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incendiobrock · 7 months

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Surprise! {Damon Salvatore}

Summary: When no one is answering y/n’s calls or texts, they try their best to figure out what is going on in their friend group. Unaware of some supernatural issues, y/n is met with a surprise that changes their life forever. *This imagine is meant to be set somewhere in season 2ish*

A/N: The ending wasn’t where I was planning on leaving this imagine but I’m trying to clear out my drafts and this was written a year or so ago, so I’m going to leave it like this. Hope you still enjoy!

Warnings: fighting, slight language, mentions of blood, dying (stabbing), graphic

GIF ISN”T MINE CREDS TO OP (for the sake of this imagine pretend that’s Katherine and not Elena)

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You knocked lightly on the big wooden door, wondering why no one had been returning your phone calls. No answer, you should’ve known… You tried the metal door knob and shockingly it was unlocked. The heavy door slowly opened into the foyer of the old Victorian mansion. Your shoes made sounds that echoed through the house as they made contact with the wooden floor boards. You glanced around, noticing the deafening silence that filled the space normally filled with chaos. Something wasn’t right.

You were now standing in the living room, taking in your surroundings. Your brows furrowed as you noticed the fire smoldering in the fireplace. There was a dried puddle of blood staining the carpet, nearly three feet in front of you. A full glass of Damon’s bourbon sat discarded on a table.

“Hello?” You called out, now looking down the hallway and towards the stairs to the upper level of the house. You jumped, suddenly hearing a faint bang coming from the opposite end of the hallway. You walked quickly over to the door that led down to the cellar. As you went to push open the door it flew towards you revealing Elena who must’ve been coming back upstairs. “Jesus Elena! You scared the hell out of me!” You yelled, grabbing at your heart as you tried to steady your breathing.

She looked at you slightly confused, “What are you doing here?” Her voice was nearly a whisper. You went to answer her as she made her way in front of you, heading back into the living room. You followed quickly behind, “I have been calling you guys, no one answered me. I started to think something was wrong so I wanted to come see if you guys where here. Where’s Stefan?” It wasn’t unusual to see Elena without Stefan right by her side, but with all the vampire stuff surfacing he tended to try and stay close.

She sat on the sofa, propping her legs up on the table in front of her. “Uh- I think him and Damon went to go help out Bonnie. Something about her needing a grimoire.” She said, swirling around the glass of bourbon in her hands. Was she drinking this early in the day? You walked over and sat down beside her, copying her and placing your feet up on the table as you sunk into the back of the sofa.

“They found the grimoire yesterday, are you feeling okay Elena?” You slightly laughed, leaning over and placing the back of your hand on her forehead, checking for a temperature. Her eyes widened slightly, watching as you retracted your hand from her cold forehead. “Here, you’re freezing.” You said, handing over a blanket that always sat on the back of the sofa. “I’m going to go make you some hot tea.”

As you made your way into the kitchen you shook your head trying to clear your mind. You couldn’t shake the idea that something wasn’t right. After searching through cabinet after cabinet you finally found some tea bags. Chamomile should do, you thought. The metal tea kettle was placed onto the stove top, heating up the water. The buzz of your phone vibrating in your pocket pulled you out of your thoughts.

Elena: Hey, where are you? Sorry for not answering your calls, Damon, Stefan and I have been all around town today.

You felt your heart sink instantly, if Elena was out with Damon and Stefan, who the hell was in the house with you? The tea kettle began to squeal as the water reached a boil. You rushed over and removed it from the stove, dumping the water straight into the sink. You needed to get out of this house immediately.

You reached for your phone once more, trying to quickly send a message to alert your friends what was going on back at their house.

“Someone is here at the house.” Was all you got to type before you heard footsteps come up from behind you. You hit send, letting Elena know before you whipped around to be faced with Elena?

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She asked you now, walking over to you and studying your facial expressions. You took a step back, your back making contact with the cool granite counter top, trapping you between the two.

“W-who are you?” You shakily whispered, tears forming in your eyes. This didn’t feel real.

“Y/n, it’s Elena.” She reassured, holding her hands out to you as if she was cautiously trying to calm you down. You pulled out your phone, showing her the message that “she” had sent you saying she was out with Damon and Stefan. She blinked quickly, shaking her head side to side. A lump formed in your throat waiting for her to speak again. “I don’t- I don’t know who sent that. I don’t have my phone. I promise it’s me. It’s me y/n, please.” She begged. Tears fell down your face as you pulled her into a tight hug.

In the matter of seconds you were shoved up against a wall, Elena’s hand cutting off your air as she squeezed your throat. Dark veins grew beneath her eyes as she smirked, revealing sharp, white fangs. Her teeth sunk into the wrist of her free hand, keeping the other wrapped tightly around your neck. You gasped for air, struggling against her strength that was holding your feet off the ground below. Her head flew back up as her wrist dripped fresh blood onto your shirt, “Drink up.” She grinned as she shoved her bitten wrist into your mouth, forcing you to drink her blood.

Your body dropped to the floor as she released you. You coughed, gagging on the hot, coagulated blood that poured down your throat. “Well, this will be fun.” You heard her voice ring through the air once again. Looking over your shoulder you saw her spinning a knife through her fingers skillfully. She grunted as she pierced the knife straight through your back, causing you to scream out in pain. The knife sliced through you as she yanked it back out. Blood began to spill out of your open mouth as you dropped to lay on your side. She then kicked you in the stomach causing you to lay straight on your back.

“P-please stop.” You cried, pain rushing through your entire body. The last thing you remember was her driving the knife straight through your heart.

—-

A ringing in your head pushed you awake. It was pounding in your skull as your eyes peeled open. Sun poured in through the window of kitchen, burning your skin like a thousand tiny fires. You screamed in agony, practically flying across the room to a wall that was void from the direct sunlight. The dryness you felt in your mouth, along with the pounding of your head and the intense feeling of fear overwhelmed you. Your body shook as you laid down, curling into a ball against the wall. Tears wracked through you as you remembered everything that happened, all the pain that you felt when Elena stabbed you with a knife. Elena stabbed you…

“Y/n?” Through your blurry vision you made out Elena’s form.

“Get away from me!” You screamed, crying loudly as you backed further into the wall. She rushed over to you, concern written all over her face as she knelt to your level. She quickly noticed the blood stains all over your shirt, paying extra attention to the dried blood around your lips. “Leave me alone! Stop it!” You thrashed around as she reached out to touch you. Stefan ran around the corner, watching as you coward away from Elena. She listened to your cries stepping away, and turning towards Stefan, silently asking him for an explanation. Before he could speak Damon used his vampire speed and zipped to your side, pulling your disheveled body into his strong arms. He heard your cries from outside the house and he felt the biggest rush of adrenaline to get to your side immediately. “Hey, hey, I got you. Shhh.” He whispered, stroking your hair as you cried into his shoulder.

Stefan and Elena watched painfully as you were cradled in Damon’s arms. “What’s happened?” Damon softly spoke up again. In between sobs you tried to inform him why you were so terrified, “E-Elena tried to- to k-kill me.”

“Oh shit.” He mumbled, pressing his lips to the top of your head as he continued to rock you gently. He glanced back at his brother, knowing that they were thinking the exact same thing. “Katherine.” Damon said.

Damon carefully helped you stand up, insisting that he take you up to his bed where he could explain to you that Elena wasn’t the one who initiated this attack. You weakly clung to him as you hobbled towards the stairs. Passing through the living room, your skin ignited in flames again as you passed by a window. You let out another blood curdling scream, Damon swiftly picking you and placing out of the suns harmful ways. His eyes softened as he examined your face closely. That’s when Damon realized that Katherine hadn’t tried to kill you, she did kill you. You were dead, and it was all his fault. He hadn’t answered your calls or your messages asking where he was earlier in the day. By the time he made it back home, it was too late. You were a vampire.

“Come on sweetheart, let me take you to my room please.” You nodded in response as he re-scooped you into his arms, rushing you into his room where he laid you on the bed, using his vamp speed to shut all the curtains before the light caused you anymore pain. Damon made his way into a small box that he had hidden away in a drawer in his bathroom. He pulled it out, removing the lid carefully as he sifted through the jewelry inside. Being alive for a hundred plus years has caused him to come across a decent amount of antiques, including some jewelry. One of these antiques being a ring that originally belonged to his mother which he held closely to his heart. It was silver, with small engravings throughout the band. Damon had been saving it for someone special.

“Damon?” You spoke up, as you watched him intently. His crystal blue eyes made contact with yours, “I’m so hungry.” Was all you could get yourself to say, feeling your stomach twist into knots at the thought of being fed. Although, you weren’t too sure that it was food you were craving.

Of course, how could he forget? You needed blood to complete your transformation. Not that he had ever wanted you to go through this... He sighed, placing the ring down on the bathroom counter, dreading that he would have to tell you that you didn’t “almost die” but rather were unwillingly turned into a blood sucking entity like himself. He had come to terms with being a vampire, almost not being able to think about living any other way. However, he remembered how he felt back when he was freshly turned and how long it took him to accept his inevitable fate. That was something that he would have never wished upon you.

“I’ll be right back okay, stay here.” He demanded, leaving you behind and coming back with a blood bag. You sat up in his bed as he sat down besides you, handing over the bag. The smell that filled your nose was almost irresistible. It smelt like the sweetest, richest dessert, like the biggest Thanksgiving feast. Veins began to ripple under your eyes as your fangs sprouted for the first time. Hesitantly, you brought the blood bag up to your lips, sucking in the contents of the bag. You moaned at the taste as the blood trickled down your throat. In only a couple seconds you had finished off the bag, pulling it back from your lips. Then, it hit you. The burning in the sun, the intense emotions and feelings of pain, the sudden insatiable hunger…

“I’m dead.” You gasped out, dropping the empty blood bag onto the bed sheets. Damon placed his hands on either side of your face gently, turning you to look at him.

“I’m so sorry y/n… I should’ve been here to save you.”

You felt like a monster. Sure, you didn’t think that Stefan and Damon were monsters, but you didn’t know how to control yourself the way that they could. The veins began to form under your eyes again as you thought about blood.

“Katherine isn’t going to get away with this. I swear to God, she’s dead next time I see her. How dare she take away your life like this…” Damon ranted, feeling the rage that you did about your unexpected death.

A knock on Damon’s bedroom door made you both look towards it. “Damon?” It was Stefan. Damon let his brother in, Bonnie following closely behind. Bonnie was your good friend, and it took everything in you to not rush over and drink her blood. Not because you wanted to drink her blood, but because you felt so hungry and something almost caused you to do it anyways.

You focused in on your breathing to distract you from your hunger, watching as Damon passed Bonnie a ring. She took it in her hand and went and opened up a curtain, light pouring in and landing a few inches before you in bed. Bonnie began to mumble out a spell as the ring sat in the light. “Done.” She said, reopening her eyes and tossing the ring back to Damon. You could tell she was upset, she had blamed Damon for everything supernatural that was happening to her and her friends. To her, he was bad news. She couldn’t even look at you in your state, feeling as though the friend that she once knew was long gone.

After she rushed out of the room, and Stefan rushed after her, Damon came back to your side. “Here, let’s put this on.” You placed your hand in his as he held it out to you, using his other hand he gently slipped the ring onto your finger. Damon hated his mother, but he had to admit that giving his mother’s ring to you made him feel a certain type of way.

“I don’t know how to do this Damon…” You whispered, admiring the new daylight ring that you were given.

“That’s why I’m here. I left you once, I’m not doing it again. I’ll help you get through this… I love you.” The latter end of his sentence barely made it past his lips, he had never shared his feelings for you out loud. He wanted to tell you how he felt for months, but he didn’t want to scare you away. He couldn’t help but notice though that your heart would always beat a little bit faster when he would arrive, and how your face would flush when he playfully flirted with you.

“You what?” Maybe you were hearing things, although you considered it was highly impossible due to your new hearing abilities.

“I love you y/n. I have for awhile now.” He said again, this time at a normal level which proved that you hadn’t misheard the words that had fallen past his lips. Before you knew what was happening, you leaned in connecting your lips together. The way you both melted into the other was almost enough to kill you for the second time today. It was passionate, and desperate, but so gentle at the same time. As you pulled back apart you couldn’t help but smile, resting your forehead against his.

“I love you too Damon.”

“Well, isn’t this just the sweetest. Now you guys can truly spend the rest of eternity together.” Damon shot up out of bed shoving the girl you now know as Katherine into the wall behind her.

“What are you doing here? I told you to leave.” He spat out, a death grip held around her throat. You watched as she chuckled to herself, amused that she got such a rise out of him. He felt his knuckles growing white as he squeezed the life out of her body.

“Surprise!” She said hoarsely, an evil grin still etched onto her face. This all felt so eerie to you, Katherine and Elena looked completely identical. No wonder you thought that she was Elena, anyone would without some extra context.

#damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #the vampire diaries #TVD #damon salvatore imagine

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deathbyathousandspiders · 1 year

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“ twenty–bucks. „

mcu!peter parker x fem!reader.

IN WHICH — the avengers had their theories about you and peter’s secret pining, but it wasn’t until a mission went wrong that they realized how serious it was.

WARNINGS (18+) → mentions of blood/wounds, cursing, angst, fluff, hurt reader.

✨masterlist✨.

2k.

Peter had been counting the minutes since you two started dating. It had been twenty months since you joined the Avengers, seventeen months since he realized how hard he’d fallen for you, nine months since you first kissed, and eight and a half months since you started your relationship.

It were though it all happened yesterday. Everything felt like it happened so fast; yet on the other hand, everything felt like it hadn’t even happened at all.

Tony Stark had scolded Peter about the difficulties of dating an Avenger, and what harm that would do to their reputation, how the government would respond, the amount of paperwork the two of you would have to fill out…blah blah blah.

Despite how often their teammates teased them, or encouraged the other to make a move, you two decided to keep your relationship a secret.

Hiding a relationship from the Avengers wouldn’t be too difficult. At least, that’s what you told him. It certainly added some adrenaline to your dynamic; the secret hand holds under the table at meetings, side–eyed conversations across the room, fucking in the storage closet as quietly as possible, the little things.

You made it all worth the risk. That is, until he remembered what the real risk of dating an Avenger really was.

Peter practically flew off the ground with how fast he ran towards you. His ears rang, deafening him from how quiet the world fell around him as he kept himself focused on your limp figure. The glossing breeze over his suit felt numbing, especially as he tripped and slid on his knees til he was finally able to take you in his arms.

“Baby..” He broke the silence, shaky fingers grazed your arm as he rolled your body over. “Babe, we–” Quick to examine you, his eyes fell wide at the large gash in your abdomen. Blood pooled out through your suit from the glass lodged in your stomach, still poking out of your skin. Peter swallowed thickly, trying to keep himself from panic.

The entire world stopped moving.

His entire world stopped moving.

Everything ran cold.

Peter didn’t know what happened. He didn’t know how he could’ve let this happen. One second, you were assigned to keep watch in the abandoned foyer, and the next? Peter left you for what felt like two seconds to kick a grimy dude’s ass or two, and there you were: unconscious and bleeding out.

“Kid? Squirt?” Tony asked through the earpiece intercoms, referring to both Peter and his unconscious girlfriend. As startling as the sudden voice was, Peter needed it to ground him back to the present. “Do you kids copy?”

It took everything in Peter to keep his lip from quivering. He nearly forgot to answer with how clouded his thoughts were. Cradling you carefully in his arms, he adjusted his grip to fumble over the earpiece. “We need a medic!!” Peter exclaimed, taking in as deep of a breath as he could muster, “Y/N’s unresponsive–”

You laid cold in Peter’s shaky grasp, not moving other than the shuttered lifting and easing of your shoulders with your breath. You were still alive, and Peter tried to cling to that as much as he could. He’d lost too many people. He couldn’t bear to lose you, too.

“Don’t freak out. And don’t touch her wound.” Tony sounded extra stern, which was how he typically expressed panic. It felt like a personal jab at Peter, but he knew better than to interpret it so malicely. “Bruce has your location and is on his way now.”

Peter could barely process the sentence, but all that registered was that help was on the way. He pulled the mask off his face before pulling yours off as well. Vision blurry, he could still make out the cuts that managed to scrape your cheeks.

He pressed his lips to your hairline, holding you gently in his arms. Your skin was cold against his touch, and he treated you as delicately as he could. He knew you weren’t dead, but knowing that you got hurt and he could’ve done something to stop it, he blamed himself. And he didn’t know what else to do besides rock you back and forth while the tears spilt from his eyes.

Footsteps approached behind him, but Peter was too focused on counting your breaths to shift his focus onto them. He kept hold of you, only moving his stare from your tattered face when someone shadowed over the two of you.

Natasha met Peter’s stare for a moment before crouching down to examine your injuries. Her lips pressed into a small line, tensing at how much blood you were losing.

“Do you know what happened?” She broke through the silence — At least, what would’ve been silence if not for Peter’s choked sobs.

He exhaled, shaking his head. “She was– She was keeping watch while I.. While I fought off the–”

Rushed footsteps through the rubble of the warehouse cut Peter off as he and Natasha looked over, Bruce and Steve running in.

Peter felt Natasha snake her arms under you, lifting you out of his grasp with ease. He felt himself panic at your absence.

“W–Wait!” He cried, more intensely than he intended.

The three looked at him, curious at his urgency. They watched as he stood up, finally wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t want to, uh- to leave her..”

A small, sympathetic smile touched Bruce’s lips as he nodded. “You don’t have to, but we gotta hurry back to the quinjet.” He started, taking steps back the way he came from, “I don’t have the supplies to treat her right now.”

“Has he eaten today?”

“Not that I’ve noticed.” Bruce replied solemnly, “I’m starting to worry about him, Nat.”

As you began to come to, faint murmurs grasped at your attention.

“He’s barely left this room since we got back yesterday. We’re lucky he’s stretching his legs to go find her some blankets.” You recognized Bruce’s voice instantly, though you kept your eyes shut as your consciousness collected itself. “I’ve never seen him so distraught.”

“Y’know..” Natasha spoke up, “He slept here last night.”

You felt your heart break and skip a beat at her words.

There was a pause. “I–I know. He was asleep beside her when I came in this morning.” Bruce mentioned.

You blinked your eyes open, quick to regret it when you were greeted by an overwhelmingly bright light.

“I can feel it, Banner.” Nat chimed, “They’re smitten.” There was a faint song to her words. “I think I caught him kissing her cheek before he left.”

It warmed your spirit to hear how affectionate Peter had been, but you could barely remember what happened, let alone why he’d be so distraught.

Bruce chuckled quietly, “I’m sure Tony will be thrilled to hear that.”

Once your eyes adjusted, you realized you were in the medical wing. Did you hit your head or something? Slowly, you sat up, freezing when the realization hit you.

Your hand flew to your lower stomach, hissing in pain at the wound by your hip. “Jesus.. Fuck!” You muttered, seething through gritted teeth. The pain was quick to shoot through every nerve in your body.

Before you could lay back down, you met eyes with an all too familiar pair as they entered the doorframe.

Peter lit up when he saw you up, rushing over. “You’re awake!” He beamed, quick to set the blankets down at the foot of the bed before he kissed you. He kissed your lips, then your cheeks a few times, then your nose, before pressing a sickly sweet kiss to your lips once more.

His hands cradled your jaw before he pulled back from the kiss, moving his hands to better support you as you laid back down.

“Baby, don’t you ever scare me like that again, okay?” He started, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Peter–”

“God, you scared me so bad.. I thought–” He cut himself off as he rambled, quick to shut down the dreadful thought. “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up again–”

“Peter–!”

“I should’ve been more careful.. Fuck, I’m so sorry I let that happen to you–”

You gently cupped his face, “Peter!” You spoke a bit more urgently, which seemed to catch his attention. He simply stared at you while you glanced over his right shoulder about four times.

His face flushed red, turning back to meet Natasha and Bruce’s dumbfounded expressions.

They blinked at one another, each unsure of where to start.

Natasha broke the silence, pressing herself off the wall she was leaning on with a small smirk. “I’m gonna go tell Steve that he owes me twenty–bucks.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but immediately shut it. He watched Bruce glance at the door Natasha walked out and back at Peter, “I’ll, uh.. Give you two some privacy.”

And then there were two.

His hands slid down his face as you contained your laughter, though it was hard not to. Watching your boyfriend’s face turn red was one of your few guilty pleasures.

“You couldn’t have warned me sooner?” Peter asked as he turned to you, muffling his words under the hands that covered his face. You weren’t sure how long you were out, but you knew you missed seeing how cute he was.

You missed seeing him.

You shrugged, “I tried to.” Despite the secret being out, you couldn’t care less. A small laugh spilled from your lips at how embarrassed Peter was, but it was cut off by how painful it was.

Peter sat on the bed beside you, grabbing your hand. “Easy, now.. It’s still pretty fresh.” He hushed, brushing some of your hair out of your face. His affectionate actions made your heart swell.

While the two of you stared at each other, you couldn’t help but see the solemn look that lingered in his eyes.

You brought the hand that wasn’t intertwined with his up to cup his cheek, gentle as you caressed the new purple creases under his eyes. “Peter..” You started, “I’m safe now. This wasn’t your fault either, okay?”

He looked like he was about to protest, but you were quick to him. “It’s not your fault.” You repeated. You hoped by saying it again, it would stick in his head better.

His stare flickered from one eye to the other before he sighed, defeated as he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You smiled up at him, pecking his lips once or twice. “It’ll take a lot more to get rid of me than some shattered window.”

He laughed quietly, his breath fanning over your lips before he whispered, “God.. I love you.”

“I love you too..” You trailed off as he leaned forward to kiss you again. No matter how long you and Peter had been dating, you never failed to feel butterflies in your stomach when he’d kiss you. It made you feel like you were the only two people on the planet.

“I fucking knew it!” Of course, you weren’t the only two people in the world. You heard someone speak from the doorframe, noticing how Peter immediately added three feet of space between the two of you.

Tony Stark looked between both of you, pointing at your connected handhold on the hospital bed in victory. He had the smuggest smirk you’d ever seen touch his face at the sight of you.

His grin made him look like he’d won the fifth–grade spelling bee. You would’ve never thought that you and Peter’s relationship would make such a grown man so happy.

“I’m going to go tell Steve he owes me twenty–bucks!”

#🐚 .゜・ ˗ˏˋ ☾ ´ˎ˗ 𝕰𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝖂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝕾𝐓𝐔𝐅𝐅.#🪷 .゜・ ˗ˏˋ ☾ ´ˎ˗ 𝕭𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐒.#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker #mcu #marvel #peter parker mcu #marvel imagines #imagine #x reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tasm peter #peter parker blurb #fluff

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etherealising · 1 year

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chapter eight | to see a friend, to see a ghost

masterlist | ↢ previous chapter | next chapter ↣

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: a secret you’ve been keeping from carmen finally comes to light.

wc: 8.9k

song inspo: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 (highly recommend to add to the heartbreak!)

If it was any later and the sky was any darker, you might have been startled by the figure waiting on your porch. But as you approached, arms occupied with bags full of decorations, you recognized that patch color jacket, and the baseball cap not doing nearly enough to disguise his features.

Stopping before your steps you just looked at the person for a minute, the man was obviously zoned out if he hadn’t already been alerted to your presence from the sound of your car arriving and now the slap of your boots against the pavement.

When you left that voicemail earlier, you hadn’t expected Carmy to take immediate action, it wasn’t like him. You also didn’t expect him to show up unannounced but maybe you should’ve waited before sending your address in that group text.

You made your way up the steps, the jingling keys in your hand finally drew the man’s attention, and the speed at which he flew off the chair situated on your porch was almost comical. Your eyes darted to his, taking in what you could see of his figure that wasn’t hidden behind his jacket or hat. He held two paper bags in one hand and the package you had been expecting in the other, sure the delivery driver just left it with him.

The silence stretched between the two of you. You could see Carmen begin to fidget in your peripheral vision; good he deserved to be uncomfortable for a minute or two.

Finally unlocking the door you pushed through, pausing to take your shoes off. The man behind you hesitated, not sure if he should move forward to follow behind you or not. He took a minute before stepping forward, your eyes meeting his as you stood between his only entrance.

“I don’t remember inviting you in,” it was harsh, but it was also the truth.

He stopped for a moment, cheeks flushing pink as he cleared his throat, “Can I uh, is it okay if I come in?”

It would have been easy to deny him access, leave him out here on your porch, or even allow him to squirm more. But you could hear Pete’s words playing in your mind as you thought of all the petty things you wanted to do at that moment.

You let out an exasperated sigh the constant back and forth between the two of you was finally catching up. You nodded before heading to your living room to drop the bags off on the couch, the open door an invitation for the man on your porch. The bags were safely deposited on your couch as you moved to head into your kitchen, stopping short as you spotted Carmy still standing in your foyer.

A chuckle escaped your lips at the awkward man. You made your way to him, stopping in front of him and taking the package from his hand and the two grocery bags. “You can leave your shoes and jacket out here.” You left him standing alone in the foyer, confident he would find his way to you eventually.

Carmen watched as you disappeared further into your house, the man quickly shedding his shoes and accessories, stopping at the mirror by the coat rack to tame his messy hat hair. He felt like a teenager all over again, fussing over how he would present himself to you. Carmy moved in the direction you had gone in, steps slowing as he tried to take in everything he could about your abode, from the decorations to the colors swatched on your walls. It all reminded him of things he missed out on with you, would you have gushed to him about the prospect of owning a home? Would you have asked his opinion on design choices?

The two of you had once gone to each other for everything, and because he was afraid of being completely vulnerable to his feelings for you, he felt like a stranger on the outside looking in.

He found you in the kitchen, eyes locked on the bottle of wine in your hands he brought with him, “You uh…talked about how much you loved it back in New York so I-I thought it might be nice to have it again.”

Your index finger traced the label of the bottle in your hand, memories of that weekend flooding through you, but that’s just what they were; memories. It was the present day now and no matter the itch you felt to let the red wine warm your mouth, drink enough of it to dull your senses, you wouldn’t allow yourself to.

“What are we doing Carmen?” The bottle of red was gently placed on your island as you looked at the man standing in the space just between your kitchen and living room.

Seeing him in a space that had been wholly your own felt a little weird, you didn’t want to think about the times you imagined what it would’ve been like to share such a space with him as you watched him stand in your house like he was meant to be there; like he belonged.

“I got your voicemail,” you leaned your elbows on the counter propping your head up as you listened. “This is me accepting your olive branch, I just…wanna make things right between us..” The explanation pulled a sigh from your lips, fingers tracing patterns into the marble island beneath you. You left the voicemail with the assumption that it would take Carmen a bit to get back to you, he had never been adamant about fixing your relationship before.

“You also have something I need,” Carmen watched as you raised your eyebrows, eyes leaving the spot you were tracing.

“And what would that be?” The scar between your eyebrows felt tight as your face pulled into a frown, your brain wandering to figure out what you could possibly have that Carmen would need.

Carmen sent a small smile your way, “Let’s cook and we’ll talk about it after.” You watched as the man joined you on the opposite side of your island reaching to remove the rest of the food from their bags.

The genuine laugh that bubbled out of your chest filled Carmy with warmth, “Do you always walk into people's houses and try and negotiate?”

Carmy did his best to control the warm fluttery feeling in his chest, the weeks without you were hard and the fact that your laugh could ease his full body ache was enough for him to realize just how much he wanted you as a constant in his life. “I didn’t think I’d make it this far.”

A silence lapsed between the two of you as you helped unpack the rest of the food. This whole situation felt like a bad idea, you definitely weren’t over Carmen’s stunt or the previous incidents where he let you down. But you had been skating through this year on borrowed time, and the time apart helped to calm your anger, you felt like you were in a much more level headed place to finally figure out what the hell this thing was between the two of you. And Pete’s words at lunch helped to give you a new perspective on the whole situation.

“What the hell are we even making?” Baking was your preferred form of cooking, so as you looked at all the ingredients laid out it was a bit confusing to piece the meal together.

The sound of your voice warmed Carmen’s senses, the silky tone danced through his ears buzzing against his brain. “Chicken Marsala.”

You nodded, declining a glass of wine with dinner was one thing, but now looking at the new bottle of Marsala that would be in your meal, you’d have to decline the whole dinner.

“That sounds so fucking delicious but I…I actually can’t eat it.”

Carmen stopped his ministrations with the ingredients, “No you’re good I uh I didn’t get anything you’re allergic to.” His eyes darted across the ingredients double checking that he hadn’t bought any compromising ingredients.

“Thank you, Carm, your consideration is thoughtful.” The extra measure made your heart rate speed up.

It was crazy really how the same man standing in your kitchen swearing up and down he didn’t buy any foods you were allergic to, could also be the same man who came across as uncaring.

“I appreciate the effort I do but…” Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest. How could you admit to your best friend, the person who once knew you most, that almost a year ago you were staring at blank hospital walls as some doctor explained to both you and Natalie just how close to death you were? “Carmy I-”

The hand resting on your elbow helped to calm your breathing, it wasn’t like you weren’t ready to admit your overdose to Carmy, you were just worried about the aftermath. “Baby hey, you with me?” You felt the hand skate down your arm, Carmy’s thumb soothingly caressing your pulse point.

You turned to face Carmen searching his eyes, doing your best to memorize the way he looked at you, unsure if you’d ever be graced with this intimate gaze again. “Carmen I…I’ve been sober for 7 months.”

The silence in your kitchen was loud, You needed Carmy to say something to you, yell at you, call you a hypocrite for blowing up on him all those weeks ago when you had been the one lying to him this whole time. It would be easier if the blank wide-eyed look on his face morphed into one of disgust, hatred, hell any emotion would’ve been welcome. “You fuckin’ with me right?” The apprehension in his voice was the result of not knowing if he could bear to hear the idea that something so heinous could plague you.

The wobble of your bottom lip was enough, Carmen’s eyes skated across your face landing on the three prominent features that had been added to your appearance; the tiny scar on your upper lip, the one between your brows, and the jagged raised one stretching the length of your jaw.

The breath in your throat hitched as his finger slowly traced the long scar, the touch sent shivers through you. Your eyes watched him as he watched you, finger deliberately taking in the pattern on your jaw, his hand unconsciously moved to cup your face in the way he liked, forefinger pressed into your hidden tattoo as his thumb began caressing the corner of your lips.

“What the fuck happened to you, Baby?”

The shower you just finished was much needed, Carmy volunteering to pick up different ingredients while you relaxed before the two of you began this search for the truth. He didn’t say it but you knew he needed some time to internalize the small piece of truth you told him, to rationalize just how much you had gone through in your time apart.

You could hear Carmen shuffling around in your kitchen as you stepped out of the bathroom, steam following you out. Grabbing your moisturizer you moved to sit on the edge of your bed, mind racing to figure out what you were even doing putting yourself in this situation.

These past three weeks without Carmen felt needed, you were thankful for the time apart to focus on yourself and your wellbeing. But it always felt like there was a piece of you missing, it felt like that every time the two of you parted ways. The difference was instead of spending the time apart worrying over Carmy every minute you had finally put yourself first, and began living for yourself just like Tina had advised all those years ago.

And while a part of you wanted to continue this childish charade of ignoring Carmy, only showing up at the restaurant when Richie assured you he wouldn’t be there; you couldn’t. It took too much energy to live your life around Carmen’s especially since the two of you were so much more involved with each other than you had been in a while. Even without Pete’s words of advice, you could see the toll it was taking on the people around you. Natalie was too scared to even mention her brother for fear you’d have a meltdown. Richie’s anger for your situation souring his relationship with Carmen. And Carmen himself, he who had become a haggard sunken-in version of himself, the time apart affected him the worst his patience nowhere to be seen from the few times Richie had offhandedly mentioned him in your presence.

The two of you had been in each other's lives for longer than you could remember and you didn’t want to lose that friendship over your pride. During your time away from Carmen, you had come to the decision that you would be fine if all that was fated to be between you two was a friendship.

More recently you had decided that maybe it was for the best, maybe the two of you were never meant for anything more, anything good. Maybe it was naive to think you deserved anything good with all the hurt your selfish choices caused. Maybe it was best not to take any time and attention away from your recovery. This friendship was just a whole bunch of fucking ‘maybes’ recently.

But one could say that ‘friendship’ went out the window when the two of you crossed that blurred line a year ago.

You paused as your hand reached for the old crew neck you’d usually sleep in, as much as you loved the garment you couldn’t allow yourself to give Carmen any false hope about what would come from this. Walking into your closet you quickly grabbed your oversized ‘The Beef’ crew neck, slipping it over your head before stepping into your sleep shorts and a pair of fuzzy socks.

Exiting your bedroom you stopped by your record player, buying yourself time before you’d have to face Carmen and all the truth that would be exposed in this one conversation alone. You flicked through your vinyl selection before picking your favorite one, needing something comforting for everything that was bound to transpire.

You entered your kitchen seeing Carmy’s back at your stove sent an ache through you. The man cooking in your kitchen was a vision you had more than once, it was almost right, the only thing missing was the small figure you imagined standing in a chair next to Carmy watching from over his shoulder.

“Smells delicious Carm,” you sent a tired smile his way as he looked over his shoulder at you, eyes falling just above his own, no courage left in you to take in the look he was giving you. “What did you end up cooking?” Carmen’s eyes were stuck to you, your words falling on deaf ears, you fidgeted in your spot, the insecurity of being judged by the one person you didn’t think you could handle it from, weighed heavy on you.

Carmen cleared his throat as he watched you sink into yourself. He hadn’t meant to make you feel any type of way with his stare, he was just having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that things had been so bad for you and he had no idea because of his selfish inclinations. “It’s uh Chicken Alfredo, I thought it was safest.”

The air in the kitchen was tense, neither of you knowing how to be around the other at this moment, and you hadn’t even gotten down to the harsh truth of everything yet. “Can you…uh what do you mean you’re sober? I-I know what it means jus-I,” you watched as Carmy closed his eyes, a huff escaping him as he couldn’t articulate what he wanted to say. “Baby, help me understand. Please?”

You could hear the thickness in Carmy’s voice, the two of you watching each other with matching glazed stares. You stood frozen for a minute, your fight or flight instincts kicking in and it took everything in you not to leave the conversation as it was. A sigh escaped you before you nodded your head and hopped to sit on the island, fingers picking at the stray threads on your shorts.

Carmy turned the fire on the stove down before turning to lean against the counter next to your stove, the two of you now facing each other. The distance between you felt like it stretched on for miles, and maybe it did, the two of you didn’t know each other like you once used to. You and Carmy weren’t the same teenagers who shared everything, even the smiles you shared at this point in life held a different meaning.

You never knew where to start this story, was it better to ease the person in, or was it better to just rip the band-aid off all at once? “Now that I’m better I don’t think any reason was good enough for what I did to myself…what I did to the people I love. But uh, Mikey’s death was definitely a catalyst for everything.” You looked up to see Carmy watching you intensely, arms crossed over his chest, you can’t remember a time you’d ever seen him look so serious.

“I was alone, and maybe that’s just an excuse. We…we just buried Mikey, and I was scared to believe he was really gone, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want it to be true.” You sucked in a deep breath trying to gather your thoughts. “I stayed in Chicago for a long time after that, your mom…gosh she was a mess and I understood why her grief was valid, but I…I just knew Nat couldn’t, didn’t deserve to fix things alone, so I just kept extending my stay.” The small sigh Carmen breathed was lost as you settled more and more into your explanation.

“An-And Richie was doing his fucking best to keep The Beef open but I could tell it was taking a toll on him. Tiff had filed for divorce just months ago and then he was dealing with Mikey’s passing. And I think, I thought if I just helped everyone get better I wouldn’t need to grieve, because I was surrounded by all the people I loved, and their wellbeing mattered most to me.” Carmen’s eyes stayed on your figure allowing your words to settle into him, it hurt knowing how much slack you had to pick up because he couldn’t bring himself to face the music.

Quiet sniffles came from where you sat atop the island. “Carm, you weren’t there…and I promise I’m not blaming you for the decisions I made, none of that is on you. But I just wanted my best friend, and I just needed to know you were okay. And when you weren’t at the funeral my mind went to the worst thoughts first. But then I…I just showed up in New York and you acted like your world wasn’t ending and then I just felt selfish because how was it that your brother just died and I was the one acting like I’d lost the person I looked up to most.” Carmy could feel his chest tighten, your words becoming less and less easy to swallow the more you spoke.

“And for a moment it was like the world stopped screaming like all I needed was your presence to assure me that everything would be okay,” a small sad smile rose to your lips as you thought about your time spent with Carmy in New York. “It-it was blissful and everything I wanted but I knew it was ending, we both knew it was ending you didn’t see a future with me.” You had to stop yourself, a sob sure to be ripped out if you didn’t give yourself a minute, “And I accepted your decision, it was for the best.”

You hugged your knees to your chest, barely beginning to scratch the surface of the worst of what you’d done. The new position provided you the comfort and protection you felt you needed. “I got back to Chicago, and I was only supposed to be here for a few more weeks but then…then I-I got sick and Rich-.” You clasped your hands over your mouth unsure if you could lay all your indiscretions on Carmy at once, unsure if you could mentally handle the toll the two confessions you desperately needed to make would take on you.

Rough palms enclosed your cheeks, moving your head so that you were face to face with Carmy. You could see the unshed tears in his doe-blue eyes, but other than that he didn’t seem to be affected. “Take your time, yeah?” He nodded his head waiting for you to nod along with him so you knew it was okay. The left side of his lips ticked up in a half smile, you let him lean in and place a delicate kiss on your forehead before he moved out of your space. “I’m here okay, I’ll listen for as long as you let me.”

Carmen was making this harder than it needed to be, how could you justify telling him one secret and not the other when he was being so understanding? Carmy made to move back to his original position, your grip on his hand stopping him, a quiet sigh escaping his lips at how fragile you looked. “Lemme turn off the stove okay?” You reluctantly let go of his hand, scared that at the loss of contact, he would take his chance to flee from you.

You watched as he turned the stove off, moving the food he had been cooking to the back burners, you felt bad that he had cooked for the two of you and neither of you would be enjoying it. He moved around the kitchen fear spiking in you as you thought for sure he was going to leave, to wipe his hands of you. He returned to you with a glass of water that he delicately placed in your hands before replacing your legs to their original position and taking his spot between them. Carmy’s finger tapped the glass in your hands “Drink up.” A small nod was your only response as you did as told you before setting the glass down beside you.

Carmy returned his hand to your grasp nodding to let you know he was ready to continue if you were, you took one last deep breath mind made up on how you would handle the rest of this conversation. “He uh Richie, he found me in the walk-in. You know that moment when you know something is wrong but you don’t know how you know. It was kind of like that, like Richie and I both knew I had done something wrong and Carmy,” your voice quivered as your eyes met his, the tears falling at a faster pace as he looked at you so earnestly, hanging onto every word you said. “I’m so sorry.”

Carmen’s brows furrowed, eyes widening as you collapsed against him incoherent apologies addressed to him spewing from your lips. His head came to rest atop of yours as you shoved your face into his chest your words turned to messy babbling as you tried to choke out words through your sobs. For all his social ineptitude Carmy knew there was something you weren’t telling him, something you weren’t being entirely honest about, and he wasn’t sure how it tied into your sobriety. But the way you were apologizing to him made him feel like he was partly responsible.

Your cries were beginning to grow in volume and Carmy was at a loss for what to do. He’d seen you cry before, hell he’d caused most of it but he couldn’t recognize you at this moment. The sobs that escaped you were echoing through the quietude of your house, you had never been an audible crier, usually a few tears escaping your eyes were the most Carmen had gotten. But these cries wracked your entire body, Carmy could feel them rattling his rib cage each sob breaking his exterior down more and more.

He wrapped his arms around you letting your tears soak his shirt, his tears beginning to run down his cheeks. The grip he had on you tightened ever so slightly as you sobbed your throat raw. Carmen needed to know what could’ve caused this reaction, he needed to know what you could ever have to apologize to him for. He felt you moving to get out of his grip, but he held you there as his tears dripped into the crown of your head, quickly wiping his eyes before he pulled back from you allowing you a fresh breath of oxygen.

“Carmy?” Your voice was scratchy as you played with his fingers avoiding any form of eye contact, you raised his knuckles to your lips kissing the ‘ou’ on his middle and ring finger. “Could you hold me for a little bit?” You raised your head to Carmy’s doing your best to send him a reassuring smile, to let him know everything would be okay.

Carmen frowned, he knew that smile anywhere. Even when you were so obviously going through something he couldn’t quite yet understand you would put his feelings before your own. He let out an exasperated sigh your need to put others well being before your own a habit he swore to himself he’d break.

The hand you kissed raised to your face, a light grip on your chin as his thumb caressed the space beneath your lower lip. Carmy leaned forward placing a soft lingering kiss on the scar between your eyebrows, “Let’s take a break yeah?” Carmy watched your body deflate.

He took a step back as you hopped off of the island, the two of you moving to your L-shaped couch. Carmy laid down opening his arms to hold you like the two of you had done hundreds of times while growing up. He knew the gesture would pull a smile out of you, a soft chuckle leaving him as you easily snuggled into him. Your face reverting to its home in his chest, his chin once again resting against the top of your head.

The light atmosphere was short-lived as you relaxed into Carmy, all of your words finally beginning to sink into him. He was happy for the intermission the time would help him to understand what you had told him thus far, to figure out how he could ever make up for the way he constantly held the door open and let you walk out of his life. The way he essentially cut you out of his life because he was afraid to admit to himself that what he felt for you for all these years wasn’t just lust and longing, but love.

Carmy’s fingers had been gently rubbing your scalp for the past forty-five minutes, the position the two of you were in reminiscent of a scene from New York when you visited. Now it was being translated in your own home, Carmy was laying on the couch one arm settled behind his head to prop it up, looking down on you to make sure you were okay. You were settled between his legs, your upper body pressed into his stomach as your head rested on his sternum.

“Baby?” Carmy did his best to whisper, not wanting to disturb you in case you had fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” Your response was so quiet it was easy to miss, Carmy was unsure if you had let out a quiet hum or if you were making noises in your sleep.

He stopped his ministrations on your scalp, his lips ticking up at the soft whine you let out “You asleep?” The question was followed by his fingertips resuming their massage.

“No, your heartbeat is just soothing.” You snuggled your face deeper into Carmen’s stomach, the movement raising goosebumps on his exposed arms. “Carm?” Your quiet voice drew his attention the apprehension clear on his features as he prepared himself for the words soon to leave your mouth. “There’s something that I need to tell you…something that you deserve to know. B-but I don’t think I can do it tonight. And I know that’s not fair to you but I think for my own sake I need to be in a better space mentally.” You shuffled around again turning to lie facedown, one of your cheeks rested against Carmy’s stomach so you could comfortably look up at him.

The confusion in his eyes was evident, whatever it was you couldn’t tell him was making him beyond nervous. It was hard because you had never kept a secret from him unless you absolutely needed to, and when you did it was never for anything more serious than a gift you were getting for him. But he knew he couldn’t force whatever truth you had to tell out of you, a part of him felt a bit relaxed, not knowing how much bad news he could take in the span of one night.

Carmy’s hand reached out palming the side of your face, thumb grazing back and forth in the space just beneath your eye, “You can share it with me when you’re ready m’kay? I’ll wait as long as you need me to.” He pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear, watching as your eyes closed, a slight grimace on your face as you leaned into his palm more.

“You’re going to hate me, Carmen.” The words left your mouth with so much conviction all Carmy could do was frown, the idea of ever hating you would have never crossed his mind. He wanted to reassure you but lost his chance as you abruptly sat up, the movement caused him to sit up as well, the two of you only inches apart now facing each other. You forced a smile as your side relaxed on the couch, head propped against it as your eyes wandered around Carmy’s features. “Let’s just get through tonight and then we’ll worry about everything else.” You were exhausted. Carmy could tell by the way your blinking slowed, he wanted you to stop, to get some sleep, to put your needs before whatever made you feel like you owed him any explanation.

“Bab-,”

“I was in the hospital for a bit because I…I was sick. But after they discharged me I had been gone from my own life for so long I was so close to not having anything to return to. So I came home and forced the past month into a literal box in my closet, pretended none of it happened.” You were running on fumes at this point, with no regard for whether Carmy was even still listening to you, just this force within you driving you to finish the story.

“There was uh one thing that I couldn’t force myself to get rid of-,”

“The voicemail.” Your eyes shot to Carmy's, his silence easily making you forget he was even still here, that you were recounting these memories for a reason. You nodded eyes unfocused as you looked past him, would there ever be a time you could remember that part of your life without flinching every time you thought about it?

“It started slow, I was just getting back into the swing of things remembering what it was like to be alone after being in Chicago surrounded by people who actually cared about me. I would go out with my co-workers after a shift, drink just enough that I could get myself home, but not enough for anyone to worry about me.” A sardonic laugh left your lips, you were sure nobody would care about you, and you hardly had any strong ties to the West Coast.

“It helped…until it didn’t until I was drinking so much it was almost like my body was immune to the effects. But who needs their liver am I right?” The pinch to your thigh jolted you. Carmy wasn’t welcoming your self-deprecating jokes.

You raised your hands in defense, a humorless chuckle leaving you. “If I’m being honest, I don’t even remember getting that first prescription…not even the ones after it.”

“Wait,” Carmy moved so his feet were firmly planted on the floor, legs spread as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “What the fuck does a prescription have to do with this? Baby?” Carmy wasn’t stupid, he didn’t need you to spell it out for him but the sliver of hope in him was dwindling as the minutes of silence continued to tick by.

You shrugged, moving to sit crisscross applesauce staring blankly at Carmy’s side profile, one of his legs bouncing up and down. “You know they really should make those warnings bigger. About not mixing drugs and alcohol, the font is so tiny how cou-,”

“Stop!” You didn’t even flinch at the loud volume of Carmy’s voice, eyes following his figure as he flew up from the couch. The man was now pacing in front of you, one hand settled on his hip as the other furiously swiped across his forehead. “Why do you…do you…fuck!” The vein on his neck protruded with his frustration. “How do you just sit there and make fucking jokes about this shit Baby! Why the fuck is any of this funny to you?”

The urge to defend yourself was surging through you, in a way you knew Carmy’s reaction was valid. But it wasn’t like there was a handbook on the proper way to deal with your trauma, and you wouldn’t allow him to tell you right from wrong.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Carmen! I did it okay! I drank and I took the fucking drugs and when that shit stopped working on its own I thought hmm why the fuck not mix them because what the fuck could possibly be worse than living. In some fucked up way did I think it would help me understand Mikey? Maybe. It’s not like I fucking planned this shit! I didn’t plan to become addicted okay, that wasn’t supposed to happen I had a system…I had a fucking system.” It was like everything was becoming clearer the moment those last words left your mouth, you may not have planned the beginning, but as you thought back to what could’ve been your last moments you were almost certain some still sane part of you knew what you were doing.

Soft laughter left your lips as the pieces were starting to fit together in your head, the sound only growing in volume as you realized just how fucked up you were. Your eyes were unfocused as your gaze flew to Carmy, the whisper of ‘Baby’ lost in your internal revelation.

“I threw myself through that glass door, not on purpose I can’t even remember why the fuck I wanted to get outside so bad. But I-I remember swallowing those two extra pills and thinking what the fucks gonna happen to me huh, I’ve lasted this long.” Carmen couldn’t recognize you, the tears had started again but he was certain you couldn’t even tell, you looked possessed, your eyes flashing all around the room a wicked smile painted your lips as you spoke to no one in particular.

“Barely made it past the threshold before my body gave out, I wish I could remember, even if only for a second. What it felt like to have your body want something more than your brain did. But you know what the fuck happened Carmen?” Your eyes finally shot to his, you looked like a skittish animal ready to fight Carmy to the death if he encroached on your territory.

A sardonic laugh left your lips, your tongue swiping across them, the saltiness of your tears a shock to you. “I woke up and there Natalie was, right beside me. And you know my first thought wasn’t what happened to me or-or what the hell is Nat even doing here? I didn’t even pay her any attention the whole first two hours, and you wanna know what I was thinking Carmen?”

“Don’t.” The plea escaped his lips in a whisper your heart clenched at how desolate he looked.

“I laid in that hospital bed, and I looked at those stupid fucking fluorescent lights and I thought; Mikey got it right the first time, why couldn’t I.”

Carmen felt numb, like his whole body had been submerged in an ice bath and no matter how hard he fought to get out, it was like his body and mind were on two different wavelengths. He’d seen that stare before, in the eyes of his brother, the same way Mikey looked at Lee at Christmas dinner all those years ago was the same way you were looking at him now in your living room.

He wasn’t sure if there was a proper reaction to the truth you had just dropped. Mikey was dead, that made things easier, but here you were alive and well from what he could tell and he would have his time to mend things with you if that’s what he wanted. But he wasn’t sure he could stand in such proximity as you at that moment, wasn’t sure if he could even look at you. You had been the second closest person to Mikey, presumably knew he was doing drugs, knew he was spiraling out of control, and followed right after him.

Was there anything Carmy could have done to alter your path? Maybe if he had stayed by your side that night after Christmas you wouldn’t be standing here now talking to him about how badly you wanted to end it all.

Carmy drew in a sharp breath a small sob following it as he tried to control his emotions, he began taking small steps in your direction not sure of what he was going to do, but needing you to know his silence wasn’t because he was disgusted or disappointed in you; but in himself. How easy it would’ve been to keep in contact with you after high school graduation, how easy it would’ve been to just let himself love you and take care of you, be there for you. And as much as he wanted to believe you knowing how he felt would’ve changed much, he knew it was naïve, addiction was an illness and even if Carmen had fought harder to keep you in his life there’s no promise that he wouldn’t have been the one to find you floating in the space between life and death.

He slowly reached out to you, hands carefully grasping your cheeks in his eyes, committing your face to memory, mind racing with all the times he took being able to see it daily for granted. “Ba-baby, tell me you don’t mean that,” he waited, eyes rapidly flicking back and forth from yours. His grip on your face was just loose enough for you to send him the saddest smile he’d ever had the chance to see, “Please?” The broken whisper floated between the two of you before your head softly nodded up and down to confirm that indeed he was almost forced to live without you.

And this time it wasn’t his choice.

Carmy sat on the floor in front of your couch, back resting against it, head tipped back to rest on the cushion face pointed toward the ceiling. All he could hear were the soft breaths escaping you and his thudding heart in his ears. It took a while before you had finally calmed down, Carmy held you in his arms on the floor as the two of you cried. Your sounds lashing against his heart over and over again. He was exhausted, more than he usually was, the night far from what he hoped it would be. He was so overwhelmed by all that you had been willing to reveal to him, that the instinct to do something with his hands as you slept took over, the man dutifully cleaned your kitchen and stored the uneaten food away for you to eat at a later date.

And now here he was, back at your side finally coming to terms with everything he learned. Carmy felt like a fool he had prided himself on his friendship with you, always made it a big deal that you were his friend first, his friend by choice. But it had been almost 10 years since he decided to shut you out of his life with no reason, no explanation why and it was selfish of him. Selfish that he had so blindly pushed you away without a thought to how it would make you feel. Selfish of him to always expect your acceptance and open arms when it was convenient for him to re-enter your life.

He let out a small sigh raising his head from its position on the couch, eyes latching onto the dated picture atop your mantle, your cheesy smile staring back at him as Richie and Mikey surrounded you. His eyes poured over the picture, taking in how happy the three of you looked, and how simple everything was when the two of you were teenagers. A quiet humorless laugh escaped his lips as he reminisced, he was lying to himself if he thought your time as teens was simple, but compared to the lives the two of you were leading it sure as hell did feel that way.

Carmy allowed himself a moment longer to enjoy the happiness the picture exuded. He gave it one last glance before he adjusted his position on the floor, turning slightly so his side was leaned into the couch, eyes landing on your face as you slept. It felt like his heart was constantly breaking whenever he looked at your face, it was evident you’d been crying, the puffiness of your eyes easily giving it away. He reached his hand out, hesitating for just a second before he pushed the hair out of your face palm resting on your cheek as he began to softly stroke in back and forth. Since the first time he saw you this year, this was the most peaceful you had looked, he was glad that sleep had been able to bring you that sense of tranquility, but he wanted that for you always, to feel at peace on any given day and as he watched you back moving up and down to signify the breaths your were taking, he promised himself he’d provide that for you; even if it was only as friends.

“What am I gonna do with you, Baby?” The hoarse words left him in a sigh, a small smile making its way to his lips as he watched your nose scrunch up at the sound of his voice, eyelids slightly twitching.

He watched as you turned to lay on your side, lips brushing across his pulse point a small kiss now decorated his veins. “Still be my best friend?” Carmy laughed at your small voice taking up the space between the two of you. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, thankful that Carmy had figured out how to dim the lights in your living room. “Do you remember that promise we made the summer before seventh grade?” Your voice was scratchy from all the sobbing and borderline screaming from earlier.

Carmen nodded his head, a small smile raised on his lips, hand moving from your cheek to cup the back of your neck. “Of course, I do,” the smile only lasted for so long as he was forced to remember a promise he broke with no regard. “That we’d be best friends no matter what, even though we didn’t want each other’s cooties.” Carmy was happy to hear the sound of your melodious laughter, he spent so much time listening to your broken cries he was afraid he’d never know anything else.

“I’m sorry Carmen, I…I didn’t mean to blow up on you. I think telling you about my overdose…it helped me come to terms with it myself.” Your eyes were lidded, all the crying made them feel heavy, if Carmy wasn’t here in front of you right now you were sure you would’ve been dead asleep.

A small content sigh escaped you as Carmy’s thumb ran back and forth across the side of your neck, “You have nothing to apologize for we-I know I haven’t been a great friend to you these past years. And for that I’m sorry. I wish…I wish I could explain to you why I pushed you away but Baby,” Carmy paused heart thudding in his chest, the words were there, maybe not in the way one would expect but it was you; you would know what he meant even if he was speaking in another language.

“I uh I can’t even explain it to myself. But..I would like for us to be friends again if you’ll have me?” Carmy sent a tight-lipped smile your way, he couldn’t do it. He felt selfish for even thinking now was the time to propose the initial idea in his mind. Maybe it was an excuse, maybe not, but he didn’t think it would be fair to put you in that position. You had just told him such a harrowing truth about yourself and if his first instinct after hearing such was to ask to be more than friends it would feel insincere. Carmy wasn’t even sure you would want a relationship with him, you were sober, and recovering and Carmy wouldn’t allow himself to mess that up for you with his presence having been such a soul-sucking and negative thing in your life these past few years.

“I think that’s just what I need right now…a friend.” It was silent for a moment between the two of you, Carmy had prepared himself for the worst on the drive over, and although he could feel a lump forming in his throat and the ache in his chest, he forced a small smile on his lips upon hearing your words. “You kept it on there?” His eyes found yours confusion marring both of your features, at his silence your hand reached out delicately tracing the pendant settled against his signature white shirt.

Of all the times you’d seen Carmy you knew he still wore his chain, it was a part of him. You had caught glimpses of the gold peeking out from his shirt, but you would have never thought he wore the pendant you’d impulsively bought before leaving New York. You remember regretting having left the newly added accessory on his chain when you left his apartment, sure it made you seem like some desperate lover who had never even actually been a lover, just some girl too naive to see all the signs she was being given.

Your eyes flicked between Carmy’s waiting for his response, his cheeks tinting pink the longer you looked at him for an answer. The hand that wasn’t settled against your skin reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I nev-I… uh never leave home without it.” The admission made your skin tingle, Carmy’s finger subconsciously tracing the lone letter you carried everywhere with you. “It uh, reminds me of you…of us.”

“There were forget-me-nots in the bouquet Willie made me,” you sent Carmy a small smile, although temporary, the sight of that bouquet filled you with happiness the short time you did spend with it. “Also I know you didn’t have shit to do with the flowers Willie put in that bouquet.” Carmy let out a small laugh face warming at the memory of old man Willie’s meddling.

Your thumb on the pendant began tracing the engraved letter, “This was like my form of a forget me not, something that was permanent, would never wilt with time…I just wanted you to have something to remember me by.” Carmen watched your lips stretch into a small smile, he knew what your words meant, but after learning about all you’d gone through it felt like your final words had a double meaning like if things had gone as you wished them to, this would be the only piece he had left of you.

A part of you felt shy sharing the reasoning behind gifting Carmy the pendant, the two of you were barely friends as it was and the flowers had been so personal to you, that you weren’t sure you wanted to let Carmy into that piece of your world even though he played a huge part in it without even knowing.

“Is that what they signify? Remembrance?” Carmen’s thumb ran back and forth across the scar on your jaw, tapping it twice to pull your attention to his.

You gave the pendant one last longing look, dropping it before your eyes finally locked on his, “Something like that.” You shrugged having to swallow the urge to confide in Carmen one last time tonight.

The two of you stayed like that with Carmy’s hand holding onto the side of your face, thumb trying to imprint the jaggedness of your scar to its memory. Your eyes became heavier the longer Carmy delicately stroked your face. The man made no move to wake you as you slowly began drifting back into the world of dreams, the same look of peacefulness he saw earlier had easily returned, the ghost of your past so evidently marked into your skin in the shape of your scars. He felt like he was able to finally release the breath he’d been holding in, his eyes skated across your face; a face he always considered to be a work of art, one he could never perfectly capture on paper.

As he watched you sleep Carmen came to terms with exactly what was left between the two of you now. For all intents and purposes the two of you were friends again, or at least on friendly terms, and as much as he tried to convince himself he would be happy to keep you in his life in whatever capacity you allowed; he knew that was a lie. But the only person he could really lay blame on was himself, you had been ready and waiting for him before he even realized he loved you and now that he was finally ready to take that next step with you there was no longer space in your heart for him.

Carmen watched you for a moment longer, thumb lingering against your scar before he finally had enough restraint to pull himself away. There was a part of him that would’ve stayed planted in that spot all night just to watch over you, make sure the moment he turned his back you wouldn’t suddenly disappear never to be gazed upon by him again. He quietly stood up, careful not to make too much noise and wake you, hand grabbing the blanket lying atop the head of your couch before he gently draped it across you.

He lingered in front of you every fiber in his body, willing him to stay there by your side, to be there when you woke up. But moments like that were no longer his to take; they never had been. Carmy let out a sorrowful sigh before he bent down to your level placing a soft kiss full of love and longing to the indentation between your eyebrows. What could have been, what never was would always stick with him but he would set his wants and needs to the side, and he would appreciate having another moment with you still in his life.

The two of you had seemed to come to an understanding now, and that’s all he could ask for. You said you needed a friend and that’s what he’d be; your needs were his needs.

a/n: in honor of turning twenty-three i present thee with the gift of suffering 🤪, anyway not sure how i feel about this chapter but we shall see. also i know it seems like everything between baby and carmy may have been resolved rather quick, but i feel like everything is very not obviously resolved. happy readings! 🤍

also: huge shoutout to @mr-robot-x for her impeccable song recs when it comes to this fic and the losers i write about. asleep by the smith’s heavily inspired this chapter. (which you would all know if you took my song inspo seriously 😐) just kidding but seriously it genuinely helped me get through this chapter! 🤍

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear x reader #the bear fic #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto angst #carmy x you #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

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thenightcallsme · 1 year

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Do I Make you Nervous? | Simon "Ghost" Riley

little re-upload from my AO3 :)

Synopsis: When Task Force 141 is betrayed by Philip Graves, they're forced to separate. Y\N fights her way through the foreign Las Almas with a broken radio and no sense of direction. Yet, somehow, she finds herself in the same church her lieutenant, Simon "Ghost" Riley, seeks sanctuary in. As they attempt to brave the storm sweeping through the streets, the infamously unreadable Ghost challenges their professional relationship.

Pairing: Ghost x F!141reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, use of Y/N, hint of angst but resolved in the end, vague mentions of blood/wounds

Word count: 5,874

• • • • •

It was all a set-up. A lie.

Disappointment and anger triumphs any sadness over Grave's betrayal. At first, he came across as over-confident in that stereotypical male way. Over time I had warmed up to him. But Shepherd? The man who has given me the most freedom I’ve had in a long time? I admit that my use as a weapon to him has put a strain on our companionship, but to station me with my own cousin only to lash out unprovoked? He’s crossed a line that he can never come back from. The small liking I had for the man vanished as soon as shit hit the fan. Everything seems to replay in my mind. Alejandro insulted and detained, Johnny shot at, Ghost cornered...

There were too many of them to fight off. I couldn't trust myself to hold my own with my mind worrying over Johnny, Alejandro and Ghost while also plotting Shepherd's death. So, though it pained me, I ran. Ghost and Johnny did the same.

My radio was damaged in the incident. A stray bullet flew my way, and with a stroke of luck, grazed the radio instead of my ribs. The close call was enough warning to run, which is what I do now. The lack of communication only worsens the worry.

Shadows crawl in the streets of Las Almas like rats in a sewer. From door to door they go, yelling at innocent civilians in the late hours of dusk. From the conversations I've heard, they're looking for two foreign men and their female friend. They don't quite explain why we're being hunted, but the truth wouldn't change much. Every so often, a shot fires, echoing through the streets like a warning bell. A call of sorrow and fear.

With the Shadows forcing their way into civilian homes and raising their weapons against anyone who could harbour us, houses and shops aren't safe. The towering cathedral spires peeking above tin roofs and stacked houses catch my attention instead. Nobody would be inside at this time of night. For now, it's the best I can do. Also to my luck, the church isn't too far away. I take my time and keep to the shadows on my way. With a quick survey of my surroundings, I know I've bet the Shadows to this part of the city. That won't last long. The revelation has me jumping the gate within seconds of making it.

Inside the church is pitch black. Towering windows that tell biblical tales line the walls, casting light in intervals across the empty foyer. Rows of seats begin to emerge as my eyes adjust. Further back is an intricate, circular skylight tens of feet above the marble floor. Illuminating the altar below is a waterfall of silvery light. The giant cross, gold statues, and wooden altar glow like I'm looking through a blurred lens. The view is both eerie and magical...and not meant to be marvelled at in a time like this. My focus should be maintaining high ground. I begin to turn in search of a staircase when something shifts in the darkness.

A figure materialises, tall and built; easily a male physically capable of snapping my neck. My next best option is the gun strapped to my hip to parry the one in his hand. I go to reach for mine—

“Y/N?”

I freeze in surprise, but my mind eases slightly.

“Lieutenant? How—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” He looks down at me with searching eyes. “You in one piece?”

“Yes. You—?” At that moment, my own eyes skim his body, only to halt at a worrying sight. On the left side of his waist, just above the waistband of his pants, is a blooming, dark red stain on his shirt. He’s been shot. “Jesus, Ghost. How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse—”

He stops himself at the distant shouting. The surrounding streets haven’t been quiet since I’ve been in the church, but this time it grows closer. Angrier. Ghost doesn’t waste time ushering me along in search of a stairwell. The one we find leads to the second floor, then a third. Eventually, we discover the central bell tower. The room is dank and cold and decently big. Suspended in the middle is a gigantic bell. Even in the dark, I can see how weathered the metal is. The worn wooden floors creak as we cross it. On each wall are arched openings that allow entry to the cold night air and terrified screams. A small cluster of discarded furniture draped in white sheets huddles in a corner. From here, we have a perfect view of the sprawling city and winding streets. To those down there, we’re invisible.

Simon leans back against a wall and grunts, his hands brushing over the bullet wound. He pulls back his hands to inspect the fresh blood. However bad it is, it’s still bleeding.

“Show me,” I say. My voice comes out more demanding than I intend.

He gives me a brief exasperated look but doesn’t push back.

Ghost sits against the wall with his shoulders slumped just enough to reach my level. His jacket is unzipped, his black shirt rolled up halfway. Those tired, piercing eyes and muscular arms are the most I've ever seen of him. It feels like a reward when the weather is unforgiving enough to chase away his usual long-sleeve or jacket. His arms are tanned and muscled, with a tattoo sleeve working from the wrist of his left arm up to his elbow. I’ve begun to accept that it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing him. But now I stare down at his bare abdomen.

The waistband of his black cargo pants sits low on his hips, offering a distracting view of a pronounced V-line and abs. In the moonlight, I can make out the reminders of war that mark his skin; a few silvery scars, some clean-cut, some gnarled and twisted; an old bullet wound healed closer to his ribs. The fresh one with the most of my attention is buried in a more acceptable spot. It nestles into the far right side of his waist, thankfully nowhere near any vital organs. However, it’s still a bullet wound and it still bleeds. That’s enough to worry me.

“Do you reckon it’s bad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m dying.”

“But we aren’t in the position to get proper help. Maybe sit down for a bit.” Surprisingly, he does so without question. I get to my feet, draw a small knife from my thigh holster, and rip a strip of fabric from the white sheets. When I drop back down beside him, I take a deep breath. “Here"

He takes it with a mumbled thank you and wraps the fabric around his waist.

“You heard from John?” I ask.

Simon winces as he adjusts the torn sheet. “I radioed him multiple times. Never got an answer.”

“Are you surprised by all this?”

Simon leans back against the wall. “I tend to be less surprised by betrayal. But I had some respect for Shepherd.”

I sigh, shuffling around him so that I can do the same. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Survive,” he says. “Shepherd wants you alive. Graves will see to that. He can’t kill Alejandro, either. But Johnny and I…” He shakes his head. “Graves won’t sleep until there’s a bullet in our heads and Shepherd won’t care enough to stop it.”

There’s a moment of silence as I fold my arms and look away thoughtfully. How are we supposed to do this? The blanket of night and the ensuing storm may offer some cover, but getting out of the city will be a mission. I can’t bring myself to leave without John, either. My heart hurts when I think about him. He could be anywhere, alone and outnumbered while I sit uselessly in a bell tower.

“What do we do about Johnny?” My voice is quiet. Fearful. “My radio was damaged so I couldn’t reach out to him. Maybe his is the same. But not knowing… He’s the only family I have left. My only real friend.”

“Don’t worry about Johnny. He’s one of the most resourceful and strong-willed Sergeants I’ve dealt with in a while. Have faith in him.” He looks at me then, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say he’s your only friend.”

“I do quite like his girlfriend…” I murmur.

“And Alejandro? Ronaldo?”

I purse my lips as his question draws thought. I’ve been considering Alejandro and Ronaldo as allies. Companions. But I’ve grown quite fond of them. Considering them as friends would set me up for heartache if anything were to happen. So I haven’t… At least openly. Despite my attempts to create some distance in our relationships, my subconscious has decided for me. Those two are my friends. It explains the immense distress I’m battling over Alejandro’s capture.

“I guess so.”

“Me?”

Silence ensues from both of us.

His question stuns me; I was prepared for him to stop at Alejandro and Ronaldo. There’s nobody else in Las Almas or back at home that I pay attention to. Besides Ghost, at least. I could answer him in a second. I almost do.

Ghost is infamous for his detachment. He’s quiet, short-tempered, dangerous and mysterious. I’ve heard the comments that he suits his code name. Spiritual beings do not communicate through speech but through action. Ghost is the physical embodiment of the epiphany. Anybody able to coax a few sentences from him outside missions is admirable. Outside of that, his physical emotions require deep analysis and theory to understand. The mask only makes things more difficult. I’ve never seen him show palpable kindness through his aura or words to anyone, never heard him allow the use of his name, never heard him offer others insight into the raging whirlwind of his mind.

And yet he lets those things slide around me.

He lets me speak his name when no one is listening. He offers me comfort when I need it most — if not through limited words, through soft gazes and a hand on my shoulder. I’m usually able to get him talking. Sometimes I receive short answers, sometimes I receive enough to help me understand more of that whirlwind mind. He even occasionally shows pieces of himself that take away from the guessing game I usually play.

I shut people out because the last people I let in betrayed me.

I never consider answering personal questions, but you tend to have a lot of them. And every time you ask…I almost answer

I guess you and I are more alike than I thought.

All of it has me wanting more. More of his mind, his words, the soft gazes I’ve noticed are reserved for me. What I already have is nothing compared to every naked truth he could be telling me. However, what I’ve managed to coax from him seems to be more than he’s told anyone in a long time. At first, I marked it down as me being the only female on the team or Ghost considered me fragile. But I've proved myself, and nothing about being a 'fragile female' (which I very well am not) does not automatically give me all these passes. I now realise it is much more than that.

Never once has he called me his friend. I already have. Now it’s his turn.

“I don’t mind you, Simon, but friendship can’t be one-sided,” I say. While it’s a simple statement, a silent question hides between each word. Are you my friend?

“If it was as one-sided as you think, you wouldn’t be calling me Simon.”

My heart skips a beat. There. It’s an answer to my unspoken words, but it’s not plain as day. As usual, Simon tells me something that is anything but straightforward. There’s room for interpretation in his answer—something that is beginning to tire me. It’s almost as if the honest answer is criminal and he’s trying to cover up his tracks. Almost as if not speaking that honest answer can allow him to deny it.

I don't bother concealing my annoyance. “That’s not what I want to hear and you know it.”

“Fuck sakes, Y\N, I said it,” he says. His voice comes out both argumentative and exasperated.

“No, you didn't. All I ever get out of you is stuff that works around the truth. Stuff I have to think about to understand.” I'm crossing a line, I know. I just can't help it. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is final. I don’t care.

“Does the truth scare you?”

His eyes squint, becoming barely visible against the black paint, the mask, and the low light. I can clearly picture a scowl jumping across the many faces I’ve imagined. While I want to flinch away, I don’t. Not for a second do my eyes lower, and not for a second do I grow offensive. I remain calm and collected, which I think annoys him more.

“You want the truth?” he growls. The accent of Manchester seems to thicken. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want to admit I think of you as a friend ‘cause I bloody well want to ignore it. For years, it’s only been me and I planned it to be for the rest of my life. Then all of a sudden you and your annoying cousin appear and jeopardise everything. The only person with an inkling of anything was Shepherd and I was fine with that. But now you’re catching up to him. You’ve so effortlessly undone everything I’ve worked hard to maintain.” The growl in his voice dies down the longer he speaks. In the last sentence, his voice is quiet, defeated, but a little begrudging. “And I knowingly let you.”

“If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me,” I say with a voice equally as quiet. “If I knew you didn’t want me to know so badly, I would have respected that.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I think about telling you everything. I may get pissy at you over your questions, but…” A sigh. The truth is shameful to him. “I look forward to them.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” I laugh a little. “It’s really annoying how intriguing you are. Not just your past and your face… When I’m not trying to guess what you look like, I’m refraining from asking you stupid questions. Shit like if you’re a cat or dog person.”

“Dog person,” he replies. Any hint of anger or annoyance has disappeared. “Cats have too much attitude.”

I squint. “You just don’t appreciate them.”

“You strike me as a cat person.” He pauses in thought. “You just remind me of a cat, really.”

I raise my brows, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me I have an attitude?”

“Maybe. But there’s more to it.”

I cock my head in question.

“Cats are friendly. Independent.” His eyes shift and I wonder if there's a smirk beneath the mask. “Curious.”

“Was that another dig at my questions?”

“Yes. Now shut up and listen.”

Before he continues, I find myself turning my body so I can fully look at him, my shoulder against the concrete walls and my legs folded beneath me.

“There’s that look in their eyes that they know your worst thoughts. Your secrets. They’re also graceful. Got that high-class elegance about them. But they can be unpredictable, striking out when you least expect. Once they sink their claws into you…” His eyes search my face. “You can’t get rid of them.”

I look up at him in wonder, my mouth slightly agape as I try to find a suitable response. Nothing I could say would express the way his words sink in. I’ve always coined Simon to be the observant type, keeping to himself and remaining silent. But I never expected him to relay his finds. His usual short, sharp answers contrast the compliment greatly.

“I think…” A small smile curves my lips upwards. “…That was the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never. Now I have a question.”

“The floor is yours.”

“Do you have, like, Queen Elizabeth tattooed on your face? The British flag?” I grin. “Something mask-worthy, you know?”

“Why does it have to be something British?”

“Because there’s no way you’re the only Brit I know that isn’t somewhat stereotypical.”

Simon huffs a laugh. “No stereotypical tattoos. Sorry to disappoint.”

“A big scar, then?”

He tilts his head. “No scars that make me want to wear it.”

I raise my brows. “So you do have a scar?”

“Only one big one.”

“Good to know.” I nod my head with thoughtful eyes. “I’ll add that to a mental note.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The skull sown to his balaclava only offers the view of his painted eyes and nothing. Not even his eyebrows. I guess he’s raising them in question.

“How often do you think about this?”

I let out a long breath. “You have no idea. I change what I think you look like every day.”

“What do you think I look like.”

I go quiet in thought for a moment. As I said, the image changes… Only more frequently than I want to admit. Sometimes the change is small. Sometimes the change is big. I know I’m not the only one stumped by this, either. John and I joked over it once. He said things eluding to him being unattractive. A crooked nose, a huge scar, broken teeth. Every time he made a guess I would laugh, but never did the ideas seep into my mind. Nothing in an unattractive sense, anyway. Despite the possibility, I can never picture him as ugly.

“It varies, but…” I take one last second to collect my thoughts. “Without that skull piece, you have dark eyebrows. I imagine your hair is brown. And you’re eyes…it’s hard to tell with the paint, but they’re more deep-set and heavy-lidded. The balaclava is tight enough to make me think you have a straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw…” I shake my head. “Beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I can tell he thinks deeply about each characteristic. I sit patiently and almost wait for confirmation, but I know better than that. If he’s not going to show his face, he’s not going to—

“My hair is brown.”

I’m about to backtrack on my previous thought when he reaches towards the space between my neck and shoulder. In the frenzy that has been the last hour, my hair has come undone. The braid was unsavable, making me pull out the band and attempt a ponytail…only for it to snap in two. My hair now falls in dishevelled waves. A small part of my hair falls over my shoulder. Simon gingerly reaches for it, curling it between his finger and examining it in the low light. …Can he hear how fast my heart is beating?

“Not like yours. A few shades lighter, maybe. And that scar…”

Even more gingerly, Simon pulls one of my hands from its folded position, and I pray my expression doesn’t betray me. Rough, calloused hands press against the back of mine. The size difference is almost comical. He guides it to his masked face, working his fingers working around mine to spread them out. He drags my hand over his right cheekbone, across the hollow of his cheek, and towards his jaw. My mind is hyper-fixated on the shape of his face.

“Right along there.”

His eyes continue to search my face. There’s nothing but curiosity in the blue-grey of his irises. Curious at what, I can’t tell. Everything about this has my mind raging. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand against the black balaclava, the way he towers over me even when sitting down... The thoughts that surface are shameful. He’s your lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect. The remembrance of his position has little help.

If anything, it strengthens the fantasies.

His hold shifts on top of my hand, the pad of his thumb swiping across my skin to stop on the inner side of my wrist and press down. He may not have been able to hear my heartbeat…but now he can feel it at the worst possible moment.

“You’re heart is beating fast.” He inclines his head. “Do I make you nervous, Y\N?”

God, is my breathing even? I can’t tell.

“You just caught me off guard, is all.”

Simon hums thoughtfully as his hand breaks away from mine and reaches forward. His fingers connect with my collarbone before finding my neck, exploring upwards in search of a pulse point. A shiver of excitement and nervousness runs beneath my skin like a ripple. His other hand slides over my knee and up my thigh. If my heart was racing before, this is a life-or-death sprint.

Slow are his movements. Calculated. He knows exactly where my heartbeat reverberates in my neck. Instead, he drags the moment out, coaxing out his desired reaction. But there’s something else in the slowness: a window for me to flinch away and draw the physical line neither of us has ever drawn. We’ve brushed shoulders and hands. We’ve sat with our bodies aligned in cramped cars. He’s held my hair back in a bathroom as I threw up after a panicked episode (something I would like to forget if he wasn't so surprisingly understanding). He's placed a hand on my shoulder for many different reasons. All are excusable moments. The ones that surpass professional boundaries can be marked as friendly. However, the intimacy of this moment is new. Scary. Exciting.

“Did you know your bottom lip twitches before you lie?” Simon asks. I find myself at eye level with him. When did he get so close? “I don’t like lies. Try again.”

“Sometimes…” I breathe.

“Sometimes, what?”

Bastard. “Sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I frown. “I don’t know.”

He’s definitely leaning closer now. Not just with his head, but with his whole upper body. Out of the nerves Simon is so adamant on understanding, I retreat, only making it a few inches before my back hits the other wall. Simon half hovers over me, the hand that was on my thigh now bracing himself on the floor. There are only a few inches between our chests. Even less between our faces. Not once does he lose his connection with my pulse.

“Another lie.”

“I don’t know how to word it. That's not a lie.”

Simon drops his head so that his covered mouth hovers beside my ear.

“Good girl.”

Never has praise sounded so seductive. It takes every inch of concentration to reign in my self-control. I might have ripped off his mask then and there…

Only, I think he’s beating me to it.

From where his head hovers, I can’t see his masked face. The wide, strong shape of his shoulder obscures most of my vision. He retracts his hand from my neck to reach somewhere I can’t see. The sound of moving cloth widens my eyes and upsets the rhythm of my breathing, the uneven rise and fall of my chest barely brushing his.

Maybe he’s adjusting it, I convince myself. He has only ever offered you little pieces at a time. What he’s offering me now is more than he ever has at once. While my body screams for more, my mind knows I can’t expect too much from him. Whatever he’s doing now is more than enough.

“You’re breathing funny.”

The feeling of breath skims the shell of my ear and down my neck like a warm, ghostly waterfall. It takes me a second to notice a difference in his voice. It’s low, it’s rough, it’s teasing. All are easily noticeable and nothing new. What is new is the enhanced clarity. An added sharpness lingers in his accented words. The slight muffle is nowhere to be found.

I was wrong. He’s lifted his mask.

“Because you’re taking off your mask." My answer comes out in a weak whisper.

He doesn’t speak about the mask, instead repositioning his hand to my neck to find my pulse.

“If you can’t tell me,” he murmurs, returning to the previous topic, “your heartbeat can.”

A warm feeling presses into my neck. A gasp slips past my lips as my heartbeat continues to quicken and stumble beneath his thumb. Against my skin…I think Simon is smiling.

Nothing about this seems real. Simon plants slow kisses on my neck with his bare lips. They’re a little rough, yet soothing. Whether they’re full or thin, I can’t tell, but the lack of obvious signs paints an image of something in between. His nose brushes the base of my jaw. Just above the pointed tip is where the balaclava begins. I can feel the hard edges of the sewn-on skull pressing into my left temple. Light stubble covers his jaw.

As his mouth works slowly against my neck, my jaw, and my collarbone, my hand slides up and over his chest. I slowly feel his bare neck. Beneath my fingers, his Adam's apple bobs. Further I explore, feeling the planes of his skin. The stubble scratches against my curious hand. Raised skin runs in a line over the right side of his face; the scar. It’s thin and generally clean-cut. He pulls back slightly as I feel his face. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest as my thumb traces over his lips. I was right, they are something between full and thin. His lower lip feels slightly fuller with a deep hollow beneath that curves into his chin.

When I find it in me to speak, my voice is breathy.

“Kiss me.” He seems to still at that. When his reply isn’t instant, I continue. “You don’t have to… But I won’t look. I swear it.”

Silently, he reaches for my hand. He holds his over mine for a moment as he did with the mask moments earlier. Then he gently pries it away. Cloth shifts in my air as he fixes the mask and pulls back. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect the decision. Simon looks down at me with lust-blown pupils. Mine must be the same.

He takes a second to examine me. My heavy-lidded eyes, my slightly parted lips, the way I slump beneath him, the glistening wet spots left on my neck. He whips it away before he speaks.

“Can I trust you?”

We both know the answer to that, so instead of saying the obvious, I one-up him.

“Do you want to trust me?”

Silence passes for a heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I want to trust you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. …Undress you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Then he moves.

My thoughts go quiet as Simon’s hands reach upward. When his fingers brush the base of his mask, I reach out and still his hands. The action takes both of us by surprise. For months I’ve been thinking about this moment. Just now I’ve admitted how much what he looks like takes up my mind. Now I find myself stopping him, but not because I’ve changed my mind. I worry that this will be something he’ll regret.

“Simon,” I say. “You don’t owe it to me to show your face.”

“But I do.” He inclines his head. “Now keep your pretty eyes up.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls it off in one swift motion. I take in everything I’m seeing in amazement, wonder, and bewilderment.

He’s handsome. He’s really handsome.

The ruggedness and confidence he carries seem to be etched into the planes of his face. A light stubble shadows his angular, defined jaw. Just as I had imagined, the bridge of his nose is straight and strong. His high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and smudged black paint create deep shadows. His mouth is wide. The shape of them is a physical manifestation of what I had imagined. With an average fullness, his upper lip is slightly smaller with a soft cupid’s bow. Tracing the angles of his right cheekbone is that straight, silver scar. His hair isn’t as short as most other military men’s. It’s a little messy from the mask and, true to his words, a few shades lighter than mine. I can tell that, the longer it gets, the more it curls.

I stay silent as I take him in, eyes wide. Somehow I find the courage to slowly reach out. His blue-grey eyes dart to my hesitant fingers. When he doesn’t deny me, I close the space, this time feeling him without needing to imagine his image. I apply a little pressure as I brush his skin, feeling the warmth of his cheeks, the scar tissue on his cheekbone, and the stubble on his jaw. His eyes train on me. This is one of the few times I cannot understand what I see in them.

Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I stare back at Simon. Not Ghost, Simon.

“I was starting to think you weren’t real,” I say jokingly.

He laughs softly. One side of his mouth quirks up into a skewed smirk. My heart flutters at the sight of it. When he speaks, it’s with that teasing tone that always had me imagining a smirk. Matching his expressions to his tones is a strange thing to see, but I love it.

“Is this real enough for you?” he asks.

I hum in agreement. “You’re a lot better looking than I imagined.”

He raises a brow in mock offence. “Do I radiate unattractiveness? I’m offended.”

“I never said I imagined you ugly.”

I draw my hands back, taking another good look at him. My amazed smile remains. So does the awe in my eyes. Now that I know how good-looking he is, it’s going to be hard to get him out of my head. At least I can’t scold myself over falling for a faceless man anymore.

“I guess if I die tonight… I can go a little happier.”

The way he tilts his head and looks up through lowered brows sends my mind into a frenzy. I’m used to the action with his mask on, usually with the sewn-on skull. Now, with every part of his face laid bare for me, the feeling it stirs comes tenfold. He gives me a fake accusing look. Beneath the teasing air he gives off, that desire remains.

“A little?” he murmurs. His face grows closer, giving me a better view of the hollows and curves and marks of war.

“A little not enough?”

His eyes dip to my lips. “Not by a longshot.”

Then Simon kisses me.

Eyes fluttering closed, I sink into the feeling of his lips against mine. Gently. Hesitantly. Does he expect me to pull away? How could he think such a thing when I almost seemed desperate when I asked him? My hands slide over his chest, slowly linking behind his neck as the kiss deepens.

For a moment, everything fades away. The gunfire, the screams, the impending death we may face any moment... All of it reduces to a meaningless blur. Suddenly all that exists is me, Simon, and the secret embrace we share. In our kiss is a million unspoken words; a tidal wave of passion laced with a bittersweet sadness. The talk of ‘dying happy’ is no exaggeration. We very well may die, and seeing his face and feeling his touch eases the painful thought. Maybe this way I can find him in the afterlife - seek out his mysterious eyes and lopsided smirk and spend an eternity together. Or perhaps there is no afterlife, and this is my last stroke of luck.

Satisfied with the knowledge of what he does to me, Simon lowers his hand from my neck. The pressure reapplies near my belt. His fingers timidly skim the bottom of my tanktop, pulling the tucked part from my waistband. My own fingers weave through his brown hair as his hand slides further beneath. My kiss falters when he finds one of my breasts. His hand comfortably rests over it, his palm slowly kneading at the flesh. A low groan builds at the back of my throat.

After a moment, we pull away, chests rising and falling as we take deep breaths. His forehead rests against mine and suddenly I'm wishing we could do this over again. Except I picture less sadness to tinge every word and action. I picture the safety of home, the warmth of a bed, a carefree air that allows us to just enjoy the other's company. Reality comes back in a painful rush.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

His hand retreats from my breast at my words. Instead, he takes a hold of my waist, giving me a comforting squeeze.

“You are not going to die. Not today. Not when there’s so much more I want from you.” He adds the last part with a teasing, suggestive smirk.

He looks down at my lips again—

“Ghost, how do you copy?”

We both freeze at the sound of a voice, so caught up in the moment that the radio is forgotten. Both the unspeakable things and sorrowful thoughts flooding my mind suddenly vanish at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s an equally received look on Simon’s face as he reaches for the small radio.

“I read you loud and clear, Sergeant,” he says. “What’s your location?”

“I…don’t know,” John replies solemnly. “Streets are crawling with Shadows. Where are you?”

“You see church spires above the houses?”

There’s a second of silence. Then…

“I see them.”

“Good. Head straight there and come inside. No Shadows here yet. They’ll be busy going door to door.”

“Affirmative. I’m on my way. Have you got any word from Y/N?”

Simon looks at me, silently giving me the floor to speak. “I’m right here, Johnny.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank fuck. You in one piece?”

“I’m all here. You?”

“Got a shot to the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

For the next while, Simon and I sit huddled side by side, guiding Johnny through the radio. I generally leave the talking to Simon. Listening to him speak and sinking into his warmth is good enough. Every so often, he'll say something that takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a dad joke, either really good or incredibly bad. Sometimes it's something that alludes to Simon not minding Johnny. He never outright admits it, but saying 'I like you alive' to Johnny's 'so you do like me' speaks for itself. I smile at that. I have sunk my claws into him, and he's not going to be able to get rid of me till the day I die.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #mw2 #mwii #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n

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danikamariewrites · 1 year

Text

We'll Be Here When You Come Home

Poly!batboys x reader

A/n: I could’ve made this and Azriel x reader but I wanted all the boys lol

Warnings: nudity

You didn't want Cassian and Azriel to go. You hated when they had to go away for weeks, you felt incomplete. Rhys did too but he never said anything. He didn't want to make you upset, but their work was necessary.

You hugged Cassian around his torso first and he held you even tighter. When you went to hug Azriel you became more emotional. Out of the three of your mates you were more connected with Azriel. The bond connected you to him first and he always came to you for emotional support.

You started tearing up when you pulled away from Azriel. "Hey," he said softly, wiping a tear that fell free, "We'll be back before you know it princess." "Yeah," Cassian adds, "and Rhys is still here. Make sure he doesn't miss us too much baby." He sent you a wink before opening the front door.

As they flew off in different directions Rhys held you from behind, leaving small kisses on the back of your head. “Come on darling, let’s have breakfast.” He pulled you toward the kitchen. You couldn’t help but stare out the window as Azriel and Cassian became smaller and smaller until they disappeared from view.

The two weeks passed but not fast enough. You could tell Rhys missed them a lot too but he was focused on keeping your mood up. You two spent the days sitting together, helping Rhys with work, taking walks, and Rhys even took you out to dinner.

When it was time for bed Rhys had his wings out, wrapping around you for extra comfort. And every night you’d ask if Rhys had had from either of them. He’d always say, “They checked in. They miss you too. All is well darling, I promise.”

The day finally came for Azriel and Cassian to return home. You woke up early and spent the day anxiously awaiting their arrival. Rhys had told you Cassian would be home in the afternoon and Azriel closer to dinner.

From your spot in the living room you heard Cassian’s wings beating as he landed in the front garden. You shot up from the large arm chair, rushing to meet Cass at the front door. As soon as he stepped through the door you jumped into his arms letting out a happy scream. “Cass! Welcome home!”

“Hey sweetheart!” He dropped his bag and spun you around. You heard Rhys’ footsteps approach as Cassian put you down. Rhys ran up to Cassian and embraced him. Mumbling into his neck, “Missed you.” When they let go Rhys checked him over, “You alright? How was it?”

“Not bad. Devlon was his usual self so nothing I couldn’t handle.” You give him a sad smile. “Why don’t you go unpack and settle, I’ll make you two some lunch.” They each kissed one of your cheeks and headed off in separate directions.

Rhys took the rest of the day to sit with you and Cassian as he told you stories about the Steppes.

The rest of the day dragged on. All you could do was stare out the window waiting for any sign of Azriel.

The sun finally set and you were even more anxious. To distract yourself you went up to Rhys’ office where he and Cassian were having a more in depth discussion about the camps. As you walk in their attention turns to you, both smiling up at you from their seats.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” You sheepishly looked away from your two mates. Feeling awkward for interrupting them. “I’m just getting worried about Az. Is he almost home?” Your voice barley a whisper but they noticed your concern. “He’s landing now. Az really missed you, he wants to see you.” Rhys said giving you a light smile. Your face lights up and you practically fly down the stairs back to the foyer.

Azriel is toeing off his boots, loosely holding his bag. His shadows alert him to your presence and he drops the bag, turning his large frame to face you. Az looked tired. No only we’re there bags under his eyes but his shoulders slumped, he looked like he was struggling to keep his wings from drooping.

You let out a sympathetic oh and stride over to him, arms open, ready to hold your mate. Azriel scooped you into his arms and you tuck your face into his neck, breathing his scent. You stayed like this for a long time. So long that Rhys and Cassian came down to greet Az but got impatient. They decided to drink in the lounge.

When Azriel finally let go of you you cupped both sides of his face. You could feel the stubble he hadn’t bothered shaving over the last few days. “What happened? Rhys said everything was fine.” He swallowed, avoiding eye contact. “It was. It just got brutal at the end.” His voice was barley above a whisper.

Sometimes Azriel got like this after missions. When they we’re too brutal or violent he got lost in his head. He was distant enough when he came home once that Rhys begged him to let Azriel in his mind. It scared the three of you that he was quieter than usual. After Azriel let him in Rhys hugged him tight, tears lining his eyes.

“Oh Az, I’m so sorry.” Azriel pulled you back to his chest, running his scarred fingers through your hair. “Are you hungry? Do you want dinner?” Azriel shook his head slowly, “No. I just want to sleep.” You pull away from him and twine your fingers through his, tugging him towards the stairs.

Azriel strips, not bothering with sleep clothes. You do the same, knowing he just wants to feel you on nights like this. Slipping under the covers Azriel pulls you on top of him and runs his rough fingers up and down your spine.

You can feel tension leaving him as you watch his eyes get heavier and heavier with the sleep he desperately needs. His movements stop, his fingers splayed on your upper back. You can feel yourself on the edge of sleep as well until the door cracks open revealing Rhys and Cassian.

“Is he alright?” Rhys asks in your mind. “He will be. He just needs time and rest.” You see him nod in the dark as he and Cass make their way over to bed.

You can tell Cassian wants to be closer to you so you adjust yourself, facing his side of the bed. You give him a small smile and he rests his warm calloused hand on your lower back. Rubbing small soothing circles until you fell asleep.

Everything felt right again. You were finally content with all your mates home safe and sound.

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theundercoversquid · 1 month

Text

A trip to 12 Grimmauld Place

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Request: I saw the trip to diagon alley fic I love the idea of Remus and reader adopting Harry and not telling anyone and also them having their own biological children I was wondering if you could make more like this maybe where their kids are older

Maybe even include some uncle Sirius when he escapes from Azkaban and they visit him at grimmauld place

Warnings: Pregnancy

A/N: Part of the Domestic Bliss universe but can be read alone!

A/N2: How much do you guys want me to mess with canon? I feel that growing up in a loving home (but specifically with Remus) means that Harry would probably be a different person and make different decisions.

Masterlist

Domestic Bliss universe

"Hurry up, boys." You called up the stairs. "Or your father and I will leave with ought you."

A series of thuds and crashes met your words. But you just fondly rolled your eyes as you got back to packing your bag, ready to go.

"First." A voice shouted before you felt a hand land on your shoulder.

"Oh, come on!" Another voice shouted. "That's not fair."

"You snooze, you lose." The voice closest to you called out.

"Hello, my dear." You laughed. Pressing a kiss to the top of Harry's head.

Then, only a moment later, you heard the sound of thundering feet as your other son, Teddy came charging down the stairs. Hurtling towards you.

Crashing into you, Teddy wrapped his arms around you.

"Hello, my love." you greeted. Pressing a kiss to his forehead, too.

"Are you two muppets ready to leave now?" You questioned them as you picked up your bag.

"Yeah." Harry grinned. Tugging at your arm as, he pulled you into the living room where Remus was waiting.

Sat in his favourite armchair with a newspaper open on his lap.

When he heard the three of you enter the room, he folded the newspaper. Standing up, he deposited it back on his seat as he walked towards you and the boys.

"Shall we, my lady." Remus teased. Bowing to you in an overexaggerated way.

Laughing, you swatted at his arm as you led your boys out of the house. Make sure to lock the door behind you.

When you got out into the garden you grabbed a hold of Teddy as Remus took Harry.

"Everyone ready?" You called out.

When all your boys replied with sounds of agreement, you and Remus both disappeared with a pop.

Reappearing in a narrow alleyway just down from Grimuld place.

Momenterly fussing over your boys, you made sure that no one had been spliced before you all walked out of the alleyway.

Harry and Teddy leapt ahead, teasing each other as they ran ahead. Rasing up to number 12. With his longer legs, Teddy ended up making it first. His hand reached for the knocker as he stuck his tongue out at Harry.

The door flew open not even a moment later as Sirues towering frame took over the doorway.

"Well, if it isn't the lupins," Sirius beamed as he took in the sight of your little family. "Come in, come in." He waved as she stepped to the side, allowing you all to come.

The moment the door was safely shut behind the five of you, and you were out of the foyer, Harry and Teddy threw themselves at Sirus.

Who only laughed. Wrapping them up in a great big hug.

"How are my favourite troublemakers?" Sirues questioned them.

Causing them to chatter on to him about there exploits as he momentarily comes over to you and Remus.

"And how are the pair of you?" Sirues questions quickly as he pulls you into a hug. Pressing a kiss to both your cheeks.

"We are good." Remus assured him. As he got pulled into his own hug by Sirues.

"How are you?" You asked Sirues softly.

"Oh I'm good." Sirues waved off your concern. "Same old, same old."

You only fondly smiled at him as Harry and Teddy came up to Sirues. Each grabbing him by an arm as together they pulled him off so they could carry on chatting his ear off about something.

You couldn't quite make out what they were saying, and quite frankly, you weren't sure if you wanted to.

Also, watching the scene from behind you, Remus snorted.

"if we left now, how long do you think it would take for them to notice?" He asked you teasingly.

"Don't say that." You laughed. Gently hitting him in the chest.

Laughing, Remus grabbed the offending hand and brought it to his lips. Dropping a delicate kiss to your knuckles you and Remus finally followed after the chaos that was your children and a certain Sirues black.

You followed the three of them into the living room, where Sirues was sitting in the middle of the sofa. One of your boys on either side as Harry, seemed to be narrating an exciting tale. His hands waving as Teddy and Sires just watched on. Occasionly nodding.

Smiling at the scene, you and Remus sat in the nearby Love seat. Your bodies pressed together as you fondly watched the scene in front of you.

You didn't know what you would do with ought your boys. They really were your whole world.

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin imagine #harry potter #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #harry potter imagine #the mauraders #the mauraders imagine

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jeannineee · 1 year

Text

Intertwined (Ⅱ)

Batboys x Reader

a/n: part two is heeeeere!! Hope you guys enjoy!! Part one can be found in my masterlist. This was quickly proofread, sorry for any errors.

Side note: my requests are still open, I have 2 smut fics in the works for Azriel. Working on part 3!!

PART THREE

warnings: canon-typical shit, misogynistic Illyrians, sexual suggestiveness

You gawked like a fish at the three men in front of you, where you still stood in Rhys’s foyer.

That…feeling had subsided slightly. But it was still there. A pulling sensation, in your chest.

No, deeper than that. In your soul. In your very being.

You didn’t dare consider what it was. Couldn’t bring yourself to—

“Y/n?” Azriel called to you, brows furrowed with worry. Cassian and Rhysand shared the same look on their own faces.

“You checked out, for a minute there,” Cassian said, smiling sheepishly. “Everything okay?”

“Y-Yes.”

Rhysand studied you, as though he were trying to piece together what just happened. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, taking a tentative step towards you.

You inwardly checked your mental shields—not that Rhys would intrude, but you checked anyway.

You stepped back, clearing your throat awkwardly. “I’m fine. ‘M gonna head back to the house. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day, so…”

They knew something was wrong. Did they feel it, too? They didn’t act like it.

“Well, let one of us fly you,” Rhys offered. There was nervousness in his voice, now.

“No,” you said, the word coming out harsher than intended, judging by the way all three of them flinched. “I just mean—I can winnow. I’ll winnow myself.”

You didn’t give them the chance to reply before you followed through, finding yourself back at the House of Wind within seconds. You went straight to your bedroom, ignoring the growling of your stomach as you readied yourself for bed.

You were sure any food you ate would taste like ash in your mouth, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, you woke early, dressing yourself in fleece-lined Illyrian leathers.

You didn’t dare go downstairs. Not yet.

You sat on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands as you allowed yourself to ponder on what happened, yesterday. You knew what you felt. Knew what that snap was.

The mating bond.

Or was it? Was it even possible to have three mates? You’d heard stories of two…but three?

An insistent knocking at your door jolted you from your thoughts, sending you to your feet.

“Up and at ‘em, sweetheart!”

Cassian.

You took a deep breath, wiping the sweat from your palms onto your pants, before opening your door.

Cassian stood there, in his leathers, red siphons gleaming. He looked down at you, a lopsided grin plastered to his face. You interrupted him before he could speak.

“The next time you pound on my door, you lose your kneecaps,” you told the general, silently praying to the Mother that he couldn’t hear the way your heart was racing.

“Mean,” Cassian said, daring to dip his head even more. His warm breath tickled your face.

“You haven’t begun to see ‘mean,’ Cas.”

His grin widened. “Gonna show me?”

Your face reddened. Cassian smirked, his body almost flush against yours, now.

“Don’t back out now, sweetheart,” he murmured, tracing a calloused hand down your side. “Show me that attitude again.”

Your leathers were far too tight.

Mor’s voice echoing downstairs snapped you both out of the moment. “Get your sorry asses down here!”

Cassian moved from your doorway, allowing you through. But once you reached the top of the staircase, he grabbed your arm, his mouth brushing against the shell of your ear. “This isn’t over, y/n.”

Mother save you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Saying the Illyrian Steppes were cold was an understatement.

Icy. Frigid. Bone-chilling.

You couldn’t think of a word that would do justice to the way it felt.

The shivering, teeth-chattering cold, despite being in Azriel’s arms as you flew to Windhaven. He was warm. So warm. But even that wasn’t enough against this frozen hellhole.

Azriel’s bridal-style hold on you tightened, his hazel eyes scanning over your form.

“Won’t be much longer,” he said, attempting to sound reassuring. “They’ll have a cabin ready for all of us. A fire, warm food.”

“You’re teasing me,” you replied as you pressed your face against his chest, greedily absorbing his body heat.

Azriel’s voice was calm and quiet as he said, “This isn’t teasing, trust me.”

‘Trust me.’

You tried not to let your mind wander towards the ways the Shadowsinger could really tease you as you descended upon Windhaven.

Rhys landed next, and then Cassian, with Mor in his arms.

Lord Devlon already waited, a couple of Illyrian grunts on either side of him. He didn’t spare you, or Mor a single glance as he acknowledged Rhys.

“We’ll need accommodations,” Rhys said, sounding almost bored.

“Already done,” Devlon replied.

You tried to ignore the way the men around the camp eyed you and Mor, like prized mares. Rhysand caught on, a low growl leaving his throat as he spoke again to Devlon.

“Tell your men that if they value their hands, they won’t touch y/n or Morrigan. If they value their eyes, they won’t look at them for too long, either.”

Devlon looked inclined to protest, but thought better of it as he nodded. “You have my word.”

You doubted his word meant much as your group was escorted to the cabin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mor stole the warm bath first, leaving you, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel to pile around the fireplace.

Those three tethers that snapped into place yesterday roared in their presence. Even more so as Rhys spoke in your mind.

There are other ways to warm up, besides a bath, you know.

So go find an Illyrian woman to warm your bed, you quipped back.

There’s only one woman I want in my bed.

Rhys looked at you pointedly.

Poor baby.

You swore he chuckled faintly in your mind.

“So, are we going to discuss what happened yesterday?” Rhys questioned you aloud.

Cassian and Azriel both perked up at that, waiting for your response.

Shit.

“After the meeting tomorrow,” you finally said. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

Rhys hummed. “Leaving us in suspense, darling?”

“Cope.”

Cassian snickered at that, and even Azriel’s lips twitched up. Rhysand’s violet eyes gave you a painfully-slow once-over, the gesture sending heat pooling between your legs.

“Tomorrow, then.”

#acotar #acotar headcanon #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar smut #smut #acomaf #female reader #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #rhysand x reader #Cassian x reader #batboys x reader #acotar fluff #acosf #acofas #acowar #fluff

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nataliawrites · 2 years

Text

TikTok on the Clock // Daniel Ricciardo

One of the best things to come out of the pandemic lockdown was finally giving in to the urge to download TikTok. You had quickly grown addicted to scrolling through the mix of eclectic videos that popped up on your “for you page” and soon enough decided to start posting some yourself.

It did not take long for Formula 1 fans to make the connection between your account and who your boyfriend is — Daniel Ricciardo was many things but subtle was not one of them and he had a tendency to “accidentally” interrupt you while you filmed.

You kept the account going long after restrictions eased and hopped on many of the trends that made their rounds on the app. This year, you were feeling slightly evil. You have been putting together a compilation of hilarious (if you did say so yourself) pranks that you pulled on your boyfriend since the season began and were just about to hit upload as the countdown began.

You put down your phone and turn to give Daniel your full attention.

Ten

Nine

Eight

Seven

Six

Five

Four

Three

Two

One

His lips taste like champagne.

Happy New Year!

“Hey Dan?”

“Mmh.”

“Maybe stay off TikTok for a bit.”

“What did you do?”

One

You loved the Australian Grand Prix. Your boyfriend’s home race was a spectacle on the track and a great opportunity to spend time with his family off the track.

As usual, you flew out to Perth a bit early before switching coasts for the race. You were busy in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner as you prepared to host everyone that evening. When everything was mostly done, you started recording on your phone and leaned it against the wall inconspicuously before calling for your boyfriend.

“Hey, babe?” You pour a heaping pile of salt on a spoon.

“Yeah?” You can hear Daniel from across the house.

“Can you come taste my sauce?” You dunk the spoon in a pot of your tomato sauce and pick up just enough to hide the salt.

He basically runs to the kitchen, “test taster reporting for duty.”

You bring the spoon to his mouth, “I used your nonna’s recipe.”

His eyes screw shut and his mouth puckers, “my-my nonna’s recipe?”

“Your mom shared it with me. Isn’t it delicious?”

“Yeah,” his voice cracks. “Delicious.”

You look at his face again and fight a losing battle not to laugh as he desperately tries not to offend you and his grandma.

You reach towards your phone as giggles escape you.

Daniel finally realizes he’s been tricked, “are you serious?”

You point the camera towards your boyfriend, “you should’ve seen your face.”

“You’re so mean to me,” he pouts.

Two

“Babe?” You questioned coming through the front door. You had spent the day loading up on groceries and stopping by a few boutiques that caught your eye. This was the perfect opportunity to finally pull one over on your boyfriend.

“I’m in here,” you drop your bags in the foyer and follow Daniel’s voice to where he’s lying on the living room sectional.

Your phone is stuck in your bra, the camera just peaking over your shirt. “My car told me I needed windshield wiper fluid while I was out.”

He lowers his phone but keeps his focus on it.

“So I pulled into a gas station and the guy working there gave me a really good deal. He told me I got it for 50 percent off and it was only $150 for me because of how sweet I was.”

Daniel’s head snaps up as he drops his phone.

“$150?”

“Yeah.”

“You paid $150?”

“Yeah …”

“For windshield wiper fluid?”

“Yeah? He told me it was a good deal!”

“Love,” you can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry, “I could’ve done that for free. He ripped you off.”

“But it was 50 percent off?”

“It costs less than $5 to buy and then you just pour it in!” He gestures wildly, “this is my fault. How do I race for a living and literally collect cars without teaching my girlfriend how to change her own windshield wiper fluid?”

By this point you’re silently laughing which Daniel finally notices.

“Really? Really?” He turns around to face the back of the couch, “don’t talk to me.”

“Awww, baby. Don’t be mad at me,” you coo. “I think it’s cute how protective you got.”

“Still mad at you.” It’s hard to take him seriously with his face shoved into the leather couch, muffling his voice.

Three

You walk into the gym, your phone hidden in the pocket of your leggings, and take in the view of you shirtless boyfriend.

The fans will appreciate this one.

“Dan?”

He pauses his juggling on the stationary bike.

“My back’s really been bothering since I came back from my run. Do you think you can help me stretch it or something?”

He gets off the bike and walks toward you, “do you want me to call Michael? He won’t mind coming over to help with your back.”

“Don’t bother him. It’s nothing major,” you turn away from your boyfriend and quickly stick two pieces of pasta between your molars while he can’t see, “just need to loosen it up a bit.”

“Okay …” he spreads his palms across your back and applies some careful pressure. You bite down on the pasta, timing the crack with his movements.

“Oh my god.” You let your body go limp.

“Love? Are you okay?” He tries to hold you up but you collapse on the padded floor of the gym.

“Is it your back? What did I do? I knew we should’ve just called Michael. Oh my god.”

You take pity on your boyfriend, not wanting him to think that he actually broke your back for longer than a few seconds, “it was just pasta.”

“What?”

“The sound. It was just me biting pasta. It’s a prank trend.”

He lets go of your body and you fully drop to the floor.

“Are.” He pelts you with one of the balls he was juggling.

“You.” And another.

“Kidding.” And another.

“Me?” And another.

You run out of the gym laughing as he continues to chase you through the house, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“I thought I broke your back!”

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leclsrc · 11 months

Note

hi auds!! it's my birthday today ;) i never send reqs i know you get a whole ton of them but if you ever got around to this- i think the f1 fic world has a very worrying lack of aus. so could i get a band!charles au drabble where he writes a song about reader and she hears it on the radio? any song you like. reader could be driver or something or connected to f1 if thats cool !!! thank you sm!! i love you

knee socks – cl16

There’s a certain inevitability that comes with having sex with a misaligned, conceited lead guitarist of a band. You aren’t aware of this fact until it hits you in-between your brows with the force of an 18-wheeler truck, at 8AM, through the radio in your car.

genre: drabble... lots of smutty allusions

auds here... happy birthday anon, one month and then some later! to be completely honest i almost deleted this... but through some twist of fate, it was the only thing i could bully into completion lol (aside frm long form fics that i'm still working on) this is 1000% for u and i hope u accept it as a belated bday gift :) i agree btw! id love to see more au fics but it is still nice reading the canon compliant type ones hahah. also the song in this and its and title is of course from this

It was surprising enough to hear an announcement of a new single by The Incident, one that seemingly sprouted out of nowhere, sans promotion. The morning BBC show clobbered the song with theories before finally letting the drawled-out, sticky guitar filter through and into your car. That in itself was odd, sure. Maybe shocking a little. But you leaned into the leather seat and remained quiet.

When you were fifteen, you were convinced the lyrics to Hall & Oates’ “Rich Girl” pinned up perfectly to your (insufferable) personality of the time. Raised in a big family and working in a career of refined prestige, your budding skill and already-cemented name in the modeling industry were just two small indicators of your parents’ massive wealth. Of course, neither Hall nor Oates were actually sitting and writing songs and singing about you—you just found it made sense in one way or another.

That was three years before you met Charles three years ago, at a pub in Soho. His band had only just spilled out of the confines of Soundcloud and seedy managers; they’d broken five million monthly listeners and the throng of people were there to watch them live. You were at the pub for a pint with another friend and left him with your number, a slip of paper tinged with beer; he fished out the nearest surface you could write on from a nearby bowl. Do I Wanna Know? it read in rushed cursive. It was a song request that went unfulfilled.

Rumors flew in your circle. Your father soured at the idea of you seeing somebody he wasn’t actively doing business with, but he failed to realize how limited your dating pool would be if you followed his wishes. Your interactions with the Formula One men he sponsored or worked with, however few and far between, were rancid and impolite. The drivers wore expensive brands, ones that didn’t even fall familiar on people’s ears, but refused to tip beyond three pounds. It came as both a shock and no surprise that the nouveau rich rock singer treated you with more decency than any of them did.

He was shy about it first, knowing how filthy rich you were. He made jokes about how his flat could fit in your kitchen twice over. He spoke what little French he remembered from childhood to impress you, paid for takeout, wore Lacoste when he came over to drink—then fuck—because it was, at the time, the most decent brand he owned. It’d been January when he came over, caught a sight of you at the foyer with all your expensive coats hung up. Your tongue was blue with a lozenge. It was the only thing he could look at while fucking you.

He wore a light blue variant once, fit and snug on him. You wrestled it off him in-between hot, sweet kisses, kept it on your bed so it’d be the first thing you tugged on in the morning before a shoot for a brand you can no longer place.

The last time you saw him he’d shown you lyrics, sang them aloud, drummed the beat he thought of on the skin of your thigh. His accent disappeared into rasp and notes. You told him to perform it live and he fucked you splayed up against your door, bent over your counter, then with your knees pressed to your chest on your white sheets, warm from the laundry. S’good for me, aren’t you, princess? All for me. My filthy girl.

Two hours later: I’m going on tour, sweetheart, he’d said while he cleaned you up.

’Til? Or… like, for long? Naked, you wrapped your blanket around your frame.

Ah, oui. For a while.

You failed to answer amicably, your eyebrows twisting. You didn’t think to tell me? Just up and leave then? No number, no text, no announcement, just— You exhaled tightly. You knew he didn’t owe you anything of the sort; the sex, you guessed, the company had been so good you’d deluded yourself into thinking so.

Kitten—

Don’t call me that, you huffed, angrier now. Petulant. You got up and crowded him ’til you got to the door. Get the fuck out.

You watched him leave, brown leather jacket and black tee disappearing into London, and wrenched memories of him from the depths of your brain, the two years of your back and forth rendezvous. You wondered why you didn’t get a song in that time, after his ascent to fame, after the release of other hit singles inspired by his bandmates’ gossip rags and measly shags.

So a year later, when the memories have just begun to purge themselves—when the lyrics, which already have sent a swoop through your stomach, progress into the line When you walked around your house wearin' my sky blue Lacoste… and your knee socks, you effectively choke on your a.m. cappucino. It’s like “Rich Girl” all over again, but this is overt, it’s targeted. Like whoever wrote it must’ve known you’d be listening right now, en route to a shoot at eight in the morning.

“All good, miss?” Ed, your chauffeur, meets your eyes in the rearview, concerned.

“Perf—” your voice cracks. “Perfect.”

You screw your eyes shut and try to collect yourself, zeroing in on the lyrics that’d been foggy before.

Curing his January blues—the month you two started sleeping together.The fact that he’d had your number, a famous stranger, before you had his. Every beat, every word, every deep-voiced lyric traces back to you (unless, of course, he’s busying himself shagging any other girl in London on rainy Tuesdays and letting her wear his now-old polos. The thought sends a pang of jealousy through you.)

But you know better. You know you’re the only one.

Because your phone’s the only one buzzing late into the damp night—when the zeroes line up on the clock by your bed, the one he fixed up for you—with a number you’ve removed the name of, blocked at some point, but can still memorize in his absence.

Maybe tonight you’ll pick up.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader #anonymous

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justsomerandomfanfic · 4 months

Text

Humans And Mutants - Logan Howlett X Female Reader

Title: You're Just A Failed Experiment

Previous Chapter | Current Chapter | Next Chapter

Logan Howlett X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Jean, Scott (Mentioned), Magneto, Mystique, Pyro, Bobby, Rogue, Toad (Mentioned), Kurt, Ororo, Jones, Jubilee (Mentioned), Stryker, Anne, Mutant 143 (Mentioned), and Charles (Mentioned)

WC: 2,254

Warnings: X-Men canon violence, X-Men canon storyline, death mentioned, killing mentioned, slow burn, mention of torture/abuse, crying, and slight angst

(Sorry, if this series is a bit odd, I made this in 2018)

“Scott!” Jean called in astonishment. But, he didn't answer. Jean looked closer, something was definitely wrong. Cyclops was using his visor, but his face was emotionless; like a robot. On the back of his neck, there was a simple circular mark. “Scott…” She uttered again. Scott reached for his visor and fired an optical blast. Mystique ducked, while Jean tackled Magneto to the ground, the blast almost missing them.

On the X-Jet, Pyro, Rogue, and Bobby sat in the cockpit, listening to the battle over the radio. They heard an explosion, then static. “That’s it.” Pyro huffed, reaching over, and hitting a button. Behind them, the ramp descended.

Bobby and Rogue looked at him, shocked, as he stood up. “Where do you think you are going?” Bobby spoke up.

“In there. I’m tired of this “kids table” crap. I wanna fight.” Pyro replied.

“You don’t have a uniform. You’ll freeze before you make it to the spillway.” Bobby told him.

“Will I?” He smirked.

“John…” Rogue began.

John gazed at her hard, before winking, and walked down the ramp. Inside, Rogue turned to Bobby and eyed the ascension control button.

~~~

Back in the Main Corridor, Cyclops shot again. Jean concentrated and the ground ripped, pushing concrete up before her, blocking his blast like a shield. While Jean tried to strengthen the defense with more parts of the flooring, Magneto stood and turned to Mystique.

“This is the kind of lover’s quarrel we cannot get involved in, my dear.” Magneto spoke. Mystique simply smiled, before they both confidently walked off.

Cyclops discharged again and hit the makeshift shield down. Jean turned to run, but the door slid shut between her and Magneto, and Mystique. She saw Cyclopes progressing towards her and ran into the connecting room.

In the Containment Hall, the children shrieked as Toad and Nightcrawler attacked each other, leaping from cage to cage. Toad climbed to the ceiling of the room. He looked at a pin, which connected the cage to a chain. He grinned and pulled the chain out. The cage began to drop. Inside the cage, Jubilee screamed. Nightcrawler noticed her and teleported inside the cage, grabbed her, and teleported out. He puts Jubilee cautiously on the ground. The cage came tumbling down next to him. He looked up to see Toad leap from one cage from another, he yanked two more pins. Two more cages began to drop, the kids inside panicked. Nightcrawler teleported from one cage to the next, saving the kids before they hit the ground. On the ground, Nightcrawler appeared, huffing and puffing, fatigued. He looked up. On the beams, Toad grinned unrighteously and disappeared in a blur of acceleration and movement.

Five more cages, one after the other, suddenly began to plummet. Nightcrawler closed his eyes, teleporting and saving the kids. The form of his movement flew through space. One by one, the kids safely appeared on the ground. Soon cages fell all around Ororo’s unconscious body. She disappeared in a cloud of smoke as Toad’s cage smashed into the ground. Ororo came. She and the kids stared in wonder at Nightcrawler, who lay on the ground, trying to catch his breath.

“I...I think I have to throw up.” Jones spoke up.

In the Main Corridor, Stryker walked down the foyer, a dozen soldiers ran behind him, exiting the base. Stryker opened a door, entering. Anne stood, waiting for him. They walk towards a huge door at the far end of the room.

“Did you set the charges?” Stryker asked.

“Of course.” Anne replied.

They paused and turned around when they heard a noise. It was Logan, staring at the charts, diagrams, and torturous medical instruments. Petrified. Finally, he gazed into a long tank filled with yellowish liquid, the same kind of tank that overflowed his memories. Logan turned and faced them, enraged. Stryker backed away. “You know what to do.” Stryker said to Anne.

She wordlessly nodded. Stryker backed through the door and shut it, leaving Anne and Logan behind. Anne held out her arms and spread her fingers wide. Her hands twitched. Her eyes turned fully black. Bones crunched as the fingers on both her hands lengthened. Logan gaped, as Anne showed her true mutant form. She gracefully held up long, spindly fingers that taper into razor-sharp adamantium nails. She reached towards him and flicked her long finger. Logan flinched, apprehending she cut a small gash in his cheek. She smiled. Logan sneered and swiped at her head. She ducked, came back up and hit him. He stumbled back. She leaped and shrieked, swiping with both hands. He blocked her claws with his own. They fought, adamantium versus adamantium.

Anne slashed, but missed, and hit a cluster control cable in the ceiling. They twist and distort, small electrical sparkles fall to the ground. Logan tackled her and they smashed through a glass wall. X-Rays, diagrams, and equipment shatter. They were a close match but Anne was much quicker. Logan was being ripped to pieces by her lightning-fast hands. She then spin-kicked Logan, knocking him into the Weapon-X tank. It smashed open. Fluid emptied across the floor. He was sprawled on top of the cracked tank, dazed, nearly unconscious. He can’t beat her hand to hand and he knew it.

Logan looked over and saw you by the opening. You spotted him, quietly pressing your finger to your mouth to silence him. Logan understood, and Logan looked back to Anne, who raised her hand to slash at his face, but before she could do it, a chain was thrown around her like a lasso. You tugged her dragged back, which gave Logan just enough time to get up and grab Anne from behind. He then pushed her into the tank that once gave birth to him. She cried and screeched until they died down and stopped. Stryker’s newest invention, dead.

Logan turned over to you, who was slightly out of breath. He was grateful you were there. “Thanks.”

You looked towards him, feeling your cheeks warm up slightly, you hoped he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating. “Yeah. I knew something was going to end up wrong here.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, confused.

“This was where I was abused for some of my life.” You spoke quietly. It was silent for a while. You then walked over to a filing cabinet, opening it and looking through the files. you pulled out a file and opened it. Reading through some of the stuff, it was filled with paperwork, pictures, and other important things. You then suddenly turned to Logan, who stood there, you glared at the paperwork again. You looked at Logan with hate in your eyes. “Go get him.”

“What about you?” He asked, not really wanting to leave you, but Stryker was on the loose.

“I’ll be fine.” You muttered, your hand tightening its grip on the files.

Logan looked at you and nodded, then left towards where Stryker left, but the door was closed. He looked back to you, albeit awkwardly. “Uh, I can’t get through the door.”

You turned back to him, nodding, and walking over. Holding out your hand, hesitantly, Logan benevolently took it, and almost like the last time, he felt a tingly and warm sensation throughout his body. He looked at their hands together and you closed your eyes. You concentrated and soon you both then disappeared in a bright light, teleporting to the other side of the door. You then let go of his hand, and Logan felt the warmth leave.

“Might as well come with you,” You said, popping your knuckles. Logan gives a small chuckle. “What?” You asked, looking up to Logan.

He shrugged and they ran towards where Stryker would’ve gone.

Jean entered the room. She turned to see Cyclops right behind and she immediately shut the heavy ore door. In mere seconds the door was blown apart as soon as it closed. Jean avoided, barely dodging the flying door. As she runs, she doesn’t notice the blinking explosives on the generators. Cyclops fired again, and Jean held up her hand, and the blast hit around her. She strained, using every last bit of power to hold back the blast. “Scott...Don’t do this.” She begged, her voice quiet, quivering.

Cyclops adjusted his visor and the bean increased. Jean began to sweat as it started to push towards her. The blinking light got so bright that she had to look away. Then the bean explodes and finally hits her, throwing her back twenty feet to the floor, unconscious. Cyclops rose over Jean. He adjusted his visor once more and the red glow enhanced, ready to fire. But, a loud throbbing hum of Dark Cerebro pervaded the room. Cyclops’ hand began to tremble.

~~~

In the Containment Hall, Jones hugged Ororo tightly. Ororo hugged him back and sighed in exhaustion. “Time to go home.”

They started to walk towards the door, but abruptly a flat throbbing hum of Dark Cerebro approached. Nightcrawler stopped, dizzy. He turned to Ororo. The throbbing got louder. “Miss Ororo.” He spoke.

He stared at Ororo in shock. She looked stunned, clutching her head. She fell to the ground yelling. All around, the kids dropped like flies, as 143’s beacon hit them. Nightcrawler moved to help them, but he fell to his knees.

In Dark Cerebro, the world map rotated, a thousand mutant-indicator red lights began to spin inside it. Mutant 143 was breathing heavily. He quivered, sweating, eyes dilating back and forward. The low hum got faster and faster. Suddenly, a burst of light flooded the map.

Moments later, Stryker hopped into the helicopter and started to hit switches. The monitor started powering up. He hit the final switch, and the headlights turned on. But, just as he was about to fly off, a hand quickly reached in and grabbed him, and threw Stryker from the helicopter, landing on the white ground.

It was you and Logan. Stryker opened his mouth to scream but Logan’s claws extended. You just watched behind him, letting him have the revenge that he had so desired. Even if Stryker caused you pain, you knew Logan wanted revenge more than you did. Suddenly, he retracted his claws as the dark throbbing of Dark Cerebro hit him, then hit you. Logan clutched his head and fell to his knees. You tried to not fall - to fight it, but you fell into the snow, clutching your head in pain with both hands.

Stryker sat up, swallowed, and grinned. “Wolverine.” Stryker spoke, evilly. Logan weakly grasped onto Stryker’s leg. “How does your head feel? Like there’s someone else inside?” Logan tried to yell, but couldn't. He tried to stretch his claws, but they only pushed out a bit and retracted. “Mortality’s never really been an issue for you, Wolverine. How’s it feel to know that you’re finally dying?” Stryker kicked Logan across the face. Logan turned away from him, still holding his head. Stryker kicked him again.

You slowly sat up, tears ran down your face from the pain, looking over at the two, your eyes widening. “Stop! Don’t hurt… Him...”

Stryker looked over at her for a moment. He smirked. “What are you going to do about it? Teleport me to death? Erase my memory? I created you, you don’t have anything to use against me.” He said, and you sadly looked to the ground, defeated. He then looked back to Logan, who was still on the ground, clutching his head. “Why did you come back? Looking for answers?”

“You cut me open… And took my life…” Logan struggled to speak.

“You make it sound as though I stole something from you. As I recall, it was you who volunteered for the program.”

There was a long pause before Logan spoke, “Who am I?”

“You’re just a failed experiment. You should be thanking me. If you really knew about your past, what kind of person you were, you’d be destroyed.”

Stryker spoke.

Logan was overwhelmed, in anguish. He closed his eyes. He pressed his head to the ground, barely breathing.

~~~

Outside of Dark Cerebro, Magneto and Mystique stood in awe as they approached the massive rotating sphere of Dark Cerebro, spinning at full speed, red lights emitted from within. The throbbing sound was earsplitting. Mystique fell to the ground in pain. “Eric… Hurry…” She spoke. She could barely control herself, turning into the hundreds of people that she copied in her life. Magneto raised his hand, he groaned. There was the sound of scraping metal on metal. Dark Cerebro began to slow.

Charles, catatonic, stared at 143. Above them, the red lights grew brighter.

Jean and Cyclops laid on the ground in pain.

Rogue and Bobby were too weak to move, on the jet floor.

Ororo was on the ground, screaming, her eyes white.

Nightcrawler and the children, withered in agony.

Pyro laid on the terrain, his fingers burned.

All over the planet mutants were crying out in torment.

Logan held his head upon the ground. Stryker turned and walked back to the helicopter.

Meanwhile, Magneto concentrated. His hand quivered. Dark Cerebro continued to screech, slowing down, and after a few seconds… The giant orb finally ground to a halt. Mystique finally stopped transforming, her eyes wide, frozen, unmoving. Suddenly, she blinked and sat up. Magneto waved his hand, and the door opened. He entered. In the spacious room of Dark Cerebro, Magneto saw Charles facing 143, still trapped in the illusion. “Hello, Charles.”

---

@ashdoctor @powergirlsupremacy @weallhaveadestiny

---

Main Masterlist | X-Men Masterlist

79 notes · View notes

katreneebug · 11 months

Text

I'm Okay (Trust Me) (Part 1/3)

Summary: Defeating Rapheal, and subsequently obtaining the Orphic Hammer, had gone exceptionally well. At least in comparison to how things usually go. However, as the companions move forward with their plans of parasitic liberation, Astarion can’t help but notice that their leader, and his lover, isn’t quite herself. Despite Tav’s assurances, the vampire spawn can tell that the events befalling The House of Hope still haunt her in more ways than one.

Parings: Tav x Astarion, Minor Shadowheart x Lae'zel

Warnings: Explicit content, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Slight Victim Balming, Sexual Trauma, Eventual Smut

A/N: I decided to write this after I got through the House of Hope on my first playthrough. At first I was really excited at the prospect of getting to bed an incubus in the game but after everything was done I kind of felt off about the whole thing. Especially given that the player, after deciding not to fight, is given the choice to either let Haarlep use their image to have sex with a bunch of strangers or straight up die. It hit a little too close to home in regard to my own sexual trauma and how that has affected my self-esteem, relationships, and mental health.

I want to stress that there are some aspects of the story that don't match with the gameplay. An example of this would be going beyond the party size. You can pretend that this story is based on that no-limit companion mod lol.

Link to AO3: Here

No last-minute begging had left Rapheal’s lips when Karlach raised her axe above him. The fact that it had been the final stroke came as a surprise to Astarion and, based upon the silence that drenched the room, the others. Not too far behind her could hear Tav panting, her magic practically drained to its limits. In the peripheral of his eyes, he could see Shadowheart’s armor move up and down as she too sought to catch her breath.

Hope, who appeared the most worn out of the bunch, stood frozen to her spot by the door. Karlach noticed her immediately and moved to check on her, weapon still sunk deep within Rapheal’s chest. Astarion took the opportunity to walk over to him, caution obvious in the way he gripped his dagger.

There was no final spook to be had, though. Rapheal was dead, eyes wide and mouth slightly a gape with no more theatrics left on his tongue. Good Riddance, he thought. A smirk danced onto his lips as he decided it was okay to turn back towards his companions. Hope was no longer a statue, the erratic motions from before returned vigorously as she took in their victory.

The memory of Cazador lying vanquished on the ground materialized in his mind. He brushed it away quickly as Tav’s eyes landed on himself. A half-smile was the most she could muster before Lae’zel garnered her attention, talks of the next step towards freeing Orpheus’ flew from the githyanki’s mouth in rapid, yet precise, order. The lines in Tav’s forehead creased as she let her friend speak. Deciding to take pity on his lover, Astarion moved to stand beside her.

“—The Emperor will know of what we have done, we must act fast upon our return.”

“I—”

“Surely you can’t expect us to go straight into the undercity of Baldur’s Gate after quite literally killing a devil.” Lae’zel sharp glare snapped up to meet his eyes. “I for one am not doing anything till I’ve had time to clean up, all of this.” His hand, the one not resting centimeters away Tav’s lower back, motioned to the state of his armor. Rapheal and his friends had left the floors of the foyer dripping in all sorts of blood and guts and, while Astarion’s body was happily intact, his outfit begged to differ.

“He’s right, we should get some rest before meeting with Voss.” Lae’zel’s head snapped to see Shadowheart approaching. “It would be foolish to confront a mind flayer and a devil on the same day.” Lae’zel didn’t reply immediately, though the answer for what they should do was clear, she was not any happier to admit it.

“All right,” she spat. “Prepare for an early departure by dawn, I will not wait for anyone.”

“Of course,” he hummed with a dismissive wave.

. . .

“I’m just saying we should take some more time to discuss our next course of action.” Gale instinctively backed up as Lae’zel stalked his receding form. “It would be unwise to go in all wands blazing without considering the effect this might have.”

“I am not leaving my Prince at the hands of a ghaik any longer.” Astarion had no interest in interfering on the wizard’s behalf. Watching the man sweat was more than amusing. “The only thing unwise would be for you to continue talking.”

“What if freeing Orpheus leads to us losing our only protection from the absolute.” It was Wyll who stepped in between the two. No surprises there, the vampire thought. Lae’zel had burst through the doors of their room at the inn with an attitude ready to fight the next person who dared to go against her plans.

“It will, I’ve already told you that freeing Orpheus will only result in him—”

“Will someone please get the squid to shut up.” Astarion winced, feeling the pain of The Emperors telepathy within his mind. How lucky Halsin and Jaheira were to not feel such an annoying headache.

“Gladly,” Lae’zel sneered.

“There are still other issues that we need to address.” Halsin’s voice passed by Astarion from behind, he could feel the bear of a man coming closer to the group before passing the vampire all together to aid Wyll and Gale from the Lae’zel’s wrath. “Orin and Gortash are still alive, it would be best to get rid of them before going to the astral plane.

“Agreed, we cannot allow the absolute to draw more power from the city. It’s time we faced them.” Halsin nodded an acknowledgement at Jaheira, her argument adding to the growing resistance.

Quickly the room devolved into a mass of bickering, Lae’zel mostly fighting alone on her side. It took Astarion a few moments to realize that there was something off about the whole scene. It stumped him briefly but the soft steps of someone else moving about in the background was the answer.

“Not going to step in, dearest?” Tav jumped a bit as Astarion walked towards her, his back now to the group. “It’s very unlike you.”

“It’s been a long day,” the bed bounced slightly as she dropped her pack onto it. “And I don’t feel like picking a fight with Lae’zel.” If only the rest were that smart, he thought. “She’ll see reason soon enough, anyways. We really do need to usurp Orin and Gortash while we can.”

“I’m sure she will,” his lips curled. “Right after she breaks a couple of Gale and Wyll’s ribs, of course.”

“Shadowheart will fix them up,” her body joined the bag as she sat down onto the covers. “Or Halsin, either way they’ll be fine.”

“I love this newfound ‘compassion’ of yours,” he briefly glanced away, catching sight of a smaller person far from the argument occurring. Either Yenna was blissfully unaware or was doing a great job at pretending everything was okay. “I just wish you had acquired it earlier.” Then maybe they wouldn’t be stuck worrying about every little orphan who manipulated Tav’s kindness.

“They’re adults, they can take care of themselves.” He raised an eyebrow at this. Was she really letting things go for once. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, choosing to instead dig around into her bag that she never organized, even at his insistence.

“Fair enough,” a level of trepidation lined his voice. Before he could ask if she was alright, a loud clang hit the floor behind him, silencing the bickering voices. He turned away instinctively, catching sight of Lae’zel stomping away towards the door. A dagger, no doubt previously aimed towards the other men, laid forgotten at Halsin’s feet.

“Fine,” she spat, casting one last glance towards them before nearly kicking the door off its hinges. “Cowards, all of you.” With that, she was gone. Shadowheart moved a few steps, considering the possibility of going after her, before ultimately stopping. Even from her his spot, Astarion could see the way her jaw clenched, hands balled at her sides.

The rest of them dispersed to their own spots in the room, silence hung in the air uncomfortably. Karlach’s, he noticed, took a moment to collect Lae’zel’s dagger. She rarely used such a small weapon in combat, opting for her painfully heavy sword and bow. The little thing glinted in the light briefly before the Tiefling went to place it neatly on Lae’zel’s bunk.

Such a mess they were, he thought with a shake of his head.

. . .

He tried not to stare too much at Tav. His own bed had been placed directly next to hers and it was becoming harder to ignore the way she shifted and squirmed under the covers. Sleep came easily to the girl, at least most of the time. Her experience with combat and adventuring was limited before the parasite, her body unuse to such strenuous work. She rarely complained, though. The only indicator that this was tough for her especially being how quickly she tuckered out at the end of the day.

There was a chance that some of the chatter was keeping her up. The silence hadn’t lasted too long before Karlach, Shadowheart, and Jaheira set up some type of card game. They weren’t particularly loud, save for whenever Karlach gained the upper hand in the game. Gale had tried shushing her a couple of times before ultimately giving up. The book in his hands had eventually engrossed him enough to tune it all out.

When moonlight began to seep through their windows, Tav snores still not filling the air, Astarion decided to forsake his own spot. Standing over her crumbled form brought back the memory of the first time he had attempted to drink her blood. The few nights before that had been increasingly painful as he watched her lie so sweetly under the stars. Over time she felt less like a person and more like a beautiful feast, all set out for him alone. It was a shock, looking back, how long he held out on partaking.

Her reaction to noticing him looming over her this time around was much less frantic. A little bit of surprise played on her parted lips as she slowly sat up to speak. There was still a hint of innocence in her eyes whilst meeting his gaze. Scores of monsters and cultists had perished under her spells and blades and yet it didn’t jade her the way it would for other humans.

So precious, he thought.

“Is something wrong?” It came out as a whisper, her eyes glancing left to confirm that Wyll remained unmoving in his bunk.

“I was actually just about to ask you that, darling.” He wasn’t as quiet as her, unafraid that the Blade of Frontiers would wake up easily. “You’ve been acting peculiarly since we got back, care to enlighten me?”

“I told you I was tired,” she looked away. “It’s been a very long day.”

“And yet you’ve been tossing and turning for nearly an hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little too much like a scolding parent than a partner.

“I . . .” She trailed off, knees moving up to support her chest as she leaned forward. “There’s just a lot on my mind right now. Between the netherstones and Orpheus, it’s just overwhelming.”

“Anything I can do to help,” the bed dipped as he took a seat. There was little space between the two of them now and a part of him buzzed pleasantly at the thought of pulling her into an embrace. They hadn’t been all that touchy as of late. His confession at Moonrise had practically halted most forms of intimacy between them. An outsider looking in wouldn’t have guessed how close the two of them were in comparison to the others. Feather light touches and the occasional hug made up most of the relationship now. Sometimes he would steal a kiss, a usually quick action that ended before Tav had much time to register the affection.

They had on occasion shared a bedroll back when they were out in the wild. She’d curl up against his side, a hand resting on the part of his chest where his heart once beat. He’d count the constellations whilst listening to the change in her breathing, the obvious indicator that she had plunged into a deep sleep. There, hidden from Cazador and the absolute, a flutter would come and go underneath his ribs. Perhaps he wasn’t all that dead.

“No, I’ll be okay.” She shook her head, hair rustling against the sides of her face. “Don’t worry about me, please.”

“Easier said than done, my dear.” The little pout that appeared on her lips decided his next move for him. “Now, scout over.” Tav’s eyes widened, gaze snapping back up to his face. She was still for a few moments, studying his features with an intensity one might have for a major test.

Little voices scrapped against the back of his mind as he exalted all his control in keeping a calm demeanor. Any doubt or uncertainty would have Tav pushing him away. She was always so concerned about his comfort. It was welcomed graciously most of the time but, as much as the sentiment warmed his icy body, it could also sting. He was not nearly as fragile as she seemed to think he was.

She only puts up with you because she pities you.

“O-Okay,” Astarion almost breathed out a sigh of relief when she complied with the request. He wasted no time in joining her under the covers, lest she change her mind at his reluctance.

She was rigid against him, even after he comfortably adjusted against the mattress. Instead of holding him, like she used to, Tav rolled over so that her back was facing him instead. Both of her hands clenched the sheets rather than his clothes. It unnerved him even more than the silence that passed between him.

“You know,” he whispered. “I was afraid that your droopy mood had something to do with vanquishing our old ‘friend’, Rapheal.” Acidity coated his pronunciation of the devil’s name. Tav’s body twitched when she heard it, somehow tensing even more than before.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” disdain leaked from her mouth as she sought to relax her body. “I wish I had cut out his tongue earlier, though. I can still hear his stupid, dramatic voice in my head.”

“Perhaps I can take your mind off of it?” The sly words fell out of Astarion’s mouth without him even having a chance to think it over. Flirtatiousness was an instinct after two centuries and getting rid of it wasn’t something easily undone. A heaviness set within his chest, an all too familiar panic that he may have gone too far. She shook in his grasp and that heaviness gave way to bitter bile. Swallowing it down with a cough, Astarion placed a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine.” Her statement, spoken quicker than before, felt like a cut. “I’m not in the mood, anyways.”

Not in the mood for you, at least.

She thinks you’d break under her touch.

Besides, why would she want you when she just had him.

He inhaled sharply at the memory conjured up by the swirling voices. He would have kicked himself for carelessness had she not been lying next to him. Amid their quest within the House of Hope, Astarion had been able to push down their interaction with Rapheal’s favorite toy. Now, with her distant yet so close, he could no longer.

. . .

“I beg your pardon,” the snap of Astarion’s voice rang within the chamber. The marble floor beneath his feet nearly crumbled under the stomp of his boots. A hand kept him from getting closer to the bed before them. “Would you like to repeat that little request?”

“I said,” the incubus’ eyes looked only at Tav. “Take off your clothes.”

“Uh, why?” Her voice bordered on cracking. It was her fingers that kept him from throwing a dagger between Haarlep’s eyes.

“Do you or do you not want my help,” playfulness dripped from the incubus as he rolled softly against the covers of the mattress. “I at least deserve something from you, seeing as you’re asking for so much.”

“And you’re asking for an arrow through the throat.” Astarion grumbled, fingers flexing and ready for Tav to give the orders to fight.

“Hypothetically, what were to happen if I did take off my clothes.” His jaw clenched as the human woman spoke slowly.

“Well,” he drawled, lips curling in a cat like smirk. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

“A surprise from an incubus? I wonder what that could possibly be,” Astarion’s mocking voice did little to faze the other man.

“No need to be so jealous, little spawn.” The grip on Astarion’s shoulder tightened, Tav accurately guessing how restraint was practically peeling away from him. “I have only the best of intentions in mind.”

“Oh really—”

“Gives a moment, if that’s okay.” Tav began to pull against him, trying to bring him back towards the group. Haarlep nodded his head which was answer enough for Tav to motion for the companions to form a huddle of sorts.

“We’re killing him, right?” An unsureness plagued Tav’s face as she shied away from his intense gaze.

“Honestly, taking up his offer might be the best option.” He made a point to glare at Shadowheart. She looked only at Tav though, not bothering with the pissy vampire. “As much as I want to avoid it, a fight with Rapheal is practically inevitable at this point. Especially if we go through with freeing Hope. I’d rather we save up our resources for that fight instead of wasting it on him.” She motioned towards the incubus with a jerk of her chin.

“If it were me, I’d rather gut him.” Lae’zel chimed in before Astarion could retort. “But I am not the one he is asking for.” Her gaze fell to Tav.

“I’m completely fine with ripping his annoying face off,” Karlach glanced back at the Rapheal look-a-like. “But yeah, it’s up to you soldier.”

“I mean,” the human’s face contorted as pros and cons weighed back and forth within her mind. “If we go against him, who knows what other cronies he’d bring into the fight. Plus, it can make it that much harder to get back to the hammer in time.”

She wants to say yes to him, the offer is rather tempting.

“Exactly, I say we get the hammer first with as little complications as possible.” Very few times had Shadowheart’s neck looked so perfectly ready to be ripped out in Astarion’s eyes.

“Why don’t you take her place, if the choice is so easy.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t see why not,” her lips curled up in a bitter smirk. “I’m sure he’s all sorts of fun.”

“Such a tempting offer,” Haarlep’s voice broke into the group. Apparently, the huddle was pointless if he could hear everything from his side of the room. “But I have my sights set on your little leader. She’s stirred up Rapheal quite a bit with how passionately she denied his deal.”

“Pity,” the former Sharran mumbled.

“Now if you lot are somehow able to survive this little trip, I’d be more than happy to pencil you in for a play date, half-elf.” A silent chuckle left Shadowheart’s lips as she shook her head. Astarion couldn’t tell if she’d be against such an offer in the future.

“Fight or Fornicate, make up your mind before we’re out of choices.” Lae’zel turned back to Tav as the human seemed even more indecisive than before.

“I . . .” Her eyes met his then, as the rest of the group waited in bated breath for an answer. They stared at each other as each passing second felt even slower than the last.

She wants your permission.

You’ve left her longing for too long.

The answer to her needs is practically begging to relieve her.

He could do so, so much more for her.

She’s tired of waiting for you to get a grip. So tired of holding your pathetic hand.

I’d be cruel to deny her such an experience.

“. . . It’s up to you, my love.” Throwing the façade of acceptance on his face wasn’t too hard to do. He had done it so many times before, he had practically become a master of it at this point. “I won’t hold it against you, whatever you decide.”

She was quiet, facing smoothing at as her decision was made within her mind. She turned back to Haarlep first, prompting the others to do the same. Astarion, though, kept most of his attention on her and not the creature he wanted to eviscerate.

Something inside him shattered as her lithe fingers went to the hem of her shirt. The realization that she was about to disrobe in front of Haarlep and their friends hit him like a pommel strike. The voices in his head were twisting wildly within his mind and somehow, throughout the horror of it all, he found himself bitterly thankful for Tav’s choice in today’s team.

It was no secret that all their companions had, at one point, made a pass at Tav. Her rejection of them always had a sliver of satisfaction rolling up his spine. In Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel’s case, they had taken her no rather well. It was easy enough for the later two who had begun ‘sparring’ away from the eyes of the camp sometime after their interaction with the creche. Their excuse was that they needed more space to fight and that they didn’t want to ‘accidentally’ hurt someone during the intense training.

Hate sex is the best sex, Tav had muttered one night as she and Astarion caught the two women glaring at each other whilst walking off into the woods. He had curled his lips at the scandalous statement, deciding silently to remember the tidbit for a possible future tryst.

Karlach, Astarion realized, was just happy to have the embrace of a friend. Romance had been easily forgotten by the Tiefling. The same couldn’t be said for Gale and Wyll. They had assured her that it was alright before and Tav had taken it at face value. Astarion knew better though, could see it in the way their eyes followed her. When she spoke, they would glance at her lips and look away as if caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The vampire spawn sometimes basked in the longing he could see within them every time he displayed even the smallest of Tav’s reciprocated affections.

“Could you all go guard the door,” snapping out his trance, Astarion watched as Tav put a pause on removing her clothes. “The last thing we need is Rapheal waltzing in.”

“Of course,” Shadowheart was the first to comply. Lae’zel quirked an eyebrow for a moment before leaving as well. He could feel Karlach looking back and forth between him and Tav. Reluctantly she placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to walk away with her. Though her engine had been fixed, her palm was practically scalding against the thin fabric of his disguise.

“We’re just across the room,” he murmured. “In case you need us.”

With a nod of Tav’s head, Astarion finally complied with Karlach’s touch. The two turned around to trail after the other members of their party. He focused on the echo of the grand faucets flowing hot water into the pool between them. Anything to keep from catching the sound of whatever surprise the incubus had in mind.

“You okay?” Astarion growled lowly at the question. He knew that Karlach’s concern was genuine, deep down, yet he couldn’t help but feel only irritation.

“Of course I am.” He sneered; he wasn’t the one stuck staring at Rapheal’s stupid face. He considered telling them to not talk to him, as he was in no mood. Yet the little chatter that passed between the other three was something to hold onto. Very little went by the doorway of the boudoir, just a couple of miserable waifs limping about. A wonderful reminder of what might happen to them sooner rather than later.

“—Must we waste time freeing her.”

“Are you suggesting we leave Hope chained to this asshole.” He didn’t want to look behind him to watch their argument.

“The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to join her.” Shadowheart’s voice was farthest away. A little too far for his liking, more likely to see what was happening past the pool.

It must be quite a show, maybe she’ll tell you all the gory details later.

Or maybe Tav will, how long will it be before his name passes those luscious lips.

She won’t want you after this.

What’s the point of a pretty face when that’s all it is. She’ll get sick of looking at it when she realizes she could have more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Shadowheart’s voice cut through the mess in his head.

“It looks like they’ve stopped,” gods he was going to throw up. “Come on.”

Luckily the half-elf was correct. By the time the four of them had come to the other end of the room, Haarlep was already off the bed and looking starkly different from before. Instead of the near perfect imitation of Rapheal, he had shifted into a woman. An improvement, yes, but still too like the devil in looks. Tav was shimmying her shirt back on, something black and tight coverd the rest of her body. She hadn’t worn it before.

Haarlep, noticing their return, locked eyes with him particularly. The ends of his lips twisted higher than they had before. In the blink of an eye the new feminine form shifted into something all too familiar. Instead of the Rapheal look alike, a copy of Tav now smirked at him.

To his utter displeasure, the incubus was gone before the shock could lift. Tav didn’t waste time in collecting the contents of the safe. The portrait of Rapheal broke in half under her hands as she pried it off the wall. It was tossed unceremoniously across the floor. If only they had time to destroy more of the devil’s tacky décor.

“Let’s go,” Tav was striding past them. Determination set within the crease of her forehead. There were questions on the tongue of each one of them. Ultimately their curiosity was left unspoken.

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astarlitsoul · 6 months

Text

Morning Star

Azriel x OC

@starfallweek prompt: Character A is a fallen star, Character B finds them.

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr (Ik I'm a decade late) and my first time trying to write fanfic. I wanted to give this prompt from Starfall Week a try. I hope to make at least a second part bc I'm a sucker for a happy ending. Feedback is appreciated, I hope you enjoy.

This is set a year after ACOSF when the red star (likely Aelin) was seen by Rhysand on Starfall.

Warnings: Angst, blood, wounds (not too graphic), I think that's it...

Rhys had truly outdone himself this year. In anticipation of Nesta and Cassian’s wedding, the High Lord had created his largest guest list yet for the upcoming Starfall. The House of Wind had been undergoing preparations for the week prior to the holiday in preparation for all the guests. The residence was being readied to host the courtiers and their plus ones, the ruling families of allied courts, and Keir and Lord Devlon plus their ilk. Even the owners of businesses the Inner Circle frequented had been extended an invitation.

Azriel had attended far more of the balls than he could remember. In his youth, Rhys, Cassian, and he would perch atop the roof of Rhys’ mother's house to watch the streaks of light until they dwindled away. In his adolescence, it was not uncommon for one of them, often Cassian, to bring their lover at the time and share kisses under the show. (Of course, the perpetrator would be teased to no end the following day.) More recently, as Rhys and Cass found their mates, Azriel found himself missing those days. He was happy for his brothers, and he loved his found sisters. But that didn’t change the feelings of unworthiness that were spurred when he was left without a date at event after event.

In the recent weeks leading up to Starfall, these thoughts were the subject of Azriel’s dreams. The dreams were not nightmares, per se, which Azriel was well acquainted with. They all began with a depiction of a different Starfall from his youth. However, the good memories were soured when Rhys and Cassian would fall silent beside him atop the roof. Azriel would call out for them, but their eyes would remain glued to the sky as if seeing something he couldn’t. They pointed and murmured things he couldn’t hear before they grabbed him in an attempt to winnow away.

Even now, as he flew home the morning before the holiday, he found himself thinking over the dreams. Lost in thought, he was surprised to find himself flying over the quaint cabin. He had subconsciously altered his flight path to pass the first home he’d known. Landing softly in front of Rhys’ mother’s house, he scanned his surroundings before entering. Assured that the sun was just beginning its ascent and that much of the world still slept, he entered the cabin.

Strolling through the small foyer and into the kitchen, he observed just how worn it was. As boys, they did a number on the cabin, leaving lasting scuffs on the floor and permanent dents in their favorite chairs. He loved the damages now, seeing them for what they were. Signs of life, proof that joy and love had filled the space. Proof that even he had known joy and love. After walking through the small rooms, he exited and flew up to the roof. He told himself he wouldn’t get too comfortable, that he’d rest for only a few moments before heading to the House of Wind. Facing the spot where the sun threatened to rise from the ocean, he took in the orange and pink hues of the pre-dawn sky. While Velaris was mostly obscured by the trees, he could glimpse the city in the distance.

His musings were interrupted by a rising feeling that moved from his stomach up behind his ribs. His shadows, which had settled into languid movements upon arrival at the cabin, began flaring out from him in a frenzy. He inhaled deeply at the foreign sensation, and it was then that he noticed the first star in the darkening sky. Azriel cocked his head at it. Prythian's brightest star — and the last to disappear each morning — should lay behind him in the sky. His confusion only grew as the star began flickering and growing.

No, not growing, approaching. The white-hot mass was careening towards him. He ducked, lying flush against the roof, his shadows making themselves scarce in the presence of the foreign glow. He closed his eyes against the brightness before he felt a wave of searing heat through his leathers as it passed overhead. Only when the light stopped attempting to shine through his shut lids, did Azriel open his eyes. Standing once more he looked himself over, then at his surroundings. Whatever it was had bowed the trees in its path, unobscuring the view to Velaris and leaving char marks and a glittering substance in its wake.

Let us see. Let us investigate. A few of his shadows hovered in front of his face, and he permitted them to follow the path. Reaching for Truth-Teller, Azriel wracked his mind for any information he’d know of objects falling into their atmosphere. He’d gone with Rhys to see multiple experts about the upcoming celestial event. The High Lord was still shaken by the red star he’d seen during last year's Starfall. Yet none of the court’s prophets nor astronomers had forecast this. They’d all claimed the view on Starfall was set to be uninterrupted, that only good things would come from the spectacle. It was another reason that Azriel’s dreams confused him. And a reason why he didn’t mention it to his brothers.

There is blood, Master. So much blood. His shadows whizzed back to him, wrapping around his middle and tugging him in the direction of the foreign object. Taking to the sky, he spotted a clearing a few hundred feet behind the cabin that hadn’t been there before. Upon passing the last of the trees, Azriel drew up short and hovered over the sight. There were so few things that turned his stomach after centuries of horrors. But the sight of a body laying in the crater, a tangle of limbs and wings and branches and moss had the foreign feeling returning to his chest. Landing softly, he rolled the hilt of his dagger in his palm, a nervous tic of his. He stood at the edge of the crater and found his throat tightening as he took a closer look.

The being was breathtaking, even as it lay limply in the ground. Pale blue feathers lay beneath the body, adorning wings that bent at a too-wrong angle. The being was dressed in nondescript robes of a darker blue hue, which now lay in tatters. Much of the flesh that wasn’t shredded, was obscured by long, curly locks of dark hair and a thick layer of glittering dust. His shadows were snaking their way towards the body, picking up some of the glistening flecks as they approached when they froze suddenly.

Alive. But the breaths are too shallow. There is a great wound.

A faint groan escaped the being and he found himself stepping down into the crater. Precaution thrown to the wind, he saw no need to intimidate the dying creature. It appeared female, as he took in the soft facial features and shapely figure as she lay against the dark soil.

“Hello?” he asked gently.

Another groan, then a cry as the being shifted. Tightening his grip on Truth-Teller, Azriel watched a shaky hand emerge from beneath a heap of feathers to reach for what he believed was a thigh. It was then he saw the wound. The Illyrian winds had been known to whisk away even the largest tents and banners, typically with sandbags and iron posts still attached. The stake of one of those posts was protruding through the leg, too close to the center for her femur to still be intact.

“Hey hey hey,” he sputtered as he reached for the delicate hand hoping to prevent her from causing herself further harm. While he was no healer, he knew that the bones and arteries in the thigh posed a life threat when damaged. The moment his scarred hand closed around her wrist her eyes flew open.

Time may as well have frozen. His eyes met her own, pools of a similar hazel but flecked with stardust. Within his chest, he felt a new ebb and flow. Not of his diaphragm as he remembered to breathe, but of his end of the mating bond that had awoken within him. He was shaken from the moment when another cry left her lips.

She began speaking frantically in a language he’d never heard as she attempted to move, her eyes jumping between his face, his shadows, his flared wings, and the weapon in his hand. Her feathered wings shifted again, as she attempted to free her other arm. Sheathing his dagger, he held up his hands, a sign that he meant no harm. Realizing the efforts to free herself were futile, the female stilled, throwing him a pleading look.

He brought his hands towards the wound slowly, one hand steadying the bloodied stake before the other felt beneath her leg. Wherever the stake had come from, this piece had broken off when it caught in her leg.

She must be moved. She will not last long. His shadows had been working their way around her form, through the hair, feathers, and tatters as they tried to gain a full picture for their master. A few of them brushed the hair off of her face, while others seemed to stroke her hand. Something in his chest squeezed at their report.

“Let me,” he gestured to himself, “help you.” He finished by making a scooping motion with his arms. Azriel had no idea if she understood his miming, or if the bond had come to life in her chest too, but she nodded once in agreement. He pushed an arm under her back gently, before leaning her torso up from the ground. Her face screwed in pain and he paused as she took a shaky breath. He ordered his shadows to steady the stake before pushing his arms under her legs as well.

Standing up, he took note of her limp wings. What he had believed were two large wings, were actually two sets of wings. Looking up at her face, he flared his shadows as he prepared to shadow-walk to Velaris. Once again, despite her ragged breathing and pained face, she nodded at him with resignment in her eyes. Azriel was unsure if she could feel it, but he tried to soothe her through the bond before he allowed his shadows to envelope them. He hoped that she was able to receive the calming waves he sent her, and none of the panic he felt as his mate’s blood soaked his leathers.

#starfallweek2024 #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar oc #starfallweek #starfall #its my first post be nice plsss

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jhoneybees · 8 months

Note

i read your picnic fic and it’s so cute! i was wondering if you could write one where like reader and elvis need to petsit a bird, and it’s funny chaos? i didnt know your requests were open til now 🫠🫠 luv your writing!

Aww thank you so much!! And yes requests are open, I should have added that info onto my bio a long time ago😅 and sorry for the long wait, anyways! This idea is an interesting one and it was a little challenging writing this so I hope you like it!

Causing trouble

Characters: Early70s!dad!Elvis X wife!reader

Warnings/triggers: pretty much nothing but a little bit of inappropriate speech??(misunderstanding about something sexual😅)

Tags:@elvisalltheway101

_____________________________________________

As much as you adore your husband's generosity of gift giving, there are some things that get you concerned. One of them being, buying your daughter things that she doesn't quite understand yet, like taking care of an animal, a bird if you will.

For your little daughter's 5th birthday, Elvis got her a blue budgie bird and knowing your daughter's love for animals, he knew she would be over the moon with the small creature and he was right. Every morning, she would wake up excitedly to run down the stairs into the living room to see her new companion, tweeting at her and pleading either you or Elvis to let the bird out of its cage so she could hold it and pet its little head and in the evenings, refusing to leave the bird for her to take a nightly bath which Elvis always has to gently remind her that the bird wouldn't go anywhere and would wait for her when she comes back.

Really, your daughter is captivated with the blue budgie and when the school holidays were over and she had to go to school again, she was devastated, sad that the bird would get bored while she's gone.

As she leaves for school in the morning, You and Elvis are left at home alone with the bird.

—------------------------------------------------------------

As you hum away in the kitchen, arranging a bouquet of flowers to put in a vase, out of the ordinary you hear a noise.

A flapping noise.

Whipping your head towards the sound, your body stills, your daughter's budgie. Perched on the back of one of the barstools that holds Elvis' jacket, with its tiny head turning and tilting as it studies the room. You curse under your breath, the bird must've escaped the cage.

So with a hesitant decision, you have to catch the bird and put it back before it causes any trouble- just as you take a step closer, the budgie poops on Elvis' jacket. You groan quietly and take another step but when you reach your hands out to catch the animal, it takes off, flying out into the foyer. Taking a quick glance at Elvis' jacket, you see the turd sliding down the collar, clicking your tongue.

Walking into the foyer and looking around, you sigh at the absence of the budgie, peeking into the living room and the dining room, you still don't see it. Sighing again, you begin climbing the stairs to check the bedrooms.

As you reach Elvis' bedroom door being open, you step in but a voice interrupts your search “Lookin’ for some’ honey?” you turn your head and see Elvis walking towards you, getting close enough to wrap his arms around your waist and pecking your cheek as you groan in slight annoyance “The bird got out, I can't find it” your hands lifting and falling in a gesture of frustration.

“Got out? Where- where did you last see it?” Elvis questions with knitted eyebrows, as you card your fingers through your hair, you reply “Saw it sitting on one of the barstools, I tried catching it but..flew away” with a quick nod, Elvis hums lowly “Hmm”

You two being useless and just standing there in the doorway, a few moments later your ears perk up at that familiar flapping noise “I-its in the bathroom!” You exclaim before Elvis follows behind you, quickly making your way into the bathroom suite. There it was, whistling cutely on top of the towel rack. Elvis letting out a slight laugh through his nose, he coos “Aw it likes my towel” rolling your eyes a little “It is cute but Elvis-'' you start whilst looking up at him “It has to go back in the cage” he nods in agreement with an amused smile “Alright, alright”

Elvis silently and cautiously begins to stalk towards the bird and as his hands ready themselves to grab it, the bird takes off again and flies around the bathroom then through the door, right by your hands trying to grab it. Flying onto your shared bed, upon Elvis' pillow. Breathing out another laugh, Elvis shakes his head as he watches the bird “It's a slick little thing, ain't it?” he snickers with a hand on his hip.

You sigh in realisation that this would be quite a challenge to catch the bird but you were determined to get it back in the cage. Your heads turn to look at each other, nodding in union.

Running, jumping and yelling as you both work together. Elvis pouncing on the chair that sits in the corner of the room then launching himself onto the bed with a huff “Damn- its fast-” and you clumsily bumping into furniture and Elvis as he races around. Failing miserably after one grab and another.

A while later, Jerry and Bill arrive through the front door for Elvis’ request to have a couple of drinks together and as they call out for him “EP! Where are ya man?” staying silent for a few seconds, out of nowhere they hear a low rumbling sound from upstairs, with slight shock they quip an eyebrow at each other “Nothin’ wrong with doing it..but at 11 am?” Jerry questions as he looks down at his watch.

Bill chuckles and as they are about to move into the living room to wait for Elvis, your voices echo down the stairs “You almost-... Almost! YES” your loud relieved sigh being mistaken for something else making Jerry’s eyes widen a little “Woah-” Bill smiling, impressed by Elvis. “Thought we couldn’t get it could we, huh?” Elvis says with a laboured breath.

After some time, You and Elvis, who is holding the bird close to his chest, walk down the stairs and stop at the bottom when you see Jerry and Bill on the couch. The two men spot the bird in Elvis’ hold and in union, it clicks “Oohh!”

—------------------------------------

At 3:15pm, your daughter comes home from school and Elvis plays with her in the kitchen as you organise her lunch for tomorrow, Elvis spots something white on his jacket. Picking it up to inspect it before glancing at you through his eyelashes, giving you a smirk.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #70s elvis #60s elvis #elvis imagine #i love him #elvis presley x reader #elvis fanfiction #elvis fandom #dad!elvis x wife!reader

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ellesthots · 3 months

Text

Fateful Beginnings

V. “the interview”

parts: previous / next

plot: the interview does not go as you would have hoped.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, reference to sa (which did not end up happening), anger, arguing, blackmail

words: 2k

Flustered, you wandered down the hallway to see if it happened to lead to an exit. No, it couldn't be that easy. The exit was nowhere to be found, it just led to a men's room strangely situated in the corner. You checked in the camera of your phone to see if the tear streaks were really gone, and faked confidence as you walked through the foyer again. As you wandered past the refreshment table a familiar sound startled you. "Welcome in!" You didn't miss the cheekiness in his voice, whipping around with the first real grin you'd had in ages. It almost hurt your face to move those muscles again. "Rai!" He went in for a hug and you did a few minutes of chatting, nearly to the point of forgetting what was in store for you. He showed you which dishes he had brought, including a few from his deli, and helped you to a sample portion of each. He offered you more, but your hunger cues were fucked after the level of stress you'd been under this week. Bidding him regretful adieu, you went out the front steps trying to avoid the paparazzi. It was successful, as Bruce Wayne had walked through the throngs minutes earlier leaving many of them still hitchhiking back from a short car chase.

In what unfortunately closely resembled the alley from before, you swallowed back a rush of anxiety. The alley was deceptively long, leaving you ample time to form semi-coherent thoughts about what had just occurred. Bruce Wayne was the Batman? It didn't make sense. But it did. But it didn't. But it was true. Your mind caught fragments of thoughts as they flew by. He was an asshole. Kind of. Why did he save people? Why didn't he want to talk to the people he saved? How come he had never done an interview? Had no one really recognized him before, or had they all been murdered?

An unfamiliar car was parked behind the building. It looked like something your dad would have gawked at back home, something vintage or retro. It looked like an old Cadillac, with sandy beige paint and a brown leather interior. A note was pasted on the front seat which you read after opening the unlocked driver's side.

Park it at the side of the entrance, the first alley on the right before you enter the grounds. Turn the lights off before you make the turn.

Never having been to Wayne Tower before and having no clue how big the grounds were, you put it into Google Maps. You thanked god as you buckled that this wasn't a stick shift, and sped off through the alleys of Gotham. The last time you had driven a car had been before you transferred here, back in Washington, where you had free, open streets to roam for endless miles. Gritting your teeth with frustration you were still not yet free of this place, you hit the gas and hoped the directions weren't leading you to your demise.

The grounds were... massive. It was deceptive, and you had to circle around a few times before finding an alley. The tower faced the opposite side of the giant lawn, the alley thick with tree overhang. The car managed to slip right into it like a glove, just as you remembered to dim the lights. Hope that didn't fuck anything up. You were confused as you drove down it, wondering where the hell it led to until you noticed a pinprick of light in the distance. Another grin spread across your face as you floored it, zooming close to seventy, when a figure entered your vision in the middle of the street. You slammed on the brakes which were ridiculously responsive, nearly tipping the car over backwards with the velocity. Once the car settled you met the glaring eyes of the prince himself. Let's get this over with.

The paper flew out with the force of air from whipping the door open. Suspicion crept into your bones. "Hey, this was just, sitting there." You shouted. It twirled in the air between you. He just stared and shrugged. Irked, you continued. "If this is a secret entrance to your home, wouldn't you have been more discreet?"

"No one knows my handwriting. The car could have belonged to anyone." Bruce Wayne's voice was rough like sandpaper, far removed from warmth or allure. You bit back a retort about the car looking like it cost a hundred grand as you sulked past him toward an iron door. Either he was more arrogance than man or the average Gotham resident was dense as a rock. Shooting a look back at him you tried to rip the door open. It ripped at your shoulder instead and you cursed, fingers flying to massage the socket. He chuckled to himself and your cheeks burned with embarrassment. He stepped forward with unearned confidence and the door came open with ease. "It's fingerprint sensitive." He sneered. "But I did enjoy watching you try."

Dick, you thought. Just get the interview done. Get your questions answered so you can be rid of this rich asshole. You shut your eyes tightly every few steps to remind yourself that you would be gone in a week; in one single week you would have a diploma in-hand and be on a flight back home. To your room. Your family. Your friends... who hadn't kept in contact much since you'd left. A wince of pain curdled your stomach as you suppressed thoughts of your friendships only existing due to proximity. Was there anywhere you wouldn't be an outcast?

Before stepping in, you hesitated, and his footsteps stopped after a few steps for him to glare at you over his shoulder. "I don't have all night."

"Take off your coat." You demanded. His eyes narrowed. "What for?"

You crossed your arms. "I need to know if you're armed."

He groaned and took off his jacket, leaving him in just his suit. Still, he could have been hiding something... "Your suit jacket too." The anxiety was real; if he could hide the fact he was Batman, he could surely hide bodies.

"I don't have any weapons on me." His tone was ever so slightly softer, less jagged. It only served to make you more suspicious of him.

"I don't believe you." There was silence for a few beats. Then a huff.

"Do I have to do this too or you'll blackmail me for it?" You didn't say anything in response. He turned around and flashed the inside pockets of his suit, then spun and showed you the back. "You happy? I'm not taking it off."

"Fine. But if you kill me I'll have you know people will look for me. And I won't go down easy." You took off your heels and walked through the thick door; it shut automatically as you walked in. Bruce pressed forward.

"Couldn't imagine anything with you being easy." He grumbled.

The end of the hallway opened to a balmy, wet sort of garage. There was a long table in the center with a few computers and other gadgets, with various boxes and tech scattered across the cracked concrete floor. He walked over to the desk and moved papers from the one chair in view, pushing it toward you. "Fifteen minutes starts now."

You scoffed. "What happened to twenty?"

"What happened to leaving the event when I asked you to instead of dawdling?" His jaw was set tight and you ignored him, taking a slow walk to the chair. The only thing he had on you was making his snide comments—you had the real shit, the info you could leak at any second to massive scandal.

He leaned against his desk just a few feet in front of you, palm flat. You cleared your throat and tried to drum up some questions to make it seem you'd come prepared. You flicked the recorder to ON and cleared your throat. "Bruce, tell me—"

"It's Mr. Wayne." His voice loud, biting.

"Tell me about how you spend your free time." You completely ignored him, continuing on. He adjusted, his jaw locked together. He shoved his hand in his pant pocket. He didn't know how to answer it, and it angered him to be referred to so casually by you. He thought about how Alfred would answer that could fit Bruce Wayne. It was hard to pretend he cared about his answers enough to get his brain whirring. More pressing things were on his mind, like how someone in the public now knew his identity.

"I like to read historical fiction, engage in physical pursuits, and," he paused as his mind did. Stalk the criminals of the city, stop the criminals of the city, clean up Gotham's streets one by one...

"What type of 'physical pursuits', Bruce?" You chimed.

The tips of his ears turned red with frustration. "It's Mr. Wayne." He stared at you with narrowed eyes and tense muscles. Where did you get the right to... he walked away from the desk to stand closer to you. Curious fear shot into you as you noticed how densely he was built. You'd nearly fallen prey to the average Gothamite, no way you could fight off the vigilante himself. But... maybe you could kick him in the balls. He spoke through gritted teeth. "What do you want?"

Your eyes blinked with confusion. "What?"

His fists clenched and unclenched along with his jaw. "Your silence. What do you want?"

"I need to ask you more questions."

With a dramatic eye roll he leaned back against the desk. He signified his impatience with rapid tapping of his fingers. "I have a home gym. Cardio, weight training, endurance. Can't really just jog around the street."

"Women know the feeling." You felt his eyes on you but you ignored it. "Why don't you go in public more often? Surely your cardio and fiction don't take up every waking hour."

"Aren't these supposed to be questions, not judgements?"

You simply stared back at him with an empty gaze. Was this the first time he'd ever been challenged outside of the suit? You watched as he ran his hands through his hair and his chest caved from a deep exhale. He answered your next questions with robotic ease. Renewal fund things. Got a degree from Yale Law. Never pursued it due to waning interest. His favorite dish is... soup. Mulligatawny, to be exact. Whatever that was. Often vacations to Rio and Greece.

By the time you'd asked a meager handful of questions he was near imploding. You needed a question you could focus in on. "What's your stance on the masked vigilante, the Batman?"

His eyes shot to yours with a fierce glare and you gestured down to the voice recorder. God, he couldn't believe your audacity. "What is there to say?" He rose to pace slowly between the desk and wall. More specifically, he thought, what is there to say that can't be twisted in your paper? "This 'Batman'... he's a complicated figure. I don't like that he's interrupting with our justice department. Meddling. He's taken the law into his own hands. However..." a sharp breath. "He's not necessarily harming innocent civilians. I try not to think about him."

His presumptive comment elicited a snappy response. "So you think some people are deserving of harm? What about structural inequalities that force people to steal, intimidate,"

He interrupted you with biting tone. "And that gives them the right to steal from everyone else?"

"Okay Mr. Billionaire."

"No, really!" He turned to you with his hands on his hips which pushed his suit jacket behind him. His face was alight with frustrated curiosity as he strolled over. "Do tell me, Miss Journalist," he leaned down and with your faces on the same level you could feel the heat of his breath. His demeanor was darker now. "How that man in the alley was innocent."

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