually hot day, not because of some other shit.
This. This is unfairly intimate. Like it's the start of something. Something that leads to other things.
An extremely alien feeling of self-consciousness and demureness hits Jake. Is this what it feels like to be shy?
He want this. He would love this. Yet it feels like a first-time of sorts with you, and it really deserves more prestige than this situation allows.
Jake chooses to run off instead, taking his jacket with him.
"Come on Y/N! Let's just run home," he shouts back.
Hmph, you think, soaked to the bone and chasing after him. Chivalry is dead.
.
.
Big Deal is not without its problems.
And one of the big fucking huge problem is that everyone is a gangster, or at least a gangster in training.
Sugarcoat it all you want, sure there is passion involved and you're protecting the street. Typical dangers still lurk. It's a fact.
With trembling hands, you apply the bandage Jake around his chest. Round and round it goes, until the stitches and wound are completely hidden.
It's not the first time you've done this, and it won't be the last. You know what being in Big Deal means.
Nevertheless, it upsets you every time.
"Shh, Y/N. Don't be like that," Calloused fingers come up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You didn't even realise you were crying.
"You should be so lucky," Jake's ever comforting smile comes into focus, "Getting your hands all over me."
Your laugh is wet, but you do laugh. Jake always makes you laugh.
And then you reach out, pressing your hand to his heart, feeling it thrum beneath your fingers, the thump-thump-thump calming your own nerves. Needing to feel Jake's own beat to ground you.
You're always the first port of call when Jake gets into trouble, somewhere along the way it just happened. And every time without fail,, your stomach drops and you feel sick as you sprint towards his side.
Jake places his hand over yours, "Thanks for always being there for me."
As you peer up at him from beneath your wet lashes, he thinks about what it means to regret something.
In his brief years of being alive, there are already many. But if he didn't do this, it might be the biggest regret of them all.
With his other hand, Jake tilts your face towards him. He doesn't notice the tear tracks on your cheeks, or the slight quiver of your lips.
All he can see is the love in your eyes, certain that it reflects his own.
Jake presses his lips to yours, and you can feel his smile.
.
.
" YEONHUI!" Sinu bursts in, almost knocking the door off its hinge in his excitement, "Jake and Y/N finally got together!"
"Huh?" Yeonhui tilts her head at this development, "I thought Jake was injured?"
"Whatever," Sinu flaps his hand in dismissal, "He's fine."
"So those brats made the jump huh? At least it didn't take them ten years."
"Yeonhui..." Sinu whines, curling himself round her back and smooching her cheek, "You still going on about that?"
"Hmph."
"At least we won the bet. I'll treat you out to dinner?"
"You better, we still have ten years of dinners to make up for!"
254 notes · View notes
dreamstate4you · 1 year ago
Text
Hobie
-Medical student reader x Hobie Brown.
-fluff and slight angst
-1.2k words
(Pt 2)
Tumblr media
Today's day was an exhausting one. You sat besides the sofa, too tired to even move an inch as your eyes were locked onto the pages of papers Infront of you. You had written the first part of your medical exam today and some genius of a professor decided to make everyone write the second paper on the next day.
In the midst of your inner debate, on whether to be a good student and study like you are supposed too or just take a leap of faith and just wing the second paper( the first one did count more so if you do well on the first one it's basically a pass) you heard a knock on your window.
At first you thought the knock was a pigeon who knocked it's own lights because of it's 'lack to see windows' ,but the knock returned again. This time it was a bit harder and it came accompanied my a familiar voice you knew too well ,Hobie's voice.
You rushed to the window. Hoping over the stacks of paper that once took away your ability to even move a finger.
You uncapped the lock on your window to indeed find out that it was your beloved boyfriend ,Hobie...who didn't look too good.
His mask was torn revealing the lower part of his face. He was clutching his side as he looked to even be struggling to support his own weight. It wasn't unfamiliar for Hobie to do this, to show up injured in your dorm room completely bruised. You once questioned him why he doesn't just go seek medical help at a proper hospital, but he insisted that he only trusts you and hates hospitals.
You stepped aside. Helping support some of his weight as he crawl-walked into your dormitory. "I swear it's just a scratch ,love. Don't worry bout' me!" Hobie groaned roughly as he tossed his mask aside.
Hobie groaned his way next to where your pile of papers were placed. He sat besides them not wanting to sit on the sofa in fear of getting it dirty. You didn't say anything as you walked to the bathroom cabin and took out the medical kit. Walking back to see him lean his body onto the sofa.
"So what was it this time?" You asked getting him a glass of water to go along with the pain-killer pills. Gently lifting his head to wipe the blood that was dried up in his face.
It proves to be difficult as he kept staring at your eyes ,not even answering your question. You shyly glanced at him before quickly focusing back on his wound. Raising your eyebrows in a manner that told him to answer you were waiting for answer.
Hobie's attention was broken by the slight sting of his wound. "Nothing much, just a run-in with a villain of the week." He lets out a small Chuckle,but is quickly replaced with a soft sound of 'ouch' as you rubbed an ointment on his wound.
You remain silent not understanding how he finds his state amusing. You moved away from his face and payed attention to his side. It wasn't a deep cut, it just needed a bit of cleaning and some time to rest then he would be back to his healthy self.
Hobie noticed your silence, his smug smile quickly faded as he noticed the look of concern on your face."Hey, babe, don't stress. It's just a few scratches. I've had worse you know." He spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine affection trying to smooth out your worry. "And I've got you to fix me up, don't I? You're my secret weapon."
You sighed as you took a bandage and gently placed it on his side wound.
"I know, I know, but it's the third time you come to me with an injury this week!" You slightly raised his voice. You didn't mean to, the frustration and worry for his well being were just building up. "You have been really reckless this week."
Hobie looks at you with a mixture of guilt and affection in his eyes. He reaches out to take your hand, his grip gentle yet firm. "I'm sorry, love. I don't mean to worry you, but you know how it is out there. We're fighting for something, for a better world and sometimes, things get a bit messy." He pauses for a moment, his gaze locked with yours. "I promise, I'll be more careful. I don't like seeing you upset."
He brought your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. "You mean the world to me, and I don't want to cause you any unnecessary worry."
His words brought you a momentary of relief. He was a superhero after all. You just had to put your trust in him.
"Hey how about we go skating." You proposed an idea to him. It was something the two of you enjoyed doing ...well you enjoyed skating. He was just bad at it but hobie enjoyed watching you have fun. "You can't join me. You'll just sit on the bench and watch my skate."
Skateboarding was one of your many hobbies, a favorite one because it was how you met Hobie. A skating trick gone wrong had you spiraling down the street, bumping into him with his guitar that you unfortunately broke.
"You're not just saying' that to get out of your study work." Hobie eyes the stacks of papers that were sides the two of no.
"No." You replied with a mischievous smile. Looking hobie In the eyes as his face also formed an amused grin.
You and Hobie ended up going to a small park that was east of your university. When you both got to the park, the first thing you did was show him a new trick you learned.
"Okay now watch." You held the board close so it would not roll of.
"I'm watching." He was sitting on the grass. His legs crossed and holding your small backpack between them.
You chuckled at his response. "No watch the board, not me."
"I am."
"No , you're not." You playfully argued back at him.
"How could i not when you're so beautiful ." He complimented you. His eyes not breaking contact with you.
"Hobie-" you were about to sat something, but we're inturpted by his watch ringing.
Hobie's face scrunched up in a mix of annoyance and curiosity as he hears his watch ringing. He looks at you apologetically before checking his watch and answering the call. You could not make out what was being said on the other side of the call.
"Alright, I'll be there in a bit. Just finishing up something with Y/N. Yeah, I got it. Catch you later, man." He ends the call and looks at you, a sheepish grin on his face.
"Sorry, love. Duty calls. Miguel needs some backup for . . . some Spider-Punk business. You know how it is." He stood up and dusted his pants. He was still holding your bag in his hands. He took off his jacket and laid it on the ground before placing your bag on top of it, afraid of getting it dirty.
"I'll make it up to you, I promise. But for now, duty calls." He gently kissed your cheek. Looking at you apologetically one last time before he rushed of to a close location away from preying eyes to open his portal watch.
And you were left alone in the park. You sighed as you held your skateboard close to you and looked at the sun which was starting to set.
One more lap until I go back to studying.
132 notes · View notes
greenerteacups · 7 months ago
Note
🍦 - I personally find it hard to fully hate a character. curious if you see this as a false premise or if there is a character that fits the bill.
🍦 ⇢ name three good things about a character you hate
There are two ways to hate a character: hating them as a theoretical person (e.g. they're a good villain and they've successfully stirred your resentment as a reader) and hating them a character who exists in the text (e.g. you're just sick of hearing about this dude). I'll go with the first one: Severus Snape is written so you're supposed to hate him, and he's the perfect villain for the early Harry Potter books. He gets infected with later-installment weirdness because of Sudden Third-Act Backstory and Villain Creep, but in Books 1-3, he just nails the vibe of That One Teacher who hates their life and has decided to make it your problem for no fucking reason. Three good things about him:
(1) Snape is objectively a genius, or somewhere near to it. By any estimation. He's the youngest member of the Hogwarts staff by a decade at least, apparently has been working as a fully-fledged professor there since he was twenty-fucking-two, and was making corrections to a published Potions textbook at age 16. He also started inventing spells as a teenager — an activity so dangerous it killed Luna Lovegood's mother — and performs Occlumency so flawlessly that Voldemort himself doesn't suspect anything. (He still thinks Snape has been loyal when he kills him!) He's kind of the Mary Sue of the Harry Potter universe: if there's a magical skill out there, Snape probably has it and mastered it, he's just too busy fucking up his own life for anyone to notice.
(2) On the rare occasions that it comes out, Snape has a really good sense of humor, it's just that it's usually at Harry's expense, so you as the reader aren't so much amused as irritated by it. His interactions with Lockhart, in particular, are iconic. There are few things in the books as satisfying as Snape doing a withering takedown of some absolute goon who's been annoying you for 200 pages.
(3) Weathered the crippling death blow of "there is no need to call me sir, professor" in a classroom full of teenage kids and didn't assassinate Harry on the spot, and/or resign. Big ups for that. Shows resilience.
45 notes · View notes
soranihimawari · 7 months ago
Text
Fates Aligned
Word Count: TBD
Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x YN!Reader
Rating: AKF (Akaashi Keiji Fluff)
Notes: Josei manga refers to manga which appeals to young adult women. :]
Tumblr media
Thinking back on your high school days could pose a problem for you. You're attending your reunion and are amongst friends who are filling you in on their lives: who got married to who, who's adding to their family, and who's dating who. You realize as they talk you become more and more disassociated in the conversation. It's not like you had any juicy gossip to offer--you weren't dating anyone with the prospect of marriage on the way and you definitely weren't expecting an addition to your family except for maybe adopting another kitten to go along with the two year old cat you have waiting for you at home.
As the night progressed, you enjoy a few more drinks and light snacks at your end of the table. That is until you see him. Him, the young man from your past Japanese literature class with stunning gun-blue metal eyes, soft charcoal hair, and quiet nature. His best friend was the loud and often cheery captain of the volleyball team. You remember him as a gentle soul, after all he was much taller than you then. Nowadays, as you over hear of his publishing successes, you are shy to say to you have read many of his publishing house's manga. Your collection is massive, yet no one here would think you were an avid fan.
Until one member of your side of the table brings up a highly popular josei manga title. Your ears perk up as you enter the conversation saying you are an avid fan and reader of the title. A few things to note: the title was published online independently, second, when the copyright was up for renewal, a new publishing company bought it to have the author continue the story, third said author was attending is high school reunion in the pub where you seemed to be gushing over their work.
Whatever you said caused Akashi Keiji to confidently stride up to you and hang out at your end of the table.
"I take it you like that work," he says. "You're, yln yn,m right? Shared a desk with you in Japanese literature."
He seems amused. You seem a bit flustered as you swirl your empty water cup in your hands. You were trying to be a little less drunk before calling it a night.
"You remember me?" you say with a slight scoff. "It's usually hard for people outside of my friend circle here to recognize me. Nice to see you too Akaashi-kun."
He laughs as he clinks glasses with you. As the night progresses, you two become more and more acquainted past the "what happened after university" and the "where/what do you do now" questions.
You were pleased to know he landed a publishing job much like he was impressed your hobby of photography landed you a few lead exposes for National Geographic. Regardless of the years spent apart from that one classroom in Fukurodani, Akaashi lets you in on a little secret.
"You know," he begins. There is a small curl of his lips. "Sitting next to you inspired me to start drawing a little."
"Really? Now that you're a publisher, I didn't think you'd have to be the artist behind the manga," you reply.
"True, but my first manga heroine? She was inspired by you," he said this casually as he pulls out his phone to show you a very rough sketch of a short, limited series run of a manga you read online.
"N-no way," you gasp. You start to see little coincidences of you in the character when you re-read the first few pages and you glance back at Akaashi.
"I was too shy and reserved back then to ask, but," he starts when you hand him his phone back. "Would you like to go out with me sometime? I have a deadline to meet next Thursday, but Friday I am free."
And without missing a beat, you reply.
"Sure, I can be free next Friday. Anything for the author of 'fates aligned': a red string of fate short series," you smile brightly as he chuckles.
33 notes · View notes