#and patterned walls. new york

[mdwaxx]

Kids - Bathroom

[andromeda3116]

of all the questions i thought to trip me up with writing this story, the "did the ancient lost city of akkad probably experience much in the way of thunderstorms?" to be the one that i'd have to pay nasa for to read a paper of even passing reliability

[denwritesandcries]

Take a Breath (and kiss me) – T.C

Pairing: tara carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Your girlfriend Tara gets a little clingy when she realizes you haven't kissed her properly in days.

Word count: 2,0k

Content: cursing, fluff, kisses, cuddles, tara being a sad pup, college routine kicking everybody's asses, core four as a family.

Note: First time writing for Tara! Pure fluff cause I’m starting on a new job this week and needed comfort.

English is not my first language.

It's been four days straight since you last kissed Tara.

Not that she was counting, she really wasn't, but now, after an extremely long and tiring day of exams and more exams, it seemed impossible not to feel your absence next to her. The feeling of neediness and loneliness hits her hard when she realizes how long it's been since you two have been together.

Four days. Four whole days of no holding hands or playing with her hair, no hugs, no cuddles and definitely no kisses. Be it on the forehead, the cheek, the shoulders, the hands, or on the lips. Nothing. It's like the universe just decided one day 'nuh-uh, no kisses for Tara Carpenter' and boy that was unfair.

The last time you kissed her – actually kissed her – was on Monday morning, at the beginning of that hellish week, when she woke up too early with the sunlight escaping through a crack in the curtains bothering her eyes, with her whole body completely curled up on top of yours. One of the best ways to wake up, really. The same thing happened to you a short time later, because as much as Tara loves being in your arms, she also can't help but feel restless when she's awake and move a lot, but the way she lights up when you sleepy mumble a good morning to her doesn't make you able to be upset with her for that.

You gave her a slow, lazy kiss, still with that warm aura of sleep remaining.

It was the most she could enjoy of your company before you had to leave in a hurry to escape the scolding Sam would give you both for spending the night having class the next day – even though, you know, you're college students and adults – and get to your own dorm to be ready in time for your first class in the morning.

She would have braved the scolding and made you stay a little longer if she had remembered that exam season was about to start. Unfortunately, this only occurred to her when she had her first taste of it later that day.

See, that was perhaps the thing Tara hated most about her new life as a student in New York: the way the change in routine could easily overwhelm her, and how that made it even worse because you couldn't be around as much as she wanted you to.

You were a year ahead of her and your courses were different, so you didn't have any classes together and your paths barely crossed during the day, which meant the only times she got to see you were on quick runs across campus, barely having time to exclaim a 'hi baby!' before disappearing with stacks of books and notebooks in your arms.

Sure, you exchanged a lot of messages, but it wasn't the same as having a warm body next to her in bed or on the couch. You couldn't even come to the apartment after everything because she was also too tired from her own work to hangout after it.

But Friday had finally arrived and she had enough time to wallow in self-pity until everyone got home. Checking the patterned wall clock that her sister bought when they moved in, Tara realizes that it's already past five pm and the sound of the door opening is the sign that her family has started to come in. She buries her head in the pile of cushions, ignoring the throbbing pain in her temples.

“Ugh, finally." Mindy plops down next to Tara on the other side of the couch, clasping her hands above her head to stretch, “What is this? Why is there a sad, miserable gremlin on our couch?”

She hears Chad's loud laugh coming from the kitchen but can only mutter a 'fuck you' muffled by the cushions she's sunk into, feeling a tap on her calf in response.

Tara wasn't going to put up with any mockery now, not when she was so tired and sleepy and missing you. She would do the same thing she had done the last few days: take a hot shower without giving a shit to Quinn's protests about using all the water, hug Sam when she got home from work in 45 minutes, and accept the offer of a snack when her sister ask if she had already eaten, then she would go to her room, throw herself on the bed and text you goodnight, before completely blacking out until the next day, when she could finally have you all to herself for the entire weekend – and for the rest of the week too. The worst part is over, so screw it, you guys could afford to miss some classes.

“Are you just gonna lay there and give up on existence, lil dude?” Mindy starts again, interrupting the peaceful and only partly distressing silence Tara had settled into as she builds up the strength to stand up.

“Will you shut the hell up?” She bites, grabbing one of the cushions and hitting her friend in the face, “You’re not funny and my head hurt as fuck.”

“Jesus, okay, okay!” Mindy waves her arms in defeat and stands up, “I won’t say anything else then.”

"Great."

“I’m not gonna say–” She takes on a teasing tone, “–that Anika thought that a certain someone was really upset and buried in books all that time in their dorm and that it would be better if they came straight here after class to take a break, but I’m not gonna tell you that.”

"What?" Tara’s expression immediately brightened, “You’re serious? What you–"

“Well, I told my girlfriend to bring your girlfriend. But it's okay, I'm not gonna say any of that.”

Mindy looked extremely smug but Tara chose to spare her another hit in the face for the sake of the information she just received. She lights up and jumps off the couch in a flash, rushing to shower and get ready now that she has a good reason. She hears Chad shouting from the kitchen:

“Girl, I thought you were tired!”

“Right?” Mindy laughs, “Wednesday’s at that age when a girl has only one thing on her mind, Chad.”

This makes her stop: “I don’t look like her!”

She slams the door shut when she hears their laughter increase in response.

If someone asked Tara if it was true that she sat on the side of the sofa closest to the door so she could see the exact moment you arrived, she would vehemently deny it – even though that's exactly what she did – and she would also deny that she deflated a little when the first person to arrive after the twins was Sam with a pizza box in one hand and covering a big yawn with the other.

You and Anika only arrive almost half an hour after Sam, finding Tara already watching you with doe eyes. Your haggard face immediately breaks into a smile, lines of fatigue crinkling in the corners of your eyes.

“There you are, dear,” you cross the room towards her and Tara leans in, even before you touch her, practically purring at the soft kiss you leave on her forehead, “I missed you.”

She melts when you wrap your arms around her, burying her head in your chest, but that's it. A kiss on the forehead and a hug and then you're pulling away again because you and Anika have brought more food that should be placed on the kitchen counter.

It only took this small moment of you going back and forth for everything to come back to Tara with full force. You didn't kiss her.

It's stupid, it's irrational, but her eyes fill with tears even though she can clearly see you from behind, unpacking the groceries and talking to your friends there.

Tara tried to just sit and wait for you to come back as soon as you were done, but patience was never her thing.

“Hm?” You hum when you feel a tug on your hodie's sleeve, looking back to find Tara with a tearful, frustrated expression.

“I had a really long day,” she begins, not quite sure how to ask for what she wants, eyes focused on the floor, “Will you come stay with me?”

Your heart races and your voice immediately softens: “Of course, sweetheart.”

Tara wastes no time in dragging you to her room by your wrist and you can't even react to the warning look Sam throws you over her shoulder.

She perches on your lap the second you sit down on the bed, sighing in relief as she buries her face in your shoulder.

You rest your chin on her head, “Did somethin’ happen?”

“I’m gonna quit college." She moans in defeat against your neck.

You huff a giggle into her hair, “Same, baby.”

Tara pulls away just enough to look at you and the pure love and tenderness in your eyes is more than enough to make the tears come back.

“What? What is it?" You straighten up, worried, tightening your arms around her.

“You haven’t kissed me in four days.”

She blurts out, voice cracking and strangled and you stop.

“Four days?”

Tara nods, “Except for the one on the forehead, you haven’t really kissed me in four days and like, several hours.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” She frowned. Shit, now she was getting mad at you, “Oh?”

You rush to take her mind off it, pressing a kiss to her lips in which she immediately melts with a soundly sigh of relief.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” you murmur between small pecks distributed on her lips, “I was so caught up in everything that I didn’t even notice.”

Tara still seemed a little upset by your response, but you kissed her again, bringing a hand to her jaw to deepen, feeling your girlfriend's arms entwined around your neck.

When you pull apart this time, you're both out of breath and Tara's face is covered in a soft red glow. You gently draw patterns with your fingers on her hips and lean in, leaving a kiss on her warm cheek.

“I’m sorry, Tar,” you echo, looking deep in her eyes “I’ve missed you so much. How can I make it up to you?”

She pretends to think for a moment, averting her eyes to hide the shiver that runs through her body.

“It's been four days,” she huffs with more annoyance than she actually feels, “I'm a girl who has abandonment issues, you know, it's your obligation to kiss me every day from now on.”

“Noted,” you smile.

“But…” She starts with a mischievous smile, “You could also make me feel better by watching The Babadook with me.”

“No, no, Tara!” You whine, “The noises of that movie freak me out!”

“Oh, I know,” your girlfriend says, blinking innocently, “But I want to do something with you, it's been so long since we watched something together alone and I love you so much.”

"I love you too." You respond instantly.

It only takes a look at those doe eyes and you lose the battle immediately and Tara looks victorious. She knows the power she has over you, the adorable little shit.

She leaves your lap just enough time to pick up the laptop on the table and returns to her place, you pull her back and lie down on the pillows, dragging her against your chest, pulling a blanket from the corner of the bed to cover you both.

“Tests are over,” you say, burying your face in her neck as the movie scene darkens, “The next few weeks are ours now. Just ours.”

Tara giggles when you startle again, sinking further against your body, smelling the hodie you were wearing, the one she got you for your birthday.

“Ours,” she says, “I like how that sounds.”

Tara tries to stay awake as long as possible, even after you fall asleep with your face buried in her neck. She's almost asleep when Sam quietly opens the door, a plate of pizza in hand and an eyebrow raised. The silent question of ‘can she stay the night please?’ is just a formality.

There's no way you're getting out of her league anytime soon.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

At first I was confused. I'd posted this NYC condo over a year ago and it hasn't sold. But, then I realized what the realtor did- this is a photoshopped version of what it COULD look like. The 5bd, 5ba, 4,076 sq ft apt. is priced at $8.75m, but this is not what it really looks like.

This is what the new owner would be buying. As far as I'm concerned it's cool, but I guess this is why it hasn't sold. So, let's go on and compare the real thing to the realtor's desperate vision, hoping to sell it.

The large living room looking all white and gray.

And, the large living room as it is. But, the carpet- it's like art. I bet it was expensive. And, I love the interesting light fixture.

In the realtor's vision, a built-in bookshelf appears in the corner and there are draperies. The carpet is gone, in favor of a new wood floor and area rugs.

No curtains, the carpet pattern changes, which is cool. I would probably repaint a brighter color, the walls need a refresh.

This is how the dining room could look. I'm surprised that they kept the built-in corner table. Another built-in shelf, too.

The carpet continues around to the dining room. The place does need painting, the walls look worn.

The kitchen would look like this with a total gut.

Because this is the current kitchen. Check out the floor. Love the Playboy bunny stool. And, look at the cool lights going around the ceiling, that the realtor removed.

The new primary bedroom. It's a nice big room, isn't it?

This is the bedroom now. It's looking a little tired and needs refreshing.

The realtor didn't change the delightful child's room. Look at the colorful little loft above the bed.

This bath, however, is a different story. This is how it could look.

And, this is how it looks now. Lots of mosaics.

They didn't alter this bath. (There are 5). The little pink sink is cute and the blue tile isn't too bad to leave alone.

This is considered an amazing view in Manhattan.

I think I can see NJ.

So, the new owner will have what they call a million dollar view.

It's a huge apt. , which is why it's so expensive. But, a buyer would have to consider the extra cost of remodeling it.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/188-E-76th-St-FLOOR-29-New-York-NY-10021/440605442_zpid/

[luismbarbosa]

BEDROOM OF VIRGINIA COWLES IN NEW YORK BY HORST P. HORST FOR VOGUE, 1971.

“The bedroom of publisher Gardner Cowles and Philanthropist Jan Cowles' daughter Virginia, in their New York apartment. On a floor entirely covered in gold shag carpeting sits several pieces of modern white sculptural chairs, including a ball chair upholstered in white. The low platform bed is covered in yellow bedding and several patterned pillows and cushions. Roy Lichtenstein's print "Brushstroke" is the sole wall decoration.”

[penny00dreadful]

Rating: G tags: post-breakup, angst, hurt, wedding, happy ending prompt: Love is what makes you brave (@sidekick-hero) For @steddielovemonth AO3

Should he be here?

No.

Was he going to continue to be here for as long as he could take it?

Hell yeah.

Sitting behind the wheel of his stupid expensive car that would have stuck out anywhere else. 

But not here.

Not amongst the BMW’s and Bentleys and limos and wedding cars.

It had been three years.

Three long and fucking lonely as shit years since he’d last seen Steve.

Three years of writing songs about him.

Three years of dodging interviewer questions about who the songs were about.

Three years of the fans creating some nebulous phantom person that all the songs must be about because they all fit together like puzzle pieces if looked at correctly.

Three years since Steve broke his heart.

Eddie wasn’t even really sure what had possessed him to be here right now.

He hadn’t been invited.

But some kind of insane impulse had grabbed him when he’d first gotten into the car fourteen hours ago and it hadn’t left him since.

He needed…

He didn’t know what he needed.

He didn’t know what he expected.

His passenger door opening and a figure sliding into the seat nearly scared the life out of him, so lost in thought and with eyes laser focused on the church doors, he hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.

He was forced to remember again that he was no longer some nobody living in bumfuck nowhere Indiana, he was a somebody, with a fucking penthouse apartment in New York City and an extremely recogniseable look.

Maybe he should have locked the doors.

And maybe he should have dressed down a little before he jumped in the car. Gotten rid of some of the jewellery, covered up the tattoos, tied his hair back, not worn the kind of clothes that always got him noticed in Hawkins in the wrong way. He was more noticeable now more than he ever had been. 

He was the most successful person to ever make it out of this shithole town and the town itself loved to pretend they always encouraged him. 

They advertised it proudly.

Like they hadn’t tried to drown his passions at every opportunity.

But it wasn’t some crazed obsessive fan now staring at him from his passenger seat, dressed in a pair of black slacks and an overly frilly lavender blouse, probably a compromise so she didn’t have to be stuffed into a dress.

Eddie tensed his hands around the wheel while Robin continued to stare at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, bewildered more than anything. He supposed that was fair.

There was no reason for him to be here after all.

He’d gotten no hint from Steve that this wasn’t what he wanted, none of the kids had said as much either but…

It just didn’t feel right.

It felt like Steve was falling back into a pattern.

Living the life that had been mapped out for him by society.

Go to school.

Get a good job.

Get married to a nice girl.

Eddie didn’t even know if the person that would be meeting Steve at the end of the aisle in about fifteen minutes was a nice girl.

He didn’t know anything about her at all.

Didn’t know anything about Steve either.

All he knew were the little tidbits the kids would occasionally drop by accident when they would forget they weren’t all one tightly knit group anymore.

Not since Steve shoved him out the door and told him that it wouldn’t work, it could never work.

Eddie suspected Steve had been looking at shadows on a cave wall for so long he had no idea there was a whole world just outside. That they didn’t have to live their lives the way everyone else did.

But there was nothing for it, he couldn’t force Steve to take him back. 

He’d told Eddie he didn’t want him anymore so…

Eddie went and got the life he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. He got the success and the accolades and he was being heard.

But it was empty. It had always been empty.

He had never been able to move on.

Not really.

And now… now he was here.

“Hey Buckley.” Eddie shot her a tight grin. “It’s been a while.”

And it had been. Because along with losing Steve, he’d also lost Robin.

It was understandable, really. 

Robin was Steve’s ride or die and though he’d heard she’d raised holy hell, trying to figure out why Steve had thrown his happiness away, as she herself had said, she was still, first and foremost, Steve’s soulmate.

She would be by his side come hell or high water and though she wasn’t happy with his decision, there was also nothing she could do about it.

Steve was a grown man and he’d made his choice.

“What are you doing here, Eds?” She asked again with so much concern, it was like she was worried Eddie was ripping out his own heart over again just by being here.

Maybe he was.

But he was here now.

He couldn’t leave until it was all over.

“Is he happy?” Eddie asked, rather than answer her question. They both knew why he was there anyway. “Is he happy with Miss… Whatever Her Name Is?”

Robin looked at him for a long time, eyes darting all over his face, chewing on her lip.

She took a big breath in. 

“He’s… content, I think. They both are. I think they’ve both… made themselves content with the situation.”

“Right.” Eddie nodded, tearing his gaze away and staring down at his hands.

He could feel Robin’s eyes boring into the side of his head.

“But not happy.” She said into the silence. “He’s not- I’ve never seen him as happy as he was when he was with you.”

Eddie tightened his jaw, tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes.

“Then why did he end it?”

“I think he was scared.” She almost whispered. “I think he didn’t know what to do with it all. There was no rule book to follow.”

“But that’s the best part, Rob.” Eddie sighed out. “There’s no rules for how we’re supposed to live our lives.”

He didn’t turn back to look at her, but he could see her nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

“I think he’s started to realise that too, recently.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you here?” She asked again, no longer willing to put up with his avoidance.

“I don’t know.” He said, mostly honestly. “One last big romantic gesture?”

Robin sighed, a hand on the handle. “Okay, wait here.”

“Hadn’t planned on going anywhere.” He muttered but it was drowned out as she slammed the car door, speed walking her way back to the church where a crowd had begun to gather at the door.

He tried not to let anything like hope bloom in him, he tried to keep any kind of bubble build up and puff him out but it wasn’t that difficult.

Especially when Robin made her way back to the car only a few minutes later, looking far more stressed than she had before and notably, alone.

“So, slight bump in the big romantic gesture plans,” she said, opening the door again but not getting in. “They’re missing.”

“They? Who’s missing?”

“Rita apparently got a call at the hotel before she was supposed to come here and then just disappeared, leaving her engagement ring behind. And then Steve left sometime when we were talking-”

“Left to go where?”

“I don’t know, Edward.” Robin grit out, tensing her fingers around the roof lip but it was more worry than irritation.

“Okay.” Eddie said, shifting the car into gear. “Okay, get in, we’ll go-”

“No. I’m staying here, I need to keep his parents from calling in the National Guard to drag him back by the hair. You go. You know where he is, don’t you?”

Eddie stared at her, opening and closing his mouth until he could finally form his lips around the words “I think so.”

He knew so.

Or at least he hoped he did.

Robin gave him one sharp nod. “Okay.”

She slammed the door closed and turned back to the crowd.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the church, Eddie tried not to panic. 

There wasn’t much distance that Steve could have gone but the idea of him going missing still had his heart constricting, full of what if, what if, what if?

It wasn’t very far, but finding somewhere to pull over at the edge of the forest where his car wouldn’t be suspicious wasn’t the easiest thing to do.

Though it was probably easier now than it had been years ago, since he no longer had the van and his shiny, sleek and expensive car would be glanced over for any bored cop looking to bust someone for drugs.

Not so much of an easy target now, huh Callahan?

He had just pulled his car into a clearing that was somewhat hidden when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket.

He switched the engine off and was halfway out of the car when he froze, finally seeing the number on screen.

It was Steve. It had to be Steve.

He’d recognise that number anywhere, he knew it off by heart but Eddie had changed numbers at least twice in the last three years.

He hadn’t bothered to add Steve back into his contacts, what would be the point?

It would have just been a temptation on drunken lonely nights.

How the fuck did Steve even have his number?

Eddie tapped the answer button before the call could ring out.

His mouth was dry and his heart was in his throat as he raised the phone to his ear.

“Stevie?” He practically breathed, gripping the door so tight he was surprised he didn't dent the metal.

There was a sound from the other end, like a sigh, like relief or a release of tension.

“Eddie.” Steve said and his voice, different as it was through the phone, was the most painful and comforting thing Eddie thought he’d ever heard. It was followed quickly by a sniffle and a quiet, “Hi.”

Eddie had so many things he wanted to ask.

Why are you calling now?

Where are you?

Why did you run?

How do you even have this number?

Instead he just slammed the car door closed and asked softly “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

A sound came down the line, one that sounded suspiciously like a sob, followed by another sniffle.

“Can’t- can’t I just call to see how you are?”

Eddie didn’t answer as he started to tromp his way through the forest, half worried anything he said would just end up with him begging Steve to call him again and again and again.

But Steve seemed to take his silence as stony.

“Yeah, I-” Steve sniffed. “I guess I deserved that.” 

Eddie could practically hear his lip wobbling through the phone and Steve broke down into sobs again.

“Where are you, Stevie?”

“The past.” He muttered out which was as good a confirmation as any that Eddie was heading in the right direction. “I’m- I… I’m sorry to call you right now and you’re out living your life-”

“Are you sober?”

Because it was high stakes at the moment but this was still a lot of emotion for noon.

“Unfortunately.” Steve sighed out and then quietly, so quietly Eddie could barely hear him. “I’m supposed to be getting married today.”

“So I heard.”

It sounded like the air had been punched out of Steve’s chest and the whine he let out after sounded like one of pure pain.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie had to duck under a branch and as a result, nearly tripped over a root in the ground but managed to right himself.

“You’re sorry for supposed to be getting married?”

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way. From- from someone else.”

He came to a stop. 

“Oh.”

Not sorry I’m getting married.

Just sorry I’m not the one who told you I’m getting married.

Which, like, Steve didn’t need to apologise to him for getting married.

They weren’t together.

They weren’t a thing.

They didn’t even talk anymore.

Eddie had no right to that information.

Still.

Didn’t make it hurt any less.

“Eddie.” Steve whimpered out, kicking Eddie back into movement again. “I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“You didn’t fuck up, Stevie, it’s fine.” He sighed, resigned to his fate now. “You can still go back-”

“No, no.” Steve took a large painful breath in. “You don’t understand. I fucked up. I left you. I made you go. How could I do that? Why did I do that? You were- you were the best thing that ever happened to me and I just-”

It sounded like Steve couldn’t speak anymore through hit tears, the raw anguish in his voice making it sound like he couldn’t breathe.

“I pushed you away. I pushed you away. I was so scared and I wanted- I wanted to take it back the second I did it. I wanted to but I couldn’t make myself do it and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry about that, baby. You have to believe me, I’m so sorry.”

The sound of Steve’s sobs were no longer just coming through the phone but were now starting to echo around him from just up ahead and Eddie kept walking.

“I was such a coward. There was no precedent. Nothing in my life was like what I had with you, I didn’t see it anywhere else and I didn’t know what to do. There was just this big vast emptiness in front of me where before there had always been a path, it had always been mapped out, telling me where to go next and I didn’t know what to do about it, I didn’t think it was possible to have-”

Steve cut himself off with another sob and Eddie could see him now, sitting on the dirty forest floor in his brand new designer tux, head bowed into his knees and his back against Skull Rock.

“I’ve made such a mistake, Eddie. I’ve never fucked up like I did with you and if I could take it all back I would. I’d be brave for you, I swear-”

Eddie dropped to his knees in front of him.

“Do you still want to be?”

Steve’s head snapped up so fast he cracked himself hard against the giant rock they used to come to all the time when they were full of young love.

Eddie winced in sympathy but didn’t reach out while Steve stared at him wide eyed, even through the pain.

He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Eddie.” He breathed out, completely disbelieving. “What- wh- what are you-”

“I was at the church.” Eddie said, sitting himself down fully and bringing his own knees up to his chest. “I was… I don’t know what I was doing there. I don’t know what I expected to happen.”

“You…” Steve blinked at him. His face was wet and blotchy and red, his eyes were raw and still swimming and he was still the most beautiful person Eddie had ever laid eyes on. And he was looking at Eddie like he was the most unbelievable thing in the world. “You were there the whole time?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s hands were twitching around his knees, gripping into the fabric of his dress pants and Eddie could tell he wanted to reach out but he wasn’t sure he could handle that yet.

He needed to know.

He needed to be sure.

He didn’t think he’d survive it if he let hope back in only to have it pulled away again.

“What happened?”

Steve’s face scrunched up, like he was trying to push the tears back and he brought his hands up to his face, digging the heels into his eyes.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t go through with it. Rita, she… she- she’s not you. I couldn’t let her live a life with me waiting for me to love her like I still love you because it’ll never happen. I could never love anyone like I still love you. And she… she’s the same, she didn’t want this, she never wanted this but it was what we’d been told to want for so long and… she couldn’t do it either. So we both- we both ran and I want… I want to be brave for you, baby.”

Eddie crossed his arms over his knees and pressed his lips into his skin, silent and thinking.

He couldn’t take it if Steve did what he did to him again.

He just couldn’t.

And why did it take Steve getting to this stage for him to decide on what he wanted?

Would it have still happened the same way if Eddie hadn’t come?

Would Steve have cried his heart out here in their spot until he was done talking to Eddie over the phone and gone about the rest of his life?

Would he have let the fear get to him again?

But could Eddie live with himself if he turned this chance down because of his own fear?

It wasn’t even a question.

He’d regret it for the rest of his life.

So he had to choose to be brave too.

He unwrapped his arms from around his knees and spread his legs wider, scooching forward until he had Steve’s curled up body cradled in his.

Steve all but stopped breathing with a dramatic hiccup when he felt Eddie’s legs against his own and when Eddie brought his hands up to encircle Steve’s wrists and pull them away from his face, his eyes were wide and disbelieving.

Eddie pulled Steve’s hands into his chest.

“I need to know you’re sure. I need to know you mean it, okay?”

“I do.” Steve nodded and his words were sure if a little breathy. “I do, Eddie. I promise you. I’ll show you every day. I’ll be brave for you I swear.”

“Because I won’t survive you doing what you did to me again. It nearly killed me the first time, Steve. I can’t go through that again. So you need to be sure.”

Where Steve’s hands were pressed flat against Eddie’s chest, his fingers curled in now, balling up the shirt underneath and holding on tight.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Eddie, I swear to you on… on… Dustin’s mom.”

Despite himself, Eddie felt his face crack into a smile.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Steve asked, though his own smile was slowly blooming, even as he started crying again.

“Yeah. Okay. Now kiss me like you mean it.”

AO3

Big thanks as always to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work and to the @strangerthingswritersguild for their motivation.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Copy that

Written for @steddiesmuttyseptember, week 3

Prompts: Lingerie & Sneaking Around

Words: 1,273

Rated: E

Tags: Office AU; Janitor Eddie; Junior Boss Steve; Secret Relationship; Semi-public sex; Steve in lingerie; Groping; Manhandling; Dirty talk; Dry humping; Inappropriate treatment of office equipment

Notes: Set in the same universe as this one

Eddie can tell what kind of day it'll be the second he walks into the office. Chrissy looks up from the files she's organizing on the reception desk and smiles ruefully.

“Hey, Eddie,” she calls. “Good thing you're here. The copy machine on the second floor is broken.”

“Jesus,” Eddie groans as he hands over her usual styrofoam cup of coffee. “It isn’t even nine yet and there’s another copier literally one floor above that. Did that not occur to those corporate dumbfucks?” 

She giggles and draws a breath to reply, but is interrupted by the phone on her desk ringing. 

“I bet that's Steve again,” she sighs.

Eddie’s stomach does a weird little flip. 

“Harrington Junior? I thought he was in New York this week.” 

She shrugs. “His conference got canceled. Listen, can you go check on this? I don't know why he needs those copies so urgently, but this is the fourth time he's called about it.”

As he steps into the elevator, Eddie wonders why he keeps putting up with this shit. He isn't being paid enough to deal with entitled tie-wearers who think the entire universe revolves around them. 

The second floor is still mostly empty, only a few miserable employees settling into their cubicles. At the sound of Eddie’s boots thudding closer, Steve steps out of the copying room, frowning and flushed pink with annoyance. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Eddie says. “I’m here now, aint’ I? No need to get your panties in a twist.” 

“Finally,” he snaps. “Do you have any idea for how long I’ve-”

Something twitches across Steve’s face, something that looks suspiciously like a smirk, but it’s gone as quick as it came as he grabs Eddie by the elbow to steer him into the copying room. 

While Steve clicks the door shut behind them, Eddie walks over to the copier. He peeps into the gap between the machine and the wall, sighs, and bends down to retrieve the pulled plug. 

“Seriously?” he asks. “Again? You need to start coming up with new excuses, because this is getting-” 

And that's as far as he gets before two large hands shove him against the machine and a warm, slick tongue pushes past his lips. Eddie hums a half-hearted protest and tries to pull out of the kiss, but Steve growls and grabs his face in both hands to hold him in place. The copier rattles as he wedges a leg between Eddie’s thighs. 

“Woah, princess,” Eddie gasps as those lips leave his mouth, blazing a hot trail down his jaw and throat. A look towards the door reveals three large cartons of paper stacked in front of it, but he doubts they'll withstand one or two hearty pushes. “Hold on. There's people out there, anyone could-”

“Better make it quick then,” Steve says, breath leaving warm puffs against the hollow of his throat. The seams of Eddie’s overalls groan dangerously as he yanks them off his shoulders. “If you'd have been here sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation. Now c’mon, or are you scared?” 

Eddie growls. Steve’s self-satisfied grin only serves to fuel his rage as he spins them both around and bends him over the copier. 

“I'll show you scared, you little brat,” he says, nudging Steve's legs apart and pinning his arms behind his back with one hand, the other opening his expensive leather belt with practiced motions. He bends and bites down at the base of that long neck, just long enough to feel Steve’s answering moan rattle in his own chest, then straightens back up and yanks Steve’s dress pants down in one violent motion. 

And then he freezes. 

Lace.

Steve Harrington's glorious ass is covered in shiny, delicate lace. It stretches over it in a pattern of pretty flowers and little hearts, golden skin and dark moles shining through the see-through fabric. 

It is red. 

Jesus Christ on a fucking motorbike. 

“What's the matter?” Steve asks. He's craning his neck to take in Eddie’s reaction, face unbearably smug and flushed as red as the lace of his panties. “You planning on doing something or are you just gonna stand there and catch flies?” 

“You might wanna get going soon,” Steve singsongs. “There’s people out there, y’know?” 

He rolls his hips, grinding his ass against the rapidly growing bulge in Eddie’s overalls. His pants slip further down as he does. There's garters. Red, lacy garters hugging thick, muscled thighs and Eddie is not going to survive, is he?

“Oh my God, you're such a slut,” Eddie mutters, and surges in. Steve moans again as he fists a hand into the hair at the base of his neck, pushing him face-first onto the copier. Eddie has a fleeting thought that it's simultaneously lucky and a pity that the thing isn't plugged in because man, those copies would be something to look at. 

“God, baby,” he growls, yanking Steve’s head up by the hair, forcing his back into an obscene arch. “You're gonna kill me one day, you know that?” 

“Hope not,” Steve gasps, fingers digging into the edge of the machine for dear life. Glass creaks and metal rattles as Eddie rocks his hips, grinding their bodies together. “I really like your cock.” 

Eddie laughs, the words igniting a firework of want low in his abdomen. Steve shivers under him as he blankets him with his weight, pressing him down against the hard surface of the machine so that he can whisper right into his ear. 

“Oh, yeah? That what you want, princess? Well, be my guest. I’m gonna stuff you so full, you’ll feel it all day. You gonna walk out of this room and back to your stupid meetings, and all you’ll be able to think of is how good it felt, getting fucked by me. How all you wanna do is go back and take my cock again, you greedy little-” 

“Steve? You in there? What is wrong with the door?” 

Steve is out from under him and on his way to the door before Eddie manages to fully process his shock. 

“Hold on a sec, Tommy! I think it’s stuck.” 

Steve smiles while he pulls up his pants and fixes his hair, like he has all the time in the world. Eddie is so busy bemoaning the loss of the panties and garters that it takes him a second to remember his own disheveled state. He has hardly shrugged back into his overall sleeves and pulled the zipper up when Steve shoves the boxes out of the way and Hagan from Sales stomps into the room, a stack of papers in hand and a scowl on his face. 

“Oh, sorry,” Steve says, full of genuine regret. “The copier’s broken. Eddie and I were just looking into it.” 

Steve shrugs exasperatedly. “I know, right? Looks like someone needs a refresher course on how to treat company property.” 

“Man, does anything in this company work?” Hagan grumbles, stalking past Eddie to flip open the lid of the machine. “Who the fuck did this? There’s cracks all over the place!”

Hagan groans, slamming the lid shut and turning back towards the door. “Whatever, I’m using the one upstairs. Oh, by the way, your dad wants you in his office. Something about New York?” 

“On it,” Steve calls after him. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

As he brushes past Eddie and out of the door, he shoots him a coy smile. “I guess we'll need to conclude this meeting later. Come to my office around lunch?” 

Eddie really, really isn't getting paid enough for this shit. Luckily, the job comes with other benefits. 

More smutty September

[copinghex]

Behind the curtains | T.S

Summary: You, who once dreamed of being an actress, find out Tommy wasn't supportive as you thought he was | dark!AU

A/N: In dark!Tommy we (should not) trust.

The street was bustling far too much for a Thursday evening. With the sunset near, the cold breeze brought a shiver under your delicate shawl, a gift from Tommy, the pattern gave you a soft yet elegant look, just like every clothing he provided.

Inside Small Heath's church, everything could be heard, a tiny ginger woman thanked the priest in the confessional and walked away, her heels against the wood floors echoed in the whole building. Outside, cars drove by the street and groups marched on the sidewalk.

The few remaining sun rays shone through the stained glasses, painting colored shapes on the walls. At the altar, the candles burned warm orangish on the hem of Mother Mary's veil.

Your heart stung, tears threatening to run down your face, not even the sacred place served some relief, perhaps only going back in time would, back before you ever rented a room on Watery Lane.

“Alone for once, Mrs. Shelby?” the priest asked.

“I'm never alone, father, not for long,”

“Well,” the old man smiled in pity, “would you like to confess?”

“No, I just-” few tears ran down which you quickly brushed off, “I thought I was marrying a sinner, but I guess I married the devil himself,”

“These are strong words, some sins might be worse than others, nonetheless are all sins, worthy of forgiveness for those who regret,” he reprimanded, “is it alright if I leave you alone? I promised to visit a sick child,”

You nodded and he left, it was the first time you were alone in a long while. Tapping your feet on the floor, there was nothing more to do than wait, peeking at the watch on your wrist, it wouldn't take long for you to be found.

The devil walked through the door exact twelve minutes later, you didn't even have to look, only recognize his walking pattern.

“Know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” you said.

“John, eight thirty-two,” he stood beside your bench, “this doesn't seem like a theater to me,”

Earlier that day, you told Tommy you'd watch a play for the evening, the sudden change of events led you to the local church, “I couldn't stand watching it knowing I could be on the stage,”

“It's really a shame, isn't it?”

“Oh, stop it!” you snapped, “The director told me everything! He showed me a resigning document I never signed!”

Tommy's face closed off, taking a cigarette from his pack, he sat near you, “Mr. Thompson talks too much,”

“He showed me proof, my signature in a paper I never saw! How could you do this to me?!”

“How could you do that to me?” he challenged, “I let a woman go to New York with my baby in her womb, I let her sail away for a promising life with you,”

“Oh,” you scoffed, “the woman who betrayed you?”

“She was more willing to marry me than you ever was,” the comparison and disdain in his words hurt you, “I had proposed to you, you said you needed to think, but you know what hurts the most? I knew if Thompson casted you for another play, you'd had left me without question,”

Your chest weighed in tension, Tommy never talked to you so frankly and the impact your previous insecurity had on him seemed to turn at you with full force. To you, it was simply being divided between a career and marriage. To him, it was an ultimate act of betrayal, a spurn of his love.

“Why didn't you take her then? Why not sail to New York? To a more certain future?” you hesitated.

The humiliation of the first answer to cross Tommy's mind would never leave his lips. Because he loved you. He gulped, looking at you with squinted eyes.

“You don't know what you're saying,” he drawled, “you'd be nothing without me,”

“You took away my choice! I spent months waiting to be casted, waiting for a call I'd never get and you knew it,”

“I did, I spared you from a life of supporting roles,”

“Is that what you tell yourself? To feel less guilty?”

“What about this,” Tommy offered, “this item is done, I lied and you found out, now you go to the car, we go home and I treat you right for the night,”

“You can't possibly think sex will fix this,” standing up, you walked past him heading to the door.

Pragmatic as you were, the next logical decision would be leaving him. Tommy ruined your dream, sabotaging and betraying you, he also rooted himself deep inside your heart.

As pragmatic you were, the possibility of leaving him never existed and as tears ran down your face, you walked straight to his car.

[spaghettiposts]

A Fools Love

Ghostface!Tara x Reader

Summary: You're a fool who falls in love with Tara Carpenter, a fool who's hopelessly devoted to her. No matter what.

Warnings: Dark themes, blood mention, stitching, Tara being a cold-blooded killer, attempts at writing slight horror (not really), and minor fluff.

Words: 1.4k

Your mind was unresponsive as you ran through the late streets of New York. Only having one goal in mind; Find Tara. 

Streetlights were the only light keeping you from tripping on hazardous placed trash bags—or people. It was late, later than you’d be awake. Never for Tara though, and you knew perfectly well what she was doing. 

You tried your best not to dwell on the way your stomach churned, passing it off as concern. And if your eyes watered, you’d wipe them away. Someone had to stay strong.

Wear a hoodie, be discreet.

Is what she told you. You zipped up your sweater, tossing over the hood and placing the first aid kit into your pockets. 

Gloves too. 

You climbed up the ladder from the side of the building. Darkness overlooked where you stood, nobody could possibly see you and if they did you weren’t easily identifiable.

This was fine.

Tara always kept you safe, your safety was her number one priority even before her own. Which drove you insane, but drew you further into her heart. Despite her problems, you couldn’t deny the unconditional love you had for her. Even at the expense of loving a cold blooded killer. 

So yes, Tara kept you safe. She was never one to mess around with these things, you doubted she could with how long she had been doing it. Killing sprees left and right. 

You hesitated at your words, pausing. Shaking your head firmly, you corrected your mind. No, Tara wasn’t a monster. Instead, you replayed moments from how well she had been doing these past months. How she tried, endured, and concurred that hunger inside of her. 

If she did, you wouldn’t be here.

Slip-ups happened to everyone, this just happened to be a more serious—lawbreaking—one. 

Potentially, you didn’t know the exact details of what happened that was so severe your girlfriend insisted you make an appearance. An odd request that left your heart pounding wildly, this never happened. The last message she left on your phone was one reminding you to bring a first aid kit. 

Her location is already pinned on your phone, as was yours in hers. A safety precaution. Meaning you had no trouble finding the brunette. 

You lifted your fist to knock on the window after making sure it was the right one. Immediately the curtains withdrew, allowing you to see her face. Tara sighed in relief, letting out a shaky breath. Her posture relaxed instantly, and you briefly heard the sound of a knife clattering. 

Within seconds she tugged on your wrist, pulling you inside. Before you had the opportunity to ask any questions her lips were on yours, a hand cupping your jaw. You let out a gasp in surprise at the intensity of the kiss, falling back into the familiar pattern of her lips on yours, trying your best to match her need. 

But then you realized where you were. More specifically with who you were with, Tara who’s hands weren’t the soft ones you loved to feel but instead masked behind those cold gloves she wore. Gently, you pushed at her shoulders. 

Tara furrowed her eyebrows, a glimmer of hurt flashing in her eyes. She tried to push back into you only to be met by denial. You whispered a small ‘not now’, heart clenching at the familiar black robes on her.

The smaller girl bit her lip, understanding, and wandered off. You sighed, peering outside to make sure no one could’ve seen before locking the window; pulling the curtains closed. 

It didn’t take long to locate Tara again. You found her leaning against the wall next to the room where you presumed the crime scene occurred. Another sigh left your lips as you tried to make an understanding of what you were dealing with. 

“I slit her throat before she could…feel it.” You heard her mutter. Something she’d do to reassure your feelings. Inform you. You didn’t know if it comforted you or made you feel worse. Either way, you nodded, swallowing down whatever you were feeling. 

Noticing how uncharacteristically shifty she was acting, you looked downwards. Her hands subtly turn away from you, the cloth sticking to her skin. Was that dampness? 

“Tara, what the fuck?” You seethed, grabbing her cloth-covered hand. Tara winced as you lifted the sleeve to find her poorly wrapped arm. Blood stained the gauze and you wondered if any traces of it were left. Your chest heaved as you looked around the room—towards the floorboards, towards any surface that could’ve been incriminatingly laced with your girlfriend's blood. “How—? What happened, you said you’d be careful!” 

Tara huffed, pulling her arm away to hold it, “I am careful. The bitch fought back.”

“You told me she didn’t feel it.” You raised an eyebrow, that bubble of irritation forming in the pit of your stomach. 

“It was a quick death, a microsecond is what she felt.” Tara spat, shoving her shoulder into your own as she walked into the bathroom. “Right now that isn’t the problem.” 

You wanted to scream, yell, throw something, break something. Right now that wasn’t the problem my ass–Clenching your fists and letting out a heavy breath, you followed your fleeing girlfriend. She was perched against the bathroom wall, squeezing at her wrist which drew you immediate concern. You hated how easy it was to love her. 

You could tell she was in pain–hell, you could see it. Through the bandages, you could see how deep the cut was. Undoubtedly, she’d need stitches for it. Which is why, despite the heated frustration you felt, you let it go. Sliding down the wall next to her, you crossed your legs, taking her arm in your lap. Before she could protest, you waved the box in your hands from earlier.

Opening the kit you begin your work, unwrapping the gauze and placing it in a bag. Your face scrunched as you were met with the sight. Not wanting to waste any time, you grabbed the needle, silently apologizing for what you were about to do. Tara never liked looking at her injuries, they reminded her of failure. You tried your best to understand it and knew how she felt when her head came to rest on your shoulder, nuzzling her face further into you. She didn’t want to look.

How a psychotic killer could be this adorable was almost laughable.

“Comfy?” You asked.

“Mhmm.”

But she was yours, so you didn’t laugh. Tilting your head, you pressed a kiss on her forehead, cutting the last thread. Tara mumbled what you believed was a thank you before rolling up her sleeve again. When her fingers inched closer to yours, you didn’t hesitate to intertwine them. How could something so wrong feel so right?

Another thing you would never understand. 

“I think– I think our blood might be mixed.” Tara huffed on your neck, sending shivers down your spine and worries through your mind. She squeezed your hand before you could get too lost, “There’s…two options.” You squeezed back.

“We could burn the place, or sneak her out and bury her in the woods.” She explained shakily.

You shook your head, leaning the rest of your weight back on the wall. This was crazy, this was why you stayed home. Anything could happen, multiple possibilities but all you could see when you closed your eyes was Tara being pushed in the back of a police car. Away from you, gone. Forever. And maybe you were crazy too, crazy enough to want her to stay. 

Your heart pounded against your chest as you closed your eyes, leaning back against the tiles. The sounds of sirens echoing close and far off simultaneously. Your mind raced, as the seconds of calmness that had only recently surrounded you felt all too fleeting. Anything could happen, multiple possibilities but all you could see when you closed your eyes was Tara being pushed in the back of a police car. Away from you, gone. Forever. And maybe you were crazy too, crazy enough to want her to stay. 

But your heart had made its decision, of whom it belonged. For your heart was traitorous to Tara Carpenter. Completely and sinfully loyal to her. No matter what.

And if Tara wanted to burn the apartment.

You’d hand her the match.

[chxrrywxvss]

Kurt Wagner X Demon Hunter!Reader

𝕆𝕗 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕖

“I am a man of my word.”

Kurt Wagner x Afab!Reader Word Count: 2.7k A/N: Guys sorry it's out so late I lost motication for a while. Also sorry this is so rushed I'm trying to get my other asks out as fast as I can

Warnings: Maybe some suggestive stuff

NOT PROOFREAD.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting silvery beams across the deserted streets of New York. The night was alive with whispers, the kind that only this city could conjure. Somewhere in the depths of this urban labyrinth, you stalked the shadows, a demon hunter by trade, your instincts sharpened by years of relentless training.

You had heard rumors of a new player in town—the Nightcrawler, they called him. He was a creature of the dark, known for his uncanny ability to teleport through shadows, slipping away just as quickly as he appeared. Some said he was a menace; others claimed he was a misunderstood soul. Your job was to find him and get rid of him, as your employer had instructed, claiming he scared away the tourists. As you rounded a corner, the air shifted. A chill ran down your spine, and the familiar tingling sensation of being watched crept over you. You tightened your grip on your weapon—a sleek blade gleaming under the moonlight. The city felt different tonight—charged, electric, as if it sensed the impending encounter.

You stopped for a moment, tilting your head higher to sniff the air. While you probably fucking looked insane, it was a perk that came with your ability: you could track people.

When you tilted your head toward a church, your nose wrinkled as the awful smell of sulfur hit your sensitive nostrils. Bingo.

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

The heavy wooden doors creaked as you pushed them open, stepping into the cool embrace of the old church. The air was thick with the scent of incense and aged wood, the muted glow of candles flickering in the dim light. It was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the city, a place where shadows danced along the stone walls and the silence whispered secrets. The smell of sulfur mingling with the scent of aged wood and incense invades your nostrils, making your eyes sting. “Fucking ich,” you muttere under your breath, moving forward.

You wandered through the rows of pews, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. The stained glass windows cast colorful patterns on the ground, depicting stories of old tales of battles fought and won. You paused before one, the image of a knight slaying a dragon. How original.

You moved quietly, your footsteps muffled by the thick carpet that lined the aisle. The church was empty, save for a few scattered pews and the grand altar at the far end, bathed in ethereal light. You paused, allowing yourself a moment to soak in the atmosphere, the sacredness of the space. It was a refuge, a sanctuary from the darkness that often threatened to overwhelm you.

But your thoughts were interrupted by a sudden chill that swept through the church. You instinctively reached for your weapon, the blade hidden in the thigh holster  beneath your coat. You turned slowly, scanning the shadows that clung to the corners, feeling the weight of unseen eyes upon you.

“Looking for something?” a voice called out, smooth and teasing, reverberating through the empty space. You noted the distinct German accent.

You spun around, heart racing. There he was—the Nightcrawler—leaning casually against a pillar, his frame silhouetted by the flickering light of the candle behind him. His eyes glinted mischievously, and a smirk played on his lips. “Or perhaps someone?” “Well, I’m certainly not here to pray.” You retorted, pulling your crossbow from your back. 

“Why do you hunt me?” he asked, his voice smooth and inquisitive. He leaned forward, and the shadows coiled around him, as if they were extensions of his very being.

“You know why,” you replied, keeping your stance firm. “You’ve been causing chaos in the city. People are scared, and I need to find out what you’re really after.”

A smirk danced across his lips. “And you think you can just chase me down in a church? You must know I’m not so easily caught.”

With that, he vanished into thin air, leaving only a swirl of darkness in his wake. You cursed under your breath. You had expected him to try to escape, but the way he moved was disorienting—almost surreal. But it’s nothing you haven’t seen before.

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

You focused on your senses, allowing the lingering scent of him to guide you. He was nearby; you could smell it. You sprinted toward the back of the church, where the air felt cooler, almost electric. As you reached a side door, it swung open, and he appeared again, this time further down a narrow corridor.

“Catch me if you can, liebling!” he taunted, darting away into the darkness beyond.

You chased after him, your heart racing. The narrow hallway twisted and turned, leading you deeper into the church’s catacombs. The air grew thick with the scent of earth and stone, mingled with the faintest trace of incense. You could hear him ahead, his footsteps light and quick.

“Why run?” you shouted, trying to keep your voice steady despite the excitement coursing through you. “I’m not here to kill you—yet.” That was a lie.

He laughed, a low, melodious sound that echoed back to you. “Oh, but you are a hunter, aren’t you? It’s in your nature to chase.”

You rounded a corner and skidded to a halt as he reappeared, blocking your path. The flickering light from the candles behind him cast an ethereal glow. “What’s the matter, hunter? Not so confident now?” he teased, stepping closer.

You could see the mischief in his eyes, but there was something else too—something that hinted at something deeper. “I’m not afraid of you,” you shot back, your voice firm. 

With a swift motion, you lunged, but he vanished once again, and you felt the rush of air as he reappeared behind you. You spun around just in time to see him darting down another passage. You followed him, determination burning in your chest.

The chase became a blur of shadows and movement, twisting through the darkened hallways of the church. You could feel the tension building, the thrill of the hunt fueling your resolve. Yet, with each turn, you caught glimpses of him—his laughter echoing, his form flickering in and out of the shadows.

Finally, you burst into a large chamber, the altar illuminated by a single beam of moonlight streaming through a cracked window. You landed on top of him, catching him by surprise. He ‘ported around the room ,taking you with him each time. The smell of sulfur is unbearable. Eventually, he teleported you both to the ground, you landing on top of him, blade to his throat.

“Is this where you kill me?” he asked, his voice low and breathless. Or do you have other plans, schöne Jägerin?” 

“Not yet,” you panted, trying to catch your breath. “This is where you explain yourself.”

“Explain?” He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what do you think I have to explain?”

“I’m tired of your games,” you replied, your frustration boiling beneath the surface. “I’m not here to kill you unless I have to. I need to know what you’re after.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to contemplative. “Very well, hunter. I’ll hear you out. But first, you must promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?” you asked warily.

“Trust,” he said, stepping closer, his gaze piercing through the shadows. “Just for a moment.”

You hesitated, weighing your options. You had trained to be wary of creatures like him, but something in his demeanor intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he moved, or the way he spoke—there was a depth to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Fine,” you said finally. “I’ll hear you out. But know this: if I sense any deception, I won’t hesitate to end this.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Let’s talk.”

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

“I’m listening,” you said, your voice steady.

“Do you know why I’ve been lurking in the shadows?” he began, his tone shifting to something more serious. “No, please enlighten me.” You narrowed your eyes, skepticism rising. “Because this is my home, too. And other people, they don’t understand that. They think of me as less than, as an animal to be exterminated..” He murmured, the corners of his lips pulling into a slight frown. It gave you pause. “So you haven’t been terrorizing the people?” You tilt your head, blade lifting an inch off his throat. “Precisely, mein freund! I am a man of God, and of my word.” He gave you a big toothy grin. Somehow you don't believe that, but you sigh and sheathe your knife again.

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

The church was thick with silence after your agreement, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. You studied the Nightcrawler—his enigmatic presence both unsettling and oddly magnetic. He leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, a playful glint in his amber eyes.

“So, what’s your name, demon hunter?” he asked, breaking the silence. “Or should I just call you ‘hunter’? Oh, liebe has a nice ring to it.”

You replied with your name, trying to sound nonchalant. “And you’re not getting a nickname until I know more about you. You still haven’t told me your name. Your real one.”

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth. “Fair enough. Call me Kurt. It has a nice ring to it, nicht wahr?”

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your lips threatening to curl into a smile. “Kurt, huh? That sounds almost… human.”

“Almost?” he countered, stepping closer, his shadow stretching toward you. “What gives you the impression I’m not?” He teased.

“Just a hunch,” you said, maintaining eye contact. “It could be the whole ‘vanishing into thin air’ thing. Or maybe it’s the blue skin.”

“I’d like to think you find me exceptionally charming, handsome, even.” He preened playfully.

You rolled your eyes, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. “Yes, you smell like sulfur. How charming.”

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. “Ah, the pain! Imagine being judged by your scent alone. I thought we were past that.”

“Past that?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “We just met! I have to judge you somehow. It’s in the job description.”

“True,” he admitted, his expression shifting to mock seriousness. “But I can assure you, I’m much more than my scent. I have layers.”

“Layers like an onion?” you shot back, unable to resist. “You know, onions make people cry.”

“Touché.” He grinned, the playful banter lighting up his features. “But I promise, I’m not that pungent. Think of me more like… a fine wine.”

“A fine wine?” You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re really reaching now. Do you come with a corkscrew?”

“Only for special occasions,” he winked, stepping closer. The playful banter was drawing you in, the tension between you both palpable. “So tell me, what’s a demon hunter like you doing in a place like this? Surely, you have more exciting places to be.”

“Exciting?” you repeated, rolling your eyes again. “You mean like battling creatures that want to eat my face?”

“Now that sounds thrilling!” he exclaimed, leaning forward with exaggerated enthusiasm. “You should try teleporting sometime. It’s a rush, I promise.”

“Right, because I’d love to disappear and reappear somewhere else without any control over where I end up,” you replied dryly. “I’ll stick to my grounded methods, thank you.”

“Suit yourself. But I can’t help but wonder how many times you’ve had to chase down targets like me. It must get boring after a while.”

“Boring?” you asked incredulously. “Have you ever stalked a demon through the underbelly of the city? It’s anything but boring. It’s exhausting, dangerous, and sometimes downright terrifying.”

“Ah, but think of the thrill! The chase! The adrenaline!” Kurt said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s almost romantic, wouldn’t you say?”

“Romantic?” you echoed, taken aback. “Chasing demons is romantic to you?”

“Why not? You’re pursuing a creature of the night, after all. There’s a certain… allure to it.” He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking, the air thickening with unspoken tension.

“Is that your idea of romance? Chasing down supernatural beings?” You challenged, heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite understand.

“Perhaps,” he said, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “But it’s the connection that matters. The thrill of the hunt, the unexpected encounters… It can lead to something more.”

“More?” you pressed, intrigued despite yourself. “Like what?”

“Like this,” he replied softly, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Like the chance to see past everything, find the truth beneath it all.”

You held his gaze, your heart pounding as the moment hung in the air between you. “And what truth would that be?”

“That we’re not so different, you and I.” His voice dropped to a whisper, pulling you in with an intensity that left you breathless.

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of confusion and curiosity. “You think we’re alike?”

“More than you know.” He smirked, tilting his head as if assessing you. “You’ve got that fire in you, that determination. It draws me in.”

“Is that your way of flirting?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Because it’s working.”

“Good to know,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “Though I must admit, I’m not used to hunters being so receptive to my charms.”

“So you do this with every hunter, then?” You raise a brow.

He chuckled, heat rising in his cheeks. “N-No, that’s not what I meant… Not every hunter is as.. beautiful as you.”

Your pulse quickened, the air between you charged with an undeniable tension. “What do you want, Kurt?”

“I want to know you,” he said softly, his eyes locking onto yours, a sincerity in his voice that made your heart flutter. “I want this moment—whatever it is—to last a little longer.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat. The playful banter had shifted into something deeper, something that felt dangerously intimate. “And if I say yes?”

“Then we embrace the unknown together,” he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “And who knows where it might lead?”

You hesitated, caught between the thrill of the moment and the caution that had been ingrained in you as a hunter. But something about his presence felt different—inviting, even. “Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay?” he echoed, his expression lighting up with surprise and delight.

“Okay,” you confirmed, stepping closer. “But if this goes sideways, I’m out of here.”

“Deal.” He grinned, his playful demeanor returning. “But I promise you won’t regret it.”

As if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned in, closing the distance between you. His eyes darkened with intensity, and for a moment, the world outside faded away. Time stretched, and in that heartbeat, it was just the two of you, suspended in a bubble of electricity and possibility.

Then, without thinking, you closed the gap. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a spark igniting between you. It was tentative at first, a question hanging in the air, but as he responded, deepening the kiss, the playful tension transformed into something more passionate.

You melted into him, feeling the warmth of his body, the way he enveloped you in shadows and light. It was a kiss that held promise, filled with the thrill of the unknown, the taste of danger lingering on your lips.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, you could see the surprise mirrored in his expression. “Wow,” you breathed, your heart racing. “That was… unexpected.”

“Unexpected, but not unwelcome, mein herz” he replied, a smirk returning to his lips. “I must say, I didn’t anticipate that.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, a grin breaking through your surprise. “Though I can’t say I’m completely opposed to it.”

“Good,” he said, his tone teasing.

After a bout of silence, you clear your throat and step away from him. “Well, I-I should go.” You said, walking toward the church doors. You pause, looking back to where he stands, tail swishing behind him. “How do I know I’ll see you again?”

He grinned impishly. “I am a man of my word, schatz. You will see me again.”

[celiastjamesoscar]

Wish I Knew You

Pairings: Sam Carpenter x fem!reader, established relationship

Summary: Unofficial meant many things to people, but to college students it meant one thing: party. But unofficial takes a turn when you get into a fight, and Sam has to walk you home.

Warnings: swearing, destruction of property, breaking and entering, light mention of drugs, drinking

AN: based off of an idea I ‘stole’ from @p0rkbun, I love ya!

My Masterlist

Word Count: 3.5K

“I know it’s unofficial, but please, you guys, be safe. Okay?” Sam pleaded as she looked at the group of kids before her. Technically, they weren’t kids, but in her eyes, most of them would still be those kids she used to babysit. Well, all of them but you.

You met Sam through Anika after she moved to New York, and you were instantly in love even though she wouldn’t even spare you a glance most of the time. Those big, brown eyes that held years of pain and agony brought you so much comfort whenever she would look at you. Her lips never smiled, so you made it your life mission to make her smile, even if it was just for a mere moment. And when you did make her smile after you went on a drunken tangent about how Isaac Newton deserved to die a virgin and how Dr. Pepper is the best soda, she knew that she was in too deep.

Dammit to hell with getting accepted into the best universities the country had to offer and all those scholarships you had received that paid for your schooling at Blackmore University. None of those things compared to the feeling you got in your chest when you saw that beautiful smile for the first time. It seemed like your entire world had stopped rotating and began to revolve around the single smile that didn’t last for more than three seconds, but it meant more to you than anything else.

After the night, the two of you grew closer, and after enough dinners together, you two started dating. It took you forever to break down all of Sam’s walls, but when you did, it was the most rewarding thing you had ever done. On late nights after she had worked a double, the only thing Sam wanted to do was come home and sleep. But when she pushed open her apartment door and saw you standing awkwardly in the hallway with a goofy grin on your lips and a bottle of wine, all the stress seemed to leave her body, being replaced with the need to be hold you.

You found it impossible to believe that people hated Sam: she was perfect in your eyes. Her soft, caring nature, whenever it was just the two of you, was something you couldn’t find anywhere else. Yes, Sam can be a bitch sometimes, but behind closed doors, she is putty in your hands. How she would sit next to you on the couch, softly tracing patterns on your thigh with her fingers, would make your chest flutter. When you two were in a group, she would always sit next to you- much to Tara’s disapproval, who is someone who doesn’t like sharing her sister- while placing a protective hand on your thigh.

The thoughts that ran around Sam’s mind were that she wished she knew you when she was young; maybe her life would be completely different. Perhaps she wouldn’t have started using drugs or ran away from home, but that’s all it was: what-ifs that might or might not have changed her life. Even though she wished for things to have been different, that she wished she would have met you at a different time, she was still glad that she had you in her life, and she refused to let you go any time soon.

So now, as you sit next to her sister getting ready to get plastered at frat parties for Halloween, Sam couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of anxiety crawling through her body.

“Yes, Sam, we promise to be safe. We will call you if you need anything,” Tara stated as she stood up from the couch, “Can we go now?”

With a small sigh, Sam closed her eyes and nodded her head. She just knew that allowing you guys to go out tonight would come back to bite her in the ass. “Please don’t drink too much,” Sam pleaded as she followed the group to the door, looking directly at you while she spoke, “I’m talking to you.”

You scoffed at your girlfriend’s accusation, “How dare you insinuate that I, of all people, would drink the most!”

“Because you will,” Mindy mumbled as she looked between you and Sam, unamused, “You always get out of hand when you drink.”

“No, I do not!” You shot back, but you knew arguing would get you nowhere.

Speaking up for the first time, Chad said, “Don’t worry, Sam. I will make sure that Y/N and Tara don’t drink too much; you have my word,” as he wrapped a loving arm around your shoulder.

With a small sigh, Sam nodded in defeat, “Alright, just be safe tonight, okay? No splitting up.” Before Sam could finish her sentence, Tara had shot up from the couch and left for the door. “Come on, you old people, the party’s not going to wait for us,” she exclaimed while opening the door and leaning against the door frame, tapping her foot with urgency.

The twins were quickly behind Tara, and when you went to follow, Sam grabbed your hand, “Hey, wait a minute.” When Sam spoke, the three noticed the way Sam’s dark eyes were pleading with you, so they decided to step out into the hallway to give the two of you some privacy.

“What’s up?” You asked with the softest smile that always made Sam’s knees weak. “Please, Y/N, be safe tonight. If you need anything, call me, okay?” The Latina asked as she gently placed her hands on your triceps, lovingly running her hands up and down.

“You know I will be, and I promise to call you if anything happens,” you replied while leaning forward, placing a soft kiss on top of Sam’s head, “Just think, this is a night to yourself. When was the last time you had that?”

Sam mumbled something underneath a breath that you missed. “I’m sorry, what was that?” You teased with a smile, watching as Sam rolled her eyes. “I said that I only enjoy my nights to myself when you are around,” the older girl admitted through clenched teeth.

“Damn, Sam. You can at least pretend to like me,” you joked with a small laugh.

“You know that I hate to admit these things, but you still make me do it.”

“You’re right! I love hearing my girlfriend give me constant affirmations about how much she loves me; it's the best!” You happily stated with a smile, and Sam laughed at your response.

“Whatever, just be safe tonight,” she said as her eyes looked you up and down, clearing having a distaste for your costume, “whatever the fuck you are.”

Naturally, you scoffed at her words, “I will have you know that I am one of the best historians out there.”

“Yeah, I doubt that,” Sam replied with a smile. It might not seem like much, but these small banters between the two of you were what she loved the most. She could be herself around you, and you would never judge her for it.

In the mood to be a smartass, you straightened your posture and pulled on your coat. You cleared your throat and began doing an impression of a Bolton accent, “It’s hard to believe I’m walking through the ruins of the first-ever city, because I’m not. That’s in Iraq, which is miles away, and fucking dangerous.”

Sam stared at you blankly for several seconds before she shook her head, “You’re a fucking idiot, and I cannot believe you are going as that lady.”

“Excuse me, ‘that lady’ is Philomena Cunk, who is the best damn historian on this planet,” you defended while making your way to the front door, Sam following behind you, “And my costume is certainly the best.”

Sam hummed as she opened the front door, “Yeah because it's so hard to beat,” she quickly looked at the three standing out in the hallway, “a half-assed pirate, a scarecrow, and Jack Skellington.”

“Hey now, I’m a cowboy, not a scarecrow,” Chad replied with a bit of hurt. “She doesn’t care what you are. Now come on, we have a party to go to,” Mindy sat as she threw an arm around Tara the pirate and started walking down the hallway with Chad several paces behind them.

Before you followed them, you quickly kissed Sam’s lips. “I love you,” you mumbled against them, and Sam kissed your words.

“I love you too,” she replied while pulling away. You blew her kiss as you started to catch up with the group, and Sam felt her heart flutter at the small gesture. Words could not even begin to express the love she had in her heart for you, but she hoped that one day she might be able to tell you. She wanted to tell you how her entire being ached for your touch whenever you were away, and she hated watching you leave. But she simply settled for watching you leave with her younger sister, off to have the fun that was promised when you start college.

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

Whenever someone tells you that college is supposed to be the time of your life, they are fucking wrong. Hours and hours of studying material that you must teach yourself because your professors are too incompetent to teach it while you still pay them thousands of dollars is not fun. There is nothing ideal about college, and you hated every single second of it, but the part you loved the most was your friends.

Of course, you had friends in high school, but none meant this much to you. You would readily lay down your life for Tara, just as you would the twins. So, that’s why for the first time since the semester started, you finally felt your shoulders loosen and stress leave your body, just for some dipshit in a mask to ruin it.

It all happened quickly, according to Chad. One minute, you were taking shots with Tara, then the next, you were on top of a random guy, beating him to a pulp. It took Chad and Mindy to pry you off the guy, yet you still fought against them, trying your hardest to get your hands on that fucker.

“I’m good, I’m good,” you slurred after Chad carried you out of the frat house, but as soon as he placed you on the floor, you tried to run back into the house. “Hey! Stop it!” He shouted, quickly grabbing you before you could make it up the front porch steps, “Sit down and breathe.” Your head was spinning, and you could barely stand, but you had to get your hands on that fucker.

Grumbling under your breath, you listened to the man and sat down on the grass as Tara came to sit by you. “What happened?” She asked while picking up your dominant hand, lightly tracing her fingers over your bloodied knuckles.

You didn’t want to worry Tara that the piece of shit man was saying false accusations about Sam; you knew it would ruin her night. So, you decided to lie. “He said that the only correct way to eat cereal is to pour the milk first, then the cereal.”

A small laugh came from Tara’s lips as she let go of your hand and pulled out her phone. “You know, I don’t know what’s worse: how crazy you defend cereal or that you nearly killed a man dressed up as Philomena Cunk.”

You chuckled beside her and sat in silence as you watched her call her sister, asking the older Carpenter to come pick you up. You felt bad for not being the one to call Sam, but you knew that if you called her, she would ask what happened, and you couldn’t lie to that sweet and kind woman. Those soft, dark eyes that smiled for her would break if you ever were to lie to her, and you couldn’t put her through that.

So, you sat in silence with the younger Carpenter as Chad and Mindy went back inside the frat house. Once they were out of earshot, Tara spoke up. “I know you lied to me.”

“About what?” You questioned, but you knew what she was talking about. “Tell me why you beat the shit out of that guy,” Tara pressed.

You shook your head and sucked in a deep breath, debating on if you should tell her or not. With a sigh, you down while speaking, “He was saying some shit about Sam, and I lost my cool. I’m sorry that I ruined your night.”

Several beats of silence passed before Tara grabbed your hand and interlaced her fingers with yours. “You know, When you and Sam first started dating, I was skeptical. You’re one of my closest friends, and Sam is my sister. But oh my god, after seeing how she looks at you, I knew that the two of you were meant to be. I’ve never seen Sam look at anyone the way she does with you and the way she smiles around you, Y/N. It's unbelievable; I’ve never seen her smile that much. What I mean to say is that Sam has a hard time with words, but that woman loves you so much. So thank you for defending her name because I know she would do the same thing for you,” Tara admitted with a soft smile, and before you could respond, the both of you saw a tall figure approaching you.

“What the hell happened?” Sam asked with worry laced in her voice as soon as she got close enough to see your hand. She crouched beside you and took your hand out of Tara’s as she lightly traced her fingers over your knuckles, more worried about you than whoever you beat the shit out of.

“Your sweet, little Y/N who would never do any harm went apeshit on someone. It took both twins to pull her off of the poor guy,” Tara said as she stood from the ground and began walking into the house.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Sam questioned while eyeing her sister, who didn’t even look behind her as she shouted, “Back to the party!”

You laughed as you watched the younger Carpenter disappear into the house, “she’s a little shit, isn’t she?” You joked as you looked back at Sam, who glared at you, “What?”

You knew it was terrible, but you couldn’t help but find Sam extremely attractive whenever she was angry; it was probably why you liked to piss her off so much.

The older girl huffed as she stood up, pulling you up with her as well. “Don’t ‘what’ me; you know exactly what I’m mad about,” she said as she grabbed one of your arms and threw it over your shoulder. You just shrugged, not wanting to argue with Sam over the reason for your fight.

“I’m not that drunk, Sam. I can walk by myself,” you declared, but once Sam let go of your arm so you could prove your point, gravity seemed to have a vendetta against you, causing you to begin swaying from side to side.

“Mhm, yeah. Come on,” Sam sighed as she grabbed your arm and threw it over her shoulder again.

Naturally, the entire walk back to the apartment, you complained about Sam not needing to carry you, but you would never admit that you enjoyed seeing this softer side of her.

“So,” Sam asked when you two got away from the frat house, “What happened?”

You shrugged as you continued walking, “The guy was saying false information about how to eat cereal properly. That’s all.”

Now, Sam wasn’t an idiot, and she wasn’t born yesterday. She knew when you were lying, and she knew that you were. In your relationship, Sam always knew that you would be truthful, and her heart began to break at the thought of things changing between the two of you. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn’t help the anxiety at the idea of you no longer being honest with her.

As if you could sense her doubt, you spoke, “Sam, you know that I love you, right?” The Carpenter nodded her head, silently ushering you to continue. “Well, then you know that I would do anything to protect you, anything at all,” you proclaimed as you leaned over and placed a loving kiss on her forehead.

Several beats of silence passed as Sam was thinking about what you said. She knew that whatever happened between you and the dickhead was about the online controversies surrounding her, even though you didn’t say anything about it; she just knew.

A part of Sam felt guilty that you had the feeling of constantly needing to defend her name, which got you in a lot of trouble. But she also loved the idea of having someone who loved and cared for her enough to start fights over her, no matter how petty they were.

So, instead of asking you any more questions, Sam simply said, “I love you too,” and pulled you closer to her.

Falling into a comfortable silence, you walked for several minutes before you stopped dead in your tracks. “What the actual fuck is that?” You asked with a slight hint of venom in your voice.

You had stopped just outside a Barnes & Noble, glaring into the store’s display case. In that case, there was a small cardboard cutout of Gale Weathers, and behind her were copies of her notorious book that worsened Sam’s public image.

“You fucking bitch,” you hissed as you unwrapped Sam’s arm from you and walked up the glass window, pushing on it but getting nowhere. “Y/N, come on. It’s closed, and you’re drunk,” Sam said as she gently grabbed your hand, but you shook it off.

Without saying a word, you walked to the side of the store to pick up a brick. Before Sam could stop you, you threw the brick through the window, causing it to shatter into tiny pieces.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Sam whisper-shouted as she tried to stop you from climbing into the store, but you were surprisingly strong in your intoxicated state. Once you entered the display area, you grabbed a signed copy of Gale’s book and ripped out several of the pages. You then began doing that to the rest of the books you could see, and once you were done, you moved to the cutout.

“You fucking bitch,” you hissed as you pushed the cutout, causing it to fall, “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Fucking fuckass loser.”

Now, she knew it was terrible to be imagining this, but Sam couldn’t find it within herself to stop you from destroying Gale’s books. Truth be told, she wanted to join you, but she felt like you deserved to have this moment to yourself.

“I’ll fuck you up, little bitch,” you stated as you picked up the cutout and put it underneath your arm. “What are you doing?” Sam asked with a small laugh as she watched you carry the cardboard Gale Weathers from the store.

“Taking her home,” you slurred once you stepped onto the street, then you began walking toward Sam’s apartment. “Wrong way, dumbass,” Sam stated once you got halfway down the sidewalk.

Without saying a word, you turned on your heels and walked back to Sam. “Thank you,” you replied while the two of you began walking back in the correct direction, still holding Gale.

“Are you taking her home to kill her?” The Latina asked while looking down at the cutout, struggling to keep a straight face with this unusual situation.

“What kind of fucking animal do you take me for? No, I'm not going to kill her!” You exclaimed, “But I am kidding her.”

The sound of Sam’s laughter caused an eruption of butterflies to flutter throughout your chest. Even though you were drunk and probably wouldn’t remember most of this night, hell, there was a good chance you wouldn’t even remember ‘kidnapping’ Gale Weathers, but you knew you would never forget the sound of your woman’s laughter.

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home so you can torture Gale,” Sam joked as she wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into her side.

She didn’t care that you would be on the news tomorrow morning for the destruction of property; she was just glad you were happy while doing it. It wasn’t every day that Sam got to witness you lose your shit, especially on an inanimate object, but she loved seeing this side of you. She wouldn’t change your relationship for anything, no matter what it was. Sam loved you with her body and soul, and she would never give that up.

The only thing she wished was different was that she knew you when she was young. She would stay up most nights wondering how different her life would have been if she had met you when she was 18, a fresh runaway from home. Before she got into all the hard drugs, she still struggled despite being three years sober. But as she listened to you threaten fake Gale while stating how much you loved the woman you were dating, Sam couldn’t be happier with you.

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

Taglist: @elduster @silentwolfsstuff @maskthedwarf @canvascoloredin

[caramara3]

How Could You | Damian Priest

Warnings: it's just sad.

A/N: Sooo... this is actually a rework of an old Seth Rollins one-shot I had made years back, but I decided to revamp it into a Damian Priest one-shot. This has absolutely no tie-in to Just Friends whatsoever.

Word Count: 2.9k

Enjoy!

DING!

The elevator comes to a halt upon the arrival of yet another floor. A robotic, yet feminine voice comes over the loudspeaker:

“EIGHTH FLOOR.”

The metal doors slowly open to reveal a black and gray hallway with artwork of abstract watercolor paintings hanging on the walls. Standing towards the back of the car, leaning against the safety bar, you watch your best friend and maid of honor Sydney step off the elevator. Placing one hand in front of the elevator door so it wouldn’t close she scans the hallway, looking left and then to the right, all to make sure that there was no one around.

After a few minutes, she finally turned her gaze back into the elevator. A small, loving smile softly forms and she extends a hand.

“Coast is clear,” she whispers.

You nod and push off the safety bar, throwing the thick strap of your purse over your shoulder. You grab hold of your carry-on and step off the elevator.

Sydney places a hand on the swell of your back while the other pulls her suitcase. Your gaze falls to the floor as the two of you walk down the hall, focusing on the hotel’s unusual carpet pattern as she scans the placards on the wall looking for the right room. Every so often you could feel her eyes practically burning a hole through before quickly turning away to look back up at the placards. 

She was worried. She had every right to be. Since leaving the arena over an hour ago you'd barely spoken a single word. Not to her, not to Rhea, no one. You were catatonic. 

But who could blame you? After what you had just seen, anyone would react the exact same way if they were in your shoes.

As you continued down the hall, you could feel the consistent buzzing of your phone through the thin fabric of the hoodie. Slow at first, but quickly becoming more often with every unanswered second passing by.

It almost felt like with every step you took, the phone would go off.

Step.

Buzz.

Step.

Buzz.

Step, step.

Buzz, buzz.

Normally you would have answered by now. But instead, you chose to ignore whoever it was and kept going. 

You finally reached the end of the hall and stopped in front of a door marked 827. Sydney pulls out a key card from the pocket of her jeans and slides it into the automated lock. A few buzzing sounds later, a green light flashes and a loud *click* signals the door had unlocked. She turns the handle, pushes the door open, and then moves to the side to usher you into the room, following close behind.

Placing your purse on the dresser, you look around at what would be your new home for the night. For the most part, the room looked like every other hotel room you’ve stayed in while on the road. Granted, this was probably the most luxurious of most of them, but still pretty standard. 

There were two Queen beds each donning a fancy purple duvet with no less than eight of the fluffiest pillows you’d have ever seen in your life, a giant flat screen TV mounted above a black dresser, cashmere floor rugs draped across cherry hardwood floors, a cozy little reading area near the windows with a small leather loveseat, and a wet bar fully stocked with overpriced snacks and tiny bottles of alcohol. 

The one thing that did make the room stand out was the incredible view. Floor-to-ceiling window panels centered on the main wall of the room leveled with the New York skyline, showcasing a near perfect image of the city. There was even a clear view of the Empire State Building in the background, lit up in red and blue lights as night blanketed the city.

You sit on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. Looking out at the city you couldn’t help to think about how different life was a few hours ago. You were engaged to the love of your life. You were in the final countdown before the big day, less than a week. You were at your rehearsal dinner downtown surrounded by your closest friends and family, all gathered to celebrate your upcoming nuptials. 

But all of that seemed so long ago now.

How could this have happened? How could he do that to me? 

But before you could think of an answer to your question, the sound of boots clacking across the hardwood floor brought you back to reality.

“Well,” Sydney says with a satisfied sigh, “this is nice. Really nice as a matter of fact, especially with it being super last minute.”

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms tightly around them, never once looking away from the window. “It’s fine, I guess.” 

“Fine?” she snorts, “Y/N, come on! Look at what we got. Gorgeous view, fancy sheets, free Wi-Fi, a fully stocked bar...”

You hear movement from behind and see a light flicker on through the window’s reflection. “Oh my-, Y/N you’ve gotta see this bathroom! It’s got a huge shower and…” she pauses, “Oh. My. God. The floors are heated. Y/N the floors are heated!!”

But you don’t move. You don’t spring up from the bed to revel in her excitement over heated floors or whatever other fancy details the room had to offer. Instead, you stay seated in silence, holding yourself as you gaze out into the city and its nightlife. 

You observe the streetlights perched on the sidewalk creating an ominous glow on the pavement. The mixture of city cars and yellow taxis, halted by ongoing traffic as they struggle to reach their destination on time. The small groups of tourists stopping every few minutes for selfies with various buildings in the background, including this very hotel.

All the while your mind replays the events from earlier. A single tear manages to escape as your mind begins to torture you with a play-by-play of what happened. It all still felt like a dream to me, a sick twisted nightmare that no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t wake up from. Your brain searched and scanned through every single memory collected from the last three years.

You were desperate to find any little detail you missed, something that could explain just where everything went wrong. Something that could’ve prepared you for what would eventually happen.

But you found nothing.

No hints, no little clues. 

No hidden messages or blaring warning signs.

Nothing that screamed out: “Y/N don’t be alarmed, but the night before you’re supposed to get married… you’re gonna find your fiancé with some random woman bent over a table.”

Boy that would’ve been a great fucking warning now, wouldn’t it?

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t felt the bed dip, nor did you flinch when you felt a set of arms pull you into an embrace, resting your head under Sydney’s chin. One hand settled at the swell of your back, tracing small circles with her finger, the other gently stroked your hair. Sydney had been your best friend ever since you were both in diapers, you knew just how much it pained her to see you like this; this deflated catatonic alien that had replaced her bubbly best friend. You knew she probably had a million questions for you, but rather than bombard you, she said nothing and just held you. 

Throughout your nearly three decades of friendship, there was never a time in your life where you couldn’t rely on her to be there for you wherever you needed the most. And tonight was definitely one of those moments when you needed her.

The two of you stayed in this comfortable silence for seemed like forever, just staring out into the night as she held you. 

“You feel like talking about it?” you hear her ask, her voice just above a whisper.

You say nothing.

“Ok, that’s fine, we don’t have to talk about it yet. We’ve got tomorrow to figure everything out, but tonight,” she pauses, leaping from the bed, “tonight we are getting shit faced.”

Once again you say nothing but watch as she makes her way over to the wet bar. You knew what Sydney was trying to do. First she would pump you with some top shelf liquor, order a bunch of room service, and then put on your favorite horror movies to get you in a relaxed and neutral state while she did damage control. 

Unfortunately, Freddy Krueger and tequila weren't going to fix this problem. Not this time.

“Tell you what. Why don’t I call Rhea and see where she and Bianca are with the rest of your things, and then I’ll see if I can wrangle us up some food. How does that sound?”

You think it over for a moment before nodding in agreement.

A smile forms on Sydney’s face. “Awesome. What do you feel like? We could do chinese, pizza, maybe some Thai food? I could see if room service is still available…?”

You look over at her, her hazel eyes meeting yours. “Could we do a little bit of everything?”

A small laugh escapes Sydney’s mouth. “Hell yea we can! I’ll even get some ice cream from that bodega we passed down the street. Why don’t you change out of that dress, take a nice hot shower, and I’ll start getting everything ready.”

You give her a small smile and with one final hug from her she grabs her purse and heads out, leaving you alone. You slide off the bed and walk around the large room. You stop in front of one of the many conveniently placed touch screen panels on the wall. Scanning over it, you find an app called Night and tap it. Instantly, large panels begin descending over the large window panel, slightly darkening the room and hiding the skyline away for the night.

You move about the room making your way inside the en-suite bathroom. Once inside, you shut the door and lock it. Sydney was right, this was an incredible bathroom, like something straight out of Architectural Digest. Apart from the aforementioned heated floors, there were heated marble countertops, eucalyptus scented plush Egyptian cotton towels, two complimentary plush bathrobes with matching slippers, full-sized bottles of luxury brand skincare and body products, & a huge glass walk-in steam shower with two large overhead rainfall showerheads and shower wall panels on the front and side walls.

On the outside of the shower was another touch screen panel to control the shower. You look it over for a few moments, looking over your choices before choosing the one labeled “rainfall.” The overhead showerheads come alive and water begins to rain down, quickly filling the bathroom with steam.

Moving back to the sink you look at the wide selection of skincare products laid out when you felt your phone begin its incessant vibrating once again. But rather than ignore it like before, you pull your phone from your hoodie pocket and stare at the screen.

The first thing you see is your background. It was one of your favorite pictures of the two of you together, Halloween 2022. The two of you had dressed up as Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstien. You were looking at the camera but his eyes were focused solely on you, a smile stretched across his face as he did.

You unlock your screen and view the notifications: over a dozen missed calls. Dozens of voicemails. Way too many damn unread text messages.

With a sigh, you begin scrolling through the list of missed calls, seeing one name appear more often than others.

Damian.

Damian.

Rhea.

Bianca.

Damian.

Damian.

Kayden.

Finn.

Dominik.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

Bianca.

Finn.

Damian.

Rhea.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

Damian.

The nerve he had to call you, the absolute nerve. What in the hell would make him think you wanted to hear anything that he had to say? Did he think that simple sorry was going to change everything? Or was he calling to explain that what you had seen wasn’t what you thought it was.

You toss your phone onto the counter in annoyance before walking back into the main room, not caring much where it landed. You free yourself of your hoodie, your dress, and the rest of your clothes. You grab two of the plush bath towels underneath the sink, placing one on the back of the toilet and place the other on a hook outside of the shower. You grab one of the bottles of complimentary body wash and open the shower door, the rush of steam engulfing you as you step inside.

You move to stand directly underneath the showerhead, letting the warm cascade over your body. The sound of water splashing against the tiles echoed off the walls but it wasn’t enough to drown out your own thoughts as your mind displayed every kiss, every touch, every ‘I love you’ ever said playing on an endless loop in your mind, attempting to pinpoint the moment where everything changed.

Meeting for the time wrestling on the indies. Meeting again after signing your WWE contract. The night he first asked you out, the night he first said I love you, the night you first made love. Meeting each other’s families. 

You try to shake these thoughts from your mind, but it won’t work. No matter what else you attempt to think about, no matter what other happy memories you attempt to form in your head, nothing can keep them at bay. A few stray tears push their way out but you’re quick to wipe them away.

No, you thought. You are not going to do this Y/N. This isn’t happening right now. Stop it!

You reach to grab the bottle of body wash from the shelf inside the shower...    

And that’s when you noticed it. The tan line on your finger, now completely visible on your left hand that only a few hours ago bore the beautiful oval cut diamond engagement ring. 

The ring that he claimed to have been carrying around for months, hoping to find that right moment that never seemed to come. 

Until the night of WrestleMania 37, just hours after you retained your title against Asuka and watched him compete in his first Mania alongside Bad Bunny. The two of you found yourselves back in your shared hotel room, bodies entangled with one another, holding you close against his chest when he would whisper in your ear the two words that would freeze time around you both:

Marry me.

He would reach over to the bedside table next to the bed and pull out a small black box. He would tell you just how much he loved you, how he has always loved you from the moment he met you, how he doesn't wish to spend another day on this earth without you. Then he would slip the dainty ring on your finger and ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.  

Now that finger is bare. The ring was gone, given or rather thrown back at him after what had happened.

And just like that, it all came crumbling down. That false sense of reality you created since leaving the arena had finally collided with actual reality and had smacked you dead in the face.

Damian Priest, the love of your life, the man you were set to marry tomorrow, had been cheating on you. 

And you had caught him tonight. 

Your legs carried you backward until your back hit the wall of the shower. A wave of nausea swirls all around your empty stomach and your chest tightens like someone was stomping on it repeatedly. The first sob was quiet, nothing short of a small childlike whimper as the tears fell. But more and more as reality continued to sink in, they grew louder. The tears flowed more, so much so that I couldn’t tell what were tears and what was from the shower. 

Three years of your life, all gone in a flash. Plans for the future, for children, traveling the world… all just illusions and fantasies that would never come true now.  

Your body sank to the ground and before you knew it you were curled up into a ball, sobbing into your knees as the water turned from warm to cold. 

But you didn’t care. Your head swam with half-formed regrets. Your heart felt as if your blood had turned into tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. 

There was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that now engulfed you in the swirling blackness.

And it was all because of him.  

TagList:

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[sleekervae]

New York Romantic .1

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a young actor moves across the hall from an aspiring ballerina. (college au kinda)

word count: 1562

a/n: i've had this idea knocking around in my brain for a few days and finally got to penning it down -- enjoy!

August 2016

The sun stretched its golden rays across the morning sky in New York City, the last embrace of summer's fading heat lingered in the air. The city bustled under a whispering breeze that carried the promise of change, as tree leaves, once adorned in vibrant green, began their slow transformation into a canvas of crimson and gold. Amidst the streets, a serene anticipation filled the air, capturing the essence of a city transitioning as the summer activities came to a close and the kids were dreading the return to school.

The wheels on Tom's luggage clacked against the cracks and bumps in the concrete sidewalk, bleary and tired eyes scanning between his phone and the address placards on the various condos. He knew he should've taken a cab, but the bus was so much cheaper and Google indicated it was only a five minute walk to his new living quarters anyway.

He finally stopped in front of a brick building, the address placard worn and rusted from the elements but the numbers matched up with that on his itinerary. The other cue that gave it away was the variety of art pieces in windows and hung over bannisters and fire escapes. Tom lugged his bag up the three stone steps and ducked inside.

The lobby was pale, dingy and in dire need of a fresh coat of paint; not to mention the air held hints of mothballs and burnt microwaved popcorn. An older woman was sat behind a desk, reclined in her chair while glazed eyes were focused on her computer screen. Tom approached slowly, hoping his smile could cover the exhaustion hiding in his face.

"Hello,"

The woman's eyes were the last to focus when she turned her head, blinking over her glasses and a warm smile graced her face, "Oh, hello! You must be... erm..." she suddenly grabbed a clipboard and scanned the tiny text, "... Jacob Nielson?" she spoke in the classic Brooklyn accent with exaggerated vowels and nasally undertones.

"No," he shook his head politely, "My name's Tom. Blyth," he replied.

She scanned her list with her pen, gasping aloud when she found his name, "I see, now! Very nice to meet you, my name's Doris -- I'm the super here. You're my renter from London, right?"

"Yeah. Well -- Yorkshire specifically,"

"I didn't do so well in geography, honey. Have mercy," Doris replied as she stood up, heading for the wall of cubbies behind her, "So tell me, which insane asylum are you checking into?"

" -- Excuse me?"

"What school are you attending?" she asked again, her fingers flourishing across the cubbies.

Tom nodded, "I'm starting at Julliard next week. I'm an actor," he replied.

Doris scoffed, "Yeah? You and everybody's dog, honey," she pulled a key from a specific slot and returned to the desk, "But you got a nice face, maybe you'll luck out,"

Tom wasn't sure whether or not he should've taken that as a compliment, so he simply smiled back and accepted the key, "Um, thank you,"

"You're on floor three, room 14. Your roommate should already be moved in, he can give you a tour of the place," she explained, "If you need anything, leaky faucets fixed and whatnot just come down and see me,"

"Thank you, Doris," he took his bag and started for the elevator on the right of the room, but Doris called out to him again.

"Hold on, handsome! Elevator's broke! Hasn't worked since Giuliani was mayor," she pointed to the left, "Stairs are over there,"

Tom huffed under his breath; he was tired and the last thing he wanted was to lug his suitcase up three flights of stairs. Nevertheless, he gave Doris one more polite grin as he started for the staircase.

The sun cast stark patterns across the stairs, the skewed silhouettes of the window panes interrupted by Tom's own shadow as he made his trek up. He hadn't at first registered the thundering of footsteps above him until a group of kids rushed passed him.

"C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" The stairwell was relatively narrow, arms and bodies knocking into Tom until he nearly slipped and his grip loosened on his suitcase. The suitcase went tumbling down the stairs, smacking hard against the opposing wall and the latches burst open. His belongings spilled everywhere.

Tom grumbled to himself, trekking down the stairs again to clean up the mess. One of the kids however hung back, trailing behind her group but she'd witnessed Tom's misfortune. She double backed up the stairs, staring in astonishment at the clothes and knick knacks, then at him.

"Jesus, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"

Tom was crouched over the ground when he looked up, coming face-to-face with the concerned expression of a young brunette. She was lean and petite, dressed down in denim shorts and black tank top. Her converse had two different coloured laces, one red and one yellow. He found that peculiar.

"I'm alright," Tom assured her, "If this is the worst thing that happens to me today, then it's not such a bad day, right?" he tried to laugh it off.

The girl simpered, "Sure," nevertheless she crouched down to help him. One of her friends called out from below.

"Noelle! C'mon! We're gonna miss the bus!" she shouted.

The girl -- Noelle -- shouted back, "Go ahead, Bianca! I'll catch up with you guys!"

"But the movie starts in an hour! It's take forty five minutes from here, man!"

"It's twenty minutes of previews, anyways!" she turned back to Tom, her cheeks tinting bashfully, "Sorry about that,"

"Don't worry. You should go with your friends, I'll be fine," he replied.

Noelle scoffed, "Can I trust you with a secret?"

"Sure,"

"I hate horror movies,"

Tom smiled, "And lemme' guess: they're going to see a horror movie?"

"Don't Breathe. Some kids break into a blind guy's house and he ends up killing them all and quite frankly -- I can go my whole life without more nightmares," she replied, a coy smile playing at her lips.

"Don't half blame you. I'm not the biggest fan, myself," he said, "Do you live here?"

"Yep. That nutcase shouting at me was my roommate," she replied, "Sorry, I didn't get your name,"

"Tom,"

"Very nice to meet you. I wish it was under better circumstances," she chuckled back.

"Don't worry about it -- Noelle," he grinned.

She helped him clean up and pack his things, leading him back upstairs to his room. He assured her he could manage but Noelle insisted, saying it was the least she could do for his trouble.

"Room 14?" she cocked a brow when he told her, the corners of her lips pulling back to bare her clenched teeth.

"Yeah. What's wrong?" Tom asked apprehensively, "I don't have a serial killer for a roommate, right?"

Noelle shook her head, "No, no, you get Sunny. And he's just like his name -- absolute sunshine human being,"

"... I sense there's a 'but' coming," he trailed.

"He's a scholarship violinist, he's brilliant. And he's so brilliant because he practices at all hours of the night," she explained, "... All hours. You might wanna invest in some noise cancelling ear plugs,"

Tom nodded, relieved that at least his new roomie didn't sound like a dickhead, "Thanks for the advice,"

They stopped in front of the door, a worn brass 14 glinting subtly in the light. Tom fished out the key from his pocket, "I guess this is me,"

"Oh, damn," Noelle huffed, glancing at the door across from them, "You get the insane neighbours,"

His eyes flitted between her and the door, "... Whatcha' mean by that?"

Noelle pulled a key from her pocket, "Well, they're dancers for one. So they're always playing music, talking shit, burning their instant noodles because they're half-daft," with that she shoved the key into the lock and twisted, and sure enough the door opened.

Tom glanced at her, sheer amusement crossing over his face. He simpered under his breath, "You're my half-daft dancer neighbour who burns her instant noodles?"

"Unfortunately for you," she confirmed, half smirking.

"And how does one burn their instant noodles?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it," she closed and locked the door again, "But I'll let you get settled in. If you need anything at all, you can just pop over,"

"Thank you, Noelle," he smiled, "And thanks again for --" he stopped suddenly when he heard a faint violin melody from the other side of his door. It was a beautiful melody nonetheless, and it had him intrigued, "I suppose that's my roommate?"

Noelle nodded back, "Yep. I promise you, he's a sweetheart," she started walking backwards towards the stairwell, "I'm sorry again about earlier,"

"Don't give it a second thought. Have fun at your movie," he replied.

She giggled sardonically, "Oh trust me, I'll have a blast. I'll see you around, Tom,"

Tom gave her a small wave, watching her until she disappeared around the corner, could hear her shoes squeaking as she trotted down the stairs. He couldn't deny he found her quite a looker, a small part of him giddy with excitement at the prospect of getting to know his new neighbour. The violin melody continued to play on the other side of the door, and taking a deep breath for confidence, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door...

[moondirti]

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts. 

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel. 

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them. 

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between. 

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?) 

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this. 

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing. 

Deep space, your stars – your Sol. 

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.) 

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it. 

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing. 

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies. 

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next. 

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour. 

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.) 

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened. 

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place. 

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement. 

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution. 

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror. 

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected. 

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–” 

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,” 

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul? 

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway. 

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.” 

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.” 

“Whit is it this time?” 

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?” 

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame. 

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?” 

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?” 

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression. 

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time. 

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come. 

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–) 

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please. 

Just this one thing. 

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut. 

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns. 

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care. 

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance. 

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you. 

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right. 

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved. 

Huh. 

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology. 

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh. 

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it. 

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side. 

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like. 

The day pass? 

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse. 

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds. 

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him. 

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion. 

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should. 

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple. 

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you. 

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?” 

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”) 

You really hate him sometimes. 

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.” 

He squints. 

(Rightfully so.) 

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass. 

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve. 

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero. 

You hope that one day, you will too. 

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues. 

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief. 

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.” 

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?” 

“You bet on my survival?” 

“Silver linings!” 

“Lyra.” 

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.” 

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving. 

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?” 

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.” 

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath. 

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation. 

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place. 

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours. 

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion. 

Get a hold of yourself. 

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.” 

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–” 

“You can’t control your powers, can you?” 

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options: 

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit. 

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here. 

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again. 

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.” 

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously. 

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?” 

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.” 

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud. 

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference. 

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,” 

“There was a thing with a super-collider.” 

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk. 

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.” 

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command. 

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.” 

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile. 

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced. 

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense. 

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.” 

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you. 

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how. 

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.” 

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice. 

chapter eight

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[sebstanaddict]

The Prettiest Girl

Sebastian Stan x Reader One Shot

Summary: When you interview Sebastian Stan but all he wants is to flirt with you 🤭

A/N : I've been wanting to write this for a while. It's just a little something I wrote for fun. Hope it brings a smile to your face 😊

Warning : just pure fluff and maybe A Different Man spoiler although the movie isn't even out yet, so 😆

Word count: 2.9k

My other one shots >

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Soho, New York - November 11th 2023 - 3.50 pm

—

Millions of soft icy particles fell from the heavens down to the earth on that fateful Saturday afternoon in Soho, New York. They covered everything from trees, buildings, pavements and the top of people's heads. Some had stuck on one particular window of an apartment and created beautiful patterns.

Y/n looked out the window and smiled. It had been snowing all day and it didn't look like it was going to stop soon. Everything looked white and the atmosphere felt serene and beautiful. Despite the cold she had always loved looking at snow and playing with them. She couldn’t wait to go out and make some snow men at the nearest park once the snow had stopped falling. But now she had a job to do.

She sat at her working corner in her bedroom and turned the laptop on. Moments later she opened the zoom application and started setting up her webcam so it showed her clearly with one of the walls in her bedroom as the background. She tidied her hair a little and fixed her white buttoned up blouse so that she looked presentable. Satisfied with how she looked, she entered the empty virtual room in the zoom application.

Her heart rate started to rise as she looked at her laptop screen. As a senior editor at one of the world’s top entertainment media, she was used to interviewing many celebrities. But that afternoon she was scheduled to interview the Hollywood A List actor and Marvel star Sebastian Stan, someone whom she had been in love with for quite some time. Despite having worked at the entertainment media for ten years, it was the first time she got the chance to interview Sebastian and she couldn’t help but feel very nervous about it.

She picked up the paper which had a list of questions she was going to ask him as well as some facts about his upcoming movie. Yes, one of the reasons for the interview was for him to promote the new movie. She had seen the movie and it was quite an interesting movie. She couldn’t wait to hear from him more about it.

She was re-reading the third question when the screen in front of her flickered and Sebastian’s face was shown on the screen.

“Hello!” Sebastian smiled wide and greeted her, making butterflies fly around in her stomach. How could someone look so gorgeous? She pondered as she stared at the screen and admired his beautiful face. Sebastian had let his hair grow but not that much. It was short but fluffy at the top. He had a very light layer of stubble like he just shaved yesterday. But of course it was his ocean blue eyes that mesmerized her the most.

“Hello Y/n.. earth to Y/n. Can you see me? Can you hear me?” Sebastian asked and she blinked several times, finally snapping out of being drowned in his gorgeous eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I can see you. I can hear you. Sorry.” She blushed as he smiled again at her.

“Oh okay, that’s good. I'm sorry but I'm currently traveling and I'm stuck in traffic right now. So if I get disconnected or something it's ‘cause I'm on the road.” He said as he turned his camera around making her see that he was in a car.

“Oh okay. You know if it's a bad time, we can do this later.” She suggested.

“Oh no, it's okay. I mean as long as it's not two hours long. You know.” He chuckled.

“Oh of course not. Depending on your answers this could take half an hour to an hour at most.” She replied.

“Alright. I'll try to keep my answers short.” He said.

“Well, if you need to elaborate please feel free to do that.”

“Yeah.. yeah.. of course.” He smiled and for a second she could see like he was really seeing her for the first time.

“You look great by the way.” He winked and she felt like her heart leapt out of her chest.

“Uh.. thank you.You look great yourself.” She blushed yet again that she was sure she looked as red as a tomato.

“Oh, thank you.. “ He smiled shyly and she could see that he was blushing too. She loved how he could sometimes be uncomfortable when people compliment him. It was so endearing to her.

“Anyway, how are you? How is Atlanta?” she asked. As it happened, Sebastian was in Atlanta to shoot the next Marvel movie.

“I’m good, thanks. Atlanta is, well, it’s been cold but not that cold. We’ve been shooting indoors a lot with wires and stuff. It’s been hard and exhausting. But, you know, I shouldn’t complain. I really shouldn’t. It’s been great fun.” He replied.

“Can you tell me if Anthony is there?” she asked with a small smile on her lips.

“You know I can’t tell you that. I signed an NDA! I can’t.” He chuckled.

“But.. maybe off the record I can tell you. Later on.” He winked again and she felt butterflies yet again. She couldn’t believe how flirty he was to her.

“Okay, anyway, are you ready?” She asked.

“Yes, of course. Go on.” He smiled and she felt butterflies again in her stomach. Maybe this was a bad idea. She thought as she tried to compose herself.

“Good afternoon, Sebastian.” She finally greeted him after hitting the record button and smiled at him.

“Good afternoon!” He answered, smiling wide at her.

“Thank you for doing this for us and giving your time amidst your busy shooting schedule.” She said.

“Oh no, thank you for allowing me to do this.” He said and she nodded.

“So, Sebastian, you have a new movie releasing soon called A Different Man, directed by Aaron Schimberg starring yourself, the Norwegian break out actress Renate Reinsve and the British actor Adam Pearson.” She said and this time he nodded.

“I had the privilege to see it yesterday thanks to you and the director Aaron, and I must say that it is a very interesting and out of the box movie. Could you tell me how you got involved with it?” She asked.

“Oh yeah. My agent sent me the script and I think it was such an interesting script. I mean, it’s very rare to see movies with this subject matter. The director Aaron had done another movie before this called Chained For Life that had a similar subject matter. In that movie he also cast Adam. And I watched the movie and I fell in love with it. The way Aaron told the story was very unique. I haven’t seen anything like it in a long while. And yeah, I thought that the movie was something that I would love to be involved in.”

“Aside from being the main actor, you are also a producer in this movie. Is that correct?”

“Yeah I am. It’s the first movie I ever produced.”

“What made you decide to be involved not just as an actor? But also as a producer?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about producing for a while but never got anything I was excited about until this one came. Aaron needed some help and seeing his talent and his previous work I decided to jump into it and help him out.”

“I see. So, in this movie, you play someone with neurofibromatosis, and you had to change your face completely. How did it feel to be under all those prosthetics and looking in the mirror and saw a completely different version of you?”

“It felt surreal of course. It took a long long time to get the prosthetics on correctly the first time. I think it took almost a whole day. But then they figured it out and the next day I basically just had to put on like a mask and then they added some more stuff on my face to blend it in.”

“Oh, that’s really interesting. I’m sure it helped a lot in your performance looking completely different.”

“Yeah, yeah. It helped a lot in that I just needed to look in the mirror and just like that I felt like a completely different person.” He said as he snapped his fingers.

“And it showed. Being someone who have seen your work a lot over the years, I must say you have done the best job of your career.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s.. really?” He asked, his face reddened and he put one hand on the side of his face.

“Yeah. Really. It was your best work in my opinion and I wouldn’t be surprised if you get an Oscar nomination for it. I really wouldn’t.” She smiled.

“That’s.. wow.. it means a lot, coming from you. Really.” He smiled and she couldn’t help but blush again. She couldn't believe he would say something like that.

“Umm.. yeah. Anyway, could you tell me how Adam and Renate got involved?” She asked, deciding to ignore what he said. She was just going to cut that part out and pretended he never said it.

“Oh yeah, with Adam it was a no brainer really. Aaron had cast him even before I got involved. Adam was actually involved waaay before I did. As for Renate. I had seen her movie The Worst Person In The World and I loved her performance in it. It was so real and raw. I knew when I read the script I wanted someone like her to play Ingrid. So I suggested her to Aaron and he agreed and I sought her out and well, the rest is history.”

“I can see why you wanted her to play Ingrid.”

“Yeah, she possesses this instinct as an actor that I haven't seen in a while. It was really a pleasure to work with someone who can keep up with you and even challenge you in their own way. You know. It was very rewarding as an actor to be able to work with someone like her. She was really something else. Kind of like you.” He winked.

“Excuse me?” She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Yeah.. I'm sorry but.. umm.. I really have to say this. I have never seen any girl looking as pretty as you are, especially when you blush. You’re quite literally the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” He said and her heart seemed to leap out of her chest as she heard him. Once again she couldn’t believe how flirty he was to her!

“Oh stop it, Sebastian. I will definitely edit this out.” She chuckled as her face continued to redden.

“Oh no, don’t. I want people to see that.” he teased again.

“But that has nothing to do with the interview so I will definitely edit it out.” she insisted.

“Fine, I’m just gonna repeat it along the way, on the record and off the record, later on.” he winked and she just shook her head.

“Okay, back to the topic of your movie.”

“You’re so serious. I like that about you.” He teased her again and she felt herself blush yet again.

“There it is.. the blush. I love it.” He chuckled.

“Sebastian, please.”

“Please what, Y/n?” he asked as his voice suddenly changed to be huskier, as much as she didn’t believe it.

“Please stop flirting with me. I’m trying to do my job.” she protested.

“I'm sorry. I'm being really unprofessional aren't I?” He sighed and she nodded.

“Okay, I'm sorry. I'll try to be more professional as long as you promise me something.”

“Okay.. promise you what?”

“That you'll go out with me.”

Her heart seemed to stop as she heard him. This couldn't be happening, she thought in disbelief.

“You're in Atlanta and I'm in New York. How are we going to do it?” She asked, suddenly feeling courageous enough to tease him back about it because she was certain he was just joking with her for whatever reason.

“You know I go back to New York every weekend. So, we can go this weekend!” He said excitedly.

“Okay. Sure. I need to ask my husband's permission first though.” She said as an idea popped into her head and his eyes widened.

“Your husband's permission? I should have known someone as gorgeous as you is already taken. I'm too late aren't I?” He said dejectedly and she couldn't help but chuckle. He looked so cute pouting like that.

“Well.. yeah. You are too late. I'm sorry. But, he's quite an open minded person so maybe I can ask him.“ she said teasingly.

“Oh good! Where is your husband? Let me ask him myself.” He challenged.

“Wait here.” She chuckled and she stood up. She went to her bed and picked up a life size human shaped pillow with Sebastian's face on it then brought it back to her working desk.

“There he is. Sebastian say hello to pillow!Sebastian.” She said, showing the pillow to the webcam and the real Sebastian on the screen threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh my God! Hello pillow!Sebastian! I would like to ask for your permission to ask your beautiful wife out, please. I can't stand looking at her being so pretty like that. I must have her. Please. Could you do me a favor and divorce her?” He asked and she laughed.

“He said over his dead body.” She replied after her laughter subsided and he pouted again, making her laugh again.

“Hey pillow!Sebastian, I literally bought you for her and now you have the audacity to steal her from me?! Unbelievable!” He protested.

“He's sorry but he said he loves me and he can't divorce me.” She teased him again and he pouted yet again.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. I can’t do this and sit here miles away from you when you look so amazingly beautiful like that just teasing me with your pretty face. You have no idea what I'm imagining right now.” He said, gazing at her with eyes full of love and dare she said it, lust.

“Oh, what are you imagining?” she asked. Despite knowing this was very unprofessional of him, she couldn't help but be curious about it.

“I'm imagining being there with you and placing my hands on the sides of your face and just.. kiss that pretty lips of yours.” he said slowly, his voice low and husky.

She shivered as she listened to him and felt butterflies again in her stomach.

“I miss you, sweetheart.” He continued, staring at her with longing and she smiled.

“I miss you too, Iubirea mea.” she replied, making him smile.

“There it is. I love when you call me that.” He smiled.

“I love calling you that too.” She smiled.

“So, go out with me this weekend?” He asked and she of course couldn't answer with anything else.

“Sure. I'd love to go out with you, my darling husband.” She winked and he laughed.

“Glad to hear that my lovely wife.” he replied making her smile.

Just then his camera shook and he turned to the side.

“Oh, great! We're here!” He said excitedly.

“Sorry, I have to go, sweetheart.” He turned to her.

“Oh okay. Yeah. I'll talk to you later?” She asked.

“Wait.” He said as the camera continued to shake. She could hear the sound of a car door opening and closing and then the camera turned to show the sky as Sebastian continued to move.

“Seb? Sebastian?” She called out.

It seemed he didn't hear her as his phone's camera continued to shoot at the sky and then it showed a ceiling as Sebastian seemed to be entering a building. She studied the ceiling and thought that it looked familiar. Then it seemed like he was entering an elevator. A familiar ding could be heard as the elevator stopped and Sebastian got out of it. She continued to watch with a smile on her face as Sebastian seemed to be walking. Then he stopped and turned his phone's camera back on his face.

“Sweetheart. There's a surprise for you at the door.” He said with a twinkle in his eyes.

She laughed and immediately ran out of her room and towards the front door. She opened it wide and there he was, Sebastian Stan, staring at her like he saw the sun for the first time.

“Hi.” He smiled as he switched his cellphone off and put it in his pocket.

“Hi.” She smiled back, her heart beating so fast in her chest.

“I was right.” He said as he walked slowly closer to her.

“About what?” She asked, feeling like she was going to faint seeing him so close to her.

“You are.. literally.. the prettiest girl.. I've ever seen.” He smiled as he gently placed both hands on the sides of her face and gazed at her with longing.

“Oh shut up and just kiss me.” She said and he laughed.

And with that he pulled her closer to him and gently kissed her lips, causing fireworks to explode in her chest. She pulled him into her apartment and closed the door behind him as her plans obviously changed that afternoon. Interviews can wait. Snow men can wait. At that moment all she wanted was to be with him. Sebastian Stan. The love of her life.

[gallifreyanhotfive]

Random Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know, Part 41

Adric missed K9 and would write him letters. (Short story: A Boy's Tale)

Tegan missed Nyssa a lot and felt as though Turlough had a bond with the Doctor that she wasn't company to. (Short story: Qualia)

Early Gallifreyans worshipped one of their two moons (Pazithi Gallifreya) as a virgin goddess. (Novel: Cat's Cradle: Time's Crucible)

After Inquisitor Darkel dismissed the Sixth Doctor's charges from The Trial of a Time Lord, she had to go lie down in a dark room for a while because he and the Valeyard were too much for her. (Short story: The Inquisitor)

There are roughly one million versions of Clara Oswald according to the Encyclopaedia Gallifreya. (Short story: Citation Needed)

The Master tried to interfere with the Fifth Doctor’s regeneration into his Sixth, but the Doctor had psychically called out to his former companions (Nyssa, Tegan, Turlough, etc etc), who convinced him to ignore the Master and helped him regenerate. (Audio: Winter; Television: The Caves of Androzani)

The Doctor keeps a copy of Every Gallifreyan Child's Pop-Up Book of Nasty Creatures From Other Dimensions in the TARDIS library. It pops up in four dimensions. (Novel: All-Consuming Fire)

The Fifth Doctor talked so much about River Song after meeting and becoming absolutely enamored with her that Tegan pushed him against the wall and demanded that he stop. (Audio: Expiry Dating)

The Seventh Doctor met Katarina as a young girl. He gave her family enough gold to feed them for a year. (Short story: An Unfulfilled Dream)

In 1969, a journalist named Chrissie Allen did an article on Amelia Williams. Amy told her she wanted to write a story about a young girl lost in New York City, who is scared but will use her magic powers to take on the world. She was very confident when she said the girl was really out there in New York. (Short story: The Girl Who Never Grew Up)

The Eye of Harmony located in the TARDIS is only symbolic of the real Eye of Harmony on Gallifrey. (Novel: The Eight Doctors)

If someone accesses the Eye of Harmony without the Rod, Sash, or Great Key of Rassilon, they will be turned inside out and killed. (Audio: Insurgency)

A young Magnus, who would one day become the War Chief, once tried to drain Artron energy out of a sphere retrieved from the time vortex. He was opposed by the First Doctor, referred to as "Thete," who set the energy free after discovering it was alive. This was considered to be their "falling out" moment. (Comic: Flashback)

The Fifth Doctor has tried to sacrifice himself so often that Nyssa can recognize his blank face as an I'm-about-to-sacrifice-myself face. (Audio: The Darkening Eye)

Each incarnation of the Doctor thinks that they make their own identity, but in reality, the TARDIS knows that their travels are never "accidental." For example, she could have easily returned to 1960s London when the First Doctor was trying to drop off Barbara and Ian, but she said she thought it was more important that he have fun and learn from his human companions who the Doctor actually was. (Short story: What the TARDIS thought of "Time Lord Victorious")

The Doctor's TARDIS bedroom (at least at the time of his Fifth incarnation) had an original Jackson Pollock on the door. It had a four poster bed with awnings, silk sheets, and a toy rabbit. The Fifth Doctor would hang his coat up with a Mickey Mouse hanger and sleep in question mark patterned pajamas. (Novel: Divided Loyalties)

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