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azrielbrainrot · 4 months

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I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

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You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar

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ceilidho · 6 months

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prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 4. (read 1, 2, 3) tags: dubcon; nsfw

You only realize after the fact that you may have miscalculated in thinking that this could be a one-time thing between the two of you.

After listening to Johnny bitch and moan during the Christmas party about having to take time off work to spend the holidays with his very religious family, you delude yourself into thinking you’ll finally be able to have some peace and quiet around the store. Not literally, of course. Working during the holidays is always a recipe for exhaustion—parents coming in at the last minute to demand toys that have long since sold out, fights breaking out in every other aisle as customers fight for the last palatable set of Christmas ornaments and boxed fruit cake.

You’re not delusional enough to think that work will be a piece of cake, but you are selfishly a little happy that you’ll finally get some time to breathe without Johnny hovering over your shoulder at all hours of your shift. Seasonal shoppers are as exhausting as always, but you get to sit alone in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in the morning right before your shift without someone staring at you or breathing into your personal bubble.

Johnny spends his entire time off blowing up your phone, sending you pictures of his childhood home, calling you during your breaks, and sending you weird videos that seem to have been filmed entirely in the dark where you can’t see or hear anything apart from some weird squeaks and one loud grunt at the very end of the video that sounds kind of like—you close the video.

You spend the first few days of January dreading his return. The day of is like a shock to your nervous system, the whole morning spent pouring coffee with a trembling hand.

“Hiya gorgeous,” he purrs when you clock in for your shift. You’re somewhat used to Johnny sneaking up behind you, so you don’t flinch this time when you feel the length of his body press up against you at the time clock.

“Johnny, it’s seven in the morning,” you mutter out through pursed lips, shoulders stiff when he puts his hands on them and digs his thumbs into the tender points of your back. You bite back a moan.

“Missed ye, kitten. Cannae believe I went a whole week without hearing you purr.”

He could’ve phrased that a thousand other ways, but he just had to choose the one that would make you wince. He digs his thumbs in again, trying to push the moan out of you, but you tamp it down. You hold back a shudder when he plants his nose onto the crown of your head and inhales, drawing your scent into his lungs.

“Where’ye assigned ta today? Jeff owes me a favour—gonna ask him if I can spend the day with ye so we can catch up.”

You go still when he drops a firm kiss to the side of your head. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t checked the schedule yet.” It’s a half-lie. You may not have checked the schedule yet, but you know from having briefly chatted with your manager this morning in the parking lot where you’ll be spending most of your day.

Still, it means that you get to shake off Johnny for a bit. “Lemme go check for ye, okay, hen? Stay here, a’right?”

You watch him jog off down the hall to the breakroom before finally leaving. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before he comes back.

The first hour of your day is spent on softlines until Priya in jewellery randomly comes down with a chill and gets sent home early, forcing you to cover her section. Usually that wouldn’t be such a bad deal—it means you get to spend your shift helping people try on bracelets and rings, restocking the earring display, and leaning against the counter for hours at a time. It’s not a particularly busy station.

While you're assigned to the jewellery section though, Johnny pops out of nowhere as you're helping a customer contemplating a birthday ring for his fiancé. With the kind of confidence that you’ve come to expect from Johnny, he uses your hand to model some of the rings, but this time it feels oddly weirdly intense. When he slides the first ring onto your finger, you can feel the way he holds his breath, even shudders a bit. He presses himself right up against you behind the display counter, hardness pressing against your hip.

It doesn’t take long for your customer to leave. Johnny’s demeanour is off-putting, concerning even. You can’t fault the guy for being rightfully repulsed by the way Johnny crowds up against you like you’re alone together.

“What are you doing?” you hiss through your teeth.

“Cannae help it, hen. I ken ye wanna wait, but it jus’ makes me a bit emotional seein’ my girl wearing a ring I put on.”

He blinks down at you with big, blue eyes, the picture of innocence. You should’ve anticipated there being a danger in letting Johnny stew over that on his own. Of course he’d come to his own conclusions, even one as deranged as thinking of your hook up as a step towards dating. You can’t help but side eye him.

“We—we’re not a couple, Johnny.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Ye just let anybody eat you out in the supply closet then? S’that right?” It’s said rhetorically, like he knows the answer already. You flinch at the slight though.

“That was—” you cut yourself off to take a breath, an ache growing behind your forehead, “—that was a…it was a one-time thing. You can’t just act like we’re dating.”

His lips turn down in a pout, displeasure rippling across his face. You brace yourself for the inevitable argument, for shit to hit the fan, because obviously that’s what’s brewing under the surface. You brace yourself for worse too because when you happen to glance around, you realize how few people are actually milling around in the area.

Then, instead of losing his temper, Johnny’s eyes grow smoky, heavy-lidded, and the pout lifts into a lazy, playful grin. “A’right, kitty, no’ dating then. That’s fine wi’ me.”

This time it’s you that frowns, staring up at him dubiously. “…Really?” It feels too sudden, quicksilver. Johnny’s fiery by nature, short tempered on his best days and more likely to grit his teeth and bear the displeasure of not getting his way than happily giving into it. His sudden smile is at odds with the version of him that exists in your mind, furious at you for denying him.

Maybe you’ve got him all wrong.

The gleam in his eye betrays nothing, however. “I swear.” He leans closer to you then, fingers fiddling with the name tag pinned over your chest on your work vest, straightening it. “Doesnae mean we have ta give the rest up though. Ye liked what we did in the closet, right, hen?”

It feels like he’s sucked the air out of the room, as big as it is. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Och, c’mon, kitty,” Johnny breathes, hunching just a little over and into your space, making the moment feel private, just the two of you. “Had to talk about it eventually. Did ye just expect that everything would go back to normal after ye let me eat ye out? Hey—” he catches you when you try to make a move to step away from him, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and tugging you closer to him, “—listen, kitty—it doesnae have to be anything serious, right? That’s what’s making ye all jumpy and nervous? I’ll lick your pussy, free of charge. Dinnae need any labels. How’s that sound, kitty? Dick on demand?”

It should repulse you. The way he speaks to you is crass, crude. His voice is hushed, haggard, fur stretched taut over stone—and yet, your hands tremble, just a little. It tempts you. Purring Scottish burr, lapis lazuli eyes, bristle cheeks that you still remember scraping up your inner thighs. He’s a package you can’t imagine sending back.

“You won’t get…you promise not to get weird about it?” you ask.

His smile curls up, impish. “Cross my heart, kitten.”

Maybe you’re delusional enough to think that you can have your cake and eat it too. There’s a voice in your head telling you to face the facts, but you disregard it as if you haven’t been working with Johnny for months. As if you aren’t aware of his penchant for saying or doing anything to get his way. It’s maybe naive of you.

All you know is that he smothers a laugh when you tell him you’ll think about it. Knows he’s got you right where he wants.

You don’t fight when he drags you into the single-stall bathroom towards the end of your shift, letting him position you in front of the mirror before sinking to his knees behind you. Forces you to watch the way you come apart on his tongue, not giving you his fingers until you beg him to, the whispered plea a hairsbreadth away from becoming a scream.

“Oh, did she miss me?” Johnny breathes, a happy laugh in his voice when he runs the broad side of his tongue over your entrance from the back. “Fuck, look at that. Winked at me ‘n everythin’. Hi darling, missed ye too.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be the same after hearing that come out of his mouth. You go hot all over again when you clench involuntarily, equal parts turned on and horrified. He sniggers before trying to cram his whole tongue up into you.

There’s a moment of panic when Johnny draws up behind you after making you come and you hear him undo his pants. There’s nowhere for you to go with your pants still looped around your ankles, underwear pulled all the way down as well. You hear yourself hiss a startled Johnny when he slots a fat cock between your thighs, staring dumbly at the reflection of him behind you. At your back, he seems massive, lean and trim but towering over you, broad.

He shushes you. “Dinnae be selfish, hen—gotta get mine too. Jus’ gonna fuck your thighs, dinnae fret.”

You squeak when he pushes your thighs together forcefully, dragging his cock over your folds to wet himself. Watching Johnny fuck is nothing like staring down at him when he eats you out. He pants harsh and ragged into the side of your head, nips at your ear. The glint in his eyes goes animalistic, vacant. Human desire recedes, subsumed into the animal part of his brain with the single-minded need to fuck.

The only thing keeping him from driving up into you, accidentally or not, is the way you keep your thighs pressed together. A warm, tight channel for him to push his cock into. Thick fingers dig into your waist, sure to leave bruises. You wince when lean hips pound against your backside, growing frantic as need overtakes him. You flirt at the edge of panic, certain that at any second, he’ll pull your thighs apart and nudge the head of his cock up into you.

“Jus’ like that, fuck,” he grunts. “Be a good little fuckin’ girl and jus’ let me—”

His tongue lolls out on a particularly rough thrust, hands groping over your belly and up to your chest, slipping his hand under your shirt and bra to pinch your nipple. He twists it mean, nasty, until you have no choice but to grunt through grit teeth, eyes watering. You feel like a doll meant for his pleasure, no choice but to grip the sides of the sink and let Johnny use you until he comes.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, eyes going half-lidded. “Love makin’ this pussy come. Love gettin’ her all messy and wet. Lettin’ me between your thighs even when I make ye nervous—fuck, ‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

White come stripes the sink in front of you, thick and viscous. Paints the inside of your thighs as well when he drags his hips back until just the head of his cock sits nestled up against your sex. Hyperconscious of where it tags your inner lips, that there’s no barrier between the two of you, just come and skin.

The full body shake shocks you, a ripple from your heels to the top of your head.

His free hand grasps you by the hair when you try to slip away. “Ye gonna clean up your mess, baby?”

You glance back up at his reflection in the mirror, trying to suss him out. Shark-like eyes meet yours. Something you’ve seen in glances before finally staring back at you with full force. You reach for the paper towel dispenser with a shaking hand.

“Nah,” Johnny scolds, giving you a shake. “With your mouth.”

The command hangs in the air, no joke or laugh to undercut it. His eyes read serious to you, still dark. No leniency present in the blue.

You stare down at his come on the sink, slack-jawed. “You don’t seriously mean—”

“Jus’ kidding, silly,” he chuckles, giving a teasing bite to your earlobe and tugging. The tension in the air disperses. “Got ye, huh?”

You force a laugh. “Yeah…got me.”

#i cant believe this shit is at 10k and i still have another part to write #ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #soap x you #soap/reader #ikea soap

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hoeforhao · 11 months

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🏷 Kidult ▪︎ Choi Seungcheol Fic ▪︎

↷ pairing: dad!seungcheol × fem!reader (feat!jeonghan)

↷ genre: heavy angst, fluff towards the end, mentions of childhood trauma, sort of arranged marriage? cheol and reader have a daughter together, lots of dad seungcheol content!!!

↷ summary: can trying to relive the childhood you never got to experience, through your daughter be the reason of your husband's irk?

↷ part: 1/4 pt.2, pt.3, pt.4

↷ w.c: 2.5k

↷ author's note: part 1 is here finally!! will try to post part 2 by the end of this week, and part 3 will be a bonus smut which will be published on cheol's birthday♡

If you want to be added to this fic's taglist, drop a comment under this post ; my ask box is open too♡

Motherhood was truly a blissful chapter of every woman's life. Seeing your child growing up in your arms, her little legs stomping through the grass to join her playmates, often tumbling down on her way, her father going completely nuts over the itty bitty scratches on his princess,made you feel a joy not even billion dollars could buy.

But that's definitely not something you believed in before getting married to seungcheol or even when you announced to all of your family, that you were about to birth a small little version of your husband and their son.

While his child swelled in your belly, his ignorance and indifference towards you, swelled in your heart. Although it would be downright selfish to say that seungcheol didn't take care of you during your pregnancy, but you surely weren't that naive to not understand it was all for the wellbeing of his daughter.

Well some people unlike others are just destined to go through life like a soldier, bound to only their duty without the luxury of enjoying worldly pleasures - that's what you've been telling yourself since your childhood, all throughout your marriage but now...now it's different.

As selfish as it may sound, your daughter Hana's childhood now gave you a newfound hope of reliving those years of your life that you never got to cherish....being as carefree and jolly like a two year old, sleeping every night with a teddy tucked under your arms without any thoughts about how to deal with this cruel world.

You were so consumed in your thoughts that you failed to notice the cinnamon pie set in the oven being slightly overcooked along its edges.

"Shit shit shit you cannot mess this up y/n!!! Cheol and Hana are crazy over your cinnamon pie and the last thing you wanna do is disappoint your daughter and his father" you mentally cuss at yourself while taking out the pie pot from the oven as quick as possible....mildly burning your fingers in the attempt.

A thud of the main door shitts your concentration from your burned fingers to your hall, which is now being adorned by Hana's giggles upon seeing her father.

"Dada is home princess! What has my girl been doing all day without her daddy huh" seungcheol literally throws his coat on the couch before hopping towards his beloved daughter, taking her up in his arms in one quick lift and peppering the little ball's mochi cheeks with kisses.

"I played a lot with momma today daddy, and you know you know we even threw a birthday party for Bella hehe" Hana started blabbering out her entire day's routine to her father, sitting on his lap, her head resting on his chest,as seungcheol kept on playing with his daughter's silken locks.

"That's why my cupcake is all dolled up right now huh, I see" seungcheol's arms wrap around Hana's waist tightly while patting her hair. "Do I look like a princess dwaddy?"

"When does my Hana doesn't look like a princess, baby! You're royalty, my little highness" you were watching such a dreamy cinematic sequence of a perfect loving family being played out infront of you, from behind the kitchen counter....the catch being you were just a part of this trio only for a show to others.

"Daddy daddy can we go to the park tomorrow pwease" your daughter surely knew that her puppy eyes was cheol's biggest weakness and that's what she used everytime to make her father tend to all the tantrums.

"Anything for my babygirl. But first you've to stop looking at me with those eyes or dadda's heart will burst from cuteness babie" hana's adorable beads were now paired with her dad's dimples making your heart swell at the view. Two of your cutest dumplings.

"Come on now enough talking you two! Who wants to have the first bite of the pie?" you break off your glare from the duo and bring out the piping hot plate of freshly baked crust from the kitchen and set it on the table before them.

"Me me me" "No me" "No daddy me. Won't you let your princess have the first bite" one pout from Hana and seungcheol melts into a puddle, stuffing her small cheeks with the first bite of the pie by himself. "Next time dadda will win for sure!!!" a small hmph leaves your 27 year old husband's lips.

"So when are we going out tomorrow?" you press your lips into a smile like an excited puppy, putting a halt to the father daughter's playtime...your eyes glistening up at the thought of the beautiful day ahead.

"We'll leave after breakfast" seungcheol's stern voice echoes around the hall, awaring you of the void of emotions he has dug out only for you, his wife and the mother of his child.

"Oh okay! Come on Hana it's bedtime bub." you swing her up into your arms, marking your steps towards her bedroom. "No mowmmy I wanna play more with daddy please"

"No baby. We gotta wake up early tomorrow for the park right? There you can play with dad all throughout the day. Okay love?" you plant a goodnight kiss to your daughter's temples before tucking her into her soft Cinderella sheets.

"My cute round munchkin" one last loving glance at Hana and you put off the lights of her room to let her drift into the happiest dream ever, without any tension of the cruelties of the outside world.

Changing into a soft satin robe and tying your hair up into a bun, you finally settle yourself under the duvet of your shared bedroom with seungcheol, your back facing him, wishing ever passing moment, that at least once he wraps you around his arms. But you know better, that he never will.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ・・・・☆・・・・

"YAH CHOI HANA WALK SLOW!" screaming at

that poodle of sunshine waddling away in utter haste, you try to match her pace, literally all breathless and panting.

After a fruitless attempt to follow your spawn of Satan going absolutely haywire about being in a park with her daddy, you curve up your back, sweating like a pig looking for some air ; a pair of cold petite hands lands on the crook of your neck.

"Who the fuc - oh my god Mr notepad ass what are you doing here!!" your face instantly harbors the biggest smile upon seeing your childhood bestfriend after literally months.

"Come on girl, you meet the heartthrob of the town, and this is how you greet him? Girls swoon over m - ah ouch y/n lord my future gen " hearing jeonghan blabber 'bout being a hot cake was downright torture for you, when the man literally had no cake to offer!!!

"Yeah yeah sure that's why you used to ask me to find you a girl, pheww!!" a big smug visible clear in your eyes.

"sigh Is this how you welcome your bestfriend after almost an year??!!" han knew that him giving you those angel eyes will make your composure melt in a matter of seconds and that's exactly what happened.

"Oh come on! I was joking! You know I love you, you little bunny" you instantly wrap your arms around han's waist tightly, while pouting like a puppy yourself, as he returns the gesture in a blink.

"Except the cake part tho, hehe!" a slight pinch lands on his butt as you free yourself from him to walk to the ride's counter, hand in hand. Your heart was fluttering like a flock of doves, because you could let your true self take control only when with jeonghan, from laughing like a five year old, being a naughty tease to smiling wide like the sun. Why so? Because apparently seeing you letting your inner child out in the open, irked your 'husband'.

"Oh the main question! Why are you here? That too at a theme park!!!" shooting an interrogative glare towards jeonghan you march away through the crowd like a happy squirrel.

"I'm here with Nabi, and my little bunbun Byul. She literally manipulated me into taking her to this park. ME! THE YOON JEONGHAN BEING MANIPULATED. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT! I guess she learnt it from her dad only" jeonghan blurted out almost an entire verse within seconds, and you felt nothing but sheer joy being reunited with the only who who cherished your presence, after so long.

"There they are" you look over the thick mass to see Seungcheol and Hana standing by the ride, her little pinky entwined with her father's dainty yet strong digits, while pulling onto jeonghan's arms to run towards your family.

Cheol's face turns slightly dark watching you beaming with joy being arm tied with another man, that was not him. He knew jeonghan was your bestfriend from the time your wedding bells rang but....there was this feeling in his heart against Han, that he could never justify.

"Hey Seungcheol. How you've been? Grown quite buff huh!" Jeonghan playfully slaps Cheol's muscles, earning a sort of irritated groan and a tight smile from him.

"Looks like someone's jealous!" you lean your body over jeonghan's shoulder, whispering into his ears which lands you into being tickled by him like crazy, in public.

"Okay okay I'm sorry, s-stop!" Han's devilish hands finally leaves your body, as yout chest heaves up and down, breathless from laughing an entire year's worth.

"Umm hmm" cheol clears his throat as he tries to break off the *not so desirable scene rolling out infront of him* "we should get Hana going on the ride now, she's growing quite impatient"

"Omg yes so sorry baby mom got distracted" you take Hana from her father's grip. "Cheol cheol let us get on the ride too na? Pls!!! Pls!!" pulling onto your husband's biceps, being in a trance of happiness and forgetting that he's Choi Seungcheol and not your buddy, Jeonghan -

"Stop behaving like a kid y/n! You're twenty seven and a mother to a two year old! Fuckin act like one" each and every word that left cheol's lips carved out a new wound in your heart. Though he's right anyways....you don't deserve to fool around like a happy child....you never did....

"I'll call Nabi and Byul too. Both of them can enjoy their visit that way then" jeonghan steps in to somewhat chase away the cloud that was near to pouring down over the four of you "and Byul is herself quite fond of her bestfriend Hana anyways. They would love this set up" Han's lips curl up into a forced smile as he walks off to fetch his own family.

"I i'm sorry" you let go off Hana's tiny fingers, as soon as jeonghan leaves,leading her to the ride's entrance. "Hold on tightly to the bars, okay? Mom will be right here" your soft sweaty hands cup her cheeks before she turns around to go get seated on her most awaited part of the day.

Seungcheol's face is painted with guilt and regret, as he watches over his small family - while her daughter is glaring brighter than the sun with soulful joy, his wife is standing all gloomy beside the long sheep haired guy he have always envied.

"Mommy the ride was amazing. You know Byul was scared hehe. She was holding onto my arms" your daughter waddles down the metal stairs, her bestfriend following soon after, both of their faces all sweaty and glinting from the little adventure.

"N-no i was not, i i just tried to k-keep Hana safe" the two year old blurts out, trying to protect her pride, while her dad scoops her up into his arms, drying off her face with his shirt.

"Yes you're my strong and brave bun, I know that baby" jeonghan places open mouth kisses on his daughter's face, shifting her to her mother's arms gently, placing a gentle kiss on his wife's forehead in the process.

Such a beautiful family. A word that would never fit your own -

"I - I'm taking the girls to have some ice cream" seungcheol breaks the silence that has now creeped up onto your face. "Wanna j-join us, y/n?" no matter how much he tries to act cool or indifferent, the words he threw at your merry face just few minutes back, refuses to leave his mind, engulfing his form in severe shame and agony.

"No I would like to stay back. You three go ahead" the change in your tone was clear enough for even a stranger to notice....and jeonghan has known you for twenty whole years.

"Nabi you accompany the girls and seungcheol. We two will be waiting for y'all by the carousel" surprising right? How jeonghan was the one having your back and not your husband!!!

"Seungcheol was being an absolute dick back there you know. A very annoying, lumpy and dumbass dick " han's hands curl up against your shoulder as he pulls your head to rest on his nape, while both of you were seated on a bench shining under the dreamiest luminaire.

"Hmm" you hum into his skin, warm salty drops slowly making their way down his silk shirt "or maybe he was actually right"

Pulling yourself up from Han's embrace, you focus your eyes onto your lap, while fidgeting with your fingers, when you feel a warm pair of hands cupping your cheek, fingers pushing off any drop of water that dared to pass by your supple skin.

"Just because someone doesn't appreciate your presence in their life and treat you as nothing but a person their daughter calls 'mom', doesn't mean that you are allowed to downgrade yourself" his hands traveling down your face to now engulf your palms into his, "You have every right to be yourself y/n. I know how you've been fighting all your life, how you never had anything what people call carefree childhood these days....don't let anyone murder the soulful kid within you. Understood, Ms Thumper Paws" jeonghan settles his speech with a finishing pinch on your dumpling cheeks.

"Aye aye sir! Noted!!" you finally flash him with the smile he has been trying to bring out since 'someone' decided to slash it.

To both of your oblivion, seungcheol was watching his wife, his partner being all giggly like a beaming ray of sunshine, her bunny teeth making its way out for the world to see, but-

not in his arms, not on his jokes, instead because of her bestfriend....the person he has always been jealous of, for making you smile so wide and bringing out the adorable kid in you!!!something only he wishes to do you for you.....

all this while the caramel ice cream he brought for you melting away in his hands, as he takes in the sight before him with gritted teeth and hurt eyes

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msgexymunson · 11 months

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Forbidden Fruit Part 2

Description: Saying it's been awkward after your experience with Eddie Munson is an understatement. How will you survive a trip together?

A/N: WELL, you liked the first part so much I had to write part 2! Potential for a part 3 and 4 if you guys want it. If you do y'all better reblog ;)

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI or I'll tell a teacher on you, a LOT of angst, hella smut, fluff if you squint, voyeurism, spit play, hair pulling, fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex (don't be a dumb dumb) rough sex

4k words

Masterlist Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

It has been two weeks. Two weeks since your sordid encounter with your Dad's best friend. You thought about it every day, every hour. It has embedded itself into your mind like steel wool, an unscratchable itch that you're almost certain will never go away.

You'd only seen Eddie twice in that whole time. That was odd in itself, he only lived across the road. He was usually around every couple of days, even if it was to just have a coffee and a chat with your father. It felt very much like he was trying to make himself scarce.

The first time was barely even a glimpse; he'd been leaving his house as you'd been heading to college, driving there since it was close enough for you to still stay at home. You'd sent him a shy wave which was not returned. He just got in his car and reversed like a demon, tires screeching as he drove down the road.

The second time you were in the kitchen on your tippy toes, trying to reach the cereal that someone had placed on the top shelf as if to spite you. Feeling eyes on you, you looked around and saw him standing in the doorway.

"Eddie."

He ignored it, strode in and grabbed the cereal box with ease, slamming it on the counter in front of you with too much force making you flinch.

You tried again, fingers lightly resting on his arm.

"Eddie, I-"

"Don't." Was all he said, pulling his arm away as if you'd burned him. Tears had stung the corners of your eyes as he left without a look back. You'd abandoned your snack and ran upstairs to your room, to cry in peace.

So it was no surprise at all when you overheard your Dad saying Eddie was coming over to watch the game and it felt like your stomach dropped out from under you. You hid in your room, not wanting to face another gruff encounter whilst your stomach rumbled its dissent.

This is fucking stupid. He'd said that was it, you need to get over it. You shouldn't be scared to go into your own damn kitchen.

Steeling your nerves you go downstairs and start to make yourself a sandwich. You could hear Eddie's laugh echo from the TV room and it twisted a knife in your gut.

Your dad's voice rang out over the noise of the TV.

"You free next weekend Eddie?"

Oh fucking shit. You knew what he was talking about. You pray that Eddie says he's busy.

"Free as a bird, why what's happening?"

"Mandy's invited us to her lake house for the long weekend. You fancy a trip?"

Even from here you can sense Eddie's hesitation.

"Oh, I'm not sure that's a good idea?"

"Why? It'll be fun! I'm sure Mandy's got a thing for you, you know."

"Yeah, sure, I suppose I could come."

Fuck.

********************

Cue the most uncomfortable car ride in your life, squashed in the back seat with Eddie and thankfully a duffel bag in between providing a slight buffer. He was hunched in his seat, barely making eye contact with you.

Your mom turned in the passenger seat to face you.

"You alright Hon? You've hardly said a word."

"I'm fine, mom."

"You know, Jake will probably be there, Mandy's boy?" She waggled her eyebrows at you.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, "he's a little, young for me."

"He's a year older than you! I thought you liked him?"

"He's fine, it's just… he's a boy." And I need a man. One particular man.

You couldn't fail to hear Eddie's snorting laugh that he tried to disguise as a cough.

As you arrive at the lake house, you rush out of the car to breathe air that wasn't laced with the scent of Eddie. Your thighs hurt from squeezing them together for the past two hours.

"Hey! Welcome!" Mandy's waving at you all as you get your bag from the car.

Your mom runs over and gives her a hug.

"Hey! So good to see you! Where's Jake?"

"Oh, he's come down with something, poor boy, he couldn't make it."

Well, there goes the plan you had wistfully thought of to make Eddie jealous.

Mandy shows everyone to their rooms. The lake house is gorgeous. Mandy must have gotten some huge settlement from her divorce. Your room is small but comfortable, a double bed, wardrobe and side tables all in a deep wood. The walls are wood panelled too, carvings of little animals and leaves all over. It puts you in mind of being in an enormous cuckoo clock.

Changing into your swimsuit, you grab a towel and head towards the lake for a swim.

This felt better. At least you could cool off, trying to escape the heat from the sun as well as the heat between your legs. The water is crisp and cold as you swim until you're shivering.

As you exit the water, arms tired, you look up to see Eddie on the deck, watching you.

You need to speak with him, try and clear the air. Moving towards him he stubs the cigarette he'd been smoking out and turns on his heel back to the house.

Anger started to bubble up, acidic in your throat. How dare he give you the most amazing sex of your life and just throw you away like some slut. You'd eaten in your room that night, feigning exhaustion.

Tip toeing out to grab a drink from downstairs thinking everyone had gone to bed, you hear the tinkle of laughter.

There he was, sitting on the couch with Mandy. She was fawning over him pathetically, her hand stroking his arm that rested on the back of the seat.

Great. Just great. Now he'll fuck Mandy and get married and live right opposite you with her. Fantastic.

Grabbing a water you flounced off to bed in a huff.

********************

Sitting up at the breakfast bar, you'd plastered your bravest face on and ate some pancakes, cutting them into little pieces and nibbling like a rabbit.

Eddie sauntered in, saying good morning to everyone, then he was taking a seat on the bar stool opposite you.

"Morning sweetheart."

You flashed angry eyes at him, and looked away, delivering a clipped "morning."

It was enough to shut him up. He filled a plate with pancakes and bacon, picking up a rasher and tearing into it with his teeth. Then he did the same with a pancake, ripping it into four and shoving a piece in his mouth.

He looked like a caveman. It was half amusing, and half a turn on. Watching him eat like an animal was doing something for you.

Mandy looked less amused.

"Um, there is cutlery, right there." She snipped.

"I know." He ignored the knives and forks, picking up the next piece of bacon and plunging it into his mouth. Your mom and dad shared an amused look.

He licked bacon grease off his fingers while looking straight at you, making your cheeks rapidly grow in heat. All you could think was that you wanted to wrestle that piece of bacon out of his mouth with your tongue, to smear your greasy lips together and have him throw you down on the counter top and fuck you until you see stars.

"Just going to get ready." You mumble, excusing yourself.

God damn why am I so wet? A shower, that'll help.

You stand under the stream of slightly too cold water and try to wrench the images away, but they are coming thick and fast.

Greasy fingers running over your skin. That tongue turning you into a whimpering mess. Plates smashing on the floor, food flying everywhere as he lifts you on the counter top and fucks you like an animal. The shower head was looking extremely tempting right now.

Right, get it out of your system, then face the day.

You unclip the shower head and turn the heat up slightly, moving the warm stream of water to your expectant lips. The water makes you gasp as you move the shower head around, finding your clit with a whimper.

And then the door flies open. Eddie stands there, frozen, face blushed the deepest pink.

You shout, "don't you know how to knock??" At the same time Eddie's rather hoarse voice yells "are you trying to kill me??"

Quickly exiting, he slams the door shut.

You hear your father call up to ask what's wrong. Eddie's muffled voice responds.

"Nothing, I just made your daughter jump."

The clipped emphasis on the word daughter rings in your head. You're unsure for whose benefit that was.

Am I trying to kill him? He's the one that barged in on me!! Why the fuck is he upset?

For the rest of the day you ignore him, opting to spend some quality time with your mom, attempting to push the weird encounter out of your head.

In the evening your parents announce they are going into town to a bar with Mandy.

"Eddie, you coming?" Your dad asks.

"No, I'm good, got a headache. Think I'll have an early night."

When everyone leaves you retire to your room, putting on some music and reading a book. You start to drift away, losing yourself in the words, feeling comfortable and less on edge.

There's a soft knock at the door. Ignoring it, you flick to the next page. Another, more insistent knock. Huffing and pulling your silk dressing gown around you, making sure everything important is covered, you shout out.

"Yeah?"

The door opens, and Eddie's standing there, looking very sorry for himself. He's only wearing a pair of sweatpants slung low on his hips, muscular frame and tattoos fully displayed.

"Can I come in?"

"So you can knock. What do you want?"

"Look, I want to apologise to you, I've been acting like an asshole."

You nod in agreement, eyes going back to your book, words a blur.

"You really have a headache?"

"No."

"Shame."

"Mandy kissed me last night, invited me back to her room."

Why the fuck is he telling you this?

"Oh yeah? how was she?" You spit back, venom lacing each word.

"I wouldn't know, I didn't go."

Speechless, you return his gaze. He comes into your room, shutting the door behind him, but doesn't move any further.

"Sweetheart, I can't stop thinking about you, about what we did. I've been fucking my fist like a teenager thinking about you. That's why I've been avoiding you. I smelled your perfume the other day and I got fuckin' hard. You weren't even there. It's pathetic."

A small smile creeps onto your face, smug to have had such an effect on him. You sit on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your hands as he explains further.

"I really want you, but we can't do this. It's so wrong. If your dad finds out I'm a dead man."

"Hey, he'll kill me too!" You respond.

"No sweetheart. He'd be disappointed in you. I'd be blamed for it. For- for defiling his daughter!"

You laugh out loud at that and his lips quirk into a nearly smile.

"You make it sound like you forced yourself on me. I kissed you first."

"True, but I asked. If I hadn't-"

"Eddie, trust me, sooner or later, I would have jumped your bones."

"Really?" He asks, surprised.

"Really. You're super hot." You admit.

His hand rubs the back of his neck compulsively. You see the nerves then, etched into his features, deepening the fine lines on his face.

Just his sheer presence is making your pussy pulse.

He walks over to you, standing over your form. Staring up at him, he looks like he wants to devour you whole.

"We can't do this, you know." He says again, but his hand is reaching to the tie of your dressing gown, pulling it undone. The flimsy fabric parts down your middle, showing a sliver of skin from your chest to your navel.

You nod back, breath hitching in your throat. "Yeah, we really shouldn't."

You let the dressing gown slip over your shoulder, exposing your left side, pert breast on display. Eddie groans.

"This is wrong." But his hand has other plans, sliding the other side off of your shoulder, so you're sitting there completely naked for him, gown pooling around your back.

"Yep. Super wrong. Naughty." You say, legs parting slightly. Eddie's smirk is debaucherous as he sinks to his knees in front of you, pulling your legs even wider.

Preamble forgotten, he forces his head between your legs and licks a fat stripe up your cunt. Throwing your head back at the onslaught of his tongue, you dig your heels into his back, forcing him closer if it were even possible.

"How the fuck," he says between dirty kisses to your clit, "do you taste so fucking good?"

He doesn't seem to want an answer, and you're entirely not in the position to provide one. You just mewl and buck into his face pathetically, lacing your fingers into his hair and gripping on.

His tongue is everywhere, devouring you. It's messy, messier than you ever thought getting head could be. You could feel his spit and your own juices dripping down the crevice of your ass.

Legs quivering, you moan wantonly, gripping onto him with everything you have. He's moaning into you, almost as loud as you were.

Then he's pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit, his firm hands gripping your ass, grinding your body against his face. The pure, unbridled need pouring from him had you toppling over that edge.

"Holy fucking shit, Eddie!"

The intensity and power of your orgasm shocks you to your core, spilling out in a slew of profanities, limbs twitching uncontrollably.

Eddie doesn't stop licking into you until you drag him away by his hair.

Eddie's face is a picture, dripping with slick; his smile is broad, lighting up his face as if he'd just been to heaven and tasted the finest ambrosia.

He leans over you, hooking one finger into your mouth, pulling at your jaw.

"Open."

Your jaw flops open at his command. He spits then, directly into your mouth. Eyes widening in surprise, you taste the savoury edge of his spit intermingled with the sweet tang of your cunt as it slides down your tongue.

"Swallow." He orders, eyes dark.

You close your lips around his finger, swallowing hard and sucking the tip of his finger.

"Fuck you are perfect, my dirty fucking girl." He says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You moan at his words, breath speeding up, feeling dizzy and hot all over.

"You like that don't you? Being a dirty girl?" He smirks.

"I like being yours." You admit, feeling slightly bashful.

He cups your face gently with his hand, a queer look in his eye, before leaning towards your ear and whispering, "mine."

Writhing under him, pinned by his body, you can only whimper as he sinks teeth into your neck.

Pushing a needy tongue in your mouth, he gives you an earth shattering kiss, of salt and cigarettes and sweetness. You reciprocate, hands running over naked flesh as you push your chest against him.

"I need you. Now." He says as he climbs off, frantically pulling his sweatpants off and flinging them to the side, his impressive member standing almost painfully to attention.

You give a startled yelp as he grabs you by the ankles and flips you over.

"Hands and knees for me, my good girl."

You scramble on all fours, waiting for the breach of his tip, when you feel his thumb press on your asshole.

"Fuck, Eddie!" You shout. It had made you jump, but you couldn't deny that you liked it.

"Bet you'd let me fuck you in the ass if I asked sweetheart." Entirely unprepared for that, you whip your head around. He just laughs.

"Don't worry, not tonight baby." He says as he rubs his tip over your folds, spreading your wetness even further.

Then he's pushing and pushing into you, balls deep. You both let out a groan of satisfaction as he starts ploughing into you hard and rough.

"This pussy is fuckin unreal," you hear him mutter behind you, gripping on your hips so tight its bordering on painful. You allow yourself to be used, pushing back into him as much as you can, but it's impossible keeping up with his brutal pace.

Feeling your hands stiff against the bed, your elbows are shaking, on the edge of giving up. You feel Eddie's hand gather your hair in a makeshift ponytail and twist it in his hand, pulling you upright. A lightning bolt shoots down your spine at the animalistic gesture.

He's now hitting that sweet spot inside you on each thrust, the slapping of skin and slick echoing through the room with your pornographic moans.

"Oh God, Eddie, I'm gonna come-"

"No, no please," he slows, letting go of your hair, making you fall to the bed.

"I need to see it, I need to see you. Turn around."

You turn, feeling him slip out of you, and shove him to the side, hard. It takes him entirely by surprise and he falls onto his back, hands up as if he's afraid he did something wrong.

Taking his shock as an opportunity you clamber on his lap, gripping his swollen cock hard at the base, lining him up with your entrance. Eddie's look of surprise turns into a lecherous grin, hands resting on your waist.

Sitting on him, sheathing him once again within your silky walls, you look him in the eye.

"How dare you mess with my orgasm again." Your words are hard, but you're smiling.

He laughs, rubbing at your hips.

"Oh I'm sorry, my poor sweetheart," words positively dripping sarcasm, complete with pouting lower lip. Clenching around his cock, you struggle to even register that him mocking you is such a turn on.

You push at his chest with one hand, and start grinding into him, firm and slow. Eddie looks like he's about to bust already at your movements, eyes darting from your own, to your tits, to your cunt.

"What- what were you thinking of? In the shower?" His words have a quiver to them, a flash of pride bursts across your chest at the fact you're doing this to him, getting him in such a state.

"I was thinking," you say breathlessly, "about tongue wrestling that bit of bacon out of your mouth and you fucking me on the kitchen counter."

"Fuuuck" He replies, eyes rolling back, "you are something else."

All of a sudden it's hitting just right. You don't feel like you'd moved but it's definitely different. Your whole body is buzzing with sensation as you roll your hips against him. Needing to grip onto something, anything, you don't risk changing the angle and instead twine your fingers into your own hair.

"Oh my God, oh fuckfuckfuck!"

Eddie's mouth hangs open as he watches you unravel. You feel your entire body pulse out what may be the best orgasm of your life. It rolls in waves around you, over you, through you. Grinding down hard, you keep it going. And going. Until it stops, or nearly stops. It's as if you are looking down at that edge yet again, on the brink of falling off.

"Fuck Eddie don't you dare move," you struggle out, rubbing over him, juices squelching obscenely with each thrust of your hips. He's beyond words, just biting his lip and nodding.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna come again, oh!"

Screaming into the night, it forces out of you again, almost as powerful as the last one. Your whole body is shaking like a leaf, completely stunned. Realising you're still gripping into your hair, you let go, feeling a sting on your scalp.

"Holy shit." You laugh out, limbs convulsing of their own accord.

"That was, fuck sweetheart, that's the hottest thing I've ever seen in my life."

You smile, fingers stroking up and down his chest.

"Think you can give me one more?" He asks, eyebrows raising.

"Eddie, I don't-"

"Shh, sweetheart, just one more, I'm gonna come, come with me."

You begin to grind, moving against his length once more, clit dragging across slickened hair making you whimper. Your legs are protesting but you want to give it to him.

He helps you, hands on your hips dragging you back and forth, praising every thrust.

"That's it baby."

"Just a little more."

"You can take it."

"My good sweet girl."

Until you release again, together, wetness squirting out of you, voice hoarse with a stuttered moan that seemed to bubble up from deep inside your chest cavity. Eddie groans out, hissing at the feeling as he releases his cum deep into your cunt.

Melting, a puddle of a woman, your body pours over his, bones a distant memory.

"I think my soul left my body for a minute there," you murmur into his sweaty neck. His laugh rumbles from his chest and vibrates into yours, hand resting sweetly on the back of your head.

Both laying there for a minute, you know what needs to happen, but you're loath to admit it. Reality is looming and neither of you want to look it in the eye.

Eddie breaks the spell.

"I need to go sweetheart," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"I know." You whisper back. Neither of you move.

"Did you mean it?" You ask, voice as small as you can muster.

"What?"

"That I'm yours?"

You feel Eddie's breath, the silence stretching just a little too much. You stop breathing in anticipation. Finally, he responds.

"Yes. Yes I meant it."

Masterlist

Tag List (If you want to stay on the list, please reblog!)

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #older!eddie #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

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battymommastuff · 13 days

Text

Eden

Batmom x Batman

Warnings: SMUT, HEAVY NSFW, MINORS AND AGELESS ACCOUNTS DNI

Prompt: My, my, those eyes like fire...I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked as you shut the door to a random room in your lavish mansion. As soon as Bruce made himself known to you, you dragged him to the nearest place for privacy. The last thing you needed is your husband seeing you conversate with Gotham's resident playboy billionaire.

"I'm here for you, Y/n. I made a mistake, and I can't live with myself knowing you're with...him." Bruce said as he gestured to the self portrait of your husband on the wall. Even then, he still wore that damned mask. You just closed your eyes and let out a deep breath. You've imagined this day would happen. The day Bruce instantly made you regret your marriage. All you wanted in this moment was to jump in his arms and have him walk you right out of this mansion. You wanted that from the moment you accepted the proposal. Marrying you husband was the biggest mistake of your life.

"I believe I am attending a ball as a resident of Gotham's elite." Bruce answered as he took a sip of his champagne. God it felt so good to see you this close again. He's only ever seen you through binoculars or pictures. He missed being this close to you even though he hadn't touched you. Since you departure, he felt himself go slightly feral. Bruce never realized how much he wanted you until he saw you with another man. Now he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he gets you.

You just rolled your eyes. Out of all the events your husband has thrown, Bruce arrives now? When the place is crawling with Court members, "Why are you really here, Bruce?" You asked as you removed your mask. He felt his heart race when he finally saw you face. You were absolutely beautiful. Simply stunning. He couldn't put into words what he felt for you at this moment.

"Bruce, I can't..." You whispered as you shook your head. He didn't like that answer in the slightest. He closed the already short distance between the two of you, and grabbed your face. His forehead resting against yours.

"Y/n, please. All I've wanted...I've dreamed about is having you back. I was afraid of what would happen if I let myself be happy. I couldn't let myself love you, only to lose you." He confessed and shook his head as you started spouting more rejections. Eventually his lips just pressed against yours to get you to shut up. The kiss was instantly reciprocated as you tangled your fingers into his hair. He backed you up against he wall, and started kissing down your-...

"Ugh, I'm going to throw up..." You were knocked out from your story by all of your children looking at you as if they were going to be sick. You didn't go into heavy detail like you did in your mind, but they got the picture. So you just shook your head and continued on with the story after that moment. Bruce, who had been eavesdropping...kept the memory going in his mind.

Bruce had bent you over the desk that sat across the room His hands sliding up your dress to yank your underwear down. There wasn't time for foreplay. He needed to get this out, and he needed it out now. His lips moved along the skin of your neck and shoulders. He wanted to leave marks all over your skin, but he couldn't. It would make your life hell. Your hands gripped onto the edge of the desk as Bruce dropped his pants down along with his boxers.

The feeling of him slowly pushing into you...felt amazing. Your eyes widened as a gasp came from your lips. Bruce's forehead rested on your shoulder as he pushed into you, "At least I know I don't have any competition with the Grand Master." He teased after feeling how tight you were. He was having a bit of trouble fitting.

Minutes later, heavy panting along with the sounds of the desk scooting on the wooden floor was all that could be heard in the room. One hand had reached back to hold onto his wrist while the other had wrapped around the back of his head. His hands were holding your hips tightly, and his hips moved as quickly as he could muster. Both of you lost in ecstasy. You turned your head to kiss him, but it was barely a kiss. Mostly just heavy pants while your tongues brushed together. He had forced your wedding ring from your finger and thrown it across the room. In this room, you weren't the wife of the Grand Master...you were his. As if should be.

"B-Bruce..." You whimpered, your walls clenching around his length. He just groaned in response before pushing your head down onto the table. His thrusts became more sporadic. No ounce of rhythm. Your eyes rolled back once you came. His hand quickly covering your mouth to hide the moan that came out. Bruce's hips slammed against yours roughly as he fucked his cum into you. A 'Fuck You' to the Grand Master for stealing you away.

You both panted heavily as Bruce pulled away from you to grab some tissues and started cleaning you up, "I cheated on my husband..." You panted as you felt him clean you up. Bruce just chuckled in response.

Once you were cleaned up, you went for your panties. That wasn't very easy to do since Bruce took them before you could get them. He dropped them into his jacket pocket, "Those are mine now, beautiful." He purred then pulled you to him once again. Your lips connected in a passionate kissed, "Let me take you away from here..." He whispered and kissed your forehead.

You shook your head, "No let me stay. The Grand Master has something planned. He won't tell me what it is, but I'm close to finding out." You said, your hands running up and down his arms, "Let me be your spy. I'll give you information, and then we can take him down...together. We can get rid of the Court...for good." You said, and with reluctance...Bruce accepted.

Rejoining the party was a bit awkward. Considering the fact that your husband had been searching for you. He took note of your slightly disheveled appearance, but didn't want to question it. His arm wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, "Where is your wedding ring?"

TAGLIST

No Taglist for this one because I don't want to tag someone who isn't comfortable with reading smut.

~ Batty

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simpingsavant · 5 months

Text

Late Night

Pairing: Spencer Agnew x GN!Reader

Summary: You are the person always working when Spencer stops by to get his fix of Mountain Dew Kickstart.

Genre/Warnings: Fluff, slow-burn. A gross man flirts w you for plot purposes. Promise it's very non-major but just in case.

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: First time posting for smosh, but not the first time posting fanfic. I made a whole side blog for this lol I'm thinking I want to post more so feel free to send me smosh requests and give lots of love so I stay motivated to write more hehe <3

Working the graveyard shift at a 24-hour convenience store is generally not a good idea. Except this one is in a nice area of LA, you’re almost always working with someone, and it’s slow enough that you can get your grad school work done.

Four months ago, when you were first looking at the help wanted sign in the window, you decided you would give it a week to see if it was actually worth it. Now, you were contently typing away on your computer as a group of middle-aged people grabbed alcohol and snacks. They were fancily dressed but the expressions on their faces were reminiscent of college students who were partying through the night like they owned it. When they came up with a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and enough snacks to last them weeks, you happily scanned the items.

The silver fox dressed in a deep, blue suit dropped a twenty in the tip jar.

“Thank you,” You said, handing him a receipt as his cohorts grabbed the food.

The bell jingled as they left. Your coworker was in the back taking inventory. You looked down at your laptop, rereading the last couple of sentences as you found your place in the research essay you’d been taking notes from.

You loved your job. You worked from 11 pm to 8 am and although it took you time to adjust to a new sleep schedule, it was worth it. You were paid slightly more since you were working such an atrocious shift and you never interacted with your boss. Occasionally, he would message you that he was coming in early to talk, but he often just texted about what he wanted you to get done.

Until 1 am, you were working with Michael, a young man who was in his senior year of college. At 4 am, Marie would come in, an older Latina woman who had been working this shift for over ten years now. She’d relieve you for your break and you’d come back just in time for the morning rush.

You liked the morning rush. Although you couldn’t get much homework done at the time, it was when you had your most regulars. You would see moms buying their children lunch before school, office workers buying cheap coffee, and students buying energy drinks.

Marie would man the register, and you would come to help if needed. During rests, you would be restocking shelves or cleaning.

From 1 am to 4 am, you would usually see only a few faces. You would see students who stay up extremely late or workers having to go in much too early. Since it was a nice neighborhood, they were all pleasant people and you never worried about your own safety or well-being.

Only one regular came in consistently during these hours. He looked to be about your age with chocolate hair that curled at the nape of his neck. He came in just after 1 am and always sported dark eye circles. He purchased anywhere from 4 to 8 cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and occasionally a bag of chips.

Sometimes, you’d see him in the morning again before you were off. He’d buy a cheap coffee and some fruit.

For the first month, you were too concerned with doing your job well to start any conversations besides pleasantries. He was, however, the first customer you recognized as a regular. You couldn’t help but wonder why anyone would need so many energy drinks. In particular, why in God's name did he love Mountain Dew Kickstart?

Maybe you were so intrigued because he caught your eye from day one. He was dressed in combat boots and a worn jacket. You soon learned those two items were part of his daily attire. You liked the way his hair looked or the way his downturned eyes crinkled as he smiled.

In your second month of working there, you spent way too much time trying to think of a way to start a conversation.

So far, you only got:

“Hi.”

“How’s your night going?”

“Good, and you?”

“Fine. Do you want a bag?”

“No, I have my backpack.”

“Okay. Your total is $12.53, go ahead and swipe, insert, or tap your card. Would you like your receipt?”

Sometimes he said yes, sometimes he said no. A few times, your hands would brush. He was always so warm, your cold hands lingering as he bashfully smiled and looked away.

“Have a good one.”

“You too.”

His hair was getting longer and you thought it suited him well. You wanted nothing more than a reason to hold a genuine conversation with him.

During your third month, that reason finally came.

He walked in, luscious locks replaced with a buzz cut and you couldn’t help but go “Oh wow.”

“Is it that bad?” He joked, rubbing the top of his head.

“No, no,” You immediately said, hands moving rapidly. “It just surprised me.” A beat of silence followed before you added, “You pull it off.” He really did, but you also took that as a sign you liked him a little too much. You felt like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Thanks, it was for work,” He adds, voice monotone despite the little grin he sported at your compliment. He walks farther into the store, toward the opposite wall with the display of drinks.

“For work? Are you joining the army?” You question, stumbling over your words slightly as you realize that it’s finally happening—you are finally holding a conversation with him.

“No,” He laughs. “I work for this online entertainment company.” He fills his arms with five cans. “It was for a special.”

“Oh,” You reply, rolling on the balls of your feet as you try to think of ways to keep the conversation going. “Are you an actor?”

“More behind the scenes,” He replies, coming up to the counter and placing his drinks down. He grabs a bag of chips from the front display.

“That’s cool,” You say, picking up the first can as you begin scanning.

He shrugs, “I’m sure half the city does stuff online.”

“I doubt that,” You scoff. “Maybe half does entertainment, but definitely not exclusively online content.” Feeling a little bad for shutting him down, you look up at him for a moment, expecting to see disappointment or annoyance.

Instead, he’s smiling. It’s not a large smile, but it quells your anxiety.

“You’re probably right,” He answers, fishing out his card.

“I usually am,” You joke, giving him a quick look before clicking away on your screen. “Your total is $10.54.”

He lets out a short laugh that makes your insides flip with satisfaction. “I’m Spencer by the way,” He offers, putting away his card after the reader beeps.

“Y/N,” You say, tapping your name tag. “Do you want your receipt, Spencer?”

“Sure, Y/N,” He answers, putting his drinks into his backpack.

You rip it from the printer and hold it out. The way he said your name makes you shiver. He takes the receipt and bids you farewell.

You see him in the morning and you’re eighty percent sure he times it to check out with you instead of Marie. Today he opted for an iced coffee with lots of cream and a plastic container of chopped mango.

“Good morning, Spencer. How’d you sleep?”

“Good, but not long enough. What about you?”

You see a flash of realization on his face as soon as he says it, but you’re speaking before he can correct himself.

“Haven’t slept yet, but I get off in ten minutes and will be able to sleep till five today so that’s nice.”

“What’s at five?”

“Class. They’re in the evening since so many grad students work day jobs.” You tap away on the screen. “Would you like your receipt?”

“Nah, just toss it.” He picks up the drink and fruit. “See ya later, Y/N.”

“See you,” You reply, crumpling the receipt and throwing it in the small trash bin under your register before waving to the next customer.

Since then, Spencer has come in every night without fail and sparked a conversation with you. You learn that the company he works for is called Smosh and you think the name is vaguely familiar. He asks you what you’re studying and why you’re always on your laptop.

The next month and a half goes by quickly. You come to expect him, anticipating his nightly visits. He has recently started staying longer, leaning over the counter and smiling at you as he talks about something that happened the other day. If another person comes in, he usually takes that as his sign to leave, wishing you well and exiting before the new customer is ready to check out.

You’re unfortunately not getting as much homework done because of this, but you don’t mind one bit. You either work during your break or just take some time before class to do more. You wonder if he’s not getting as much sleep because of this, worried you’re burdening him. Despite this, you know that you’ll selfishly never be able to turn him away. Even if it is for his own benefit.

Once, he came in before Michael had left. Your conversation was curt and he left right after you gave him the receipt. Michael stared you down the whole time and Spencer was clearly thrown off by another person being there.

“Who was that?” Your coworker asked, moving toward you from his spot behind the hot food.

“Just a regular,” You answer, trying to keep your cool. You pull out a cloth and begin wiping down the counter, wanting to occupy your hands. “He usually comes later.”

“Ah,” Michael says, nodding slowly and giving you a look. “That’s it?”

“Yeah?”

“Interesting.”

The comment piques your interest and you can’t help but ask, “How so?”

Michael smirks at you, “Why do you care?”

“Bro, shut up,” You hiss, pushing him out of your face and walking over to your stash of food. Your face felt hot as you walked past, and you attempted to hide it in the collar of your shirt. It was never fun to be caught with a crush, but you wanted to know Michael’s thoughts. So far, you and Spencer always talked in privacy, with no onlookers to comment on if your feelings seemed mutual.

“Fine, fine,” He relents, holding his hands up. “It’s just that I saw him through the window before he came in and he was smiling way too big for someone coming in the pick up energy drinks.”

“You’d be surprised. He gets those every night,” You defensively argue, “He probably has a shrine at home.”

“Oh, come on,” Michael says, rolling his eyes as you pop a chip into your mouth. “That smile dropped as soon as he saw me. I bet he wishes it was just you.”

“Don’t say that stuff.”

“Why not? Don’t you like him? You definitely lit up when you saw him.”

You gawk at your coworker, absolutely astonished at how easy it was for him to notice. This was the first time anyone witnessed the two of you interact and now you were questioning every interaction. Did he like you? Or did he just like that you gave him a confidence boost because your infatuation was so obvious?

“W-what’s your major again? Investigation?” You accuse, stuttering out of pure frustration.

“Yes, actually—”

You roll your eyes, but the sound of the door brings your back to attention. You steel your expression but are grateful the conversation ended. It was a wake-up call for you and you spent the rest of your shift trying to understand your feelings more.

Could it still be called a crush? You felt like you knew so much and yet so little about him. When did you cross the line from strangers to acquaintances? How do you go from acquaintances to friends? Did you even want to be friends?

After that, Spencer always came in after Michael left, his disposition more friendly when it was just the two of you. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad sign, but it was hard to think about when only a counter separated the two of you and he was radiating warmth and cracking jokes.

“Okay,” You hear Michael say and all of a sudden you are back to reality, no farther in your reading than you were 10 minutes ago.

The door to the back shuts and you look at your coworker with wide eyes.

“I finally finished with inventory.”

He looks down at his phone, prompting you to look at the time showing on your laptop.

12:56

“Sweet,” He says, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Need anything from me before I go?”

“No,” You answer. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna go grab my stuff before I clock out.”

“For sure. See you tomorrow.”

“Later,” Michael says.

He opens the door to the back and you turn to your computer. The break room was through those doors as was the back entrance which almost all employees used when coming and going.

You focused on your computer, reading the most important parts of the study and taking down notes. In the back of your mind, you knew Spencer would be arriving soon. It makes you nervous, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you await his arrival.

You have been thinking lately about how to advance your relationship. Maybe get more personal with the information or invite him to hang out outside of your job. The idea makes you queasy because you worry about ruining everything by trying to get more.

You finished the reading and moved on to another class assignment. Spencer came in soon after, his lips quirked up and no jacket on. The weather was getting warmer and it was rather dry. You could absolutely walk around with only a T-shirt and jeans on despite the time.

This, however, drew your eyes to his arms immediately. They weren’t as hairy as you were expecting, his beard and how quickly his hair grew back making you think they would be. He wasn’t very muscley in any way, but your eyes shamelessly lingered on his biceps longer than you wanted.

His skin was littered with freckles and tattoos, black ink that started at his forearm and rose past his t-shirt. You could spend hours looking at them, a couple of them immediately garnering your interest.

“Hey,” You greeted, your eyes snapping up to his face. You were pretty sure he caught you, but he thankfully said nothing. Maybe he was used to his tattoos being looked at, an easy cover considering you weren’t just looking at his tattoos.

“Hey, how’s your night?” He makes his way across the store with ease, eyes staying on you.

“Fine, it’s extra slow tonight.”

“That’s nice,” He’s speaking loud enough that you can hear him from far away. “Are you getting a lot of homework done?”

“Yeah,” You replied. “Finals are coming up and I’m working on all the trivial homework now so I can study and work on the final essays in the library.”

“Is this your final year?”

“Sort of. I’ll be getting my masters after this, but I’m on an automated track for my PhD.”

There’s silence as he grabs a final can and walks up to the front. It’s almost awkward, but you aren’t sure why. It seems like he wants to ask you something, but is struggling to say it.

You start scanning his items, letting him think instead of trying to fill the space with meaningless talk.

“Are you still working here over the summer?”

“I am,” You light up, realizing why he was nervous. It sent a spark through your body to think about him missing you.

God, you wanted him so bad.

“I’m also doing some research work for a professor though,” You add. “I’m honestly too busy to have a job and it will only get worse in the upcoming year, but I need the money and this is the best option for pay and the ability to do homework.”

“Damn,” Spencer sighs. “I’m sorry about that.”

His voice is soft and sincere. It throws you off for a moment, not used to this kind of sympathy. Your social circle consists of Michael, Marie, and other students who were also going through their own shit.

“Oh, it's nothing,” You shyly reply, eyes falling to the counter and lips forming a tight line as your mind races.

“No, seriously,” Spencer insists. “It must be so difficult and yet you never seem like you’re struggling.”

With a large breath, you finally accept his compliment. “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” You look up to see that his gaze is already on you and you hold eye contact for an absurd amount of time. You’re sure any onlookers would consider the scene intense.

The pressure of the moment builds, compressing your lungs.

“Um, anyways, your total is $9.54,” You say, breaking the silence and eye contact.

“Oh, right.”

Spencer shoves his hand into his pocket to grab his wallet and you once again admire his arms as he’s busy.

“How was work today?” You ask, wanting to dissipate the intensity of the moment.

“Long.” He answers. “This week is a filming week so I’ve been busy as hell working behind the camera and being in a few videos too. Tomorrow is Friday though and I don’t have to be in till 11 am.”

You hum in acknowledgment, “That sucks.”

Long ago, when curiosity finally got to you, you looked up Smosh. You realized quickly that the name was familiar because it was quite popular back in OG YouTube. You spent an hour exploring their channels before growing bored and looking up videos with Spencer specifically. It was weird and you could only watch in short increments of time before needing a break. You felt like you were violating his privacy, but struggled to stop when you realized just how funny he was, his humor translating perfectly on camera. He held your attention in so many videos, quick quips making you burst out laughing.

You also note the differences in how he talks to you and how he talks to the camera. Although quiet, he cracks jokes almost every time he speaks. His coworkers seem like friends and you’re sure that helps to comfort any nerves he would have on screen. However, they were obviously trained on-camera talent whereas he simply fell into it because of how much the audience liked him. Around you, he made jokes, but he also seemed to shed the demeanor he developed for videos. Not every sentence was about entertaining.

They were real. Real discussions with real problems no matter how mundane.

“Yeah, but at least we are getting it done. Next week is all at my computer or in meetings,” He adds, tucking away his card and putting his drinks into his backpack. “Anyways, so, when is your finals week?”

“In two weeks technically, but I have a couple of major things going on next week,” You answer, taking a seat on the stool next to you.

“Like what?” Spencer inquires, a light in his eyes that sends a shiver up your spine.

“Well, I’m taking four classes. Two of them have an exam and a final essay. One has a final essay and matching presentation, and then last is a group assignment that also has a presentation and essay.”

“Oh no, not a group assignment,” Spencer interjects, empathy on the tip of his tongue.

“I know,” You agree, nerves falling away as you ease into familiar territory. “People in masters programs are not as bad but they can still be pretty clueless and unhelpful.” You shake your head in frustration, “Like this one guy in my group, he thinks he is so edgy and smart. He takes no criticism but also doesn’t put in enough work. He’s basically made me his personal target and I literally have a group chat with two other members just to rant when he says the stupidest shit.”

“Damn, sounds like an ass.”

“He is,” You groan, closing your eyes. “But we are almost done. We have the essay due next week and then presentations during the finals period.” You grin in relief, “After that, I have two weeks of break before starting my internship with the professor.”

“Are you getting paid for that?” Spencer asks.

The conversation was flowing easily, his interest in your life more evident than ever. It isn’t lost on you that he’s exhibiting every sign of attentive listening and it makes your insides twist. He’s leaning forward, fingers tapping away on the counter as he nods periodically.

“Only in experience,” You sigh. “Money would be great, but I’d rather learn from this and not get paid than not do it at all. I only have to dedicate 12 hours a week to it anyway and that’s not much considering my usual schedule is jam-packed.”

“What’s the study about?” He asks, holding your gaze more often than usual. You find it hard to reciprocate, too nervous to engage in whatever he is doing. You aren’t sure if you could call it flirting because he definitely wasn’t complimenting you, but he was acting differently enough that it was noticeable.

Before you can answer, a customer walks in, the bell ringing in your ears as you look at the brunette in front of you. You expect him to leave like every time before, but he doesn’t move. Although thrown off slightly, you recover quickly and answer his question. When the customer is ready to check out, Spencer simply steps to the side but lingers near. As soon as the man leaves, Spencer is right back where he was and asking you another question that keeps you talking.

He leaves twenty minutes later, eyes half-lidded and tired. You don’t see him that morning, likely because he doesn’t have to go into the office as early as usual. Despite logic, you still miss him.

When Spencer comes in that night, he’s later than usual. Not by much, it’s not even 2 am when he walks through the door. And yet, he’s apologetic.

“Hey, sorry,” He mumbles, coming right up to the counter.

Taken aback, your hands slip from your keyboard and you stand up straight. Fridays were always the busiest weekday and although you did wonder where Spencer was, you didn’t have much time to think about it.

“I was playing a game and totally lost track of time,” He continued, a touch more out of breath than usual. He runs a hand through his short, recently bleached hair.

“No worries,” You say, not quite sure why he’s apologizing. It’s not like you had a set time to hang out or do something together. “Need to come get a drink so you can keep going?” You ask, trying to dissipate the awkward feeling that was bubbling up. You didn’t want to let yourself assume more than was reality.

“No, no, I mean,” He stumbles, “I probably will go back to playing, I just—never mind.” He looks down, staring at the counter, specifically the display of scratchers in the built-in glass case.

God, this felt so weird. You shouldn’t have said that, maybe he actually wanted to see you but then you ruined it by making it about the drinks and not you.

“So, what game were you playing?” You ask, the air feeling stuffy.

After a relieved sigh, Spencer goes into the details. You listen intently because not only is he a good storyteller, but you also genuinely care about his interests.

As he rants about some game mechanic, your mind begins to wander. More precisely, you wonder if your affection for him is obvious. Even from the short interaction you had in front of Michael, he could tell there was something more going on. To a stranger would it be obvious? To your friends would it be obvious? Would they say you two would make a cute couple? Or would they not see the chemistry?

“Oh, that’s frustrating,” You say, picking up on the pause in his monologue.

“Eh,” He shrugs, “It’s life.” He leans over the counter, shoulders more relaxed than when he first entered. “I needed a break anyway. So, how’s your night been?”

“Well,” You begin. “I felt rather lost without you.” Sarcasm is dripping off your tongue and Spencer immediately smiles. “My internal clock is all screwed up.”

“You poor thing,” He says, playing along.

“You, sir, need to take your responsibility more seriously,” You laugh, sitting back down in your chair and leaning over to grab your water. “More than half an hour late, I’m sure your body is screaming for a Mountain Dew.”

“Not just a Mountain Dew,” He protests, “A Mountain Dew Kickstart.”

You giggle, just about to add something before the bell rings and your eyes immediately shift to the front door. The patron, dressed in black jeans, a blue hoodie, and a leather jacket, comes up to you immediately. In the fifteen-foot walk between you and the door, you notice he is at least twenty years older than you, skin wrinkling and sagging with age. His clothes are worn, fraying at the seams. When he pushes forward, Spencer immediately slinks away, stepping over to look at the opposite wall of food. The stranger places his hands on the counter and you see dirt under his nails.

When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Two packs of the Marlboro Red,” He commands, his eyes dragging up and down your body. Just as you turn to grab the cigarettes, you can see a smirk forming on his lips.

You sigh, taking a moment to harden your exterior before turning around to scan the packs. These kinds of customers were uncommon for the area, but still came in enough for you to pick them out of a crowd immediately. Usually, they leave easily enough.

“Anything else?” You ask, giving him a tight-lipped smile.

“Two of those beef taquitos, hun,” He says, a dirty finger pressing against the warm glass.

You feel a wave of cold at the name but move aside to grab the hot food without any fuss. The sooner he leaves the better. When you hand them over to him, he purposefully moves his hand far enough forward that it touches yours. You are vaguely aware of Spencer in the background, but force your eyes off him.

You can deal with this on your own just fine.

The stranger's eyes linger on your hand and you snatch it away, typing on the tablet to add the taquitos to his total.

“Anything else?” You echo, voice more curt than before.

“Hmm,” He hums contemplatively, putting his finger to his chin like he’s performing. “I suppose I’ll take your number too.”

You fake a laugh, looking into his eyes for only a moment before going back to your screen. “Although I’m flattered, I don’t give my number to strangers.” A few more taps to the device, “Your total is $22.37.”

“Well,” He leans forward and reads off your name from the tag. It sounds sickly coming from his lips. “My name is Mark. Give me your number and then we won’t be strangers.” He pulls out his card to pay, shoving the cigarettes into his pockets.

You give him a forced smile, resting your hand on your heart while you try to let him down gently. “Nice to meet you, Mark, but still. I am not interested.”

“Why?” He questions, “You got a boyfriend?”

You debate telling him you’re in a relationship. Maybe it will get him to leave, maybe he’ll just suggest you cheat. It’s always difficult to tell.

“Dude,” You hear a voice speak up. “You’re holding up the line.”

Mark turns around to see Spencer a few feet behind. You have to crane your neck to see him, the brunette lining up down an aisle. He’s holding some random items, clearly having wandered around the store, paying attention but trying to look like he was merely shopping.

Just before Mark can say anything, Spencer is pushing forward and shouldering past. “Just take the L and move on,” He deadpans, his voice low and foreboding. He stares down the stranger, putting his items onto the counter without even looking away. He’s half a head shorter than the guy, but his presence alone makes up for that tenfold.

“Here’s your receipt,” You quietly interject, holding it out. Half of you was thankful for the interruption, but the other half of you was annoyed. Despite that, you choose to use this opportunity to end the conversation.

With a huff, Mark snatches the receipt from your hand.

“Whatever,” He mumbles to himself, “Bitch.”

The bell dings as he exits, leaving you and Spencer in a loud silence. You let out a shaky breath.

“Oh my god,” Spencer begins. His words draw your gaze away from the door and to him. You can see the concern on his face and the disgust in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You have a moment to say before he’s talking again.

“What an ass. Do you not have a panic button?”

“I do,” You answer, “But that’s for robberies.”

“Or this!” He protests, gesturing at the door where the man had exited. “You need to stay safe.”

“I was staying safe,” You defend.

“I can’t believe they have you alone at this time of night,” Spencer continues, seemingly not registering your words. “Like, anyone can just come in here!”

“Spencer,” You say, trying to grab his attention.

“You should never have to deal with that kind of–”

“Spencer,” You repeat, finally getting him to shut up.

“What?”

“It’s fine, I can deal with this on my own. You didn’t need to help,” You explain, wishing the moment would simply pass so you could move on.

“Just because you can deal with it on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” He argues, his voice softer than before.

His words leave you at a loss, unsure how to respond. He breaks the silence before you can.

“How often does this happen?”

“Not often,” You say, struggling to make any eye contact. “This is a nice area and usually they just give up after a couple of tries.”

Spencer sighs, running a hand through his hair with an exasperated expression. “Sorry,” He mumbles, the word being pulled from him. “I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.” You can see the regret in his eyes. “I got so heated and I should have just made sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” You say, “Thanks.” His apology was unexpected but very appreciated. “I am fine.”

Spencer nods, the moment feeling slightly awkward as the resolution comes. “When does the next person get here?” He asks.

“Four,” You answer, taking a chance to grab your phone and check the time.

2:21

“Damn, that’s a long time.”

“It’s whatever,” You shrug. “It goes pretty quickly since I’m basically just talking to you and then doing homework.”

When the words register for him, there’s a glint in his eyes and a small smile forming on his face. “That’s good,” He replies. There’s a pause before he speaks again, “But damn, that’s like an hour and a half away.”

“Yeah,” You sigh, resting back on your stool.

“Can I stay?” He asks, surprising you. “For peace of mine, I mean. I’m just thinking about me leaving and that guy coming right back in. I don’t know, it’s dumb, but I just can’t imagine leaving you right now.”

“Sure,” You reply, interrupting his word vomit once you’ve regained your barrings.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” You shrug, a closed-lip grin forming. “I would love for you to keep me company.”

“Cool,” He says, a smile forming for him.

The moment is awkward and foreign. From an outside perspective, you probably both look like grinning idiots.

“Well,” Spencer begins, breaking the silence, “I’m definitely going to need an energy drink to stay awake.” He looks down at the pile of snacks he brought up. “You keep working, I’m gonna put these away and come back up with stuff I actually want to buy.”

“Roger that,” You reply, giving him a look before turning back to your computer. You don’t get much work done as you wait for him to come back up. You can’t see him in the aisles, but as he moves between aisles, he always looks at you. The security camera screen is just to your right and you can’t help but watch him as he puts away the random collection of items.

You’re nervous, too distracted by his presence to focus on anything. You were somewhat excited to spend such a prolonged period of time with him. However, you were also absolutely terrified that you would make a fool of yourself or simply seem too boring.

“Okay,” You hear him say, already aware that he was making his way back to the front. “All done.” He is now holding three cans of Mountain Dew Kickstart and a chocolatey protein bar. “Can I also get a couple of taquitos?”

“What kind?” You ask, reaching forward to start scanning his items.

“Your pick, I guess."

You smile at him and see he’s already grinning at you. You can’t help it, everything he does seems to make you happy beyond logic. “I’ll give you one chicken and one fiesta. The beef is fine and the cheese is not good.”

“Sounds like a plan,” He laughs, pulling out his card to pay and then opening a can and taking a big swig.

“Did that guy getting some make you crave them?” You ask, a joking glint in your eyes as you look up at him.

“Am I a misogynist if I say yes?” He replies, making you let out a laugh that was just a little too loud.

When you hand him the taquitos, he leans back onto the counter, head turned so you can see his side profile. He has the drink in one hand and the paper bag of taquitos in another. He takes a bite, a comfortable silence falling over you both. You occupy your time by looking down at your computer and mindlessly clicking around while you try to think of things to talk about.

“How was work?” You say, deciding on that as the least risky option.

“Good,” He shrugs. “We finished a little late and traffic meant I didn’t get home till almost 7 pm.”

“Oh jeez,” You groan. “My commute is pretty easy in the morning because I go opposite the traffic.”

“I’m jealous,” He replies, smiling at you. “Do you live far from here?”

A shock of electricity shoots through your body. “Somewhat. This isn’t my local convenience store, but I’m not that far.”

Spencer nods, “This isn’t mine either.”

“What?”

He turns to look at you, eyebrows perked up like he didn’t just say something ridiculous.

“This isn’t your nearest convenience store,” You repeat slowly. When he nods, you ask, “So why do you come here?”

Spencer laughs, realizing his mistake. “The one nearest me is literally down the street, but they don’t always have these,” He answers, holding up the pineapple orange mango-flavored drink. “This store is only a few more minutes away and it always has them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s because you buy our stock,” You joke. “I’ve literally had my boss ask about why we are selling so many more.”

“Really?” He gasps, leaning in closer. “I used to only make the walk here if the closer one was out, but four months ago I just stopped bothering.”

The fact that four months is when you started working is not lost on you. Feeling confident, you add, “What about when you get coffee? I’m sure the other one has coffee.”

“True.” He looks slightly caught off guard, eyes scanning the store before speaking, “I only come to get coffee here if I’m too lazy to make it at home and running early enough to…” He pauses for a second, the sentence closing as if it wasn’t the planned ending. Finally, he adds, “To see you.”

You hum, looking down because your face is warm and you’re at a loss for words. Luckily, he’s too nervous to look at you either. You feel tingly, knowing full well that this is a special moment that you’ll look back on if you end up dating.

“Anyways,” Spencer breaks the silence. Before he can say anything else, he yawns, mouth opening wide.

“You know you can go home, right?” You laugh. When you look down at your computer, you see it’s about half an hour later. “No one has come in and I doubt anyone will before Marie gets here.”

“No, no,” He protests. “And anyway, aren’t I making time fly?”

“I suppose,” You grin. “You are quite great company.”

Spencer flashes you a smile that makes your insides twist. You wonder if he is picking up on all this. If he can tell that you’re interested in him.

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.” You sarcastically quip. “I have high standards for the company I keep close to me.”

“Is this close?” He contemplates aloud. “I’ve never even seen you without your black polo, black pants, and nonslip shoes.”

You laugh, looking down at your clothes. “Don’t you like this fit?”

“I mean, I love it,” Spencer starts, “But I don’t know how much you’re serving day to day.”

“I serve even when I’m only going to class,” You protest. “Maybe when I’m done with finals, I’ll grace you with my out-of-work personality.”

Spencer grins, “I’d be honored.”

You’re on high alert, knowing exactly what was happening.

“You should be,” You echo, unsure of what else to say. It doesn’t matter though. You could say anything and Spencer would find you charming.

“Maybe we can go to competing stores and graffiti them,” He suggests, long since turned around so he can look at you fully.

“Pft,” You laugh. “I don’t want to get arrested with you the first time we hang out.”

“You don’t? That’s usually my go-to!”

“Well, my go-to is food. Or the arcade.”

“The arcade?” He questions. “All this time I’ve been talking about games and you’ve never mentioned that you’re also a gamer?”

“I am not!” You protest. “Definitely not compared to you. You’re a savant and I’m the fool.”

“I doubt that,” He replies, a grin never leaving his face as he leans in closer. “I say arcade so I can check out your skills.”

“Deal,” You say, leaning onto the counter so you are only a few feet away. “The arcade it is.”

#smosh #smosh games #smosh fanfic #smosh fanfiction #spencer agnew #spencer x reader #spencer agnew x reader #spencer agnew fanfic #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine

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the-whispers-of-death · 3 months

Text

Home Again

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Most gods would be happy that they were back in the paradise realm after previously being banished and stripped of their divinity, but Fallen God!Ghost aches for you.

His nights are spent dreaming about you, the mortal who showed him what love was. He dreamt of sleeping beside you, kissing you, even cooking with you. He dreamt of your beautiful hair, your breathtaking eyes, your jaw-dropping smile. His dreams were filled with memories of your laughter, your smooth and lyrical voice.

Paradise realm is a paradise, sure, but nothing could compare to you. Your beauty outshines the paradise realm's, your presence calms Ghost in a way the paradise realm can never. The air was always lighter when he was around you, the colors of the world always brighter. You are his light, his world, and everything is dull without you.

He spends week after week searching for how to get back to the mortal realm and back to you. His power is potent, he can just teleport himself down to the mortal realm to see you but that doesn't seem like a satisfying answer to him.

Ghost would eventually have to leave you and go back to the paradise realm, forced to be able to only visit you from time to time. He didn't want that, he can't bear the thought of leaving you. Of sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He also couldn't make you a concubine of his, bring you to the paradise realm. It didn't feel right for him to ask you to leave everything you knew behind just so you could spend hours alone in his temple while he worked. You deserve better than that.

So what else was there to do?

It takes Ghost a few days to realize what he must do. What he has to do in order to see you again.

He is standing in God!Price's temple, all of the deities summoned there for the monthly update of what the pantheon has been doing since they last convened. He can barely hear what the others are saying, it being meaningless as his mind finally reaches an answer to his burning question.

"I'm stripping myself of my godhood and powers, permanently," Ghost says, interrupting the conversation.

The entire temple is silenced at once, everyone turning their heads to stare at Ghost in disbelief.

A god deliberately turning himself mortal? That was unheard of. It was absurd to even those deities who loved the mortals so much.

Price frowns, clearly thinking Ghost has gone mad. "Now, Ghost, let's think about this," he says, his words slow and carefully curated. "You can't just abandon your godly duties, you're the God of Warfare. If there's one thing that the mortals do the most, it's engaging in war."

Ghost scoffs. "My duties can easily be done by our Goddess of War," he replies, gesturing with his hand towards said goddess. "I no longer want to be a god."

His words ignite a flurry of murmurs between the other deities, all of them shocked beyond disbelief. They don't understand why he wouldn't want to be a god, especially after centuries of hearing him look down on mortals.

"Is this because of the mortal you met during your banishment, {Name}?" Price asks, peeved now. "I hadn't thrown you down to them for you to fall in love with them, Ghost."

"No, you did it so I could learn the importance of mortals and I have," Ghost cuts in, his power flaring up as his anger spikes. This isn't up for debate. "I'm doing this no matter what any of you say, I was doing a courteous thing by giving you all a heads-up."

Price shifts in the seat of his throne, itching to get up and slap some sense into Ghost. "Enough of this, Ghost. You don't even know if they will take you if you're not a god. Perhaps that was the only reason they fell in love with you in the first place."

Ghost snarls in rage at the accusation and assassination of your character. "Even if that's the case, which I doubt it is, it is my choice. I'd rather spend the rest of my mortal life heartbroken if they turn me away than spend eternity aching for them," he says defiantly.

Immense power fills the temple, all of it Ghost's as he pools it all in his veins. Stripping himself of his godhood and powers is excruciating, the pain almost enough to stop him, but he keeps pressing on with the action.

It was worth it, for you.

"Someone stop him!" Price bellows at the other deities, but it's too late.

Just as God!Soap reaches for Ghost to try and stop him, Ghost's godhood and powers are stripped from him, his last act of being a god is to send his mortal form where it needs to be: at your doorstep.

His second fall seems euphoric, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he falls through the clouds and lands on your front porch just like he had done months ago.

He looks to the side just as you open your front door, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you. The weight on his chest is lifted, everything falling into place once more.

"Ghost?" You ask, surprised. You had thought you would never see him again. "Did... Did you get your godhood taken away again?"

Ghost stands with your help, his skin thrumming at the sensation of your hands on him again. "I took it away myself," he murmurs, breathless as he stares in your beautiful eyes.

Your face twists into confusion, which makes sense since he had been itching to be a god again the first time he fell. "Why?"

"For you, love. I couldn't bear to live eternity without you," Ghost says, secretly nervous that you won't take him now that he's not a god. "I love you, {Name}."

"I love you too," you reply, making him relax. You step closer, happy that this isn't a dream. "I don't care that you're not a god anymore, I only ever wanted you."

"You will always have me, for as long as you will have me."

Ghost steps closer as well, reaching up to gently cradle your face between his hands. He can't wait for you to lean in as well, though you do so as he gently presses his lips against yours.

The kiss can only be described as heavenly, all of the noises of city life fading away until there was only the sound of you two kissing. It's so gentle and slow, Ghost savoring what it's like to kiss you. He pours every ounce of love into the kiss, needing you to be filled with his love.

It feels like you are kissing for hours before you both pull away for air. Your soft pants fill the air between you two, you smiling at him.

"Come on," you say, gently grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. "Let's go inside and have dinner together."

Ghost nods and follows you inside the house that truly feels like home now. He lets you lead him into the kitchen, not even complaining about having to cook with you.

He had been a fallen god when he had first met you but now, he was neither fallen nor a god. He was just Ghost. A man you loved.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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imyourbratzdoll · 22 days

Text

𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔

part 5 of 🌧️welcome to hell🌧️

summary - you were finally on the path fate had set from the beginning.

warning - slight angst, mentions of cheating, swearing.

the gif I use isn't mine, headers by me.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 6

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You realised that you owed yourself the biggest apology for putting up with shit you didn’t deserve. A few months had passed since you found out your husband was cheating on you with your best friend. Only to discover that he had been cheating the entire relationship. Johnny had been fighting the divorce the first few weeks of the first month, during that time you couldn’t understand why he was trying to hurt you more by not letting you go.

But he had finally caved, signing the divorce papers and the moment he finished signing his name, it had felt like you could finally breathe. Your soul would occasionally tremble with memories, and warmth, and pain when hearing his name. Sometimes your heart would break a little more whenever you looked into someone’s eyes that had the same colour as his. It felt like wherever you looked, there he was.

His name no longer made you smile. It was a relief when you had woken one day to discover that.

When you left, you didn’t really have a plan. No one to go to and nowhere to live. But you managed, you found a small apartment that wasn’t exactly your dream, but it would have to do. You were starting over, starting a new life.

You were currently walking back from doing a little bit of grocery shopping, your eyes roamed around, taking in the view around you before you stumbled slightly, tripping over a small rock that seemed to be randomly placed on the footpath. You catch yourself before you fall completely, hands gripping the bags tightly so that they don’t drop. Once you’ve steadied yourself, you look down at the rock and your brows furrow.

What a strange looking rock. It looked almost like a crystal, coloured a soft pink and shaped like a heart. You shift a bag to your other hand before you bend down, and gently pick it up and examine it. Maybe someone dropped it?

You looked around, noticing that you were right in front of your apartment building. Strange, you could’ve sworn you had a few more steps to take. You move to the entrance of the building, the rock still in your hand. You shake your head, maybe you miscalculated or were too lost in your head to notice that you had been closer than you had thought. You pocket the rock and place one of the bags back into it before you walk inside.

You head up the stairs, with a soft huff you finally make it onto your floor. Just as you near your apartment, you bump into a wall? No, walls don’t feel so warm and have a beating heart… Or abs? “I’m so sorry!”

“I’m so sorry!” Why did this feel so familiar?

You looked up, why were you looking down to begin with? Sometimes you could be so dumb. But your question is left unanswered as your eyes connect to the most beautiful blue ones that you had ever seen, ones that you had seen before. Steve had thought the same about your eyes as he stared back. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked so different, but the same. A beard now in place of his once clean–shaven face, but you noticed his eyes more. They had stayed the same and it was at that moment you knew. You knew that from the first moment you met, it was… Not love at first sight exactly, but; familiarity. Like… Oh, hello, it’s you. It’s going to be you.

You blink and quickly move away, suddenly feeling as though you’ve been punched in the chest at the realisation. You couldn’t let yourself get hurt again and it had been two years. He probably didn’t even remember you and thought you were a creep for staring or he remembered but he had someone, and you didn’t want to ruin that with whatever the hell you were feeling. You couldn’t get over how rough he seemed though, compared to the man you bumped into two years ago. Maybe it was the beard…

No matter how much you willed yourself to, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. Your mind screamed at you about getting hurt again, but your heart and soul weren’t listening. It seemed Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away from you either, you both could feel a pull. You had felt that pull your whole life, it always felt like you were being pulled towards someone or something. The pull only seemed to stop when you bumped into Steve, but the moment you pulled away… It came back.

You couldn’t feel or see it. But the rock was buzzing and glowing. Like it was meant to be.

You believed in soulmates once. You had the stupid thought that Johnny was yours because he kept popping up in your life. But he never gave you the feeling that you thought soulmates would get. You only felt that feeling when you bumped into…

“I’m sorry again. I don’t mean for us to always bump into each other, ma’am.” Steve smiled, his hands were on your hips, they had shot out to steady you, fearing that you would fall. “It’s nice to run into you again. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last time.” In his head, he’s shooting a glare at Natasha, knowing that she would be smirking at this whole thing. You would hopefully never learn about how he had never let that down, always bringing it up to her these past years, causing him to be teased a lot by his friends, but he didn’t seem to mind whenever your face appeared in his mind. Steve blinks, his attention fully on you again. “I’m Steve, Steve Rogers.”

You stare up at him wide–eyed, he REMEMBERED you? “You remember me?” You clear your throat, your cheeks heating as you suddenly feel his hands still on your hips. “Sorry… I’m Y/n, Y/n L/n.”

“The stars will go out before I forget you,” He says it so quietly that you don’t think you were supposed to hear him. Steve blinks, suddenly turning pink when he realises you heard him. “I, uh… Yes.” Steve stumbles on his words and to you it is the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen. “Wait… What are you doing here? Not in a rude way! I love that you’re here! I mean, oh god…”

You smile, you had never smiled this much in your life… Steve seemed to make you forget. You look past him, gesturing to your apartment. “I, uh, live here. I haven’t been here that long though.” Your gaze turns back to Steve only to notice that he was already looking. You wouldn’t lie, your heart stuttered at the possibility of him never looking away. You weren’t used to a man looking at you, just you. “What about you? Are you…”

Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he smiled. God, his smile is gorgeous.

“Oh, that’s great! I mean, good… That’s good, no… Uh.” Steve stumbles more, clearing his throat. When did his shirt get so tight? “I live here as well.” He nods to the apartment across from yours, huh. It must’ve been fate. “I–I’m barely home, since…” He swallows, still smiling but he doesn’t continue, as he finds himself getting lost in you. You made him feel like a teenage boy again, where he couldn’t speak a single word without stumbling over them. Though, you guessed it was probably because he had someone already, how couldn’t he? But you were so far from the truth. You smile and Steve’s eyes flicker down to your lips. God, her smile is gorgeous. He shakes his head, “Did you need some help taking those in?” He gestures to your bags.

Your voice is so quiet as you respond. “I don’t mind…” Somewhere deep inside you knew you wanted to go anywhere with him. Wanted him beside you forever. As he is about to grab a bag from your hands, you pause. “Wait, I’m not holding you up, am I? You were just…”

Steve shakes his head, “You aren’t! I was just heading to meet my friends, but they can wait.” He smiles, and you look at him with a confused look, feeling relieved that a girlfriend wasn’t mentioned, but guilty for holding him back. Steve manages to take both bags, but you don’t notice, all you can feel is the sparks that light from the small touch. “Don’t worry, they’ll understand. I don’t mind helping, plus. I offered. So you can’t feel bad.”

Your mind feels fuzzy as you catch his eyes again, the world feels like it has stopped. Steve can’t help but feel the same.

Your souls lit from beneath, filled with joy. They had finally found each other again. Your soul had found his and his had found yours.

Your souls had been lovers since the beginning of time.

They would always find each other.

You and Steve could feel it as you continued to stare at each other.

This was the path you were supposed to take…

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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pigcowboys · 9 months

Note

part 3 where percy confesses plss😭

pairing: percy jackson x gn! reader

summary: percy finally explains the reason he's been acting so weird.

warning(s): awkward conversations, mutual pining (pls they're very slow..), cursing, love confessions, kisses.

a/n: UGHH THIS TOOK FOREVER IM SO SORRY. tysm for all the notes on both parts !! :) i finally managed to pop out the final part even if it took a minute.. truly trying my best to clear up all the requests in my inbox, just give me a minute!!

part 1 part 2

school was slow - as always.

you watched out the window intently, trying your best to tune out the teacher's nonsensical chatting as you focused on the small robin that was seated outside on the arm of a tree.

you were so bored you were watching a bird.

seriously, school had to be some kind of legal torture method.

the bird flapped around like he was looking for something, tweeting eagerly when he seemed to get his hands onto a random stick.

hmm..must've been building a nest.

he rushed forward to place it, the twig dropping from his mouth as he hopped around, trying to find it almost nervously.

you watched with amused eyes, bracing your head in the palm of your hand as your mind started to wander. school was back in session and because of that, you had made the crushing decision to leave camp half-blood in order to pursue an education.

of course, as per request of your mother. she cared about you - a bit too much you'd guessed because for whatever reason she'd decided to put you in a school that was so strict they cut down on students if their shoelaces were so much as a tad bit too eye-catching.

you tore your eyes away from the bird to focus on your teacher who was still very much into the lesson she was teaching.

only a few more minutes till class had ended - you just had to hang in there..

“and so..” the loud ring of the bell cut your teacher off, simultaneously alerting your body to make the swift action to pull your backpack into your lap, sweeping all your things inside as you hauled yourself up, rushing out the classroom door.

one more day here and you might just throw yourself out the window, you thought.

your scruffy shoes dragged against the polished and shiny marble floor of the hallway as you pushed past the sea of people that were flooding out of each classroom.

you didn't hate this school - well, it was the only school you hadn't accidentally destroyed so, there was no room to complain. it wasn't any camp half-blood though, as bitter as you were about being a demi-god, you still missed being in a community where you all had at least one thing to relate to.

at this school you'd be lucky to find a person who had the same music taste as you..

you pushed past the last person, stomping down the stairs as you spotted a figure in the distance standing just a few ways near the front entrance of your school. you quirked an eyebrow at the fellow, a smile pulling onto your lips as you approached the person closer.

“so, are you stalking me now?” you asked, slightly amused.

percy smiled back at you. “yeah, sure, you wish.”

you pulled him into a gentle hug despite the emotions inside of you being anything but things of that nature, pulling away to exhale dramatically. “gods, if i stay one more second here i might end up maiming my english teacher.”

"between me and you, i can't tell who has a worse school - i got like, 6 pages of math homework today."

you stifled a laugh, causing percy's face to shift to one of unamusement. “thanks for that, makes my life seem a lot less horrible.”

percy stared right ahead at you, expression not changing.

you'd be a goddamned liar if you said you hadn't thought about percy every second you spent away from camp half-blood. i mean, how could you not? this summer was so..weird.. for no reason too. not that you hated it - it was amazing! suuper fun. well, spending like 4 days in the infirmary wasn't very fun but - you digress.

you hadn't seen percy or honestly, really anyone for a few months since summer ended. despite all the phone calls and texting, you'd never had the pleasure of seeing him in real life. you were both so busy too the idea of planning a hangout was completely out of picture.

it was until now, at least.

so, seeing percy jackson parked outside of your school on his beaten blue bike with slightly rusty handle bars on this random autumn afternoon was not apart of your plan. in fact, you were thinking of passing out when you got home and sleeping like a log.

he looked the same, for the most part except his hair was a bit more grown out now, bangs slightly overgrown on his face. you were sure he hadn't gotten a proper haircut in a minute or two. he looked more mature now too - to you at least. his shoulder were broader and his awkward voice that cracked unexpectedly was replaced a more..raspy and warm voice that tickled your ears whenever he spoke.

“what're you doing here?” you asked, offering him a confused smile. he tucked his hand into his pocket

“i wanted to take you out,” he replied, avoiding eye contact.

you eyed him curiously, grabbing the straps of your backpack. “like...on a date?” you joked.

“do you want it to be?”

you paused, slightly stunned by his newfound confidence. a smile unknowingly made it’s way onto your face as you snorted, pushing him playfully as you hid your burning face.

“are we riding over?”

percy smiled, hopping onto the bike as he slid his helmet onto his head. he scooted over to make space for you. “if you're not too scared..”

you smiled back at him, laughing as you threw your bag into the small basket in front of the bike, plopping down behind him. you hesitated to wrap your arms around him, goosebumps growing on your upper arm as you braced against his back.

“you alright back there?”

“mhm..” you mumbled out. “let's go.”

"how'd you get the money to pay for all this stuff?"

you tried your best to keep as much good inside your mouth as you could as you and percy walked side by side. you hadn’t had a proper unhealthy meal in weeks — all thanks to your mom’s newfound obsession with kale and all things vegetarian.

“saved up,” he replied nonchalantly. “nothing too important.” you hummed in response as you tended to the oversized slushee cup that was clutched in your right hand.

“so, what’s the real reason you decided to come find me?” you asked suddenly, catching Percy off guard.

“you’re not a very good listener.”

“and you’re not a good liar,” you quipped, a suspicious look on yo ur face. “why’d you suddenly decide you wanted to hang out?” you didn’t mind that percy had came to visit you — really. it’s just, you two didn’t live near each other at all.

so, for him to suddenly appear outside of your school on a whim seemed too peculiar to just be as simple as “wanting to hang”. percy analyzed you silently before shrugging. “well..i guess I just missed you then?”

you offered him a teasing smile. “is that so?”

“so.”

you laughed to cover up the hard pattering of your heart as your stomach fluttered. was Percy..flirting with you? like..flirting, flirting. you sneaked a glance at him as you continued to work on your slush, jumping when you felt Percy’s hand interlock with yours.

he didn’t look at you, only continued to walk at a neutral pace beside you. moments like these made you question your status with him, like isn’t it slightly weird for friends to be walking hand and hand down the street? is that..normal? well, it is for you two.

“where are we going?”

percy glanced at you. “somewhere..”

you quirked an eyebrow at him. you trusted his judgement — of course but it was starting to get late, that sentiment being heightened by the dimmer sky and the fact you were starting to see more and more street lights power off.

your mother was sure to worry about where you were in a few hours. just what did Percy have to show you? your head was telling you to leave and catch a bus home while the rest of your body told you to shut up and go wherever this sea eyed boy led you.

“just through here, okay?” percy reassured as he stepped to the side, allowing you to go ahead of him. he seemed to of led you to some secluded forest area that was a few ways away from civilization. it was beautiful — amazingly so considering this was New York you two were talking about.

“percy what is this pla—”

your questions was cut off as percy placed his hands over your eyes, earning a nervous giggle from you.

“shh,” he cooed in your ear. “just follow my lead.”

“kind of hard to when I can’t see anything..” you replied, tripping over something that was seated on the floor of the forest. percy was quick to steady you, slowly walking you deeper into the forest.

you mind went numb as the sensation of his own warm skin against yours overtook your receptors. his skin seemed just as warm as it was that summer he spent in the infirmary with you. almost as warm as his hand that clasped your own as you sat on his bed, watching in confusion as he attempted to tell you something.

whatever that something was..

percy stilled behind you as he exhaled shakily. “okay, i’m gonna remove my hands now.” he said, slightly nervous. “don’t like..scream or anything, alright?”

“no promises.” you joked, earning a nervous chuckle from him. you waited expectantly as percy slowly removed his hands from your eyes.

you blinked your eyes open as you admired the scene in-front of you. the heart of the forest was decorated with various different fairy lights and other small lights, and at the center there was a small picnic basket with a picture of you seated next to it.

you recognized the picture from the first day you and Percy had met. you were attending the same school at the time and that day the school had planned a trip to six flags, one that you both attended.

seated knee to knee, you two ascended the tracks and despite all your mutterings about rollercoasters being boring — you still felt your heart jumping as you made your way up. then, right at the drop, your throat closed and you started to grow sick.

yeah..it wasn’t hard to imagine what happened next. percy was nice enough to check up on you after the trip despite being traumatized himself. held all your stuff for you while you threw up the rest of the your breakfast into the six flags public trash bin.

and your teacher, oh, your sweet caring teacher, caught the whole thing in a image that consisted of your sickly looking face attempting to throw up a peace sign and percy’s terrified looking face that was stained with your throw up who hugged you awkwardly, shooting a weak looking thumbs up.

you hated that photo — he knew that. it was probably why he used it.

your breath caught in your throat as you turned to face percy. he looked back at you with a warm smile on his face as he approached you hesitantly. you stood in place, watching him approach you. what should you say? what could you say?

“i’ve.. not been the best with my words..recently..” percy said, slightly embarrassed. “but, um..i don’t think i’d really forgive myself if I didn’t tell you this..” his face was flushed to capacity as he stood in-front of you. your lips trembled as you opened your mouth to say something to no avail.

Percy exhaled, stepping forward as he clasped your hand in his, bringing it to rest against his chest. your eyes casted down to look at your hand which rested there, the pattering beat of his heart loud as ever.

“i really like you.” percy admitted. “more than..more than i’ve ever liked someone in my life.” he stared into your eyes intensely as he tightened his grip on your hand. “and..i want to know if you feel the same way..” he paused. “please?”

you were at a loss for words. i mean, how could you have gaged this was what Percy had planned for so long? and how stupid were you for not seeing it all? everything that happened between the two of you at camp half blood..was he..? no, he was. he was trying to confess to you.

he felt the same way as you.

you slithered your hand out of his touch, bringing it to your side. percy’s face grew slightly alarmed, sadness growing on his face.

your stomach fluttered as you leaned in slightly, tongue darting out to lick your lips before you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing a kiss to percy’s lips. his eyes widened at the contact, freezing before kissing back hesitantly.

Percy wrapped his arms around your neck, holding you tightly as you pulled back from the kiss, a embarrassed look on your face.

“i couldn’t find anything to say.”

percy blinked at you, slightly shaken up. “you’ve said plenty.”

“clearly not enough since you genuinely thought I wasn’t going to like you back.” you huffed. “gosh, and while we’re on the topic — can we talk about how stupid I am?”

“let’s not,” percy mumbled. “we’d be stuck on it for hours.” you nudged him playfully. silence fell over you two again as you stayed still in each other’s arms, having an unspoken staring contest.

“i like you too, percy.” you mumbled. “i always have.”

a smile formed on Percy’s face as he nodded slightly. “yeah, okay..I’m glad.” he cleared his throat. “…do you have like, a specific amount of time you have?”

“shut up and kiss me again.” you replied with a smile, pulling Percy into you as your lips pressed against each other again. for a moment you almost forgot all about where you were and how late it was. all that mattered at the moment was the fact that you and percy were finally together.

well, it was for a moment.

you jumped as percy’s phone went off in his pocket, causing you to pull away from Percy immediately as he searched through his pocket for his cell. You eyed percy curiously as he brought the phone to your ear.

“mom! what’s..going on?.” he replied into the phone with a hushed tone. “yeah..they’re here..” he turned to face you to which you waved at him with a lopsided smile.

“uh, okay — we will..yeah we’ll be there.” he said before ending the call. Percy turned to you with a frown. you titled your head in confusion.

“are you up for dinner at my place? my mom wants to meet my new girlfriend.” he said, wars growing red.

huh. dinner sounded good right about now.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #x reader #x reader fluff #pjo fluff

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 7 months

Text

You let Ghost break you in and Johnny gets to watch

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || butt sex ||

A/N: this chapter is just pure Nastiness, i dont know what else to say about it lmaooo || without @ohbo-ohno and her massive galaxy brain, this chapter would not be half as horny as it is (love you bo)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

____

The rules of your engagement had been simple: Don’t speak. Don’t lose concentration. Finish reading the report. Collect your reward.

So you’d complied, like their good fucking girl. You’d gotten on all fours, taken Soap in your mouth while Ghost had lodged his cock deep inside your cunt. They’d both fucked you with slow, lazy, indulgent strokes of their hips that felt almost like an after thought—but you couldn’t blame them. After all, while you couldn’t quite see you could hear the wet sounds of their tongues as they made out above you. You were enjoying the leisurely pace they’d set, but you’d kept your eyes firmly on the report Ghost had gotten you to read.

And you’d been doing so well.

Shame the same couldn’t be said for Soap.

Johnny had gasped suddenly, jerked away from Ghost with a start, grabbed your hair and started to thrust into your mouth with purpose, the rumble in his throat an unmistakable sign of how close he was to that blessed precipice.

But of course, that meant he’d broken the rules Ghost had set for him. His attention was supposed to be on Ghost.

Ghost had pulled himself out of you and you’d almost whined in protest—but everyone was going to be punished, it seemed, and Ghost had used uncharacteristic gentleness to push Soap away from you too.

Johnny didn’t take it well, having been so close to finishing in your mouth, so eager for that sweet release after hours of foreplay that when he’d left the hot cave of your mouth, he’d been almost ravenous. You’d glanced down at his cock, the tip an angry red, jutting upwards, hard and slick and beautiful with the evidence of your attention on him. You’d even gone so far as wanting to protest on Johnny’s behalf, but when Ghost had obliged him to tuck himself back into his trousers with just a hard, unblinking stare, you’d decided to shut your mouth and keep it shut.

____

You almost forget about the whole thing, but of course, you should have known better, and obviously, it’s all far from over.

You only realise the part you have to play in Johnny’s punishment a few days later when you find yourself in his room, in his bed with Ghost, but Johnny isn’t allowed on.

It takes you a second or two to understand what’s happening—you’re clearly the last one that does because Johnny just makes his way to the small chair in his room, whilst you’re tugging Ghost by his hand onto the bed. “Erm, where are you off to?” you call out to Johnny, and the sound of your own voice makes you giggle.

(You’ve long since reached the conclusion that every sound that leaves you is hilarious once you’ve had a few drinks).

Johnny’s eyes nervously dart to Ghost and then back to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but looks at Ghost, then closes his mouth again. You assume Ghost’s expression gives him the green light to tell you—what the fuck?—and he looks back at you with a slightly strained smile. “Why don’t y’two go ahead and start? I’ll join ye in a second, bonnie.”

“...in a second?” You’re confused, you’re so confused, and you drop Ghost’s fingers that you’d been absentmindedly playing with and push away from him, looking between him and Johnny. “Boys…what—what’s going on?”

Simon pulls you back into him, and the feeling of his warmth behind you instinctually relaxes you. “It’s all good, love, don’t worry about Soap. He’s okay with this, isn’t he? Aren’t ya, Sgt?”

“Yes, sir,” Johnny grumbles, but his eyes sparkle with interest as he watches Ghost nudge your top away with his nose, kissing his way up from your shoulder to your jaw. He’s sloppy about it too, leaving a wet trail on your skin.

Johnny slowly lowers himself onto the chair, but his posture is far from relaxed—he’s leaning forward towards you, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together as though in prayer—and his eager eyes follow the movement of Ghost’s lips on your skin. “Ye can still enjoy yourself, bonnie,” he murmurs. “Simon’ll take care of ye.”

“Okay, Johnny,” you breathe, unable to keep your eyes open and blissed out as Ghost’s seemingly gentle kisses descend gradually into bites and licks and nips at the sensitive skin behind your ear. He uses the opportunity to lead you deeper onto the bed, and you end up kneeling on it while he stands with his back to Johnny, obscuring your view of him entirely. You try to refocus on Ghost, and he pulls the balaclava off entirely when you tip your face up to him for a kiss, eager to feel his lips on yours.

It’s…been a while. It’s been more than just a while.

You’re not part of their dumb boys only club, and it’s been weeks since you’ve seen the two of them with nothing eating into your time together—not broken rules of engagement, not the clandestine operations that take them away from you, and not some other stupid shit that goes on around the place. No, you’ve got them now, both of them and entirely to yourself, and you intend to take full advantage.

And it seems that Ghost wants you to start right here, with him.

Kissing Ghost has always made you feel like you need to be there and take it, all of it, whatever he gives you. A scarred, rough, scraped up hand comes up to guide your chin to drop for him so that he can devour your mouth, explore it, map it, commit it to memory. His thoroughness is unyielding, his attention to every detail about you steadfast and unquestionable.

Ghost knows that a gentle hand around your neck will make you press closer to his chest, eager for contact, eager for connection, but he knows that the slightest tightening of his fingers will draw a gasp, and then a moan. He knows that his other hand, winding around your back and cupping the back of your neck will draw a whine out of you, make you soften your shoulders, melt into him.

Ghost is the kind of man who, if you could trace his lineage, you know you’d find a God.

Under all the performative bullshit lay someone who may not understand you yet, who you are and what you want, but he knew what you needed when you were vulnerable for them like this, and you find yourself grateful for it all the same, revelling in the knowledge that this is more than enough.

When he pulls away from you, it takes you a second to open your eyes.

“Remember wha’ we talked about?”

Your eyes flicker between his, the whites standing starkly against the dark, melted caramel, and you nod yes.

“Out loud,” he instructs.

“Yes, sir, I remember,” you whisper.

“Good. On your stomach, then, soldier.”

____

You wonder what he sees when he looks at you like this. You wonder what Johnny sees.

You’re on your knees for Ghost, spread as wide as they’ll go, chest to the bed. You’re not allowed to speak except to answer him directly, or tap out if it all gets to be too much.

It’s been hours. He’s had you in every single way but one.

And Ghost is…well. Heh. Ghost, in his infinite altruism, is demonstrating to Soap how he’s preparing your ass to take him. Ghost is unbelievably gentle with you, and you’ve come on his fingers and tongue twice already—it’s made you loose and languid and rendered you absolutely cock-dumb. You’ve been prepping for this for weeks without them (you didn’t even want to ask where on earth they’d found a plug for you on base) and it was paying you back in spades. You’d never been more relaxed, more comfortable, and Ghost? Well, Ghost was having a good time.

As if in direct response to your thoughts, Ghost spreads your cheeks and you hold your breath as you feel him blow a warm stream of air, right fuckin’ there, and it makes you shudder, an earthquake down your spine.

“Look at her, Johnny,” he whispers. “Isn’t she fuckin’ perfect?”

It’s rhetorical, of course, and you can’t see his expression but you wish you could when Johnny chokes out a raspy, “Perfect, Lt.”

You feel Ghost shifting behind you, adjusting further, until you feel teeth on your cheeks, just the hint of his canines digging into the supple flesh. “Fuck,” you moan, and it makes him exhale air harshly through his nose in amusement. When he finally drags his tongue to the centre, you hold your breath, hold yourself as still as possible, biting your bottom lip. Hard.

Ghost is sloppy about it. He’s loud and messy, trying to bury his face inside of you. You feel his nose dig into you, the barely day-old stubble scrape against your sensitive skin, you feel everything. You think you can see colours through your closed eyes at this point, so hard do you clench your eyes shut from the stimulation.

So far gone are you that you don’t even realise that Johnny’s here beside you, your sweet Johnny, brushing your sweaty hair away from your face and cooing at you, murmuring to you. You open one eye to look at him, try to lift your face up to kiss him, but Ghost uses the tips of his fingers on your lower back to push you right back down, and so you end up where you began—cheek smushed against the bed, begging to be fucked, begging to be put out of your misery, begging for Johnny, for Ghost, for them to do something other than tease you.

Thankfully, Johnny seems to hear your thoughts because fingers that you know aren’t Ghost’s make their way to your cunt, sliding in like a dream, synchronising their thrusts with Ghost’s licks, driving you to a whole new level of insanity. Pleasure blooms in the pit of your gut, travelling in all directions, holding you as its willing captive.

“God, please Johnny, please please,” you moan, and he murmurs to you again, but you can’t even attach meaning to the sounds. You don’t even understand what you’re begging for, you just need that elusive something, that one thing that’s going to make you feel good now now now and you don’t know how to get it, you don’t know if you can and it makes you even more desperate, feeding the cycle once more, leaving you feeling like a screen door in a storm.

Ghost pulls away, uses just the tip of his fingers, spreading the slick around your asshole, over and under but not quite giving you the blessed relief of slipping inside you yet. No, you’re being tormented, and you don’t even know why.

“Please, Ghost…you promised,” you murmur, and moan when both his palms squeeze the fullness of your ass. And that’s all you get. No verbal response, no confirmation that he’s heard you, nothing. It’s like your body is a toy for his amusement, and you clench involuntarily, your heart galloping in your chest at the thought. It’s exactly what you’d asked of him, of both of them, to be their plaything, to be a thing they could use, an object for them to keep themselves busy, and you were so fucking happy, so fucking proud that Ghost was finally taking you up on it.

Ghost works you up to take just the tip of his finger inside you, just a little past the apex of his nail, and your responding moan is fervent, sincere. You grip the sheets around you and find that you're clenching in anticipation, even down to your toes. “God, that’s really good,” you breathe.

“Johnny!” Ghost barks, and at once, he’s on attention, ready to please. Like a dog on the shortest leash known to man, Johnny’s ready for the next set of instructions. You think you won’t hear them, but they’re snappy and clear. “Hold her open for me,” Ghost instructs, and Johnny’s pulling his fingers out of you (to equal parts of dismay and excitement on your part), and spreading your cheeks wide, keeping them spread wide.

You hear shuffling behind you, the cap of a bottle popping open, one of them kissing the other, quickly, quietly. A moment later, you find that your spine relaxes further, warm lube dripping generously from Ghost’s fingers to your asshole, your inner thighs, on to the bed below you.

He’s going back to his previous form of torture then, pushing one finger inside you, giving you a brief moment to relax, to adjust, before teasing you with the tip of another. He makes sure to go slow, alternating between gentle thrusts and stopping all movement entirely, making sure one finger is in you to his knuckle before the tip of another enters you. It’s slow and torturous and delicious, the pressure and foreign sensation of it all adding to the sensitivity, Johnny’s sweet murmurs helping you along.

You feel like an exposed nerve, frayed and wrought by overstimulation by the time he’s got three fingers in you—all you are is pure, unbridled sensation, each thrust, each movement of his fingers inside you sizzling into your mind, there to stay. He’s been patient with your body, respectful and careful, until his fingers move deeper into you, quicker, easier.

When he pulls out, you mewl, but he hushes you with a quick kiss pressed to your back. “Sitrep,” he whispers against your skin and it makes you shudder, goosebumps breaking across your skin at the feeling of his lips.

“S-solid, I’m solid, sir,” you say, infusing as much confidence in your voice. “I can take you.”

“Hear that, sir? She can take you,” Johnny repeats, but his voice is fond and you feel your cheeks warm at the undisguised affection in his voice.

“Mm,” Ghost says. “Back to it, Johnny. Off the bed. Now.”

“B-but Simon—”

“Shh,” you whisper, interrupting him. “Do as he says, Johnny.”

“Steamin’ Jesus,” he growls, but you feel the bed decompress as he gets off it anyway. But of course, Johnny’s a rebel at heart, and lives to challenge authority. So you can’t say you’re entirely surprised (though you are thoroughly amused) when he drags his chair to the other side of the room, so that now, he sits right in your line of sight. No Ghost blocking his view, and so Johnny gets to watch the show unobstructed. Ghost gets off the bed, and you wonder why, before you see that he’s going up to Johnny.

“Ye told me to get off the bed. Ye never said I couldnae watch,” Johnny says defiantly, a hint of smugness in his tone from having seemingly outsmarted Ghost.

But Ghost only stands in front of him, pulled up to his full height, arms crossed over his chest and nods. “I did. Now I’m telling you to shut up.”

“Wha-mmpf!”

Your eyes go wide with horror (and a bit of awe) when you see what Ghost has stuffed into Johnny’s mouth to get him to shut up. You only recognise your panties by the small amount of pale purple lace that isn’t stuffed entirely inside his mouth.

When Ghost turns his back to Johnny, not giving him the opportunity to retort (not that he could!), his eyes soften and he looks at you with the hint of a smile around the brackets of his mouth. You realise what he’s saying to you without him having to spell it out for you, and when you narrow your eyes at him and give him a small smile back, you think you’ve broken new ground with the Lieutenant.

He settles in place behind you and lays a warm, reassuring palm on your back. “Breathe for me.”

And you do. You take a few deep breaths, and the tip of his cock is angled exactly where he needs to be. He bends in half over you, covering the entirety of your back with his body, and you sink under his weight. “Breathe out, Sgt,” he reminds you, and when you do, he pushes the tip of his cock inside you.

The stretch, the burn—it’s exhilarating. Your heart beats like you’re running a marathon, but you continue to breathe deeply, allowing your body a chance to relax, to accept the foreign feeling, allow the instinctual feeling of ridding yourself of the invasion to be replaced by the creeping waves of pleasure.

It’s full, you feel so full, you can feel him in your throat, and, “F-fuck. Fuck you’re so…so fuckin’ tight, love.”

Ghost continues to talk to you encouragingly, continues to ease in inch by blessed inch, until you tap the bed beside you with your open palm once, and he freezes. “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. This is good. This is good?”

“Yes, God, Ghost, want you to move, please please,” you mewl, and he obeys immediately. His hips don’t exactly meet yours, but they come close, they come so fucking close, that you shudder at the depth he must reach inside you. He moves in shallow thrusts, careful with you, careful not to break you, listening out for every sign your body gives.

When he pulls out of you and rearranges you, you go with him like a ragdoll. He whispers in your ear as he does it, and you eyes snap open.

Yes. Yes, you would like to do that, actually.

You squeeze his wrist in silent acceptance and you’re left wondering at his strength, and the unabashed, raw display of it, when he holds you up with your back to his chest, legs thrown over the crook of each arm so your cunt is on full display, so Johnny can see exactly what he’s missing out on. Ghost continues to move inside you, controlled thrusts that feel like heaven to you, but you pull yourself away from it just enough so you can focus on Johnny.

The poor man stays quiet, just like he’s been instructed to, but his eyes are blown wide, stark bright blue burning a hole into you, catching your vision that’s gone slightly hazy at the edges.

And because you’re feeling particularly wicked, head pleasantly buzzing with the effects of the alcohol and of Ghost, you decide to play along with the little game. “Why weren’t you good for him, Johnny? See how wet I am, I need you it hurts,” you sniff, and the tears streaming down your face provide just enough visual aid for your performance to be convincing. “My pussy hurts, Johnny,” you mumble again, your eyes downcast, and you watch as Johnny’s knuckles turn white where he has a death-grip on the armrest of his chair.

Johnny turns desperate eyes to Ghost but Ghost interrupts whatever Johnny was planning on doing or saying. “Choices have consequences, Johnny” he growls and Johnny’s expression morphs into what looks like the various stages of grief— you have to work hard to stay in character.

You raise your arm, fingers outstretched to where you imagine Ghost’s mouth is, and he takes them into his mouth without hesitation. When you’re satisfied with how wet he’s made them, you bring them down to your cunt, shuddering at the feeling of your own fingers on your sensitive skin. Every sensation feels amplified, somehow, and rubbing at your clit feels as painful as it feels good.

Johnny watches helplessly as you make yourself come on your own fingers, your cunt having nothing to clench on as you come, head thrown back into Ghost’s neck, who’s not faring so well himself. Your orgasm strangles his cock inside you, and he moans as he comes inside you, voice sounding guttural and hoarse, like it’s been pulled out of the deepest part of his chest.

When Ghost pulls out of you, Johnny’s on his feet instantly, consequences be damned. They take care to lay you gently on the bed, and murmur to each other in voices too low for you to hear. You phase in and out of consciousness as they clean you, dress you—they do everything for you. You grumble through the pain medication they feed you and the water they make you drink, but then you’re too tired, too spent to stay awake and functional anymore.

You stay stuck in that weird point of lucidity for a while—where you can hear your surroundings, are aware of conversations, but lack the context to meaningfully contribute—and you hear them speak to each other in hushed whispers. One of them runs soothing hands through your hair, while the other rubs your hands. The last thing you hear is Ghost’s voice and a firm, “Always, Johnny” before your sleep pulls you under.

#simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #simon riley x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost smut #soap smut #lumi writes

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heartpiratedrabbles · 6 months

Text

Kids Anger Part 2

Part 1 ~ Part 3 Part 4

Kid X Fem Reader X Killer

It had been a couple of days since you disappeared and life on the Victoria Punk hasn’t felt peace since. Kid angrily stomped through the ship, breaking every door behind him and plenty of holes throughout the walls he passes. It was a stupid fucken fight. Kid was angry, he was pissed, He’d teach you a lesson about running away after he found you. He’d make sure you’d never be able to leave him again.

Killer on the other hand had been the one actually handling the crew and ship, trailing behind his awestruck lover. He was anxious after not seeing you, and unlike Kid had noticed you were injured from the beginning. But he had thought, even with your hot headedness, that you’d treat yourself before doing anything stupid. The only evidence of you ‘dressing’ the wound was a bloodied shirt you had left behind, no medical supplies were taken.

Heat approached Killer, avoiding the irrational captain, “We should make landfall in a couple hours.” Killer knew what this meant, the Vivre card he had handed heat to help track you down must’ve pointed towards to island. And if you were further, well they’d need to stock up on supplies before continuing, not to mention fix some damage to the haul that they barely fixed after the battle with the marines.

“When we get there, we’ll go our separate ways, you get everything ready to depart as soon as possible,” Killer said gesturing down the hallway to where Kid had stormed off too. It should hopefully only be a matter of time now.

“The island has a military base on it” Heat says while handing the blonde the vivre card back, Killer stops a bit. He looks at the card and notices it’s gotten smaller, the edges seemingly burnt and his stomach drops.

“Get us there as fast as possible Heat” Killer makes quick steps to get to Kid, his trail of destruction leading the first mate to his workshop. He practically kicks the door open, ignoring the red head’s anger boiling over. Before Kid can get any real words out Killer lands a punch on him, “Get your fucken head out of your ass.” Holding up the vivre card Kid stares at it a bit more.

“She’s the one that ran away” Holding onto his hateful pride still in the end, “If she dies that’ because she can’t protect herself.” Kid lets out a huff only to be met with another punch.

“You’re the one that told her to leave Kid.” Killer kicked his captain. He was beyond pissed, “We’re breaching land soon.”

~~~

You woke up in a dark cell, a chain around your ankle. After you had passed out on the row boats a backup battalion of Marines found you and captured you. They had blamed the entire incident on you and have tortured you for any information pertaining to your previous captain for a lighter sentence.

You lay there, too tired to even sit up. The only thing you’ve had to eat since you left the ship was a moldy piece of bread and some water. The whip marks on your back ached and the wound in your shoulder has long since turned into an infection.

The guards had mentioned your execution coming up and how you were stupid for not ratting out Kid to survive. You let your mind wander, thinking about how Kid would take up the entire bed by stretching out, or how what little room was left, was then taken up by how big Killer was. You missed snuggling in between them, in the crevices left between their bodies. It certainly would be more comfortable than this floor.

You wonder if they are even worried about you. You’re sure Killer had a couple of words for Kid but it didn’t seem like he went after you either. You hear a jingle of Keys come closer and a loud kick against the bars jerk your eyes open.

“Y/N, if you just give us some information we won’t execute you. In fact we’d be willing to ship you off to the West Blue and let ya live your life” The commander of the base stared down at you through the bars snickering at your predicament. “You’re gonna need some treatment if you want to survive… If you don’t want to tell me anything now you could, always offer something else.”

You watch as he unlocks the door and walks in, crouching down next to you, picking up your chin with one of his hands. He starts leaning in but before he can get any closer you spit in his face, “I’d rather die miserably than stoop to your level.” The man punches you before standing up.

“Face it y/n, the Kid Pirates sacrificed you. You’re nothing to them,” He stares down at you, placing a foot on your infected shoulder, putting slight pressure on it, smirking as he sees the pain in your eyes.

You gasp, gritting your teeth, “Just kill me already. I won’t tell you anything.” The man glares down at you. He kicks you in the stomach before leaving again. You hear the walls around you become silent as he leaves. Seeing black spots in your eyes you allow yourself to pass out.

~~~

Kid and Killer were making a mess of the marine base, only stopping to take a breath after getting lost inside the building. When they got to the island, they had heard about an upcoming execution for one of the Kid Pirates and knew they were close to finding you.

“Where do they keep coming from?” Kid yells while punching another marine straight into the ground, “Can’t the fuckers lay off for a second.”

“We’re in this mess because of you” Killer grunt, slashing one out of the way. He grabs your vivre from his pocket, growing increasingly concerned at the smaller its getting. Kid grumbles before running in the direction the card shifted.

~~~

You awaken to a loud thud of the door and groan; you didn’t have the energy to deal with him anymore. You didn't have energy anymore, you just want to sleep. You’re back towards the cell doors and with as much strength as you can muster, “I’m- Not. Talking,” You have to breathe a bit between each word, every movement more painful than the last, “Just kill me already.” You don’t hear anything behind you. You didn’t like this silence of being watched and slowly glance over your shoulder. To your surprise, you see Kid stunned silent, “That’s a first,” You mutter before letting yourself relax for the first time in days, your body falling limp.

~~~

Kid finally managed his way to the cell block and surprisingly there were no guards around, must’ve taken care of them already, The onslaught of bodies behind him was a testament to how determined he was. He glanced back at Killer who was still taking care of a few guards and decided to run ahead.

He broke open the door, slamming it open. There in front of Kid is what he can only assume to be a dead body, the deep gashes along the back only adding context to how the ground was so severely stained red. Kid takes a couple of steps forward when he hears you talk, his breath hitches and he can’t seem to move anymore. What did they do to you? He watches as you slowly turn your head to face him and he can only watch as you put on a smile to him and weakly say, “That’s a first,” before going limp, lying flat on your back.

#kid x reader x killer #one piece #kid #killer #angst #part 2

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persevereforahappyending · 6 months

Text

This isn't Your Fault (Interrogation 2)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Mindy spun around, slamming her hands down on both arms of the chair, shoving it back slightly, Tara furrowed her brow. “Tell us about Y/N.”

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.1k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Tara’s keys jingled as she got them out to unlock the door. There had been no attacks at the apartment but since Quinn tricked them and had infiltrated their home, Sam had changed all the locks and added even more to the door. Tara understood but she really hated carrying twenty different keys just so she could get into her own apartment.

Tara sent you a quick text saying she’d be over later in the day. She hadn’t heard much from you, but you didn’t have class, so she knew you were busy with one of your games. Tara had intended to go straight to you after her class, but Mindy had asked for a girl's day just her, Tara, and Sam, no significant others or annoying brother. It seemed weird but Tara didn’t question it too much, it had been a while since just the girls hung out, though that was mostly Mindy’s fault since she always brought Anika along or always ditched them to go spend time with Anika.

When Tara stepped through the door she furrowed her brow, all the lights were off. “Sam?” She called out.

She reached to flip the light switch but was quickly grabbed. She let out a yelp, but a hand was instantly over her mouth, an arm wrapped around her waist, and two more arms grabbed her hands. Tara wiggled her body, trying to break free as she was shuffled through the apartment until she was tossed into a chair. The second her back hit the chair she was pushing herself back up, but a hand shoved her back down.

“Who the fuck-” Tara was cut off by a hand covering her mouth again, so Tara did the only logical thing.

“Ow!” Mindy yelped, the hand covering Tara’s mouth instantly being pulled away. “She bit me!”

“Mindy?” Tara asked annoyed. “What the hell is going on?”

A singular light clicked on then it was redirected to shine in Tara’s face, she had to cover her eyes, squinting to see silhouettes of Mindy and Sam in front of her. Tara dropped her hand, blinking until her eyes adjusted to the light shoved in her face. She glared at her sister and best friend, any potential fear she had of being attacked was now gone.

Mindy leaned down, putting her face right in front of Tara’s. Tara leaned back to create some distance, but Mindy just leaned forward, moving the lamp even closer to Tara’s face. Tara stared at her best friend unimpressed by the little display, she just raised an eyebrow waiting for their next move. Mindy squinted, standing up straight and crossing her arms. Sam was in a similar position, her face mostly obstructed by shadows, but she stood behind Mindy, arms crossed, her typical bored expression on her face.

“You know why you’re here,” Mindy said as she began to pace back and forth in front of Tara.

“I live here,” Tara said.

Mindy spun around, slamming her hands down on both arms of the chair, shoving it back slightly, Tara furrowed her brow. “Tell us about Y/N.”

Tara sighed, rolling her eyes. “You already met her.”

“That’s not the point! You had been sneaking around for months. Months!” Mindy pushed off the chair, hands on her hips as she looked at Tara expectantly. “Now,” she pointed a finger at Tara, “you will tell us everything.”

“No,” Tara scoffed. “It’s our relationship and if we don’t want to share with you, we won’t.”

“Anika is with Y/N right now.” Tara glared at Mindy, narrowing her eyes, trying to see if Mindy was bluffing. “While she questions Y/N we are questioning you. So, you might as well tell us everything.” Tara rolled her eyes, slumping back in the chair. Mindy smiled victoriously, resting her hands on her hips again as if she was a superhero.

“Now, question one!” she raised her finger, acting like she usually did when she was listing off Ghostface suspects. “Have you guys slept together?” she smiled cheekily. Tara glared at her, noticing Sam had tilted her head to glare at Mindy as well. “Of course, you have,” she waved her own question off. “What was it like? Tell us everything. I want all the details. All of them. All-” she was cut off by a quick slap to the back of the head from Sam.

“Ow!” she rubbed the spot where Sam hit her. “What was that for?” she turned to Sam who just glared at her, giving her a murderous look, Tara knew that look all too well. “Fine!” she held up her hands. “You don’t want to hear about your little sisters sex life, I get it.” She turned back to Tara. “She’ll give me all the details later.” She winked at Tara. Tara kicked her in the shin the same time as Sam smacked her in the back of the head, again. “Ow!” she put one hand to her head and another to her shin, hopping on one leg as she tried to get away from the sisters.

Sam rolled her eyes, stepping up to where Mindy had been standing. “Where did you meet?” she asked.

Tara rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You already know that,” she scoffed.

Sam turned the light, shoving it further into Tara’s face. She closed her eyes, raising a hand to block the light. “You guys are ridiculous,” she said, squinting at Sam. She dropped her hand, rolling her eyes again. “We met in our Film History class.”

“Who made the first move?”

“I did.”

“Really?” Mindy asked, coming to stand beside Sam again. “But you have no game. Not that Y/N seems to have any either,” she started talking more to herself. “How did you two end up together?”

Tara glared at her. Mindy just shrugged. “The professor made us do icebreakers,” Tara mumbled. Mindy burst out laughing, having to clutch her stomach with how hard she was laughing, she was almost doubled over. “Anyway!” Tara glared at Mindy, before turning her attention to her sister. “That got us talking and eventually I asked her out.”

“And I’m assuming with your lack of game you suggested, what, a movie, as a first date?” Mindy chuckled to herself. Tara snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks becoming red as she was unable to look Mindy in the eye. “Oh my god.”

“I asked her to go to a new horror movie.”

“Wait,” Mindy held up her hand. Tara sighed, for someone who wanted to know all about her relationship Mindy sure interrupted a lot. “The one that came out over the summer? The one you said you couldn’t see opening night with me?” Tara tapped her fingers together, looking everywhere in the apartment but at Mindy. “Then why did you go with me Saturday night? You talked like you hadn’t seen it! I could have forced Anika to go with me! But no!” Mindy threw her hands in the air, waving them around dramatically. “I was a good friend and said I would wait for you!”

“Mindy!” Sam snapped. Mindy scoffed, crossing her arms as she mumbled to herself. “Continue,” Sam nodded to Tara.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” Tara said. “So, when I saw it with you, I had only seen about half of it.” Mindy scrunched her eyebrows at that. “She doesn’t like scary movies. I didn’t know it before suggesting it.”

“You didn’t ask her opinion on the movie before going?” Sam asked, raising both eyebrows as she judged her sister.

“She agreed to it!” Tara shot to her feet. “Sure, I suggested it!” Tara started pacing back and forth in front of them. “But she said yes!”

“What happened after you botched your first date?” Mindy asked.

“I didn’t botch it!” Tara pointed a finger up at Mindy, stepping into her personal bubble and glared at her.

Mindy raised her hands, taking a step back. Sam inserted herself in between them, resting her hands on Tara’s shoulders and gently eased her back down into the chair. Tara took a few deep breaths, calming herself back down but she kept her arms crossed, continuing to glare at Mindy.

“As soon as I realized she walked out of the movie I went to go check on her,” Tara said, keeping her voice leveled. “And we went for pizza, then she walked me home,” Tara smiled to herself, “And I kissed her.”

Mindy held a hand to her heart, titling her head as she let out an aww. “Wait,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “You brought her back to the apartment?” Sam crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow, as if she hadn’t already met Y/N and had approved of her.

“Seriously?” Mindy asked with a groan.

“She walked me to the front door of the complex,” Tara said with an eyeroll. “She didn’t even enter the building.”

“How many times has she been in the apartment?” Mindy asked with a smirk. “I know the night we all met wasn’t the first time.”

Tara’s eyes went wide as she glared at her supposed best friend. She was going to have to rethink that status, maybe move Chad into the position of best friend. He seemed excited to get to know you and the two of you could bond of videogames. He would also be less likely to embarrass her in front of you, Mindy on the other hand will take every opportunity she has to tell you all about the embarrassing things Tara did in her childhood. Tara nodded to herself; she might have more in common with Mindy, but Chad was seeming like a better best friend option in the moment.

“You’ve snuck her into the apartment!” Sam shouted, bringing Tara back to the present.

“Oh, come on,” Mindy scoffed, lightly slapping Sam’s arm. “Of course, she has!” Sam slowly turned to the side, glaring at Mindy. Mindy nodded and took a few more steps back without another word.

“A few times,” Tara said slowly.

“How many?” Sam demanded.

“I don’t know,” Tara threw her arms in the air, slumping back in the chair. “To many to count.”

“Seriously?” Sam dropped her arms, her mouth hanging open. “Do my rules mean nothing to you?”

Tara saw Mindy bob her head from side to side but smartly kept her mouth shut. “It was easier,” Tara shrugged. “Sure, if we went to her place, we were alone more but it was harder to come up with excuses as to why I was late.”

“How did I never notice? How did I never catch you guys!”

“I have no idea,” Tara barked out a laugh. “There was one time you got home from therapy early and we got a little caught up doing stuff…” Tara cleared her throat trying to cover her blush which was only made worse when she caught Mindy wiggling her eyebrows at her. “And I didn’t hear you until you were walking down the hall and I shoved her in the closet.” Sam’s mouth dropped open while Mindy burst out laughing. “You were in my room talking to me for like ten minutes, I was just waiting for you to fling open the closet doors.”

“Damn, where were you when I was trying to hide my girlfriends?” Mindy asked. “I could have used the help!”

Tara chuckled at that. “I mean you were rather hopeless, I’m sure even with my help you still would have gotten caught.”

Mindy’s mouth dropped open. “Rude.”

“I can’t believe I came that close to meeting Y/N,” Sam mumbled to herself. “Have there been any other times I don’t know about?”

Tara knew it was rhetorical, but she didn’t want to lie to her sister, so she opted to remain quiet and refused to meet her gaze. The truth was there was many times. Tara is surprised how long she was actually able to keep the secret, the amount of times you were sneaking out last minute was crazy. Not to mention the amount of times Anika, Mindy, or Chad almost caught the two of you together on campus, oddly Chad was the one who almost caught you the most. He was the only one that didn’t share classes with either of you and was in a completely separate major. The only good thing was that Chad could be rather oblivious and was usually with some of his football buddies.

There was one time Tara had taken you to a coffee shop right off campus and Chad somehow managed to find his way there. He had brought a girl with him on a little coffee date and then when he saw Tara, he spent twenty minutes talking to her, despite his clearly irritated date. The only reason Chad even left her alone was because his date stormed out of the shop, and he went chasing after her. Tara spent the rest of the day apologizing and trying to make it up to you. You had been at the counter getting the drinks when Chad came in but with your quick thinking you walked to the corner of the shop and pulled out a book. Tara kept glancing at you, watching as you flipped page after page in your book, while Chad talked to her about the most random things as if they hadn’t just seen each other the night before.

“Well…” Tara said, giving her sister a shy smile.

“Oh my god!” Sam said, throwing her hands in the air.

“See, one time,” Tara started to explain, leaning forward in her seat. “Once again, I didn’t hear you come in. She was about to leave and then you started turning the doorknob and I pushed her out the window and onto the fire escape.”

“Smooth,” Mindy deadpanned.

“You even looked out the window,” Tara added, nodding to herself. “I still don’t know where she went,” she looked up thinking back to that day. After Sam left her room she ran to the window, looking up and down the fire escape and didn’t see a sign of you anywhere.

When Tara looked back at her sister Sam was just glaring at her, shaking her head. “What?” Tara asked innocently.

“Let’s get back to the important stuff!” Mindy announced, putting her hands on her hips. Both sisters looked at her with raised eyebrows. “What’s her favorite movie?”

“Really?” Tara and Sam asked at the same time.

Mindy’s mouth dropped open. “Yes!” she looked between them as if she was trying to figure out if they were serious.

“Out of all the questions,” Sam said, gesturing widely with her hands. “Out of all the months of sneaking out. That’s what you want to know?”

“It’s important.”

“How?”

“Well,” Mindy clapped her hands together as if she was about to make a big presentation. “She is dating your sister,” she pointed to Tara. “Who is a horror movie fanatic, like me,” she gestured to herself. Sam rolled her eyes but let Mindy continue. Tara was just watching her friend, curious about where she was going with this. “We’ve now learned Y/N doesn’t like horror,” Mindy placed her hands on her hips again as she suppressed a sigh. “So, we need to see where the rest of her movie tastes lies. I get she’s more of a gamer and into audio.” She shook her hands with a slight eye roll, Tara knew Mindy appreciated a good soundtrack though. There were times Mindy would rant about the shitty audio or the back score of a movie just as many times as she would praise the musical score and how it immersed her in the movie so well. “So, what is her favorite movie?” Mindy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Tara leaned her head back, closing her eyes as she let out a long sigh. “Jurassic Park,” she finally answered.

Mindy bobbed her head back and forth, her eyes looking at the ceiling as she seemed to take in the answer. Tara relaxed back into the chair, crossing her arms as she waited for her best friend’s approval. “It’s a classic, has a good score, and used practical effects,” Mindy mumbled to herself. “That’s always a good call,” she pointed knowingly at Tara. Tara shrugged, nodding her head in agreement. She wasn’t wrong, practical effects were better the majority of the time and much scarier than anything produced by a computer. “Despite lacking any taste in the best movie genre.” Tara rolled her eyes. “She has acceptable taste in other movies it seems.” Mindy clapped both her hands together, smiling down at Tara. “Congratulations, I approve of your relationship.”

“I didn’t ask,” Tara said, tilting her head.

“Anyway,” Mindy smiled widely, showing all her teeth, it kind of scared Tara, making her lean as far back as she could. “Tell us about the tree incident,” she clapped her hands several times.

Tara scoffed, rolling her eyes. When she looked at her sister, she saw Sam was even looking at her, a small smile tugging at her lips. “No,” Tara said.

“Oh, come on,” Mindy whined, dropping her arms in defeat.

“No.”

“I’ll just ask Y/N.”

“She won’t talk,” Tara scoffed at the idea. She knew you loved teasing her about it, but you wouldn’t tell Mindy, Chad, or Anika if they asked you. The only one she wasn’t confident in learning the truth was Sam. She had a feeling you would probably willingly tell Sam, no bribing or threatening involved.

“But it happened twice!” Mindy’s eyes were wide as if this was the most shocking piece of information she’d ever learned in her life. “Twice!”

“How does one fall out of a tree twice?” Sam asked, silently laughing to herself.

“I’m short!” Tara said, jumping to her feet. “Mistakes were made.” She pushed past Mindy and Sam before spinning around to give them one final glare, “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Where are you going?”

“Y/N’s!” Tara was already grabbing her keys and halfway to the door.

“What about hanging out?” Mindy pouted.

“Nope,” Tara flung open the door.

“Do you need me to pick you up?” Sam asked. “I don’t want you walking home so late.”

“I’ll just spend the night there.”

“In the house where she was attacked?” Sam shouted. Tara could hear Sam running through the apartment after her.

“She replaced the door,” Tara looked back at her sister as if that answered her concerns.

“That solves nothing!”

“Bye!” Tara waved at Sam and Mindy as she walked out of the apartment.

“Tara!” is the last thing she heard Sam shout before the door closed.

Tara chuckled at her sister’s concern. Sam didn’t need to know that the day you got home from the hospital, Tara checked every singly door, locking and relocking them. Tara even checked the alarm system every fifteen minutes to make sure it was still armed, she had it pulled up on her phone, waiting just in case it ever said disarmed like it had during her own attack. Sam didn’t need to know how paranoid she was though; it made her more fun to mess with anyway.

Taglist: @lilbitdepressed27 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @youralphawolf72

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #tara carpenter x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #scream 6 #scream #scream vi #this isn't your fault

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asumofwords · 8 months

Text

Lighthouse - Sailor!Aemond x LighthouseKeeper!Reader - Mini Series 1/4

Summary: You work as a lone Lighthouse keeper on a small island just off the coast. Everyday was the same routine, tending to your duties and the lamp with not much time to spare. But what will happen to your routine when a storm rages across the sea, and a handsome man washes ashore?

Warnings: This fic is 18+. Readers discretion is advised. Warnings will be added in their relevance. She/Her Pronouns. Drowning, descriptions of drowning, shipwrecks, dead body, fever, storms.

Note: Here is chapter one of Lighthouse hehe. This fic was inspired by me listening to the song 'Lighthouse' by The Waifs. Thank you all for being so patient for this. A it is going to be a mini-series, its going to be between 3-5 chapters long! I hope you enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: Cruel Seas

The waves rolled up the side of the rocky cliff face, salty sea spray disintegrating into the air like mist. The sky had turned a deep grey, a storm having rolled through the vast sea the evening before, which was now beginning to turn its way towards your little island.

You knew immediately from the sky that you would have a long night ahead of you, tending to the lamp at the top of the lighthouse to ensure that it stays lit for the duration of the dark night to come.

It was an arduous and tedious existence. Day after day, the same routine, and not once could you stray from it.

Each evening before the sun would set, you would climb the many stairs to the top of the lighthouse and light it, ensuring that its wick was good for use and would last the night. And then when daybreak came, you would extinguish the flame as soon as the sun rose, unless of course, a storm or fog had crawled amongst the salty waves of the sea, which caused for extra vigilance and keeping it lit at all hours.

The lighthouse itself was perched on the top of the cliff of the small island you lived on, just off the coast. And on that island, you had all that you needed; A small cottage with one bedroom, a kitchen and a small privy out the back.

Outside of the cottage was your own modest vegetable patch where you grew what could survive the acrid sea air; potatoes, pumpkins, and any sort of hardy vegetable that was good for pickling and hearty meals. All other food was brought to you once a month by boat, or if you dared to leave your post, you would take your small boat back to shore, not too long of a journey, weather permitting, to go to the local stores or market to buy your wares. But if you were truly in a spot of trouble, you had a small messenger pigeon that lived in its own hut by the garden that would send word to shore about your dire needs.

You had lived and worked at the lighthouse for years, happy to be alone and in your own solitude, finding companionship in the books that you read, or the occasional ship that sailed by.

A man named William came every one to two weeks, an old friend of your father who would bring your reprieve, to deliver you food and any other supplies that you may need to keep the lighthouse in check; more oil, more wicks, paint, or items to repair any damage from the raging winds that raced across the surface of the small island.

William was a kind man, older and sea worn. He had a wife and three daughters back on the coast, and on occasion would bring them to join you, or extend an invitation for you to join them, weather and duties permitting. They lived in the small town by shore, where you had been lucky to befriend shopkeepers and locals on your short visits.

It had been only a few days since William’s previous drop off, and for the most part, the weather had seemed fair. Each morning and each evening you would log the skies and seas conditions into a worn little leather book for any changes, and then, you would prepare for the lighting of the lamp. But the evening before, the wind had changed drastically and the sky had darkened, and you watched from the top of the lighthouse as a storm broke just on the horizon, black cloud glowing with strikes of lightning that cracked through the darkness.

You hadn’t risked going back down to your cottage to retire for the evening, instead, sitting yourself in your old wooden chair to watch the storm and ensure that the lamp was lit, and if any ships were to come to close to shore, they would be alerted by the light.

However, now it was morning, and the lamp no longer needed to be lit. For now. Though on the horizon, the storm continued to barrel towards shore, and you knew that you would have light it again soon.

Extinguishing its flames, you took the long winding steps down, crossing the small grassy knoll to get to your cottage, opening the old wooden door, which hinges squeaked and whined, salt rusting the joints. You whispered to yourself that you would fix it eventually, as you trudged to the fireplace and began to set it ablaze.

The cottage was cold with the winds of the storm that approached, and you shivered as you slowly lit the kindle, piling log after log into the hearth as you heated the home up. Your stomach growled loudly as you stood from your crouched position by the fire, joints complaining as exhaustion from lack of sleep, or food, finally caught up to you.

You decided that now was the time, more than ever, to eat and rest before you’d have to return to the lighthouse. You lit the stove with a candle by the fire and sat your kettle atop, water inside ready to boil. On William’s last relief drop, he had brought a large sack of flour and even some milk for you, and so with this, you had churned your own butter and made a large supply of scones and bread for the coming week.

The loud whistle of the kettle alerted you to the water boiling on the stove, steam pouring from its nozzle. You poured it over some tea leafs and unwrapped a scone from the cloth pile you had on the bench. As the tea steeped, you decided to spread some of the jam William’s wife, Celia, had made for you, using it sparingly before sitting before the hearth.

You ate slowly and sipped on your tea with ease, eyes cast out one of the many windows to check the progress of the storm. The dark clouds were slowly rolling in, and by your estimate, wouldn’t reach you until at least the afternoon, and with time on your hands, you decided to allow yourself a small rest, laying your head back against your worn couch, closing your eyes as the warmth of the fire lulled you into a shallow slumber.

The distant rumble of thunder pulled you from your light rest, half eaten scone wrapped in a smaller piece of cloth and shoved into the pocket of your skirt at the front. You would eat that later as you lit the lamp again before the storm arrived. As you cast your eyes out of the kitchen window, looking out to sea, you saw that it had approached far quicker than expected, and in fact, seemed to have regrown in size.

You made quick work of it, throwing on your large waxed coat that swept around your ankles, buttoning it up to your neck as the beginning spray of water began to lightly mist at the windows of the cottage. Racing to the lighthouse, you climbed the steps with ease, years of the same routine causing you to be fitter than most. Once you reached the top you looked out to the swell, watching as the waves crashed against the rocky cliff face below, and then swept up against the small sandy beach of the island on the side.

But it was not the storm that peaked your interest, you were no stranger to those. It was the objects that bobbed amongst the crashing waves, and lined your small beach. Concern coursed through you as familiar wooden planks, barrels, and other ship items crashed onto shore.

“Fuck.” You cursed.

There had been a shipwreck.

But not at your island.

It must have happened out at sea last night with the storm.

Your eyes cast down to the sandy beach again, gaze darting up and down the shore, looking, searching, and hoping for any sign of survivors, if they had been lucky or fortunate enough to be swept this far to shore after.

Another crack of thunder pulled your gaze away, the storm rapidly approaching. If you lit the lamp now, you could race down to the shore to look out in the water for any sign of survivors, or what kind of ship it had been to report back to shore. So with determined hands, you lit the large oil lamp, ensuring that the flame was strong and the glass that surrounded it was clear and in position to amplify it out to sea.

Rain began to beat against the glass of the lighthouse, and with one last glance cast at the lit lantern, you raced down the steps, two by two, skirts pulled into your fists as you flew down them, all but throwing the heavy wooden door open to begin to race down to the small sandy cove.

Thick drops of rain began to pelt down from the sky, the rumbling of the storm growing closer and closer, clouds growing darker with lightning striking through them. You squinted at the shore, skirts in one hand as the other hand came to try and shield your eyes from the growing downpour, looking for anything that could identify the vessel.

Your leather boots sunk into the sand and you raced along the shore line, eyes looking down to the broken wooden planks, and a large hoisting rope tangled amongst half a mast. Further ahead, a tangle of what looked to be shrouds, sail and hull.

The waves crashed against the sand as you moved towards the next clump of shipwreck, passing smaller pieces of debris as you went. The water that crashed against the shore was dark and unforgiving. Amongst the crashing waves, more planks of wood, net and barrels of something.

Chill dripped down your spine as your coat, as waxed and as warm as it was, took in the blast of rain and wind that blew into you with every gust.

The storm was coming, and it was coming with a vengeance.

You needed to move, and fast.

There ahead of you, amongst the tangled shrouds, was a large chunk of hull, with what looked to be the remnants of gold paint.

A name.

The name of the ship.

You almost tripped into the sand as you ran towards the mass, shoes now filled with water, socks soaked against your skin, toes numb from the cold. You bent down, pulling at the shrouds, the wet rope heavy in your hands as you looked at the broken hull.

'Vhag-'

You blinked.

Gods be damned.

Your hands moved faster than you thought humanly possible as you ripped the rope away from the hull, revealing the glimmer of silver beneath that had caught your eye.

There, tangled amongst the shrouds, trapped atop the broken hull, was a man.

Your knees hit the sand, wet soaking into your skirts immediately as you began to pull him from the wreckage, yanking at the ropes to untangle the body that was ensnared in them.

He lay on his stomach, face obscured by a mess of wet, silver hair that draped across his cheek and forehead. His clothes were soaked, and his skin was as pale as moonlight, blue veins prominent under the surface.

“Hello?” You called to him frantically, moving to turn him onto his back, his head lulling to the side.

You brushed away the hair from his face with haste, and your breath stilled in your chest.

His lips were blue, and across one cheek, cutting up through an eye, was a long and deep scar. The man’s nose was sharp, and his jaw even sharper, slender neck and shoulders peaking through the half ripped tunic that he wore, the white see-through as it clung to his body soaked.

Another crack of thunder boomed above, your head momentarily darting upwards to look to the sky, the storm having begun to move closer, crawling above the small island you called home.

You prayed in that moment to the Drowned God that he was alive.

Please, spare this man. Bring him back to the living.

“Please.” You whispered, hand at his neck as you tried to feel for a pulse, tried to feel for any warmth of his body that may indicate life. That may lead you to believe you had a sole survivor that washed ashore your tiny island, surely blessed by the Gods.

His head lulled in your hand as you looked out at the shore for any more bodies, whispering to yourself as you thought of what to do; If you should take him back to the cottage and send word that a body had washed ashore, that a ship that began with ‘Vhag’ had met its untimely demise in the cruel sea. Or if you should leave him at shore and hope that the waves do not carry his body away by the storms pass.

Your teeth began to chatter in your skull as your hands slipped around him, checking over his body for any grievous wounds or indications that he had died from anything other than drowning. But his body was fine, all bar his cold and pale skin.

Shifting to a crouch, you made your decision, and it pulled at your heart.

He would be too heavy to carry up to your cottage, but you also didn’t want to risk his body being taken back out to sea with the storm, this man, whoever he was, deserved a burial of some sort. So your option was to carry him further up the beach, to where the grass meets the sand, and send word on the morrow once the storm had passed.

You felt a pang of guilt for the man, a man who looked to be a handsome and skilled sailor, young but not naive in age, taken too soon. Though no sailor was skilled enough to survive the rolling waves, or the wrecking of a ship. The sea was a cruel mistress, and she took when and if she pleased with no repentance, rhyme, or reason. Your hands curled beneath his arms and you pulled, his dead weight dragging you down almost to fall in the wet sand.

“Bless him with salt,” You began to endlessly pray, something your father had once taught you many years ago, “Bless him with stone, bless him-“

The man’s chest erupted with a cough, sending you falling into the sand in shock, dropping his body back onto the beach as water spluttered from his lips.

“Gods be good.” You scrambled to him in the sand, turning him on his side so that the rest of the sea water would come out easier.

It seemed to go on forever, the jerking of his body as his lungs expelled spray after spray of water, until all too soon, he stopped again, a weaker cough or grunt falling from his lips as the last of the water was expelled.

The crack of lightning above you made your heart race faster than it already was, and so reaching beneath his arms again, you began to drag him up the sandy shore and back to your cottage.

He was alive.

A survivor.

It was no easy feat, taking him away from the furious waves, and by the time you had gotten to the cottage, your lungs and body ached from dragging him up to your home.

The man had groaned once or twice as you made the journey, storm full above the both of you, and once you finally were inside your home, you collapsed on the stone floor beside him, lungs burning as you sucked in air.

But now was not the time for you to rest, the man had grown paler since moved, and you watched as he shivered on the stone floor. Your teeth clicked in your mouth, from nerves and from the cold, your dress and coat soaked completely and shoes filled with water.

Your clothes weighed you down, but you only moved to take your coat off, dropping it by the hearth with a wet thump before you laid an old blanket from the couch by the fire, dragging the silver haired man to lay atop it as you surveyed what you could do.

First, you needed to get him warm, and the clothes that he had on were chilled from the sea and rain. You removed his torn tunic, his face creasing with pain as you ripped it off of him, pulling his leather boots and socks off after. His pants however, you faltered at, looking down at his dark breeches as a blush rose to your cheeks.

Not now, this man needs our help.

His privacy can come later.

You threw the last thick woollen blanket that sat on the couch over the top of him for privacy before you pulled his breeches down without looking, throwing the soaked article of clothing in the far side of the room before you laid him on his side to face the fire. You tucked the thick blanket around his body, noticing the chill of his skin that seeped through immediately, before pulling his wet hair away from his face and neck.

By then you were out of breath, muscles burning and joints aching, collapsing beside him again as you looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell weakly with every rattling breath he took. You prayed he would survive, but you had your doubts. The amount of sea water he had swallowed, and the way he looked so pale that he was almost translucent, gave you little hope.

But there was nothing else you could do.

Nothing more that you were able to do but wait.

And all you had was time as the storm raged outside.

Unlacing your boots you pulled the from your feet, toes beginning to prune and ache as they were soaked inside and cold, water dribbling out of each shoe as you tipped them upside-down in front of the fire, pulling away the soaked woollen socks with it. You shook as you began to peel layer after layer of drenched clothes away from your body until you were left in your shift, shivering by the fire as you desperately tried to warm yourself up.

Your hair lay wet against your back, drying as you slowly warmed, the light of the fire being the only light source in the cottage until you finally moved and began to light your various lamps and candles around the home.

It wasn't until you were back by the fire did you spare the man another anxious glance, eyes immediately watching his chest rise and fall weakly, much to your relief.

He wasn’t dead.

Yet.

But you hoped he would at least save the night and storm until you could send word for help, and perhaps even send for a doctor to come to you. You suspected he would be too fragile to move just yet. So now, all you had to do was wait.

Wait until the man either rose to consciousness, or perished from the sea’s assault.

But the longer you looked at him, looking at his silver hair, to his sharp features and plump lips that were almost blue, to the golden ring that sat upon one of his fingers, you couldn’t help the thoughts that turned over your head about this man. But one question in particular seemed to rise above them all.

Who was he?

The storm raged on, day and night, wind howling outside your cottage causing the old home to shudder and groan. The windows rattled with the force of the gale, rain pelting against its surface loudly. All the while, the lamp in the lighthouse never went out, thanks to your constant checks, back and forth up the many stairs, bracing yourself agains the rain and winds.

The silver haired man had not moved, nor woke since you dragged him up from the beach. The only sign of life given being the rise and fall of his chest that occasionally jerked with a cough or wheeze. His long hair lay like a halo around his head, soft waves teased from the salted water and dried from the warmth of the fire. The mans skin stayed the same inhuman paleness as before, though some colour rose back to his cheeks and his plump lips.

You had been sitting at your small table writing notes on the weather in your log book, fearing that perhaps there was a larger storm that lingered out in the back of the sea, which caused the one on shore to rage for so long, when a soft groan caught your attention. Your eyes immediately flicked away from your notes and down to where the man was laying, the slightest shift of his head to be seen.

Swiftly you made your way over to him, kneeling back down beside him, knees pressed into the hard stones as you looked him over. His brows were scrunched shut, and lips pulled slightly down. But that was not initially what caught your attention; It was the sheen of sweat that covered him head to toe. Lifting a gentle hand, you placed the back of it against his forehead.

A fever.

The man was burning up, and the sweat beneath your hand was proof of it.

This was not good.

You stood and made your way to the kitchen, riffling through a draw to find one of the many warn, and scraggly cloths inside before you pulled it out. You grabbed an empty bowl and took it to the dry sink and began to use the cistern pump to fill it with rain water. When the bowl was half full, you threw the cloth inside and made your way back to the feverish man on the floor.

You wrung out the cloth of its water and began to wipe at the sweat on his face and neck, hoping that the cool rag would help to fight the fever that was causing the man distress.

Fevers were dangerous things, and after what he had survived, you worried that the fever may be the final nail in his coffin, so to speak.

The silver haired man shivered in the warm glow of the fire, though his body ran hot. Each swipe of the wet cloth caused a crackled breath to fall from his lips, the scar on his face crinkled with movement. With every moment or so, clearing the sweat from his face and neck, you would dip the cloth back into the bowl to then wring it and begin again, hoping its coolness would have some effect.

His chest rose and fell shallowly as you wiped away the sweat and salt from his collar bones, small pink scars littered amongst the flesh of his chest. As you worked, you could not help but admire the man. His sharp features and strange hair was unlike anything you had ever seen before, and had only heard once or twice in tales from town about people who lived in lands far from yours, with silver hair and violet eyes.

You had never believed those tales, for who could have such Godly hair, and even stranger eyes, and whilst the man had not opened his one seeing eye as of yet, you wondered if you would find it to be violet, or perhaps a more common shade of blue. The scared and clouded one was no indicator of what could be revealed on the other side.

A part of you hoped to see that the tales were true, that perhaps your world was much larger than you had thought, but for the most part, you just wished for him to stay alive.

As you rinsed the cloth once more and brought it to the scarred cheek of his face, you took caution with the skin, looking at the way it deeply marred the flesh around it, and prevented the clouded eye from ever closing. You brushed the cloth gently by his temple when suddenly you were greeted with a vision of lilac.

The man gasped, hand shooting out to grab your wrist holding the cloth tightly, pupil of his eye widening and shrinking as his brain tried to focus on the person touching him. Your heart beat in your chest, your own gasp falling from your lips as you looked down at him, his eye on you.

It was true then.

He was one of them.

The grip on your wrist tightened and you hissed, the wet cloth falling from your fingers onto the stone floor beside him as his brows furrowed, looking at you.

“Skoriot iksis… ñuha…” The man gasped, language foreign to your ears.

You shook your head down at him, his breathing becoming shallow, grip on your wrist faltering, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” You told him, voice slow and clear as his head rested back against the flagstones, lone eye blinking sluggishly up at you.

“You’re safe here. You need to rest.” Your hand hovered above his shoulder, unsure if touching him again would cause him more distress. Instead, the hand that held your wrist slumped back to the stones, and his lilac eye fluttered shut, mouth parted weakly.

You pressed your fingers underneath his jaw, and were relieved to find the slow, but steady, beat of his heart.

Your heart on the other hand was another story entirely. It raced rapidly within your chest, breath coming in short pants as your knees began to ache from how you were sitting over him. Gaze roaming over his soft skin and hair, you came to a mind spinning conclusion that the tales were true, and people who looked like him did exist, which only meant one thing.

This man was a long way from home.

Feeling as though you didn’t want to startle him from his rest again, you took the bowl and cloth to the table and placed it by the ledger. If you needed to ease his fever again, you could repeat the process later, just not now.

Outside the storm raged on, rain flying sideways and the crash of thunder above. At one point you had brought your pigeon inside with you to place in a smaller cage out of the rain and wind. She was much happier now, and sleeping restfully upon her perch.

You had to stifle a yawn as you sat back on your chair by the table, noting that you had had scarcely more than five hours rest over the past two days. You were running on fumes, and if you needed to keep the lamp safely lit, and the man by the fire alive, you certainly needed your own rest.

By that time it was midday, and you could safely rest a few hours before you would need to check on the lamp once more. Your limbs felt as heavy as stones as you trudged to your bedroom, pulling your heavy dress from your body and shoes from your feet before you slid into the warmth of the covers in your slip.

When you woke, it was not to the sounds of the storm outside, but rather to the unfamiliar groans and grunts of a man. Ripping the covers away from your body, you wrapped a robe tightly around you, fastening it against your waist with its belt in a knot. It had been your fathers, and was entirely too large for your smaller frame.

He lay where he was, still on the hard stone floor, the fire having shrunk during your slumber, but still, his eye did not open again. So you piled more logs into the hearth, stirring the embers with a fire poker before moving to fill the kettle with the pump by the stove.

When you looked out the window, the lamp was still lit, and the storm still raged on, rain and wind flying through the air, booms of thunder booming above you, and the constant shrill whistling of the wind through the cracks of the windows and doors. It was an eerie sound if you were not used to it, but after all those years in solitude already, it was as common as a birds cry, or a bugs chirp. You lit the coal stove and placed the kettle on top, casting your eyes back to see if he had stirred again.

There hadn’t been a minute that had gone by where you hadn’t wondered who this man was. What he did. If he had a family to go home to, a wife, children.

Were his parents still alive? Were they fretting for his arrival or communications? Wondering where their son had gone? Or did he have no-one? Were they too lost to the sea and not fortunate enough to have washed upon the shores of your small island?

By the time the kettle whistled loudly, you poured it into your tea pot, but behind you came a groan again, this time, much louder, and to your surprise, more conscious. Forgetting your tea, you raced to his side, the mans face screwed up in confusion and pain, eye blinking sluggishly up at you. You pulled your robe against you tighter as you knelt near him.

“Take it slow, you’re okay.” You reassured him, hands unsure of whether or not to touch him or stay limply by your side, “You’ve survived a wreck. The Gods saved you.”

The pink of his tongue darted out to wet his cracked lips, but his tongue was just as dry. His mouth parted, and a broken and confused echo came out, “Gods.”

You nodded, “Yes. The Gods surely showed you favour when they washed you on this island. We are the lighthouse just off the coast.”

It seemed to be a lot for the man to take in, his brows pulling downwards from either pain or confusion or a terrible mix of the two, but a more burning question came forth from your lips, “What is your name?”

The silver haired man, who’s cheeks had more colour than when you brought him inside days before, blinked at you sluggishly, mouth parting and then closing, before a rasping request came forth.

“Water.”

You jumped up from your spot beside him and raced to the pump, filling a glass before coming back to his side. You knelt on the stones, helping him to lightly sit up with a hand at the back of his head, leaning the glass up to his lips. At first he spluttered the water back into the cup as he tried to drink, a lone dribble trailing down his strong chin and neck, but then after a moment, he drank greedily, hand coming to grasp yours to tilt it quicker down his throat.

“Slowly. You don’t want to drown again.” You tried to make some light, and the man seemed to enjoy it, as he coughed into the glass, or at least, you assumed he did, as one side of his lip pulled into a weak smirk.

He coughed again once finished, and you asked him if he wished for more, to which you got a weak shake of his head, ‘no’. You gently laid him back down as you looked at him, pressing your hand against his forehead. Although the fever had seemed to settle, he was still hot to the touch, yet despite this, he shivered.

“...Cold.” His voice came out smoother this time, no longer dry and parched from dehydration, though it was still raw and ragged from the sea.

“You have a fever,” You explained, pulling the blanket only a little higher on his chest, not wanting to exacerbate it, “But it looks like it shall break soon.”

The man watched you with a half lidded gaze, lips mumbling in a foreign language once more, “...Issi… se… Riña…”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” You frowned at him again, "Do you speak the common tongue?”

The man watched you with his half lidded gaze before he nodded. You couldn't help but look at his cloudy eye that didn't move.

Now that he seemed more conscious, and had even asked for water, it seemed to you that perhaps this man would not die in your home after all.

“Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

A nod.

You went back to the kitchen, filling his glass with water again before grabbing one of your scones to bring back. You came to his side and began to break the scone in your hand into smaller pieces, lifting his head once more to feed it to him. He ate slowly, coughing occasionally to which you’d give him more water to help him wash it down, but you could tell that he was grateful.

“...Thank... you.” It came as barely a whisper, but it was there none the less.

You still didn’t know his name, and it ate at you.

“What is your name?” You asked again, hoping now that he had both food and water in him, that he would be able to answer you, but instead he just stared at you blankly.

Perhaps he had hit his head in the wreckage and forgotten?

And then another thought came.

Or perhaps, he was a pirate, and hiding his identity for fear of capture.

You stood and dusted the scone crumbs from your skirt, leaving the man beside the fire as you moved to the kitchen, pulling some carrots, potatoes and onions that you had grown in your garden out of your basket to rinse and begin to prepare.

“I’m going to cook a stew.” You cast your head to the side, voice calling out to the man, “I think it would warm you. I have some dried meat I can use in it too. I think it would-“

You turned around to find the man asleep again, “-Do you some good.” You finished quietly, moving back to the task at hand.

It didn’t help that a strum of disappointment raced through you at his unconsciousness, but it couldn’t be helped, after all the man was practically with the Stranger when he washed ashore.

Steam rose from the pot of vegetables and broth, the dried meat you had cut and put inside having absorbed the stew and become soft again as you stirred it. It smelt good, and as you had helped to bring it to boil, you had had enough time to check on the lamp in the lighthouse, ensuring that the oil and glass was all in order.

The storm seemed to have settled somewhat, but from your experience, it meant only that the eye had reached shore, and the worst of it was soon to come.

Not once had the man moved as you cooked, nor when you walked past him to put back on your dress, coat ,and shoes. He looked better, and somewhat peaceful on your floor, but you knew the harsh stone would do naught for his rest, and so as you stirred the stew you thought of ways in which you could get him up and into your bed.

You blushed immediately at the thought of him spread out inside of it, silver hair around his face, soft lips parted as he breathed, the furrow of his brow having softened as he rested, properly rested. And although it seemed indecent to have a man inside of your bed, to have him inside your house and bare, you had to remind yourself that it wasn’t anything untoward, nor would you be touching him, and it was just until he was well enough to leave.

It didn’t help however, that he would be the first and only man to ever be in your bed.

You stifled a laugh at the thought.

The first one in your bed, bare and handsome, only because he was on the brink of death.

The laugh proved to not be as stifled as you had thought, as the voice of the man startled you from your slow stirring.

“...Who are you?”

You placed the spoon down by the stew, turning around to look at him from the coal stove, to tell him your name. As you spun however, your name came as a bare whisper, eyes finally landing on the man by your fire.

Not only was the man conscious, he was sitting upright, leant heavily on one arm as he looked at you, legs stretched out in front of him. Your mouth went dry and you blinked, the blanket that you had carefully tucked around his body having fallen to his waist, bare chest on display.

You swallowed thickly, feeling heat in your cheeks as you tried to avert your eyes, but the image of his toned and lean chest blared in your minds view.

“Do you often strip drowned sailors?” The man mused, clearly having noticed his undressed state. His voice still crackled, but underneath, it was as smooth as honey.

The heat in your cheeks increased tenfold, and your feet took you swiftly over to the table where his now dried tunic and breeches were neatly folded on top. A crack of thunder boomed over head as you looked towards the kitchen, holding his clothes out to him to the side, feeling the weight of them being taken out of your hands.

“You were soaked and close to death," You explained, "I saw no other choice.” You cleared your throat awkwardly as you heard rustling beside you, moving yourself back to the kitchen as you kept your back to him to stir the stew in avoidance, “I kept your modesty with the blanket. My one priority being-“

“-A joke, Madam.”

“Miss.” You corrected him.

You were no married woman.

You didn’t dare turn back around, instead, beginning to pour stew into two seperate bowls using your ladle, ensure that his had an ample supply of meat and broth within to help give him his strength back.

As he dressed, you could hear him grunt and struggle, but offered him no help. A man of his breed would likely suspect you meant something untoward, and you had learnt from a young age that a mans strength and will should never be questioned, for their ego's, fragile as they are, shall bruise.

You could feel him watching you as you continued on, shaking the embers beneath the stove loose to put them out slowly, allowing for the stew to finish its simmering before putting the large lid on top.

“Who are you?”

You frowned.

Had he forgotten already?

You told him your name once again.

“No." He sighed from behind you, "Who do you serve here?”

Turning, you faced the man.

His tunic was thrown back on, but it gaped at his chest where it had been ripped, revealing the soft pale skin beneath that you could not help but admire. But despite his handsomeness, his question served to insult you.

“I serve no one.” You said stiffly, dusting your hands down on your apron, before grabbing two spoons to throw into the bowls.

This seemed to dissatisfied the man as he hummed, “And the man who tends to the lighthouse?”

The man?

Hands on your hips you glared at him, watching as his brows lifted slightly waiting for your response, “There is no man here. None but you.”

His brow furrowed, “Then who te-“

“-That would be I.” You snipped, turning back around to grab his bowl before handing it to him with his spoon, “I take you can feed yourself now?” All patience gone from your body.

And to think, you had brought this man back from the dead, and he still thinks that a man must tend to the island and not you.

Clearly the silver haired man was shocked by your station, and also your brazen way of response, “I meant no offence, Miss. I have only known men to tend to Lighthouses.”

You huffed through your nose, exhaustion from the almost week of storm, and nurturing the man on the floor back to health nipping at you cruely.

“And now you know a woman.” You moved back to the kitchen to grab your own bowl and plate of sliced bread, sitting at your table to eat your stew, all the while feeling his eye on the side of your face. You grabbed the plate of bread and offered him a slice, a small thank you coming from his lips as you ate in silence.

There was minimal talking between the both of you as you ate, and the sound of the storm seemed to fill the space instead. By the time the both of you finished eating, you knew you had to brave it outside once again, and climb the never ending stairs to check the oil and wick of the lamp.

You took your bowl and his to the kitchen, before coming back, standing above him as you pulled on your coat.

“I have to tend to the light.”

He nodded.

You shuffled on your feet as you looked at him, thinking of your earlier plan to move him into your bed so that the had a reprieve from the stone floor.

Now was the time if there ever was.

“Do you think you can stand?”

The man blinked at you.

“I won’t cast you out in this storm,” You reassured him, though his face didn’t change, “But you shouldn’t lay on the flagstones to recover. They’ll do more harm than good.”

A nod.

He shifted, pulling the blanket off of him to reveal his long, now clothed, legs, bare feet stretched out at the end. You came to his side, pulling an arm beneath his and offering your other hand as you slowly brought him to stand. The man swayed and groaned, and his face grew pale.

“The bedroom is not far.” You reassured him, steering him down the small hall, each slow step, moving slowly, and his breath coming out with a rough rasp. His weight was heavily leant around your shoulders, and you felt your muscles strain to hold him up. The man stood at least a foot and a half taller than yourself, and yet slumped over was still nowhere near your height.

He grunted as moved him to the side of the bed, sitting him down on the edge as gently as you could, pulling the sheets back before helping him to lay down. He coughed and wheezed and groaned as you moved him, eye scrunched tightly shut, as you lifted his legs up and onto the mattress. The man looked paler than before, and his seeing eye became half-lidded with fatigue.

You pulled the sheets up to his shoulders, ensuring that he wouldn’t roll out of the bed on either side.

Then suddenly you were hoping that he didn’t mind the feel of your sheets, or the spring of the softness of the mattress, or the plump of the pillows.

You shook your head.

Why were you worried about that?

“Rest.” You told him, but his eye had already slid shut, and so away you went.

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athenamikaelson · 17 days

Text

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 4

Word Count- 3.1k

Warnings- Swearing, spoilers obi.

My fingers graze the texture of my history textbook. My eyes read through each line. Before I know it I’m at the end of the page, and yet I can’t recall a single sentence I had just “read.” I let out a loud sigh and closed the book, placing it back in place on my desk. Ever since the day I got kidnapped this has been a problem. Without being on edge, I can’t focus on school work, the people around me, or myself. Every time I walk by someone I instantly tense up to the idea of them being something supernatural. I know that Elena has told me everyone in town that she knows is a part of that world but she can’t possibly know when a complete stranger is.

Worrying about who is supernatural isn’t the only thing that’s been plaguing my thoughts, either. All night I was tossing and turning with the thought of Elijah. Damon and Elena knew as much as I did about how he was still alive. Elena had told me that a vampire could be killed with a wooden stake, and yet it had only affected Elijah temporarily.

“He’s going to destroy you.”

Kathrine’s words ring in my ears. Stefan had told me not to believe a word she says, but given that these people don’t seem to know what the hell is going on either, I’ve let her words get to me. The look of fear in her eyes at the thought strikes me to my core every time I think back to it. If a vampire that is magically locked up is afraid of this Elijah guy, then I sure as hell will be too.

I jump slightly in shock as I hear knocking on my door, I untense when I hear my mother’s voice on the other side though.

“Y/N, you have a friend here to see you,” I stand up and open my door to talk to her but freeze when I see Damon standing behind her. His lips curve up into a smirk and moves his fingers up and down in a wave as he stares at me.

“Your friend Damon here is so kind to drop in to check on you. I had no idea you were feeling under the weather.”

I glance at my mother and fight the urge to roll my eyes. Although we look so much alike I couldn’t be more different from her. Where I actually take the time to listen to people and try to understand people my mother seems to only care about what benefits her. I’m not surprised at all that she hasn’t noticed my change in attitude these past few days since she never seemed to care before.

She clears her throat at the silence she gets from me, “Well, I’ll let you talk. I have to be going anyways,” She turns to Damon who fakes a smile at her, “I have a work trip this weekend.”

“Work on the weekends, well that’s no fun,” Damon responds with a flirtatious tone that makes me want to gag. My mother on the other hand turns red.

“No worries, I always find a way to liven things up,” She leans closer to him, “Even though it would be more fun with some company.”

“Mom, you should be going now,” I interrupt before I throw up on both of them.

My mother nods and says her goodbyes to both of us, mostly Damon, and walks back down the hallway. I let out a sigh of relief but then tense up when I realized that Damon had just entered my room.

“What are you doing here,” I watch as he looks around my small room. After my mother and father’s divorce, my mother wasn’t left with very much money so we had to make do with what we could scrounge up. After moving and divorce costs we left with a tiny 3 bedroom 1 bath single story home here in Mystic Falls. It looks like a shoe box compared to the other houses in this town, but I don’t really care since I plan to move away from here the second I graduate.

“I need a favor,” Damon says to me as he picks up the stuffed frog I have on my bed and tosses it around in his hands.

“What kind of favor?”

Damon places the frog back on my bed, “Well, after your and Elena’s little suicide excursion yesterday we’ve magically locked her in her house, and I need you Pukerella to go babysit.”

I send him a glare at the nickname, “If Elena’s locked in her house why do you need me to babysit her?”

Damon rolls his shoulders and walks towards the door, “I don’t need you to do anything. I want you to go to Elena’s and let me know if she plans on calling the big bad vampire to come sacrifice her.”

“So you want me to be your spy?”

Damon thinks at the question for a moment before shrugging his shoulders, “Ya, pretty much.”

I shake my head, “I’m not going to spy on my only friend.”

Damon lets out an annoyed groan and pinches the bridge of his nose as if this is the most annoying conversation he’s had, “Fine then you won’t be my spy, you’ll be the babysitter I hired for Elena. There happy? Now come on I got other stuff to do today other than arguing with you, people to go kill and stuff like that you know?”

Damon grabs me by my upper arm and practically drags me out of my room and down the hallway toward the front door. He ignores my yells of anger as he opens the door to his car and pretty much pushes me in. I huff as he speeds over to his side and starts the car.

“Oh and by the way,” I slowly turn my head to glare at him as he starts talking, “You might want to get some vervain for yourself and your family. It was too easy getting your mother to invite me into your quaint home.”

—-

“We could watch Pretty Woman?” Elena asks Jeremy and I as we sit on the couch. Jeremy lets out a loud groan at the question making Elena laugh.

“Guess not,” She flips through some more channels before she lets out a sound of excitement, “Oh! Grease!” Elena goes to play the movie but Jeremy snatches the remote from her hand.

“No way, not happening. I have seen that movie far too many times because of you and Mom. I’m going to decide.”

It takes Jeremy another 10 minutes to scroll through the channels deciding on a movie. Every time he picks one Elena disagrees and they start arguing over it until they start searching again. This has pretty much been what we’ve been doing for the whole hour in which I’ve been at the Gilbert residence. After Damon kicked me out of his car and drove off I’ve just been listening to the Gilbert siblings argue. It’s not that bad though. Jenna, Jeremy and Elena’s aunt, supplied us with snacks a bunch of snacks before she had to leave for something she had to go do.

“Aha!”

I turn to the TV to see what Jeremy picked and cringe as I see the beginning credits for “The Human Centipede.”

Elena’s sound of disgust mirrors mine as she stands up, “This is no use. Y/N do you just want to go up to my room?”

I glance at the TV again momentarily and nod my head, “Defiantly.”

—

“You’ve got to read this book I just got,” Elena jumps up from her spot on the floor next to me and goes to her bookshelf, “The romance in it is so steamy and the main male character in it is so hot!” She stops and blushes at what she just said.

“Don’t tell Stefan,” She points at me.

I laugh as I bring my fingers to my lips and pretend to lock them, “You’re secret is safe with me.”

Elena and I had been making small talk until I had mentioned that I liked reading, which caught her attention. She had told me she does too and we began talking about our favorite books and genres. To which we found out we’re both fans of romance, jumpstarting an hour-long discussion.

Elena sits back down next to me and hands me her book. I strum through the pages.

“I’ll make sure to read it and let you know what I think.”

She nods and looks away as if in thought, “I can’t believe we didn’t become friends earlier. Why is that?”

Her question has me stirring uncomfortably, “Honestly I’m not that surprised. I’m not that noticeable.”

This comment has Elena furrowing her eyebrows and shaking her head, “You’re joking right,” At my look of confusion she continues, “Of course I noticed you. I mean when you come to a small town like this it’s hard not to be noticed but what I mean is that I always thought you were cool.”

I can feel my cheeks warm up at her compliment and I glance down at my fingers to hide it.

“You thought I was cool?”

“Ya of course,” She responds instantly, “You’ve got great style and you’ve got this mysterious aura about you. I just never approached you because I thought you didn’t like me.”

Her confession has me looking up and frowning, “Why would you think that?”

She shrugs her shoulders, “You just kind of sometimes look like you don’t want to be approached by anyone. I just assumed. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head at her apology, “Don’t apologize! And no, I never hated you I always thought you were the cool one. I just think I have that look on my face all the time.”

Elena laughs and smiles at me, “OK, good.”

“Good.”

We’re about to start talking about books again when we hear the front door open.

“Jenna must be home,” Elena says as she stands up and reaches her hand down for me to grab. I grab it and pull myself up and we walk downstairs.

We turn the corner and we both give each other a look as we see Jenna on the ground rummaging through some boxes.

“Hey. What are you doing,” Elena questions her Aunt.

“Oh perfect timing,” She grabs a cardboard box and hands it to Elena, and then gives another to me.

“Whoa. Oh. What is this stuff?”

“Your mom’s files from the historical society. I got roped into helping Mrs. Lockwood,” Jenna grabs her box and stands up, “And by roped, I mean very excited to participate.”

I silently laugh as I try to balance the heavy box in my arms, the laughing stops though once Jenna closes the door and I lock eyes with the man who’s been haunting my every waking thought.

“Hey, I’m Elijah.”

Elena and I stand there frozen as we watch Jenna interact with the vampire.

“Elijah’s in town doing research on Mystic Falls,” She introduces us not knowing we’ve already had the displeasure of meeting.

I freeze up and grip the box I’m holding tighter to my chest as Elijah walks closer to us. He quickly greets Elena, skating her hand before turning his full attention onto me. I’m visibly shaking right now and it only worsens as Elijah reaches his hands up and grabs the box from my hands. His fingers grazed mine for longer than needed.

“Here let me take this,” He places the box back down and reaches his hand up to me in greeting.

We both stand there looking at each other for what seems like forever as he waits for me to shake his hand.

“I don’t like being touched,” I blurt out. Elijah slowly lowers his hand and I might be mistaken but from the look on his face, he almost appeared saddened by that.

Jenna joins us again telling Elijah that he can stay here and rummage through the boxes, to which he turns down. I try to find the wall behind Elena interesting to keep my line of sight away from the vampire, but I can still sense him staring at me. After another moment he tells Jenna he’s going to have someone pick up the boxes tomorrow and bids Jenna and Elena a farewell. I almost think he’s left us but when I look back over I find that Elijah has moved even closer and he gives me a warm smile and leans down.

“I hope to speak with you again soon, Miss Y/L/N.” My chest starts moving up and down rapidly, which he seems to have noticed, as I nod at his words. He doesn’t seem to get that I won’t be saying anything back to him because he stands there staring at my face. After what seems like a lifetime I watch as he moves by me towards the front door, but not before he lifts a finger and grazes the end of my sweater.

I watch with bated breath as he shuts the door behind him. Elena doesn’t waste any time before dragging me up the stairs and banging on Jeremy’s door. As she goes to open the door I feel a hand grab my waist and pull me. My back hits something strong and I go to squeal but it comes out muffled as a hand moves over my mouth. I look up and freeze as I stare up at Elena to whom he motions to be quiet. I hear Jeremy open his door but I can’t focus on any of the words he’s saying as I watch Elijah’s face. I make note of the light stubble that runs across his jawline and the practically flawless skin he has. Lucky ass vampires. My staring must’ve caught his attention, as his dark brown eyes meet mine. Once again the corners of his lips turn upwards into a small smile as he watches me watch him.

Jeremy walking by us catches my attention and Elijah drops the hand from my mouth, but not before leaning down, and what I could’ve sworn was sniffing my hair. Elena quickly grabs my hand and pulls me away from Elijah and for a second I almost feel annoyed at this. Clearly not as annoyed as Elijah though was lets out a snarl, making Elena go rigid.

“What do you want?”

Elijah composes himself once, “I think it’s time we three at a little chat.”

—-

“Forgive the intrusion. I mean your family no harm,” Elijah tells Elena as he walks around her room.

“Why did you kill those vampires when they tried to take me,” Elena questions him as she comes to sit down next to me on her bed.

“Because I didn’t want you to be taken,” Elijah says confusing both Elena and I, “Klaus is the most feared and hated of the Originals but those who fear him are desperate for his approval. If word gets out that the doppelganger exists there’ll be a line of vampires eager to take you to him and I can’t have that.”

A cold feeling runs up and down my spine at the mention of Klaus.

“Isn’t that exactly what you’re trying to do,” Elena questions him again.

“Let’s just say that my goal is not to break the curse.”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion at the confession. Elijah looks at Elena and then brings his eyes towards me for a moment before turning back to Elena as she begins speaking.

“So what is your goal?”

“Klaus’ obsessions have made in paranoid. He’s a recluse. He trusts only those in his immediate circle.”

“Like you?”

“Not anymore.”

“An old ass paranoid vampire, how much better could this be,” I whisper out loud to myself sarcastically. I look up and see Elijah looking at me with a small smirk on his face as he must’ve heard my comment.

“You don’t know where he is do you,” Elena questions but he doesn’t turn his gaze away from me, “So you’re trying to use me to draw him out.”

Elijah lets out a sigh as he turns his attention back towards my friend, “Well, to do that I need you to stay put and stop trying to get yourself killed.”

He gives her a smile and I have to stop myself from smiling at it.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Well, if I wasn’t being truthful, all your family would be dead and I’d be taking you to Klaus right now. Instead… I’m here and I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

And the smile was instantly gone.

This grabs Elena’s attention, “What kind of a deal?”

Elijah stands up and starts walking around, “Do nothing. Do nothing, live your life, stop fighting. And then, when the time is right, you and I shall draw Klaus out together and I shall make certain that your friends remain unharmed.”

“And then what?”

“Then I kill him.”

“Just like that?”

Elijah smirks at her, “Just like that. I’m a man of my word, Elena. I make a deal, I keep a deal.”

“How are you going to be able to keep everybody safe?”

“You know, I notice you have a friend, Bonnie, is it? She seems to possess the gift of magic. I have friends with similar gifts.”

“You know witches.” Elena nods her head to which I fight the urge to say “duh” to. This guy is oldddd, of course, he knows witches.

“Together we can protect everybody that matters to you.”

I watch silently as Elijah walks over to Elena and reaches his hand out for her to shake, “So do we have a deal?”

“As long as you keep my friends safe,” Elena looks over to me, “Y/N is one of those friends.”

Elijah looks over to me and smirks, “Trust me deal or no deal. No one will be laying a finger on Y/N. That I give you my word on.”

I fidget under his intense stare.

“I need you to do one more thing for me.”

Elijah turns back to face Elena with an incredulous look, “We’re negotiating now?”

Elena tells Elijah she’ll accept his deal if he gets his witches to free Stefan from some vampire tomb he’s been trapped in. Why has no one told me this yet? Elijah reluctantly agrees and they shake hands, cementing their deal. With one last glance toward me, Elijah nods his head and speeds away.

Elena and I both let out shaking breaths as we stared at each other.

“Any chance you want to spend the night,” Elena asks me hopefully with a sheepish look.

I nod my head quickly, “My mom is out of town and my brother’s at a sleepover. There’s no way in hell I’m going back to that empty house tonight.”

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