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racinggirl · 7 months ago

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furthest from truth

Lando Norris fic - requested

My inbox for requests

a/n: I'm baaack! It's been a while, I have to admit. But after having 3 new requests today, I got motivated again and I decided to write the ones that were yet to be posted on my page. I hope you like it! I've added some spice to the end of the chapter 👀 Don't forget to follow me so you won't miss my other stories! 🫶🏼

Sun. Beach. Sand. Friends.

It might look cliché, but it’s what filled your hearts with joy.

‘’Norris! Give me a hand, will ya?’’ Your lips pulled away from those of your boyfriend the moment he got up to help one of your friends with preparing the jet skis.

‘’Finally,’’ your best friend, Ava, laughed as she took a seat next to you. ‘’Now that your lips are no longer glued to his, what do you think of grabbing a drink, I’m in a desperate need for a Frozen Daiquiri.’’

She pulled you up on your feet after you agreed on getting drinks. It was your holiday, after all, and even though it was just your first day of the 3-week holiday here in Dubai, you were planning on making it the best holiday yet.

You and Lando had been together for a little over 5 months now, the two of you bumping into each other at last year’s Christmas Market in London. You spilled your bottle of water over your shirt, and he was determined to win you a teddy bear so he could make it up to you.

After that Christmas Market, you went on a ton of dates. In London, but also in Monaco, as that was where he lived. You attended 3 races before he finally asked you to be his last summer, and obviously you said yes, otherwise this story is kind of weird, isn’t it?

Anyways, you knew who he was when you met him, having watched a few races here and there, along with your friends.

The moment you told your friends Lando had asked you out on a date, they couldn’t contain their excitement and practically forced you to go out with him. So, you did. And here we are, almost a year later.

‘’Two Frozen Strawberry Daiquiri, please.’’ Ava ordered the drinks for the two of you and once you felt the cold glass in your hand, you immediately took a sip.

‘’Urgh,’’ you groaned, your eyes closed. ‘’Best drink ever.’’ You giggled.

‘’Lando! Oh my god watch out!’’ Your grip on his life jacket was tight as he was riding the jet ski with you on the back. ‘’You idiot!’’ You laughed, hands gripping his shoulders firmly when you felt him go even faster – if that was even possible.

‘’You’re riding a jet ski with an F1 driver, love. Did you really think I was gonna go slow?’’ You groaned at his reply, and you simply held onto him like you could fall off any moment, which was probably the case.

Everything sport related was a game to him, and he was very, very competitive. He hated losing, which is why he tried his hardest to make you his, with success.

‘’Okay, okay, enough speed for me, let’s go back to the shore and have dinner, I’m starving.’’ You breathe, Lando’s hand moving over your leg slowly. He lifted his hand till it rested on your outer thigh, whilst still steering the jet ski with one hand. Slower, though, thankfully.

‘’We will, love, we will.’’ He said, but you could hear the amusement in his voice, his tone, teasingly with a smirk.

‘’Lan-…’’ You couldn’t even finish your sentence before your boyfriend pulled the right handle towards him, the two of you flying over the water. He made sure to keep an eye on you, but he knew you enjoyed this, and he wasn’t wrong.

You might tell him to stop going fast, heck, even in the bedroom you’d tell him to stop, but it was always with that flirty and teasing tone. He knew that tone, and he knew it meant you did not want him to, in fact, stop. So, he kept going.

‘’I should have thought better before signing that contract about us.’’

You were fully drenched, Lando obviously pushing the strings too hard which caused you to fall off the jet ski. Nothing harsh, it was all playful, and the two of you were laughing when it happened.

‘’You’re an idiot.’’ You smirked, rolling your eyes playfully as you squeezed the salty water out of your hair.

‘’I know, but you like it.’’ He teased, slapping your ass lightly as his hand moved its way towards your hip, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. ‘’I love you.’’

Dinner, which was absolutely insane – mostly because you were starving, but definitely because it was one of the best restaurants here in Dubai.

‘’Ehm..’’ Ava shoved you her phone, and you immediately let your eyes wander over the tweets, the Instagram posts, and the articles.

Lando saw the worried look on your face, so he cut off the conversation with his friends and pointed his attention to you, causing his friends to do the same.

‘’What’s wrong, love?’’ He asked, his thumb drawing small circles on your knee as his gaze went from you to the phone, back to you.

You showed him the articles, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. You could see his jaw clench, the apple in his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. ‘’They really need to make rumours about everything, don’t they?’’ He sighed and pressed a kiss to your temple.

‘’Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll fix it, we’ll post a statement on Insta, alright?’’ He said, his arms wrapping around you which caused you to relax.

You felt guilty, because you were aware of the eyes that were on him now that his contract with McLaren was coming to an end. You knew his contract was getting renewed, but the world didn’t, and you didn’t want to cause issues.

People blaming McLaren for not renewing his contract, and how this. People blaming McLaren for forcing Lando to be in a relationship with you, a PR relationship, which was the furthest from the truth. You loved each other so much, and McLaren had absolutely nothing to do with the two of you.

‘’Come here.’’ Lando’s arms made his way around your shoulders, his strong arms pulling you even closer to his chest. The bed was comfy, soft, but the tension in your face was apparent, especially to Lando.

‘’I just, I feel so stupid for saying that.’’ You sighed but Lando reassured you immediately.

‘’Babe, it’s not the first time we say this, it’s our joke, and people don’t get it, apparently. You know how the media is, they exaggerate everything to get those views and clicks, so they probably overheard you saying that, but did not see the look on your face, or your beautiful smile when you said that.’’ His voice was soft and calm, like he was not stressed at all about this.

‘’But the image McLa-..’’

‘’No, baby, no. That’s not your fault, okay? They should have probably announced the contract extension sooner, yeah, but that has absolutely nothing to do with whatever you said at the beach, okay?’’ He said, stern, but gentle. And you believed him. Of course you did, you believed everything he would tell you because you knew he was right.

‘’Now let’s make that post so people will stop complaining about things that are the furthest from the truth. That, and so I can take you tonight because I really, really want to.’’ He whispered the last thing with a voice so deep, you felt chills all over your body.

landonorris added to his story

landonorris & yourusername

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 1,273,710 others

I love you more than anyone imagine. Nothing can stop us, I promise you. Best decision I've ever made 🧡

view all 39,264 comments

user1 I feel ashamed

user5 as you should user3 we all should. how could we think it was just a PR. they are in love in love.

user2 You are so so so cute together!

‘’Lando, fuck, stop!’’ You breathe, hands pushing against his chest as he looked into your eyes, his bright ones a few shades darker than usually. He smirked, wetted his lips before thrusting even harder… Just how you asked.

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zeawesomebirdie · 11 months ago

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Superbat Fake Dating + Identity Porn Rec List

Thanks to @jourquet for asking for this!! I hope you find something here to read!! (And paging @steine-druff as promised!)

These are in no particular order, but generally organised by trope. I tend to read longfic as a general rule, so these recs will reflect that :) the titles contain links to each fic.

Fake Dating

1. A Common Misconception by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 91,114 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

When Bruce Wayne comes out, he accidentally becomes the poster child of bisexuality and realizes his lifestyle of sleeping around needs to come to an end. Clark, being the supportive friend that he is, volunteers to pretend to date him for a year.

You know the rest.

This fic has everything that one could want in fake dating: idiots in love, mutual pining, one bed, fake vacations, miscommunication. It also really captures the superbat dynamic of trusting and yes and-ing each other, even when they probably didn't need to be!

(And if you like this fic, any of rotasha's other works are just as good! I've got a few more of them in this list too)

2. over this threshold by orphean; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 59,283 words; 7 chapters; complete

Summary:

'I don't understand how tax evasion relates to you going on a date with, do I need to remind you, Bruce Wayne.'

Clark bit his tongue.

'We're going to get married. It's a tax break, not tax evasion.'

'Are you kidding me.' Lois stared. 'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'

———

Bruce asks Clark to marry him for tax reasons. Clark, against his better judgment, agrees.

Exactly what it says on the tin. Some highlights include Bruce buying Clark ridiculously expensive suits, Clark taking forever to tell his mom what's going on, and of course the wedding itself which was just delightful, with speeches from Lois, Alfred, and Dick that had me crying.

3. A Rich Man's Game by malicegreres; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 63,942 words; 13 chapters; complete

Summary:

The editorial staff of the Daily Planet, currently owned by Bruce Wayne, is trying to organize a labor union. Clark can't explain to his coworkers why he can't participate without jeopardizing the campaign—or tell Batman why he's been so cagey around him lately. When Bruce finds out what's been going on, Clark recruits him to resolve his conflict of interest in the only way Clark can think of: by pretending to date him.

This fic is truly glorius. Of all the ways Clark could have solved this problem, he chose the most convoluted. And surprise surprise, it works!

4. mission parameters by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 33,394 words; 6 chapters; complete

Summary:

"Bruce." Clark turns towards him, leaning back against a bank of consoles. "We're not actually going undercover. We don't need an elaborate backstory– if anything, it'll be harder to keep straight. It doesn't have to be complicated." He spreads his hands. "Here's a story: we're members of the same elite fighting force. After years of saving each other's lives in the field, we fell in love. That's it."

Bruce swallows past the almost-truth of it. In Clark's warm smooth radio voice, it sounds plausible. It sounds like something that could happen.

—

Bruce and Clark pretend to be married for diplomatic reasons. When they return to Earth, things are a little different.

Of all the things that normally Bruce says, Clark is the one to insist on a simple coverstory. And of course, from such simple things spirals out a whole entire adventure that doesn't stop just because the mission is over! This fic features a domesticity that neither of them knew they needed until they had it

5. tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter [@susiecarter on tumblr]; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 33,007 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

*slapping this fic like that one meme with the car* this fic can fit so much miscommunication into it, it's truly delightful to read!! Also, yet another fic where Clark fails to mention what's going on to his mother. And of course the constant worrying about each other without actually expressing it, which is truly such a golden trope when it comes to these two!

I'm adding a cut here because this is already very long and we are still only just starting, so click the read more to see the rest ^.^

6. there ain't no star that shines by amosangius [@amosanguis on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 11,713 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

“I'm not the same person I was back in high school,” Clark says, “and I doubt they all are, either. What would be the point?”

“Oh, Clark,” Bruce is suddenly holding Clark's face with both of his hands, “the point is that I'm going to land us in a helicopter somewhere for all your classmates to see.”

Clark sighs and closes his eyes.

“Say 'yes', Clark,” Bruce orders.

Clark doesn't open his eyes, just says, “Yes, Clark.”

If you thought Bruce buying Clark expensive suits just for their fake dates was excessive, you ain't seen nothing yet!! This fic also features casual bed sharing (and so many references to casual intimacy oh my goodness it's lovely), Bruce Wayne being Rich As Fuck, and Bruce casually being overprotective of Clark in social situations

7. my heart is an open wound by yukla [@yuebings on tumblr]; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 13,367 words; 1 chapter; complete

“—I’ll see you kneel again,” Luthor is hissing, eyes hungry, and Clark is swaying back in discomfort—and as Lois checks their surroundings again, she notices that Wayne is still standing across the room, staring uselessly, as though he believes the sheer force of his murderous gaze would be enough to laser-blast Luthor into oblivion.

Jesus Christ, Lois thinks. I have to do everything around here.

5 times a Daily Planet employee protects Clark Kent, and 1 time Clark Kent protects the Daily Planet.

Or: Clark's coworkers watch as he fake-dates his crush with limited success.

It is probably obvious by now that miscommunication and Bruce's emotions getting in the way of everything are two of my favourite things to read. All of Clark's coworkers are the best, and once again Clark is a self-sacrificing idiot (affectionate)

8. flash in the pan by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 15,951 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Here’s the thing. Clark does understand. Superman and Batman are fucking. Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are not. Clark can handle this. He keeps parts of his life separate all the time.

It’s possible, Clark thinks, as he glares at a lurid tabloid cover of Bruce’s latest scandalous yacht party in the grocery store checkout aisle, that he can’t handle this.

—

At the Wayne Foundation's annual holiday party, things come to a head.

Okay there is so much I want to say about this fic and yet there are no words that could possibly express just how incredible it is. Bruce coming up with the worst case scenario for literally everything? Check. Clark agreeing to fake date even though he's majorly head over heels and this will likely end in flames? Check. Ma Kent giving the best relationship advice ever? Check. Dick yelling at Bruce when he tries to self sabotage again? Check. Truly one of the best fucking-but-still-pining fics I've ever read!

9. Operation Sponsalia by Brenda [@brendaonao3 on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 13,610 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

"When did you first realize you were in love with me?"

Bruce coughs up his wine.

"I mean, in this...whatever this is," Clark clarifies, blushing to the roots of his hair. "I don't think you're really — I mean, I know this isn't —"

"It's alright." Bruce's voice is raspy, but steady. "I know what you mean."

Clark's glad one of them does.

Or: Bruce and Clark have to fake an engagement for ~reasons — featuring a metric ton of very romantic dates, enough floral arrangements to start a flower shop, SO MANY puns, and Clark finally getting to know the real Bruce. :D

Clark doesn't find out that Bruce said to the press that they had been dating long enough to be teasing enagagements until after it's already been said. Was there a better way to explain why Bruce just happened to help save the Kent family farm? Absolutely. And yet they follow through on it anyway, and I love it for them

10. Sham-pagne by ChrisLeon; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 8,248 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Superman is spotted visiting Wayne Manor, prompting speculation about how exactly he knows Bruce Wayne. To protect their secret identities, they need a plausible explanation and it seems easy enough to go along with the tabloid theory that they’re sleeping together. All they have to do is pretend to be in a relationship until the speculation dies down and then they can break up move on.

Or: Superman fake-dates Bruce Wayne, we all know how this ends.

This one was fascinating to me because instead of Clark and Bruce dating, it's Superman and Bruce dating, and let me just say I'm so incredibly hinged about it!! I think there is so much potential in that particular version of their dynamic, and this fic was such a beautiful exploration of it!

11. Speaking in Code by Mithen; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 7,459 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Clark and Bruce must go undercover at a newlywed resort to try and stop an assassination attempt. Hijinks, UST, and reluctant making out ensue.

First of all, Mithen is a superbat master. Pick any fic of theirs and it will be delightful. Second of all, I could write an entire essay about how much I adore the way they go from irritable about this mission to incredibly enthuasiastic over the course of their two days at the resort, but then we'd be here all day so: if you like banter, one bed, and a case fic this is a brilliant read

12. Kind Truths by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated G; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 6,478 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs help with an undercover mission. Clark can never say no to him even though he probably should before he does something stupid. Like tell Bruce he's in love with him.

“Why me?” Clark can’t help but ask. He tries his very best to keep his voice level, to not sound as desperate as he feels.

“Because I need someone there to watch my back,” Bruce says, a little exasperated. He really shouldn’t have to explain this to Clark of all people, it’s not like they haven’t been on missions together before.

“I get that, but what about Diana? Shayera?” Anyone who doesn’t have a big fat crush on Bruce would do.

Is it obvious I have a thing for Clark agreeing to fake dating despite his big crush on Bruce? This fic is glorious, and features delights such as Bruce metaphorically putting his foot in his mouth, Clark wanting nothing more than to defend Bruce's honor, and one of the most beautiful confession scenes I've ever had the pleasure of reading

13. where i come from by soetry [@soetrys on tumblr]; E; no archive warnings apply; 52,494 words; 11 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce doesn’t have a soulmark, and Clark doesn’t have a soulmark, on an Earth where everyone has a soulmark. Somewhere in there is a simple solution. Somewhere to that solution is an overcomplicated journey. Surely two of the world’s leading superheroes will not take the overcomplicated route?

Surely not?

This one is a little bit of both. The identity porn in this was really well done - Dick is a massive Superman fan, Bruce is unimpressed with both Superman and Clark Kent, and it all goes downhill from there (affectionate). Highlights also include Bruce using a dubiously legal site to crossreference soulmarks, him getting the Superman crest tattooed on his wrist using Kyrptonian tech, and Clark being a self-sacrificing idiot. This is also one of the best soulmate AUs I've ever read!!

Identity Porn

1. Get Over It by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 32,378 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

Of all the identity porn I've read, this is one of the best! Bruce dating Clark to get over Superman is one of the best things ever and this fic really does a good job of their dynamic!

2. Lost Time Without You by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 68,792 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

In a universe where your soulmate’s injuries show up on your skin, Bruce is convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate, and Clark is seriously concerned for his soulmate’s well-being.

This was my introduction to soulmate!AUs and oh my goodness it was spectacular! The build up to the reveal of their identities was brilliantly done, and the chance encounters that pepper through the lead up to that point were captivating. This fic also features Bruce being a good parent and I really love that for him

3. the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 95,533 words; 10 chapters; complete

Summary:

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are all tired of watching Bruce struggle with the stress of trying to handle the newly formed Justice League. He needs an outlet, he needs to relax, he needs to get out of the house, he needs... he needs to start dating. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think I am, but I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Bruce, right?” the guy says, albeit less confidently this time. He looks slightly concerned and if Bruce is not mistaken… a tad embarrassed. “Bruce Wayne? You look just like your pictures.”

“My pictures?” Something finally clicks in Bruce’s mind, and he takes a small step back and plasters a smile on his face as to not rouse suspicion. Stalker. “Ah, of course, I’m sorry but I’m late for an appointment.”

This fic features the batkids catfishing Clark on Bruce's behalf, Bruce being a good parent, and the utter chaos of miscommunication that can only come from these two being idiots! It was a delightful read, and of course the batfam in action is always a joy!

4. ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 62,737 words; 12/13 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better.

Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

Oh my goodness okay. Where to start with this fic. First of all, Clark writing Batman/Bruce Wayne fanfiction is such a brilliant concept. Then add to that the fact that Clark is secretly crushing on Batman at the same time, and the entire comedy of a trainwreck is a delight to witness!

5. I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 12,920 words; 3 chapters; complete

It was like living in the Twilight Zone. Everyone else believed fervently in Bruce Wayne’s reputation. He was a flirty, stupid, and entitled drunk whose only redeeming quality was his bleeding heart. And yet every time Clark spoke with Wayne, the man was clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive.

And no one believed Clark. Not Lois, not his parents, not even Batman.

Clark insisting upon defending Bruce to everyone much to everyone's dismay is one of my favourite superbat tropes ever, and this fic really does it well! And of course, this fic also features Batman shit talking Bruce, which is always a joy to see!

6. Don't Quote Me by metropolisjournal [@metropolisjournal on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 77,131 words; 20/21 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

Bruce Wayne has weathered scandal before, and Wayne Enterprises can handle another publicity crisis. What Bruce can’t handle is one crashing up against his plans to infiltrate Lex’s estate. Set during Batman v. Superman.

This was the fix-it for Batman vs Superman that I didn't know I needed until I read it. The identity reveal was so incredibly well written, and the whole fic was stupendous from the very first chapter!

And that's all for now! I hope you find something in here to read, may you enjoy!!

#superbat #rec list #thanks for your patience too!!#this was fun to put together!!

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 6 months ago

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Best Unremembered

Love Bites, Chapter 1 // Love Bites {Masterlist}

Ship: Astarion Ancunin x fem!vampire spawn!elf!Tav/reader

Summary: Waking up with a spotty memory and the only person you do remember is jarring enough—but it only gets worse when the people who remember you are monsters and strangers.

Word Count: 3,095 words

Warnings: exposition chapter, vampire spawn, Astarion lies, amnesia for the reader

Note: This is the first chapter of a nine chapter fic! It will be updated weekly. Check the posting schedule on my {Updates Page} and enjoy the fic! Please be warned it does contain some heavy themes related to Astarion's trauma.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Rough hands grabbed you from the comforting darkness surrounding you, ripping you violently from deep sleep. As your eyes fluttered open, you became aware of a constant, throbbing ache throughout your body. You were quite certain, without apparent reason, that your rest had not been all that restful.

He was nothing but a shadowed figure above you, his white hair a glowing halo around his head, outlined by the sun, as he shook you awake. He hovered above you and you couldn’t see his face, but you could tell he was afraid—he gripped your shoulders with a tightness that suggested he was afraid you’d disintegrate if he let you go. In fact, the fear radiated so strongly from him you were certain you could smell it.

Your name. He was saying it, calling to you, begging you to wake up. The moment he realized your eyes had cracked open, he relaxed, his head dropping to your chest and a sob of relief escaping him. Without thinking about it, you put your hand in his hair; the move felt natural and practiced, like you’d been doing it all your life.

But who the hell was this man and why was he crying on your chest?

“What—” You coughed; your lungs felt heavy and full of…something. Your voice was rough as you asked, “What happened?” The words had barely gotten out when you started to wheeze. Suddenly very certain you were going to throw up, you sat up quickly, throwing him off and rolling onto your side. At first you dry-heaved, aware of his hand on your back.

“Let it out,” he told you, patting your back. “Trust me, you’ll feel better once you do.”

His words were magic. Perhaps it was simply how familiar he suddenly was or how silky smooth that voice was, but your body listened to him. You hacked up everything: slime and black dirt and congealed blood. He held you as you heaved. When you finally stopped coughing, you leaned back into his chest.

“Astarion,” you breathed, his name and his person once again firmly in your mind. You knew him, you trusted him, and by gods, you loved him.

“I’m right here,” he soothed. “Oh, darling.” He leaned his head into your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not sure,” you panted. “Gods, what happened to me? Where the hells are we?”

You looked around, taking in the dirt path the two of you were sitting on, tall plants and trees casting some shadows across the path. You sat in the blaring sun, both of you dusty. And you recognized absolutely none of it.

“I wish I knew,” Astarion said. “We were on that ship—”

You practically choked. You turned in his lap to stare at him. “A ship?”

Astarion brushed your hair out of your face, nodding as he did, and you got your first good look at him. His silver hair was covered in a fine layer of dust and he squinted his crimson eyes to stare at you. He was paler than the Astarion you remembered, the skin around his eyes darker than they were on the face that had smiled at you in your childhood.

Your eyes dipped to his neck out of wary instinct. You saw the twin puncture wounds and your memory seemed to play catch-up. Your Astarion, your elf—now a vampire. You reached out one hand to touch his scars and he flinched. Unfazed, you brought your hand to your own neck and found with your fingers the same marks on your neck.

“You don’t remember very much, do you?” he said.

“I… I don’t know.” Your chest seemed very tight. “Astarion, I don’t know what I don’t remember, everything’s all…all jumbled!”

Astarion seemed to catch on to your panicking before even you did. “Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me. It’s alright. We’ll figure it out together. What’s the last thing you remember?”

You wracked your brain. “Well…I remember drinking together last night. I remember you taking me to bed. And then…nothing. Just waking up right here, right now.”

He looked disappointed. “Is that all you remember of me?”

“What? Oh, no! That’s just the last thing I remember. We…we grew up together, didn’t we? We’ve been together since we were little.”

Relief crossed his face. It was a strange sight; some of it seemed genuine, and some of it seemed very forced. You chalked it up to your spotty memory as he hugged you tightly to his chest. You wrapped your arms around him as one of his arms curled around your waist, melting into his hold. Despite the building panic in your chest over the gaps in your memory, you felt yourself relax the longer he held you.

“Oh, thank gods,” he breathed. “I’d hate to have to start from scratch again. It would be a little bit difficult to catch up on two hundred some-odd years, eh?”

You cuddled into him. “Astarion?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How are we in the sun?”

He froze. After a moment, he pulled away from you and cupped your face. “Darling?”

You touched the marks on your neck again. “We’re vampires, aren’t we?” He nodded, biting his lip a bit guiltily; the sight of his fangs led you to run your tongue across your own, confirming your suspicion. “So how the hell are we in the sun? How is this possible?”

He hesitated, a frown forming on his beautiful face. “Well, I—I don’t know, but I suppose it has something to do with what happened on the ship.”

You sighed. “I don’t remember a ship, Astarion, what the hells are you talking about?”

Astarion pulled you to your feet. “We should find you some water—it might help you remember what happened—”

You stopped, not letting him drag you down the dirt path. “Astarion, please!” He froze, glancing back at you. It took only a few seconds before your lower lip started to wobble and for tears to start to spill over. He immediately pulled you into his arms. “I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember being turned into a vampire, I don’t remember what we’ve been doing for two hundred fucking years, my body aches and I have no clue why, and I certainly don’t remember a ship, so please, for the love of every god I couldn’t possibly name, tell me what happened last night and tell me why I don’t remember anything.”

He kissed the crown of your head, pulling you in and keeping you close to his chest. “Oh, darling. We went out last night. We were drinking. We were…” He huffed out an embarrassed laugh. “We were very drunk, love. I suppose that’s why we…went out again last night. After we…made love. Gods, if we had just stayed in…”

You looked up and searched his face; regret had overwhelmed his features and his eyes had filled with tears. “Asty?” The nickname came naturally and seemed to bring him out of his memories and back to you.

“They stole us from the street,” he said thickly. “We’d gone out for a…a walk. Like we always do, in the last few hours of night. And then those—those Mind Flayers took us and put parasites in our eyes. I…I don’t know what they do, but it can’t be good.”

“Can’t it?” you asked. “We can walk in the sun again. Isn’t that good?”

“Well, yes, but we know nothing else about it,” he said, biting his lip. “I don’t trust it.”

Some part of you wanted to argue, but you could sense his agitation and dropped it. “So what happened to the ship? How’d we get to the dirt?”

“It crashed,” he said simply. “Someone—or something—must have found a way to force us to crash land. We were thrown a ways away, and then I dragged you out of the rubble to try and wake you.” Astarion cupped your face in his hands and pressed your foreheads together. “Gods, I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You held his wrists and kissed the tips of his fingers. “There are others, then? Other people from the ship?”

“If any of them survived, yes.”

“We should find them,” you said firmly. “Maybe they can help us figure out if these…parasites, or whatever they are, are good or bad.”

“You want to find other people? As vampires walking around in the full light of day?”

You considered his fear for a moment, then tugged his collar up to hide the punctures better. You did the same for yourself. “If we’re careful, no one will suspect us. If we don’t tell them we’re vampires, how will they know? We’re out and about in the sun. Perhaps we’re just really, really pale elves.” You rubbed your neck cautiously. The wound, though closed, was tender. “I can’t believe I don’t remember being turned. That’s the sort of thing someone would remember, right?”

Astarion shrugged. “Those Mind Flayers may have messed with your mind. They certainly poked around in my head too much for my liking.”

You rubbed your arms and leaned into his chest again. He hummed softly and wrapped you in a cool embrace. “Even if I don’t remember much, I’m glad you’re here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He kissed your cheek. “I’m glad—” He frowned. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“Shouting.”

The two of you listened, bodies pressed close together, until the sound came again: a man’s voice, shouting for help. You spared a quick glance at Astarion and chose to ignore the apprehension on his face before dragging him in the direction of the shouting.

Just over the crest of a steep hill, you found yourself staring straight into a hole in the stone mountainside, glowing and pulsing with a deep purple magic—and a hand sticking out of it.

“Hello? Hello! A little help here!”

You and Astarion exchanged a glance. He shrugged. You rolled your eyes and took the man’s hand. You grit your teeth as you tugged. It was only when you slid toward the portal that Astarion grabbed on, too, and yanked you back—and the man out with you.

He dusted off his deep purple robes and stood up straight, smiling at you and Astarion. His smile wavered when he realized the two of you were little more than distressed vagabonds. But he brought it back up to his face and waved. “Hello! I’m Gale of Waterdeep. Who might you be?”

You blinked at him, then gave your name and stated that you were a barkeep in Baldur’s Gate, pleased that you had remembered even something about yourself, and introduced Astarion as your partner and husband. You noted how pleased he looked and wondered if you were exaggerating the truth a little bit—after all, Astarion claimed you had spent over two hundred years together, but you didn’t remember a wedding.

“Pleased to meet you!” Gale said, cheery. “Now how did you two come to be, well, here?”

You glanced at Astarion. “I, um, don’t remember much, but it’s got something to do with Mind Flayers and parasites.”

~❊~

In all your adventuring, with all your gaps in your memory, you hadn’t felt such an innate fear until the moment you stepped into the Szarr Palace. The feeling worsened as you followed Astarion deeper into its walls, feeling very certain you’d done this before, despite Astarion’s promise that he had kept you as far away from your vampiric master as he could, taking the brunt of Cazador’s rage. Such was why your back did not bear the same scars as your lover’s, scars you had painstakingly translated and attempted to soothe with balms and creams.

As for Astarion, he was faring no better. In fact, he was much worse than you, his fingers trembling viciously and his eyes darting from shadow to shadow as if he expected Cazador himself to leap out of them. For all you knew, perhaps he would.

The sickness in your stomach reached its peak as soon as you saw the cages. They bore other spawn and you knew that you and your lover had once been behind those bars, hard as it was to picture. Seeing the filth and hatred and despair that hung like a cloud over the spawn, accompanied by the thick smell of decay and rot, you were suddenly glad the Mind Flayers had decided to relieve you of much of your memory. You knew they had not been so kind to your lover; Astarion woke often from nightmares of this place and everything Cazador had done to him—putrid blood, physical torture, claustrophobic stone walls. The very same thing Astarion had protected you from.

“Astarion, what is this?” you whispered, moving closer to his side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Cazador hid this from me. And the others. I never saw this while I was his…”

“He didn’t do this to us, then?”

Astarion shook his head. “No. They…must be part of his ritual. But how did they get here?”

As soon as the spawn saw you and your little group, the shrieking started, so at odds with their blank, hollow faces. In amongst the screams of fear, of anticipation, of sick and twisted delight, you heard your own name and Astarion’s passed around. Spawn pressed themselves against the bars to get a closer look. One in particular, clad in a destroyed red frock, his dirty face half-hidden by matted, dirty grey hair, seemed to recognize Astarion. He pushed to the front and you caught sight of a rune carved into him—matching some of the ones on Astarion’s back.

“You. I know you.”

You glanced at Astarion. He was staring at the spawn with a mixture of disgust and confusion.

“You’re the one from the tavern. You smiled and joked and…got me drunk.”

Your stomach twisted. You looked between the two of them; Astarion’s confusion was melting away into horror, and the spawn stared at him with such bitter hatred that you knew he wasn’t wrong. He knew Astarion.

“You— No. You’re dead,” Astarion insisted. Guilt crossed his face. A weight like lead sunk from your chest to your stomach. Astarion had talked, in fits and starts, about what Cazador had made him do, explaining why you remembered so few nights spent with him. Was it possible this spawn was one of his many conquests? One of the victims Cazador had forced him to bring back?

Had Cazador really kept them alive for this long?

“You called me so many sweet things,” the spawn continued, his voice broken. “My name sounded like a lyric on your tongue.”

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut. “Sebastian.” Gods above, it really was beautiful to hear him say it. And you, better than anyone, knew just how sweet Astarion could be.

“You remember me,” the spawn—Sebastian—whispered, amazed.

“You were handsome,” Astarion remembered. “Shy. You’d never been kissed.”

Sebastian was almost nodding. “You taught me how.” Your heart shattered in your chest. “And then you destroyed me.” The spawn screamed, lunging, his hand reaching through the bars to grab at Astarion. But he was just out of reach. In his despair, Sebastian fell to his knees.

“It can’t be,” Astarion whispered, his face falling. “He kept them. He kept them all. My conquests. He told us he was feeding on them, not that he was turning them!” His eyes scanned the locked up spawn. “I know so many of these faces. I don’t… Gods.”

“How long?” Sebastian demanded.

“What?” Astarion asked, startled.

“How long have I been down here?” Sebastian asked, getting back to his feet.

Astarion looked at his feet, then back up at him. “One hundred and seventy years,” he said, his voice heavy. You released a slow breath, feeling the weight of every one of those years harshly, even if you remembered very little of them. “You were one of my first.”

“My family,” Sebastian whimpered. “My friends… They’re gone. You took them from me. You took everything from me!”

“We can help them, can’t we?” you asked, looking at Astarion. His lower lip trembled. “Can’t we?”

“Help? Help? There’s no helping us while that monster lives,” Sebastian spat.

“That’s why we’re here—to destroy Cazador,” Astarion explained.

“You can’t. It’s not possible.” Sebastian’s eyes landed on you. “You tried it once. And look what came of it.”

Your skin crawled. “What? Astarion, what does he mean?”

Astarion wouldn’t meet your eyes.

Sebastian barked out a terrible laugh, roughened by years of intermittent screams and silence. “He hasn’t told you? Of course not. And you don’t remember. Most of us don’t. It’s like he breaks us, ruins us and our minds when he turns us, feeds on us.”

“Astarion!” Your voice was rising with alarm. “What the hells is he talking about?”

“We thought you might be the answer,” Sebastian whispered, his glowing red eyes fixed firmly on you now. “You were so strong. So brave. You faced him with a smile, even though you were crying. None of us were like that. We all screamed as we went to our graves. So we…hoped. It was a mistake to hope that you could change things.”

You took a step back, swallowing harshly. You were trembling. “Sebastian, please… We’ll free you from this nightmare. We just need to know where Cazador is so we can kill him.”

“Kill him?” he questioned, almost scoffing. “It’s not possible. You of all people should know that. You tried to run. And Cazador took you anyway. Because of him.”

His last growl was directed at Astarion.

Your heart dropped to your feet. Every gnawing feeling you’d ever had that Astarion wasn’t being completely honest with you rushed back, hitting you so heavily it was hard to believe you’d ever ignored your doubts. You kept your eyes glued to Sebastian, not sure you wanted to see your lover’s face. “Astarion. What is he talking about?”

Please. You had no idea who you were praying to, but you knew you were. Please, let me be wrong. Let Sebastian be wrong.

“Why do they know me, Astarion?” you asked. “Why do they remember me, when I don’t remember them?”

At last, you looked at him. His eyes were fixed on you, shining with tears, his guilt even more obvious than it had ever been. It felt as if your body was collapsing in on itself. A steady ringing built in your ears as he whispered your name, the first of his tears falling, and it was lost in Sebastian’s terrible, terrible laugh.

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Ancunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel@cheeslyy@ofmyth-andmagicart@neetheslayer@whispering-depths@freesidexjunkie@lightsinmycity@the0ldmann@gobbodoggo@oooof-ifellforyou@beeblisss@fangboner@aquaarietes@fiercest-eigengrau-skies@niqhtfell@call-me-nyxx@lueji-m@ceres-xiv@tricksy-trinity@graynstairs@rosa-rubus@ynisthatyou@thegoodwitchs-blog@catching-fire-in-the-wind

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teriri-sayes · 6 months ago

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Reactions to Crazier Bastard's Chapter 300 + Author's Note

Brief summary: Game tries to eliminate Cale. Tutorial boss saves Cale. System AI makes a deal with Cale.

==========

Cale entering the game world was confusing to his ancient powers who were unfamiliar with it. Cale and DA then discuss the possibility that the saint and GoC were related to the game world. But Cale made a mistake here. He should have kept his conversation with DA to himself and not spoken it aloud. 😂

Cale: I think there's a high possibility that they (GoC) are at the center of it. Game: Would you like to use the nickname "I think there's a high possibility that they are at the center of it"? Cale: Damn it. Game: Would you like to use the nickname "Damn it"? #%f@%fd Cale: Huh? Game: $#&*#%System^%error^%^#occurs$%$^ Cale: ???

The game then classified Cale as an unauthorized user and proceeded to eliminate him. Cale thought he was just going to be kicked out, but his meeting with an NPC made him realize that something dangerous might happen if he did not escape here.

The NPC was a demon dressed in aristocratic attire and described as a masculine, "decadent", and handsome man. In Korea, having a "decadent appearance" could mean several things:

Black theme - black hair, black clothes, dark atmosphere

Mature look - sensual or captivating eyes

Gloomy air or drowsy look - dark circles on eyes, uses goth or emo makeup

Some are described to be yandere or have mental health problems

This new NPC fit the black theme definition because he was the Count of Darkness, Lupe II. Cale thought Lupe II had come to attack him, so he tried to defend himself. But Cale and the APs were shocked when he couldn't use any of his powers!

Why? Because Cale was inside a game and was in the process of creating a new account. He still did not have a level or any skills. So he couldn't use any of his "outside" powers inside the game.

Fortunately, Count Lupe II was not an enemy. In fact, he was urgently trying to save Cale from the game which wanted to eliminate Cale. But something seemed to be hindering him from approaching Cale, so Cale had to run just to grab Lupe's hand. 🤣🤣🤣

Game: *tries to eliminate Cale* Cale: Ah, seriously! *runs to reach the demon's hand* Cale: (If I want to survive and not get destroyed, I have to catch that demon's hand!) DA: *scared* Hey, hey! Catch it! Cale, catch it! Shield AP: You should have exercised. Narrator: Cale somehow ran. Yes, his Kim Rok Soo self that contained all of his long years of life experience did. And he believed in the physical talent of Cale Henituse contained within him, in the power hidden within his muscles. Cale: *finally grabs the demon's hand*

Glutton priestess, what? 🤣🤣🤣 Why did you have to bring up Cale's lack of physical exercise? 😂😂😂 And the narration wasn't helping. 🤣🤣🤣 DA though. I noticed this in the past chapters... but wasn't he actually a coward who liked to bluff? DA was always portrayed as someone who loved to dominate people, but in the recent chapters (their encounter with the gods, and now this game), DA kept getting scared easily. 😂 A coward who liked to bluff? Wasn't that CJG? So was DA really CJG? 🤔

Back to the topic, the game's elimination mode was turning everything around them red and having alarms sounding off all the time. The red sky split, and a red hand with vein-like red tubes filled with black liquid descended, trying to grab Cale.

But Lupe II managed to escape with Cale from the red hand, teleporting to his dungeon, Hell of Darkness. It turned out that Lupe II was the tutorial NPC final boss. Befitting his Count of Darkness title, his room was full of dark/black furniture fit for a noble. And despite his dark theme, he was an emotional man who easily cried.

More surprises appeared. Lupe II was an NPC who was aware that he was an NPC and in a game. He knew about the hunters and the world outside the game. It all started when the game's System AI, the one in charge of managing NPCs and giving quests, began acting strange. This led to Lupe II becoming self-aware and gaining outside knowledge. And Lupe II was frustrated because no one knew about the System AI acting strange, even the game developers.

Lupe II was hostile to the hunters, so he almost cried in relief when Cale said he "hunted" hunters. And as if the System AI was watching them, a system window appeared in front of Cale, giving him 2 quests.

[Quest 1. Find the hero with Count Lupe and stop the terrifying @#%&^* god who is trying to destroy this world!] [Quest 2. Please find my 'oppa' with Count Lupe]

In the end, Cale figured out that there were two AI involved here. One was the AI that Ahn Roh Man (ARM) considered as his "hyung", the AI his parents secretly hid in the game and mentioned in previous chapters. The other was the System AI mentioned today, who called ARM's hyung as her oppa because she was an AI created after the first one.

Ooooh... Since Alberu was the "hero", then the System AI was making Cale the "hero's companion" together with Count Lupe. Would Cale meet Alberu soon in the game world? But what happened to her oppa? Did something happen to ARM's hyung?

Cale told the System AI that he would tell her information about her oppa. In exchange, he wanted her to create a user account for him without the knowledge of the hunters. Of course, this wouldn't be TCF if there wasn't comedy... 😂

System AI said she couldn't do that, but because there was a huge update patch coming soon to the game, she sneaked in Cale by making him a half-demon and giving him the account of a... Tutorial Hidden Final Boss NPC. 🤣🤣🤣

Meanwhile, Cale's second group arrived at Exion's place. It had been 6 hours since Cale fainted, according to Raon's timer. Ron was gently smiling while cleaning Cale's bloodstained clothes, and Eruhaben was staring at Cale as if he was a cute grandchild.

Ending Remarks

Why does this chapter feel like an info dump? But I never expected Cale to become an NPC, a hidden final boss at that. 😂 I'm excited to see Alberu's reaction when he meets NPC boss Cale. 🤣🤣🤣

Oh yeah, the author posted an Author's Note, celebrating the 300th chapter of Part 2:

Author's Note Greetings, this is Yoo Ryeo Han who doesn't know when Part 2 will end. To celebrate the 300th chapter of Part 2, I bring you this author's note. It seems like only yesterday that I left a note for chapter 200, but it's already chapter 300... Every time I leave a note like this, it feels new and I am grateful. Maybe I'll give my greetings at chapter 400 soon, right? Hahaha! Thank you always for being with us. I will continue to work hard to write this series so that it can be a small joy in everyday life. Thank you. -Yoo Ryeo Han

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family #tcf author's notes

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velaenaa · 2 months ago

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strawberry chocolate parfait \ nanami kento x reader (ch.1)

word count: 1.1k tags: slight slow burn, pining, romance, fluff, added as i go! setting: you are a worker at a bakery that nanami kento frequents ♡ authors note: hello ^_^ i hope you are doing wonderful! this is my first time writing for nanami. pls enjoy! chapter: 1/? <next>

Chapter 1 - Vanilla Cake

‘Does this guy need help….?’

‘He’s staring real hard at the bread…. Omg- is it ugly? Aw hell- I made that this morning…’

Your thoughts were cut off by the towering figure of a man, with two loaves of baguette in one hand and one container of cake, that happened to be your favorites, in the other. You smile up at him, “Will this be everything?” He gives a stiff nod, locking his eyes with yours, then you giggled; “Then.. I guess I'll bag-uette up for you..”

No? No reaction..Damn, tough crowd..

He thanks you and you bid him farewell and to come back soon. You could’ve sworn he almost smiled… maybe that was a look of irritation..?

After he leaves eyesight, You make haste by sitting down behind the counter, face flushed with embarrassment and agony. It made you cringe. Why would you say that? Your coworker giggled at you, making sure to add salt to the wound, “You tried.. That’s all it matters.” she gives you a head pat and continues, “He’s a regular here. He’s probably gonna come back in another couple of hours on his way home or something.”

“Then how come I’ve not seen him before?”

“Dunno.. He’s been away for a couple months now.”

“What’s his name?”

“You should ask when he comes back.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“Oh but asking some other random person, who doesn’t know him at all, by the way, isn’t weird?”

She has a point.

You looked down at your phone and idly texted your friend Nobara about your day and fashion related topics.

You met when Nobara came down to the bakery to get some pastries for her boyfriend. You hit it off right away due to shared interests, albeit you being 7 years older. Nobara enjoyed having an older sister with an affinity for style, love for shopping, and interest in all the cool girl stuff that Maki wouldn’t normally talk to her about.

Right now you two are discussing weekend plans. Nobara and her boyfriend Yuji, along with Megumi, and their teacher Gojo were going to a karaoke room cause it had been a while since Gojo had gone out with his students. He was stuck on oversea assignments for the past couple of weeks and he dearly misses them, or so he says. As always, you had been invited and of course you said yes!

You are very fond of the kids and Gojo. The 3 of them reminded you of your siblings back home, and well- Gojo is Gojo. Plus, if you had declined, Gojo would pester you non-stop.

After a mini rush, you sit down, tired, ready to bite down into your sandwich, when on queue, the door swings open, revealing the tall blonde man, taking his glasses off as his eyes pierce you again. You wave at him and he just nods. You get a bag ready as the man collects another slice of the same cake he had bought earlier. He also got another dessert, this time, a small vanilla custard tart w/ fruits on top, made by yours truly. He comes up to the counter, and you stiffen up in shyness, “Is this everything for you?”

The man looked tired, but he let out a soft, yet stern ‘yes.’

As you rang up his order you looked back up to him, your lips curling into a small grin, “How was work?” This caught them both off guard, “Oh- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to assume-” I mean.. Unless this guy enjoys walking around in a whole business suit for funsies.

He actually lets out a chuckle, “It’s okay. It was a busy day.”

You both stayed silent for a second before he asked in return, “How was your day, miss?” This made you feel warm and your smile only got bigger, “It was wonderful! I got to serve a lot of customers. They bought their kids in. It was so fun.”

‘And cause you came into the shop twice.’

“Ah sorry.. I’m trailing. I didn’t mean to ramble- you must be dying to get home.”

‘No, I could get used to listening to you.’ is what he wanted to say;

Instead he lets out a relieved sigh, “It’s alright. I’m glad you had a good day today.” This caused your cheeks to tint red. Dying from embarrassment because you just knew that your coworkers were listening in, she redirects the topic, and points at the cake, “Do you like those?” He nods again, “They’re the best I’ve ever had. Compliment the baker for me.” Oh your heart, you could hear it beating so hard from your chest.

You do a mental fist pump before clapping your hands with glee, “Oh I’m so glad you liked them!” You go around the counter and grab another slice just for him. You stared up at him in absolute awe, because behind the counter was elevated by at least a foot.

This man was tall, as hell.

He just looks down at you eyeing your move. You push the cake towards him even harder, “This one is on the house!” He tilts his head in question. You double down and nod your head, affirming the choice. He grabs hold of the cake with one hand, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

‘Ask for her name Nanami’ He repeats to himself in his head

“What is your name?” She beats him to the punch.

‘Have you lost your touch?’-- “Nanami”

“I really like your name. It’s beautiful! My name is Y/N.”

‘Y/N, huh.. What a nice name..’

You give him his bag as he recollects his thoughts, “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve got to get going. Work” You shoot him one last smile before waving him off, “Thank you for coming! It was nice to meet you! Don’t work too hard!”

An hour goes by and it's time for the bakery to close for the night. You turn the lights off as the ladies load up the delivery car with food that wasn’t sold for the day so they could give it to the local kitchens and homeless shelters. You bid your coworkers farewell before hopping into your car and collecting yourself, before driving home.

After you get home you jump into bed, eager to text Nobara.

[Txt] Y/N - “I met such a cute guy today!”

A second later there’s an audio msg from her of Gojo;

[Voice Recording] “Wahh?! Y/N I wasn’t there today!” in a whiny bit.

You laugh as Nobara actually sends a text;

[Txt] Nobara - “Tell me all about it when you come to karaoke… matter of fact, he should come!”

But you just met.. How are you going to pull that off… and will he even want to go is the better question… what if he thinks you’re weird … oh lord… so many overthinking possibilities.. Ok but what if he actually says yes?

[Txt] Y/N- “Are you sure?”

[Txt] Nobara - “Yeah! Gojo-sensei is paying anyway.”

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami fluff #kento x reader

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veronicaphoenix · 3 months ago

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zutto — chapter five | wc: 6.5k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

chapter summary: as night settles in and the rain pours on, Lia finally says the three magic words

tags and trigger warnings: fluff, fluff, more fluff, noah making jokes about cucumbers, noah being jealous of brad pitt, mentions of noah's nightmares and references to everything that's happened until now, specifically lia's drinking habits, sexual content including dry humping, oral sex (male rec.), swallowing, one mention of choking, mentions of birth control pills, and p in v (unprotected).

general trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

💫 @bluestdai precious fanart of noah and lia in this chapter

The storm was still pounding hard on the apartment windows by the time Noah came out of the shower.

In fact, it seemed to have gotten worse. Noah didn’t remember seeing on the news that such a downpour was going to hit, but at the same time, it’s not like he’d been paying much attention to the weather either when all he’d been focused on was Lia.

And Lia continued to be the center of his attention as he shamelessly walked out of the bathroom naked and into the bedroom.

He could hear her in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards as she decided what to make for dinner. They could have ordered something, but they’d already used that option several times since returning to Los Angeles. Besides, with the weather outside, it didn’t seem wise to bother the delivery people.

His eyes fell on Lia’s bra, still lying forgotten on the floor beside the bed. Smiling to himself, Noah picked it up and placed it on the dresser where he’d had Lia sitting a while before, as he kissed her and she squeezed her legs around it. He remembered how she had kissed him, her legs wrapped around him. After pampering and cleaning her in bed, Lia had put on one of his T-shirts, slipped back into her panties, and donned some socks. Noah had then gone to take a shower.

Nearby, he spotted the empty condom packet and tossed it into the small wastebasket in the corner. He dressed in a white T-shirt and joggers before crossing the hallway to the kitchen. As he approached, Lia looked up, her expression lighting up.

“Hi,” Noah said, leaning against the counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

Lia had trouble looking away, admiring how handsome he looked with his damp hair and fresh scent. She had pulled her hair into a messy bun, but her flushed cheeks and the mix of sweetness and mischief in her eyes reminded Noah of a little girl who had just been kissed by the boy he liked. Unable to resist, he leaned toward her, resting his forearms on the marble countertop. He lifted her chin with two fingers and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but left a lingering warmth. When Lia pulled away, the sensation of Noah’s lips and fingers remained with her. Noah watched as she licked her lips, contemplating whether to take her back to the room or let her eat something first.

“You don’t taste like rain anymore,” Lia said, interrupting his thoughts.

“Ah, no? What do I taste like?”

“Like Noah.”

His smile broadened.

He moved around the counter to stand beside her, trying to keep the lingering euphoria in check as he scanned her bare legs. Picking up a piece of carrot Lia had been chopping, he playfully asked, “And now? Carrot?”

Lia’s laughter filled the kitchen as he kissed her again. Her joy warmed his heart.

“Can you grab the cucumber from the fridge?” Lia requested.

“Sure thing,” Noah replied, retrieving the cucumber. “I didn’t realize it was that big when we bought it,” he teased, pretending to examine the vegetable closely.

Lia rolled her eyes with a chuckle, her cheeks warming as she took the cucumber from him.

“What are you making?” Noah asked, glancing at the pot of boiling water on the stove.

“Rice,” Lia replied. “I don’t want to upset my stomach. Is rice with chicken okay for dinner?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Are you having a stomachache?” Noah’s concern was evident in the way he narrowed his eyes at her.

“No, just being cautious.”

“Hm. And what’s that smell?” he inquired, scrunching his nose in curiosity as he looked back towards the stove.

“I added cumin seeds. They’re good for digestion.”

“Smells good.”

"Uh-huh.”

“I’m sure Davis’ used those before.”

“Likely. Could you hand me the nuts from the cupboard behind you?”

“Of course.” Before doing so, Noah leaned over and gave her a resounding kiss on the top of her head. Lia’s face flushed with a mix of surprise and delight as she began to cut into the cucumber. Although she was accostumed to his affection, she was aware that after that day, the line she had been so afraid to cross was now behind them. She would have to adjust to these new habits: Noah stroking her hair while she drew, her rubbing his leg under the table in public, sharing mischievous glances in crowded rooms, and exchanging kisses during mundane moments around the house.

A surge of happiness washed over her. As she continued with her task, she clung to that happiness, promising herself she would never let it go.

Together, they finished preparing dinner and ate with the rain and thunder as their backdrop. They chatted about the weather and other trivial matters. As expected, Lia brought up work and mentioned the trip to Japan. Noah steered the conversation away from becoming an argument by promising they would discuss it the next day, but not that night.

After dinner, Noah offered to do the dishes. Lia cleared the table and, once done, moved towards the bathroom for a quick visit before settling on the couch to watch a movie and fall asleep in Noah’s arms. However, as she took two steps out of the kitchen, she felt a tug on her shirt. Turning around, she saw that Noah had grabbed the stitching of her shirt and wasn’t letting go.

“What?” Lia asked.

Noah raised his eyebrows and said, “Give me a kiss.”

The intensity of his gaze had grown since they’d made love, and the fluttering butterflies in his stomach had quickened. Lia’s confusing faded, replaced by a warm smile that spread across her face, turning her uncertainty into joy.

“Okay,” she replied, stepping closer and tilting her head up to meet Noah’s lips. He placed a gentle hand on her waist while his other hand held a plate.

“Get used to this,” Noah told her after pulling away. “I’m not letting you go anywhere without a kiss first, got it?”

If Lia’s smile could have gotten any bigger, it would have.

“Understood.”

Seeing her cheeks flush, Noah continued, “Gotta make up for all the ones we’ve missed.”

Lia frowned in mock concern and replied in a low voice, “That’s going to be… a lot of them.”

“Then we’d better start making up for them,” he concluded, dropping the dish he’d been washing. With suds-covered hands, he pulled Lia’s cheeks towards him and kissed her again. Lia’s giggles vibrated against Noah’s lips, and he felt the water from his wet hand slide down her cheek.

When they broke apart, Noah reveled in the fact that he was the one who could make Lia, whom he’d known all his life, so flushed.

He pretended to focus on washing the dishes, saying to Lia, “I think you’ve got some suds on your face,” while gesturing to his own cheek. He let Lia turn away and lose herself in the hallway.

She was so consumed by love that after disappearing in the hallway she had to stop for a moment and steady herself against the wall.

When she emerged from the bathroom five minutes later, the aroma of popcorn filled the house. Lia found Noah sprawled on the couch, legs outstretched, feet resting on a cushion on the coffee table. The TV displayed the Netflix home screen.

“I’ve made popcorn,” Noah announced, pointing to the bowl next to him.

“I can see that,” Lia replied, walking over and taking a seat beside him.

She couldn’t recall the last time Noah had seemed so relaxed. Even during the days they’d spent in her apartment, sheltered from the outside world, the tension had been palpable in his behavior. Despite their attempts to relax with movies, books, and tending to Lia’s flowers, Noah’s posture always hinted at worry, his attention frequently elsewhere.

As Lia settled next to him, she didn’t realize that that night, their focus would shift away from the movie and onto something much more comforting than the concerns that had weighed on them recently.

“Do you have any preference?” Lia asked, referring to the movie.

Noah shook his head. “Anything, but don’t make it sad.”

Lia leered at him a conflicted half-smile. She reached for the remote on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch as she navigated through Netflix.

Behind her, Noah’s eyes fell on her hair. She still wore it in a bun, exposing her neck, but a few strands had come loose. As his eyes traced down her back, almost smiling at how oversized his T-shirt looked on her, Noah couldn’t help but reach out and gently stroke one of the loose strands of hair.

Lia took a deep breath, struggling not to melt under his touch. She feared becoming like a lovesick teenager, but she let Noah touch her hair. As she pretended to be engrossed in choosing a film, Noah’s fingers continued to graze the stray strands of her hair before moving to trace gentle lines down her back over the fabric of his T-shirt.

“Are you feeling better?” Noah’s voice cut through the hushed tranquility of the apartment, his concern soft but clear amidst the rain against the windows.

Lia nodded, turning her head slightly to meet his gaze when she felt his fingers stop the patterns they’ve been tracing at her back. “I have a slight headache, but I can barely feel it,” she said, her voice carrying a trace of weariness but also relief.

Noah’s brow furrowed as his fingers resumed their soothing trail along her back. “Aren’t you tired? The withdrawal episode was pretty rough. And after that, we were cooped up in the room for a while.”

Lia shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I might fall asleep ten minutes into the movie,” she admitted. “But I’m not sleepy—at least not yet—, which is strange.”

“We can go straight to bed if you need,” Noah suggested.

“No,” Lia replied, her hand reaching into the bowl of popcorn. “I feel like being here.” She popped a handful into her mouth, then glanced at him. “Should I bring something to drink?”

“No, stay here,” he said, his tone dismissive.

As Lia hit play and leaned back on the couch, the ambient light from the screen flickered softly around them, creating a warm glow. Noah wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her snugly against him. Lia curled up beside him, her legs folded beneath her, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder.

“You don’t think about drinking at all?” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper, a low murmur that seemed to blend with the gentle patter of rain.

Lia sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping slightly. Her eyes were fixed on the tv screen, where the familiar Tristar Pictures logo began to dissolve into the opening scenes. “I know it sounds hard to believe, but ever since I woke up in the hospital, every time I think about alcohol, I feel a wave of disgust. It’s not that I haven’t thoguht about dirnking—I have. I just wouldn’t do it now, but I’m worried. I’m scared that once all this calms down… I’m afraid this will be temporary. And if that needs come back along with the withdrawal symptoms…”

“Whether it’s temporary or not, we’ll deal with it together,” Noah reassured her. “No matter what.”

Lia lifted her chin and gave him a tender, grateful smile. “I know.”

Noah kissed her forehead before sinking deeper into the couch, adjusting his position to make her as comfortable as possible. “What movie did you choose?”

“Legends of the Fall.”

Noah raised an eyebrow in mock exasperation. “Brad Pitt again?”

“What do you mean, again? I can’t even remember the last time I saw a movie with Brad Pitt in it,” Lia retorted, a playful edge in her voice.

Noah made a grand, exaggerated gesture of annoyance, raising his eyes theatrically to the ceiling. Lia pulled away slightly and scowled at him, unable to supress a giggle.

“Are you jealous, is that it?”

“Me? Jealous of Brad Pitt? He’d probably enjoy that.”

Lia laughed, and Noah, seizing the opportunity, slid his arm down to her waist and attempted to tickle her. Lia squirmed and laughed louder, gasping as she tried to get his hands off of her. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

After that, they settled into a placid time, the movie playing softly as the rain outside continued to fall, its rhythmic drumming blending with the flicker of the screen and making Noah and Lia’s effortless intimacy even sweeter.

Lia felt the rise and fall of Noah’s chest beneath her cheek, her hand resting on his thigh. Noah felt content; lost in the serene bliss of having Lia so close. He’d spent months —years, possibly— longing and dreaming of moments like this. The sight of her next to him, the ease with which they fit together, the memories of being inside of her and seeing his love reflected in her eyes, was a treasure he knew he would never take for granted.

Contrary to her earlier predictions, Lia remained awake as the film progressed. Her gaze drifted from the screen to her hand resting on Noah’s thigh. A subtle movement of her fingers, a gentle caress against the fabric of his sweatpants, distracted her. She wasn’t sure if she was more absorbed in the finger-dance she herself started or in the knowledge that she had her hand very close to Noah’s crotch.

As her thoughts drifted, she remembered the pleasure Noah had given her in bed, how it had allowed her to focus solely on the rhythm of their bodies moving together. It had been a welcome distraction from the pain she’d felt before, when her body had longed for a pill that would have done nothing to help.

But their lovemaking hadn’t been a mere temporary fix. It had been an act that solidified what had always existed between them and promised to be repeated in the future.

So, Lia found herself completely disengaged from the movie. Her hands, almost at their own accord, crawled towards Noah’s crotch. The moment she rested her hand on top of it, she felt his cock twitch beneath her fingers.

Noah, who had been making an effort to keep his attention on the film and resist the temptation of Lia’s touch, was interrupted when she touched him there. He looked at her, her large brown eyes brimming with a magical allure that always made his heart flutter. When Lia’s fingers moved to encircle the rapidly growing bulge in his sweats, Noah abandoned the movie entirely.

He set the popcorn bowl aside and pulled Lia onto his lap, her legs straddling him as her hands grasped his cheeks to draw him closer. Their lips met in a desperate kiss, as if the calm of the room had been merely a prelude to the passion that would consume them not long after right there.

Their breaths quickened with each brush of their lips, the playful dance of their tongues, and the fervent grip of their hands on each other’s bodies. Lia arched her body against Noah’s, pressing her chest into his. Her fingers glided down the back of his neck before returning to his face. She yearned to touch him everywhere, to feel every inch of his skin. Despite Noah’s hands holding her—one on her waist and the other one cradling her head, pressing her against him—Lia showed no intention of letting go. She tightened her grip behind his head, using the press of her mouth against his to convey that she didn’t want to be even an inch away.

For a fleeting moment, as she heard a moan escape Noah’s lips, Lia opened her eyes. It was a brief second, but it was enough to send an electric thrill through her body. Seein Noah’s closed eyes and feeling his deep, passionate intentions toward her intensified her desire for him.

She relaxed in his arms, rubbing against him. A couple of hours earlier, she might have felt self-conscious about this, but now she was beyond caring.

She moved her hips against him, feeling Noah’s erection grow beneath her with each motion, warming her. Noah’s fingers fumbled with her hair stick, removing it and allowing her long hair to cascade freely. The scent of her shampoo enveloped his senses. Lia was all he could feel, smell, and breathe. He didn’t want it any other way. He caressed her hair, letting the strands slide through his fingers.

To his surprise, Lia pressed her body fully against him and grabbed his hair, tilting his head back and causing him to arch his neck. Without hesitation, Lia kissed her way down his jaw and chin until she reached his neck, where she nibbled on the red apple tattooed on his skin.

“Fuck, Lia.” His voice was restrained with pleasure. He melted beneath her, breathing softly in her ear, making a sound that seemed divinely orchestrated.

Lia continued to explore his neck, her lips trailing feather-light kisses. Her hands remained tangled in his hair while the other slid down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.

Althought Noah had drawn the curtains on the balcony doors, a small gap remained uncovered. If Lia had looked that side, she would have seen her reflection—straddling noah while he reclined on the sofa, his profile illuminated by the soft light of a lamp in the corner, next to a strelitzia that Lia had tended to for over a year.

The tattoo on Noah’s neck seemed to writhe over his flexing tendons, its spirals a warning against anyone daring to disturb its owner. Lia lingered on the snake’s head before slowly moving up his neck and jaw, leaving a trail of delicate kisses.

When Lia released his hair, she moved back up to his mouth, mesmerized by the rhythm of Noah’s breathing. He lifted his head slightly, one hand slipping inside her shirt to rest on her side before moving to her neck, drawing her face closer to his. Lia watched as he closed his eyes and moistened his lower lip with a quick lick. He brushed his lips against hers with incredible softness, breaking contact for a few seconds and creating a tantalizing anticipation. With a slight tilt of his head, he lingered just out of reach. Lia felt gloriously overwhelmed when their lips finally met again, in a kiss so tender and unbearably slow that she felt like she was drowning in it, savoring the salty taste of the popcorn he had been enjoying.

Gradually, Lia began to move against him with increasing fervor, driven by an energy she couldn’t quite pinpoint but knew she needed. She was desperate to feel Noah inside her again. While she was confident Noah would give her what she wanted, she didn’t want to rush. She was savoring the dance, and Noah was clearly enjoying it too.

As her hands slid down his chest, expressing her desire to touch him, she pulled at his shirt. Noah lifted his arms obligingly, allowing Lia to remove it. Her lips immediately claimed his once he was shirtless, and Lia’s body responded to his nudity with euphoric intensity. Noah could feel her nipples hardening as she rubbed against him like a cat in heat.

Driven by his most primal instincts, Noah grabbed a handful of Lia’s hair, kissing her with hunger. His cock throbbed in his pants, craving more attention than the heat of Lia’s groin. Noah’s fingers dug into her waist.

However, in the midst of that moment, a memory struck him—his nightmare from the previous night, where he had been holding Lia so tightly he’d hurt her. His heart lurched in his chest. As Lia’s hand slid down his stomach and she nibbled on his lip, he almost stopped her, fearing he might be hurting her, someway, somehow.

Before he could react, Lia detached her lips from his and, in less than three seconds, slid off the sofa to kneel between his legs, her hands working on the knot of his sweatpants. Noah stared, stunned for a moment, his breathing ragged. Then, as the scene unfolded before him, he realized it wasn’t a nightmare.

It was a fantasy coming to life.

When Lia looked up at him, almost seeking permission, Noah noticed her flushed cheeks and a hint of embarrassment. She tugged at his pants, nonetheless, and Noah lifted his hips to help her remove them alongside his boxers.

Noah, breathless and overwhelmed, felt a rush of heat as Lia took him into her mouth. A curse caught in his throat as he let his head fall back against the sofa, consumed by the sensation of her fingers wrapped around the base. Her teasing licks sent shivers through him before she settled into a steady rhythm. Noah’s hand instinctively moved to her hair, and he tugged gently, his moans escaping uncontrollably. Unable to look away, he watched Lia kneeling before him, each pulse within her mouth heightening his pleasure. Lia, absorbed in the salty taste and strength of him against her lips, found the reality of being with him this way better than she’d ever imagined, though a flutter of doubt lingered in her mind.

Noah gathered Lia’s hair in his hands, his fingers brushing through the strands that framed her face. Lia was so absorbed in the need to please him and the softness of his touch that she wasn’t sure if his murmured encouragments were real or a figment of her imagination. Her fantasies seemed to blend with the sensations of the moment.

Overcome by a moment of insecurity, Lia paused, drawing a deep breath as she looked at the flushed tip and the veins tracing his length. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Noah’s hands fell from her hair. Lia placed her hands on his knees and met his gaze.

“Lia? What’s wrong?” Noah asked. Had he tugged to hard at her hair? Pushed himself to deep? Overwhelmed her?

Before he could voice his worries, Lia spoke softly, almost embarrased, “I’ve never–I’ve never swallowed.”

If he was shocked by her confession, he didn’t show it.

“Lia, that’s okay. You don’t have to. It’s fine. You’re already—”

“But I want to,” she cut him off, her big brown eyes starting up at him with such adoration that his cock twitched on its own. The realization of her wanting him to release in her mouth had his heart racing.

“I just—I might have to—” she trailed off, unsure how to express what she meant. Noah understood immediately and shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he reassured her.

“Can you just—not hold my head when you come?”

“Of course. Whatever you want. But I swear I’d be happy with just—”

She didn’t give him time to finish. Her mouth was back on him, and Noah swallowed hard, trying futilely to grip the sofa. He knew he wouldn’t last long. He had imagined Lia sucking him off countless times, but he hadn’t expected it to happen tonight. He would have been happy just making her feel good, but it was clear now that in their relationship, they were both equally interested in providing each other with as much pleasure as possible.

Two minutes into it, Lia licked his frenulum with a teasing touch that Noah had never experienced before.

“Wha—Fuck. Lia—Fuck.” His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, making him buck his hips involuntarily.

She gagged slightly as she felt his warmth spreading along his length until it reached the tip. His release filled Lia’s mouth and the back of her throat. The new experience, the taste, was overwhelming, but she forced herself to stay calm. She slowly released Noah from her mouth and swallowed, ignoring his intense gaze, as if he were worried he might come again just by watching her. Lia stood up and hurried to the kitchen, where she poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one go. Noah’s eyes stayed on her the whole time, even though he was sprawled on the couch, completely satisfied.

Lia took a deep breath as she set down the glass of water and smiled.

“You okay?” Noah asked, amused, trying to recover his breath.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, catching her own breath. “Do you want some?” She lifted her now-empty glass.

“Yes, that’d be great.”

She refilled her glass and poured another one for him. When he took it from her hand, he gulped it down and set it on the coffee table. Lia stood in front of him, eyeing the last drips of him that had come out.

“Do you need anything else?”

“Yes,” he said. “You.”

He grabbed the back of her thighs and pulled her astride his lap, making her let out an adorable squeal. Before attacking her mouth, he grabbed the TV remote and switched off the movie that had been playing in the background.

“Fuck Brad Pitt,” he sentenced.

Lia’s mouth was hot, her lips slippery.

Lia’s clothes disappeared in no time—her socks, t-shirt, and panties scattered on the living room floor.

Noah’s lips traveled across her face, down her neck and chest, nibbling at her breasts and giving her nipples the attention they demanded. He was already hard again, and Lia would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a hint of pride in getting Noah so excited twice in less than five minutes.

Noah wrapped his arms around her and tried to move them so he could lay her down, but Lia pressed her hands on his shoulders and leaned her body weight against him, grounding him.

“I want to do it like this,” she said.

At this point, Noah was convinced he had been granted the greatest gift on earth. Lia wanted to ride him. There was no way he was going to deny her that.

“I’m all yours.”

He slid down a bit, reclining his head and body so that he was half lying down, half sitting, but comfortably. This position would also give him a great view of her as she moved on top of him. His hands never left Lia’s hips.

“Condom?” he asked.

Lia’s eyes shot up. She glanced over her shoulder as if trying to recall if she had any condoms left anywhere in the house. She muttered a soft curse. “That was the last one,” she acknowledged, a hint of worry in her voice. Noah’s thumbs stroked her thighs.

“You’re not on the pill, are you?” he asked.

Lia shook her head. With all the medication she had been taking, one good thing was that she didn’t add another. Condoms had always been sufficient.

“I’m clean,” Noah said, hesitation in his voice. “I’m not saying it because I…”

“I’m good, too.”

“Lia…” he said, a warning in his tone.

“I don’t mind, really. I’d love to feel you like this. As long as… you know, just…”

Noah nodded fervently, “I will.”

He fused his mouth with hers.

He had chosen her. Out of all the women—and men—at his feet, he had chosen her. A rockstar like him, with his bank account growing by the day, could have had anything, but he had chosen her. It had always been her.

“You’re going to spoil me, you know that?” Noah said.

“Maybe you deserve to be spoiled.”

She slowly sank onto him, her face contorting into an expression of blissful pleasure, mirroring Noah’s. She fit so well around him.

Just like that, she began a decadent dance on top of him, making the temperature in the room rise and their bodies start to glisten with a thin layer of sweat as they provided each other with pleasure not only through their bodies but also with the sounds escaping their mouths.

Occasionally, Noah would grab Lia by the hair and pull her closer to kiss her, unable to stay away from her even while inside her.

At one point, with their breathing calming, Lia rested her head on his shoulder. Her skin was flushed, and Noah’s kisses on her other shoulder and the caresses of his hands sliding up and down her back didn’t soothe her; they only heightened her arousal. Noah kissed her neck, lingering there longer than usual to leave a mark that would be visible for the next few days.

“Tired?” he asked after noticing her movements had slowed.

“Yeah,” she admitted, her breath heavy against his shoulder. “It’s been a long day.”

He gently lifted his hips, his hands guiding her as he took control. As he eased her down onto him, she let out a deep sigh, her eyes fluttering closed in response.

“I want to pleasure you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“What makes you think you’re not?” he countered, his tone light yet sincere. “You could be out in the garden, pulling weeds, and I’d still find pleasure just watching you. Don’t be silly, Lia.”

His words seemed to drift away as her focus narrowed to the intense feeling of him filling her completely. Drawing on her remaining energy, she braced herself by placing her hands on his chest. Her expression was a mix of determination and fatigue.

“As you wish,” Noah said with a resigned smile, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender.

He observed her intently, his gaze tracing the subtle signs of her fatigue. The once-lively spark in her eyes was now dulled, overshadowed by a weariness that clung to her features. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, and her shoulders drooped slightly, as if the weight of her exhaustion had become almost tangible. Her movements, once fluid and confident, had slowed to a laborious rhythm, each shift of her body marked by a visible strain. The effort was etched in the way her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together in a thin line. Noah’s concern deepened as he noticed the tremor in her hands and the slight unsteadiness in her posture, the kind that spoke of both physical and emotional fatigue.

“Lia, stop for a moment,” he said, his hands gently gripping her hips. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. It’s not necessary. Try just moving your hips and let the rest of your body relax. Can you do that?”

She nodded. Slowly, she began to shift her movements. With a deep breath, she eased herself up and then lowered her hips, her motions turning softer and controlled. Her body felt heavy, but she managed to find a rhythm, focusing on the subtle undulations of her hips rather than the whole of her being. Each descent was measured, the motion more fluid and less strained than before. She let her upper body remain still, leaning into his touch for support, while her hips did the work, creating a gentle, rolling rhythm against him. Her breathing steadied as she adjusted, her movements becoming a blend of exhaustion and desire, finding a delicate balance that allowed her to continue without overexertion.

Noah’s hands remained steady on her hips, guiding her with a supportive touch, and his gaze softened as he watched her, appreciating the effort she put into adjusting her dance.

“Feels good?”

“I feel full,” she replied.

Full of me, Noah thought.

She looked so beautiful on top of him, with her head thrown back, neck exposed, lips parted, and the little furrow between her brows that told him she was lost in pleasure. He felt an intense urge to wrap his hand around her neck and apply just enough pressure to elevate her pleasure to new heights, but he hesitated. Knowing her past made him wary of pushing her boundaries. Instead, he let his fingers trail gently down her chin, neck, and chest. Her long hair, cascading over her shoulders and down her back, framed her as she moved her hips in seductive circles.

He knew there wasn’t anything in this world he wouldn’t do for her—his girl.

They loved being in each other’s arms. It didn’t feel unfamiliar. It was comfortable and nice. If Lia had felt any shyness or inhibition about being naked and on top of him, it was gone. With the press of her palms on his chest, she helped herself move up and down on Noah’s cock, much to his pleasure. It was one thing to be inside of her, and another to see her use him to pleasure herself. She looked like a goddess on top of him, stunningly beautiful with her hair flowing freely. When she threw her head back one more time with a long moan, her lips red from his kisses, he grunted and his hips lifted uncontrollably, earning a follow-up cry of pleasure from Lia.

She tightened around him in a way that nearly left him breathless. His brows furrowed, his body tensing.

“What did you…? How did you do that? Fuck,” he managed, his voice thick with surprise.

She did it again and smiled wickedly at his expression.

“Are you trying to kill me? Is that what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and challenge. Then he pounded into her hard, once, twice.

Lia smiled widely.

“What are you smiling at, huh?” Noah asked, one hand sliding up to flick her nipple with two fingers.

“Nothing,” she replied with a smirk.

“Nothing? You know exactly what you’re doing.”

He thrust all the way in again, making her breath catch in her throat. She gripped his shoulders, her body surrendering to the overwhelming sensation of him buried deep inside her.

“Noah…”

Both their orgasms were imminent.

A few more thrusts, their movements growing increasingly sloppy, and Lia announced she was about to come. The knowledge sent a jolt of excitement through Noah, his heart racing and his cock responding with fierce urgency. Lia clenched around him, rubbing her clit with the tips of three fingers, her moans building in intensity.

Just as her cries reached a fever pitch, a particularly heavy clap of thunder roared outside, its explosive sound nearly drowning out her primal scream, the thunderous crack coinciding perfectly with Lia’s climax. She exploded in a wave of ecstasy, her cries mingling with the storm’s fury, as if nature itself was echoing the intensity of her release.

Noah, driven by the electric energy of the moment, gripped her hips roughly and thrust into her with a raw, relentless rhythm. The thunder outside seemed to be in sync with his movements, each rumble intensifying his own impending orgasm. With a final, forceful thrust, he reached his peak, his body convulsing in a series of spasms as he pulled out of Lia, lifting her effortlesly from him. He unloaded himself onto his own stomach, a restrained wail escaping his lips, barely audible over the storm’s roar.

Breathing heavily, he drew her close, careful not to get her dirty with his come. Their movements were weary but the affection was still present. He kissed her, his touch tender despite the explosive moment they had shared. His hand moved to brush the hair from her face, revealing her post-orgasmic glow. She looked radiant—exhausted but deeply satisfied.

Outside, the storm continued to rage, its fury unrelenting. The heavy thunder that had marked their climaxes now became a distant rumble, a lingering reminder of the night’s dramatic and passionate intensity. Lia carefully turned around and reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, her movements slow. With a slight grimace of effort, she grabbed a few tissues and returned to him. She began to clean him. The soft rustle of the tissues and their quiet breaths filled the room, the rain and thunder background music.

As she worked, a hint of wistfulness crossed her face. “Do you remember...” Her expression was bittersweet, as if she was wrestling with her own emotions. Noah’s gaze shifted from her fingers, carefully wiping the last traces of his release with a crumpled tissue, to the way her lashes cast shadows over her eyes. “The night we had sex—drunk sex,” she clarified, avoiding his eyes. “It was also raining.”

Noah’s gaze softened as he took in the reminiscence.

“I remember,” he said, his voice low and reflective. He placed his hands on her hips and begand rawing circles with his thumbs, sensing how she relaxed under his touch. “Maybe the rain knew all along… It knew this was meant to be, you and me.”

“Then it had more clarity than I did,” she replied, a trace of frustration in her voice as she chided herself.

Determined not to let Lia’s demons intrude, he sat upright and lifted her, instructing her to lie down and relax. He placed her back on the sofa, picking another tissue to wipe her before he took the rest of tissues from her hands and walked to the kitchen to dispose of them.

When he returned, he found her lying on the couch, utterly spent. Her body was relaxed, one of her hands grazing her clavicle, her legs bent comfortably with her feet flat on the cushions. He sat down beside her, a satisfied smile gracing his features. With an almost reverent touch, he extended his arm and placed his hand on her stomach, starting to run his fingers up and down in an hypnotizing pattern. His expression changed, softening as he took in the sight of her, vulnerable and serene. The warmth shared, the scent of their coupling, and the gentle rain outside made the room feel like a safe haven.

“Lia, I need to hear you say it,” he said then, softly, his voice rich with earnestness.

She paused, taking in his request. It took her a moment to speak, not out of doubt but because she wanted to convey the full depth of her feelings. It was the first time she would vocalize them, and she wanted him to fully grasp the significance of her words.

After a deep, steadying breath, she finally said, “I love you, Noah.”

The way he smiled then could’ve stopped wars.

Moments later, he lifted her off the sofa, eliciting a surprised little scream from her.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and excitement.

“To the bedroom,” he replied. “So I can keep loving you. Think you can give me a fourth one?” His hand slid down to her bottom, giving it a gentle, affectionate pat, as his question vibrated in her ear.

She nestled against his neck, a mix of sleepiness and joy washing over her. “That depends on your performance,” she murmured, fully aware of how her words would tease him.

“On my performance?” He said, souding both incredulous and slightly amused. His tone shifted to a teasing lilt. “Seems like you haven’t seen me on stage.”

Lia giggled against his shoulder.

“I have… But you might have to remind me,” she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye.

He carried her to the bed, laying her down gently. He turned her onto her stomach and dove straight into her left buttock, nibbling and growling playfully. Her laughter bubbled up as she lifted herself on her forearms, watching him over her shoulder. Her gaze was filled with both trust and desire as he positioned himself behind her.

“With pleasure.”

— prev. chapter | chapter six

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farfromstrange · 8 months ago

Text

Do No Harm

CHAPTER TEN: Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don’t

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt thinks back to your date that afternoon, and Foggy and Karen can't help but tease him about you. When a stranger comes to the office with the promise of money and a case, Matt gets suspicious. Later that night, when he can't stand it anymore, he calls you for comfort and answers.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, Matt's self-deprecating thoughts, hurt/comfort, flirting, slight fluff, suggestive themes

Word Count: 4.7k

A/n: I'm so sorry that this took so long! The past few days have been so busy, and then I forgot I promised to post this on Friday. But you're getting it now!

Read Chapter 10: Damned If I Do, Damned If I Don’t here on AO3

Matt can’t stop smiling.

You smell of nature and yourself. He doesn’t pay much attention to the layers of artificial scents most products contain because to him, your natural scent is all that matters, and he knows how to tune out everything else that isn’t one-hundred percent yours. It is a fact you are so blissfully unaware of. How could you know? You have no idea just how heightened his senses are. To him, your scent is as distinctive as your heartbeat. It’s stuck to the tiny hairs in his nose; every time he takes a deep breath, he can smell you.

From the moment you stepped off the bus that afternoon, he could smell the salt on your skin, the antibacterial soap you use, and the particularly sensitive body lotion that makes your skin soft to the touch. You slathered your hands with an excessive amount of moisturizer, but it was in no way obnoxious. Matt enjoyed how the earthy tones suited you compared to the medicinal moisturizer you wear at the hospital. He enjoyed it so much, in fact, that he now can’t stop thinking about it. Even with cracked knuckles, your hands are the most delicate.

He should have kissed you. The way your heartbeat was speeding up when you bid your goodbyes told him that you would have wanted him to, but he was afraid of crossing that line. He isn’t playing a fair game, after all. You only know half of him. Anything beyond the stoic lawyer he presents on the outside could put you in danger, and he is afraid of losing you. God knows what would happen if he allowed you any closer.

Matt is drawn to you. He doesn’t want to be, but he can’t help the way he feels whenever he is around you. You offer a reprieve from the chaos that surrounds him. The world grows quiet for a moment when you’re around, and he finally has something beautiful to focus on.

The world isn’t beautiful. It’s ugly and vile, and most human beings make his experience excruciatingly painful. You take away the agony and instead replace it with a sense of giddiness that fills him with a gentle warmth. You consume him. As much as he wants to, and as much as he knows he should, he can’t stay away from you.

Foggy told him that he deserves to be happy; he has yet to realize that. Every time he tries to allow himself to feel joy, the fire in his heart moves into the shadow of a mountain of guilt, and it threatens to run out of oxygen.

You are a lot more reserved than he first expected, and when you told him the truth about your childhood, it broke him. It broke him to hear how much pain you are in. You were radiating waves of trauma, and they hit him all at once. He may relate to you, in a way, but still, he can’t fathom how bad it must have been, growing up with no one to take care of you while you had to take care of everyone else.

Something Matt is grappling with is the fact that your heartbeat was so erratic at times he feared it might break your ribs. He wasn’t misinterpreting the signs. He couldn’t have. And you weren’t lying, he is sure of that. Perhaps you were keeping something from him. If that’s the case, what does that mean for the two of you? He can’t expect you to trust him—he has no right to expect anything from anyone, especially not from someone he barely knows—but he has learned that when someone tries to hide the truth, it is worse than an unpopular opinion he might disagree on.

He wants to hold your hand again. He wants to be close to you. He wants to smell your skin, feel it under his calloused fingertips, and he wants to hear the sweet sound of your voice serenading him. If he could hold you, just for a minute, he’s sure his problems will fade away. The world will go quiet, and he can focus on you. The urge to keep you safe consumes him, but he doesn’t know what he wants to protect you from.

Matt only knows that he wants you, all of you, and it kills him that he can’t have you. To know all of you, he has to share all of him with you, and he would much rather crucify himself than drag you down with him.

As his thoughts turn dark, his smile fades. He was foolish to believe that the warmth of the sun wouldn’t be overshadowed by black clouds waiting to rain hell down on him. And Matt begins to wonder once again, if he deserves to be happy, why did God put the devil in him?

“Dude, you’re whipped!” Foggy says from the doorway to Matt’s office, leaning against it with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Matt raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t paying attention. When he walked in with a big grin on his face an hour ago, Foggy cheekily asked him how lunch was, and Matt only replied with, “Satisfying.”

He wants to keep you to himself. You shouldn’t become subject to his friend’s desperate need to find Matt’s one true love. Foggy doesn’t know you. It was one date that might not even go anywhere, not if Matt keeps sabotaging himself. You deserve better. He knows that. You deserve someone who treats you like the goddess you are; someone who doesn’t lie to you and can give you what you need. He isn’t sure if he can be that person. The last thing he wants is to hurt you.

“Sorry?” Matt tilts his head away from the window. The city is particularly loud this afternoon.

“Your doctor friend,” Foggy clarifies. “Your lunch date.” The grin in his voice is audible. A teasing grin. “She’s got you whipped.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His fingers start sliding over the documents in front of him, a breathless chuckle passing from his lips.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Mhm. Is that why you’re blushing?”

“I don’t blush,” Matt counters. Though he can’t deny that the blood rushes to his cheeks whenever he thinks of you. The way you smell. The way your heartbeat sounds in his ears. It is addictive. You are addictive—a drug—and that makes the guilt grow larger than life because as bad as he is for you, he knows staying away from you is a losing game.

“Sure,” says Foggy. He doesn’t believe him, not one bit. “Do I need to dust off the old tux? You know, I’d make a dashing best man.”

Matt forces a chuckle. “It was just coffee.”

“It always starts with just coffee. Before you know it, you’re having dinner, and then you’re taking her to bed before asking her to marry you.”

He throws his head back, groaning in pure exasperation. The chair creaks. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he says. “We had coffee, she walked me back to the office, and that’s it. No time for a tux yet. If you really wanna wear it, attend a ball or something.”

“Okay, first of all, she walked you back to the office?!” Foggy opens his arms. “That’s not a small thing, Matt. Only someone who wants to spend time with you walks you back to the office on her day off.”

Matt rolls his eyes behind his glasses. He would much rather continue marinating in his self-misery than fantasize about things that may not ever happen. It hurts too much. What he wants and what he believes he can have are at war.

“And second of all, Foggy says, “we’re living in the twenty-first century; balls are not a regular occurrence anymore, and I don’t have friends in higher places that could get me into one.”

Sensing an opportunity, Matt’s lips curl into a smirk. “You could ask Marci. Landman & Zack sometimes attend banquets, you know that.”

Foggy seems taken aback for a second. His heartbeat stutters. “Why Marci?” the panic in his voice is hilarious, in a way.

“Oh, so you can tease me about my relationships,” Matt retorts, “but I can’t tease you about your ex?”

“That’s different, okay?”

“Oh, how’s that different?”

“Your potential future girlfriend and my ex who is working for the same million-dollar law firm we left behind to chase the dream of independence are two different things that do not correlate!”

He’s speechless. Matt repeats his friend’s words in his mind a few times before he admits, “Yeah, no, I can’t… I can’t argue with that.”

Foggy sighs. “Thank you.”

The door to the bathroom closes, and Karen returns to her desk. Her heels click against the linoleum floors in a steady rhythm. Her steps are always light and careful. Matt could recognize them anywhere.

“Hey–” he tips his chin at the sound of Foggy’s voice again. “If things work out between you and Miss McDreamy, you won’t need a dog anymore because she can help you take out the trash.”

Karen catches that, and she laughs. “Are you comparing Matt’s girlfriend to a dog now?” she quips.

Matt is quick to cut in. “She’s not my girlfriend!” he says.

She appears in the doorway next to Foggy, placing her hands on her hips as she stands there. “Really? I thought people skipped first base and went straight to getting shared tombstones after the first date these days.”

Foggy’s laugh resembles a howl. “Can you imagine Matt sharing a tombstone with someone who holds a doctorate? People would be talking about them like, here lies Hell’s Kitchen’s greatest trauma surgeon��and Matt Murdock.”

Her fist collides with his shoulder, but she can’t stop herself from laughing regardless. Matt sighs. “Very funny,” he deadpans. It’s not that he can’t take a joke; he’s simply not in the mood for it right now.

The letters blur under his fingers. His jaw clenches when a car backfires somewhere down the block, and someone else honks four times in a row before yelling at a passerby to get out of his way.

“Seriously,” Foggy asks, “What do you have against dogs?”

“I think dogs are great,” says Karen.

“I don’t need a dog,” Matt states. He tries to regulate his breathing, tearing his focus away from the noise that surrounds him. “And I don’t need anyone to help me take out the trash. Not a dog and certainly not a girlfriend.” He chuckles forcedly at the last part.

Imagining you helping him do the things that are supposed to be easy makes him recoil. Even with heightened senses, he is still blind. Taking out the trash is harder than it should be when he doesn’t focus, and even then he could easily miss a step. It has happened a few times before, but he would never admit it.

He can use his clumsiness as an excuse for the cuts, bumps, and bruises he suffers every night on the streets of Hell’s Kitchen at the hands of criminals, but if he were to take a tumble down or up the stairs again, he would have to find a different excuse. There is nothing bad about needing help—about just not being able to do certain things—but Matt has never been good at accepting help, let alone asking for it.

A knock on the door interrupts the conversation. Matt raises his eyebrows. Foggy and Karen exchange a look of surprise.

The heartbeat belongs to a healthy male, but he doesn’t recognize the presence standing in front of their office door. Could it be…a client? The thought never even crossed their minds.

“Is that—” Foggy leaves the question hanging in the air.

Matt rises from his chair, pursing his lips as he nods. “Karen?” he asks.

She realizes that he is asking her to open the door, and her heart skips a beat. “Right,” she stammers. “Okay.”

He follows the two of them out of his office, his hands guiding him along the familiar space. The door clicks as it opens, and Karen nervously greets the stranger on the other side.

“Hi,” the voice says, deep with a hint of mischief he hides under the disguise of kindness.

The hairs on Matt’s arm stand up, reaching toward the sky. His stomach drops. Something shifts in the air when he smells the expensive cologne and the laundry detergent on the man’s suit. He carries himself with a kind of confidence that puts everyone around him in his shadow, and that is terrifying.

Matt instantly knows that they should not trust him.

The man passes the threshold and steps into their office, his eyes trailing around. Karen takes a step back. Foggy straightens his shoulders. He must look as intimidating as he sounds and smells. A rich man who radiates power like a bonfire.

“Do you take walk-ins?” he asks then.

Matt can feel Foggy’s eyes on him. He shrugs, his reaction barely visible. If he said no, he wouldn’t know how to explain it to them.

In hindsight, they should have kept the door closed.

He doesn’t tell them his name, he only hands them a check and tells them that he works for an independent contractor. Judging by Foggy’s reaction, the numbers on the check are higher than any of them are used to. But all of this money for a surprise at the police station?

If he hadn’t found him suspicious before, the alarms are certainly blaring now. Foggy is blinded by the money, and Karen seems torn, but Matt knows that they shouldn’t trust this man. Especially not for blood money.

He follows him out, only enough space between them so he won’t be caught. The stranger gets into a car, and he starts to realize that this man might be caught up in more than he thought.

The lines between the lawyer and the devil start to blur. Matt reaches into his suit jacket. The pain in his rib cage burns slowly through his flesh as the skin parts. His shirt is drenched in a deep maroon where the Russians drilled a knife into him a few nights ago. The blood coats his fingertips, that’s how he knows.

He has no choice. He and Foggy need to take the case they were presented with. If he wants to understand what’s happening, he needs to dive into the cold water. He needs to make a decision he despises with his whole being. It pains him physically to even think about doing it, but clearly, he has no other choice. He’s backed into a corner.

When he returns from the precinct that night with a guilty client demanding a jury trial and a check with money from a stranger he still doesn’t know the name of and that he told Karen not to deposit, the silence brings along an unbearable weight on his shoulders.

Stress can lead any addict into a relapse. The phone line rings. Matt sent Foggy and Karen home, telling them that they should rather recoup in the morning when they’re all rested. It has been a long day. His friends only hesitantly left him behind after he had to promise to call it a night soon. An hour later, he’s still sitting at his desk. The city is calling for him, but he can’t bring himself to move. Instead of going home, instead of going out, he is now looking for a fix—after telling himself all afternoon that it would be for the best if he didn’t because you deserve better.

“This is Dr. Clarke, who am I speaking with?” you answer.

His veins open to a release of dopamine. He relaxes into his chair. He could listen to you talk forever and never grow tired of the sound of your voice.

“Hello?” you ask again.

Matt clears his throat. “Um, hi,” he says. “It’s–it’s me. Matthew.”

“Matt! Hi. Hold on a second.” You’re not alone. Voices overlap in the background, and your clothes rustle as you try to find a quiet spot to hide.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No! No, not at all. I’m at the ER. Working, I mean,” you clarify, and the way you stumble over your words is so endearing to him. “MVC downtown. They needed all hands on deck, so I came in. It was a fucking mess.”

Your voice is laced with exhaustion, but you don’t sound too stressed, so he figures that the worst must be over. It’s like part of him knew to get his fix now. Not earlier or later but now. Your heartbeat is faint through the speaker.

“I, uh, didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“You want me to hang up?” Matt asks.

“No.” He can hear you smirk. “Just wondering if you missed me.”

He leans forward on his elbows. “What if I did?”

Maybe if he thinks really hard, he can imagine you standing in front of him instead of miles away.

“I’d tell you I missed you too,” you murmur. “But only if you admit it first.”

“In that case, I’m saying it. I missed you,” he says.

“Good, ‘cause I missed you too.”

He fidgets with the brim of his glasses. They’re resting on his desk, his hazel eyes unfocused yet directed toward the empty space before him.

It’s a curse how enigmatic you are. You’re a magnet, similar yet the polar opposite of him, and it involuntarily draws him closer to you. Matt feels a strange flutter in his heart whenever he is near you. Even now, over the phone, the butterflies betray him. Rationally, this is a bad idea. Rationally, he should hang up. Right now though, rationality has no place in his mind.

He can’t lie; he did miss you. But that isn’t entirely the reason why he called you.

His tired eyes flutter shut. The sound of your breathing in his ear wraps around him like a gentle embrace. “How’re you holding up?” he dares to ask.

“My feet hurt, my head hurts, and I’m starving. Other than that, I’m okay,” you say. “How’s it going with you? It’s pretty late for you to be calling, isn’t it?”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“Don’t be a smart-ass.”

He laughs. “Sorry.”

You seem to relish in the sound for a moment. His laughter dies down, and with it, your smile fades. “What’s really going on?” you ask.

Matt can’t keep anything from you. You’re perceptive, even more so than him.

“We caught a case today,” he says. “A bad one.”

“Oh.”

He imagines that your features soften with the sound of your voice. If he could get his hands on your face, he could paint a picture of what you look like, but you’re too far away, and he shouldn’t touch something he is sure he will break if he does.

You break through the fog, trying to rescue him from his mind. “Wanna talk about it?” you offer, but it’s useless.

“I wish I could, but I’d be breaking attorney-client confidentiality.”

“Ah, Lawyer Version HIPAA. I see.”

He pats the file he and Foggy took back with them after meeting with Healy, a clear account of the events that conspired at the bowling alley.

After going blind, his mind has grown increasingly more animate. When he thinks about what might have happened—what their client might have done—he can smell the copper of the other man’s blood in the air, the stench of sweat stuck to the inside of bowling shoes, and the substance they use to oil the bowling balls. He can smell plastic and junk food, and the linoleum of the floorboards. The way he sees it, their client is guilty, and even he knows it, but to understand what is happening around them, Matt needed to take the bait when it was presented to them.

Matt runs a hand over the stubble on his chin. “You could answer a question for me though,” he swiftly changes the subject.

You answer without missing a beat, “Shoot.”

“How much force would it take to crush a human skull with a bowling ball?”

His question renders you speechless. For a brief moment, he only hears the steady thudding of your heartbeat against your ribcage, and a soft smile finds its way on his lips. You’re smart, and you’re witty, but when it comes to him, you tend to lose control of the steering wheel.

He threw a bowling ball right at the pins you meticulously sorted in your mind, dispersing them. Now, you’re grappling with the words on your tongue.

“A bowling ball,” you repeat. “I’m sorry, what?”

You seem to shiver again when he chuckles. “I need your expert medical opinion,” Matt states. “Off the record, of course.”

“On how to crush a human skull with a bowling ball?”

“Not really the how but the kinda force it requires.”.

“Well,” you try to gather yourself, “I didn’t exactly study the physics of smashing a human skull with a bowling ball. They don’t cover that in med school.”

“Not even physics?” he questions.

“To a certain extent. I don’t remember that much…”

He senses a conjunction. “But?”

“Based on bike-helmet studies, it takes between 520 to 1,100 pounds,” you tell him. “That’s roughly twice as much as human hands can muster. Add to that the weight of a bowling ball, which takes away human force but adds artificial weight in the form of a foreign object to the skull, the person doing the beating would have to hit quite a few times to actually crush it.”

“So a 5’10” man of average build–” Matt prompts.

You shrug, your scrubs brushing against the speaker of your phone. “If his testosterone and adrenaline were high enough, it could have taken him a few seconds, especially if there were no signs of hesitation, but that’s just a technical assumption. In practicality, a lot of factors play into how long it takes to break the bone.”

“Could it have been self-defense?”

“If you want my opinion, it requires a lot of strength to do that kind of damage, which means it is more likely for it to have been a premeditated crime or a very sick person in a bloodthirsty rage. But that’s not my area of expertise,” you add.

“I know,” Matt assures you. He exhales. The answer isn’t completely useless, but it hardly solves anything either. “Thank you, anyway,” he says.

“Anything to help make sure justice is served.” You’re smiling again.

A scoff rumbles through his chest. “I wish it were that easy.”

“You sound a bit…sad,” you point out.

“It’s—I don’t know, it’s complicated. I don’t want to be a bother.”

You cut him off, “You’re not a bother.”

“Liv,” he says, your name a mere breath rolling off his tongue.

If he told you that he’s not sad, he’s miserable, but not because of the case; he’s miserable because of how much he wants you—how much he needs you—and he is lying to you, so his thoughts are eating him alive like little demons, and it is them in a bloodthirsty rage, not the man who crushed another man’s skull with a bowling ball. He can’t tell you that he feels as though God is out to get him. Even a sliver of the truth could hurt you, and he refuses to put you in that position.

But then you put him on the spot again, without even realizing it, and he has no other choice but to cave.

“I may not be a psychiatrist, but I’ve been told that I have a very good shoulder to cry on,” you say. “Maybe we could grab dinner on Friday and you can, um, decide for yourself?”

That is mighty bold of you.

Matt processes your offer slower than an old, used car would drive on the highway. “Dinner?” he stammers.

“Dinner,” you agree.

He has two options: go for it or say no. He has to be honest with himself though; he can’t deny you anything.

His mouth opens and closes before he finally answers, “Dinner sounds good, yeah.”

“Alright,” you sound surprised yourself. “Dinner then!”

He smiles, but the decision leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue. “Dinner then.”

“Maybe you should put down the gravel now and go home.”

“If you promise to put down the stethoscope and the scalpel and do the same.”

“Yes, sir.” You start moving on the other end of the line. “I’m already on my way to the locker room.”

Matt doesn’t intend to say it, but it slips his lips anyway. “Good girl,” he says.

He doesn’t have to be near you to be painfully aware of your reaction. You freeze, and with you, the blood in your veins. Your brain backfires when it tries to form a coherent train of thought, and it is loud enough for Matt to hear.

A few seconds tick by without as much as a breath from you. “Okay,” you murmur, breaking the loaded silence. You’re trying to gather your bearings and make sense of the shift in the atmosphere.

He wishes he could melt into the ground. Taking it back won’t work. He already said it. But there is nothing wrong with calling you a good girl, right? It is the truth.

To him, you are good. Beautiful, even. And you are more than anything he could have ever asked for. You’re ethereal. You deserve to know that, but he is starting to think that you may have misinterpreted his intentions.

“I didn’t mean–” he begins to explain himself, but you interrupt him.

“I know,” you say.

You clear your throat, though Matt doesn’t miss the slight edge to your voice. It’s not nerves, per se. Your voice is thick with something else, and it sends a shiver down the sensitive skin of his spine.

Do you wish he meant it the way your mind made you believe he did?

His fingers dig into the edge of his worn-down wooden desk. “So, I’ll, uh, see you Friday?” he asks, his voice hovering just barely above a hopeful whisper.

Can you hear how hard he is trying not to sound too sultry? Are you aware of what you are doing to him, even though it is a bad idea for him to even be close to you? You make him want to claw up the walls of his office and eat them. It’s scary, the things he would do for you—to you—but at the same time it fills him with intense exhilaration.

You swallow. Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “Friday, yes. I’m, uh, looking forward to seeing you again,” you reply.

If he could only take your voice and imprint it on his mind for all eternity, he would do so without hesitation.

The wood starts to splinter under his fingernails. “Me too.” Matt withdraws his hand.

You bid him goodnight, and that is the last thing you say to him before you hang up.

Silence engulfs him. The prospect of seeing you again settles over him like a warm blanket, but it only lasts for a few minutes before the comfort disappears, and he is left freezing again. Without you. Alone.

Matt tries to tell himself that Friday will be the last time, but that night, he finds himself on the rooftop across Metro General, black fabric dangling from his hand as he listens to the distinctive sound of your footsteps exiting the emergency room. You say good night to the nurses, wishing them a peaceful rest of their shift, and then you’re heading out to catch your Uber.

You took a shower, he can smell it. And you changed your scrubs for the same outfit you wore when you met this afternoon. He follows you with a tilt of his head until you’re safely inside the car, and once he’s sure that the night won’t catch up with you, he pulls the mask over his head.

He told himself Friday would be the last time, but as long as the streets aren’t safe, he can’t stay away from you. It is an awful excuse to keep lying to you, he is well aware of that, but you have drawn him in like like no other, and he would be damned if he let you go.

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#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil x reader #reader insert #charlie cox #do no harm

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tw1l1te · 9 months ago

Text

The Final Promise₊˚✩⊹

Chapter 4

Linked Universe x reader

Warnings: Mentions of mental health and depression, angst, fluff

₊˚✩⊹

Two days have passed since you left Castle Town, you and the chain just crossing the threshold of Hyrule Field, but not quite in Gerudo Valley.

The terrain was still slightly grassy, though the grass itself was yellowing, the land being very dry. The sun has long set, so you anticipated settling down soon, as you could feel the energy shift that has happened in the past couple days. Everyone was tired.

“Let’s setup camp under that large tree. Wild, why don’t you and the traveler start setting up dinner. The Captain and I can do a quick scout to see any possible encampments near us or any danger we need to be aware of. We should be back before dinner.” Time announced, motioning Wars to follow him.

You asked around the group seeing if there was anything you could assist with, but no one seemed to need anything for the moment. With a sigh, you propped yourself up against the tree and opened up the book Shad gave you. You might as well be productive.

Flipping through the book, there wasn’t much that related to your quest. Sure, some interesting tidbits about Hylian history and wars, but nothing of note. You halted your flipping at the page labeled: Other Worldly History: Ancient Runes and Magic.

Bingo.

Hyrule has been known to be a connection between various cultures, nations, and worlds. From the beginning, Hyrule contained loopholes and magic that could alter worlds, change the flow of time, and access completely disconnected dimensions. Nobody has successfully accessed said dimensions, but there are plenty of theories and magical concepts that support the possibility of accessing them.

A particular religious group, according to rumors and first-person accounts, have been seen performing rituals and dark magic that provides a window to a dimension. Though the group itself has no name or distinguishable faces or names, a few colleagues have been able to record the rituals and notes on how their procedures work.

You continued skimming the page, the author noting the black garb that the members wore and possible translations of the language. Everything was up in the air though. Flipping the page, you notice that there are diagrams on how the rituals are performed and how you could access “Hylia’s Mirror” through a very complex and specific execution of moments and chants.

The ritual began with placing your palms on the ground, or as the book liked to call it: “Connecting to Hylia’s body”. Weird.

You closed your eyes and lifted your palms, pointing out two fingers and drawing a large triangle around you, all sides and angles congruent.

You opened your eyes and tried to follow along with the specified hand signals, but you messed up halfway through. This was gonna be harder than you thought.

The smell of dinner was tantalizing, so you shut the book and placed it in your pack, deciding to play wizard again later once you've eaten. You don’t think you’ve eaten since you left Castle Town, as you all didn’t really stop walking unless taking a few hours to sleep.

You plopped down beside Four, leaning against him. He was sharpening one of his shorter blades, no doubt it being overused the past few weeks in close combat.

“Saw you playing wizard over there. Anything helpful?” he asked, eyes not leaving the blade.

You hummed. “Some dark magic stuff, lotta weird shit. I was too hungry to actually understand anything,” you said, looking at how Four’s fingers held the blade and handled it.

“I would help you, but I'm considered useless in the reading aspect. Can barely read signs if I'm honest. Only know the basics.” he said, stopping his sharpening and placing the blade back into its holster.

You were about to mention something about his comment when Wild called out to dinner, just in time for Wars and Time to return.

“Y/n over ‘ere was being magical and doing magic spells,” Twilight chuckled, gesturing at you “Chantin’ some gibberish, I tell ya.” he laughed, you rolling your eyes in response.

“Yeah, yeah. Mock all you want, but at least I’m getting somewhere. I think?” you paused.

“We can leave the demonology till later, let’s eat. I know you guys are starving, and I made heaps of food for tonight.” Wild smiled, handing out bowls to everyone. Does he carry a whole fucking kitchen on him?

“Who’s game did you play first, Y/n?” Wind asked, mouthful of food.

You pondered for a second, having to recollect your memories.

“Ummmm…. I think it was Skyward Sword, so Sky’s yeah. I think I was like 8 or 9.” you said, taking in another spoonful of rice.

“I miss being a kid, at times. I remember not having to worry about anything, just when I was going to play with my friends or what flavor of cake I was going to get for my birthday. Getting older changes you, for the better or worse, I honestly don’t know.” You said, looking over at everyone.

“I feel like i’ve gotten older faster since I first joined you guys, in a sense. I can’t really explain it. I guess adventuring, or rather being a hero forces you to grow up faster…” You trail off, looking at the fire.

Time pipes up “I agree with that, as I first left the forest when I was seven. The hero’s duty seemed inevitable, regardless if I postponed it or not.”

Wind nods, “I had to leave Grandma when I was 12, to save my sister Aryll. Even when I defeated Ganondorf and returned home, it didn’t feel the same… I wasn’t a kid anymore.”

You scootch up to him, letting him lean against your side. “I know I can’t change your past, Wind, but I just want you to know that I was there with you for every step of the way. Every nick or scratch you got, I made sure you were not alone. I’ll never leave you alone, any of you, whether or not I’m physically here with you or not. You’ll always feel me with you, in here,” You point at his chest.

Wind sighs sadly, “I love you Y/n.”

You sigh in contentment, “I love you too, squirt. You’ve always been like a little brother to me.”

“Call me squirt again and I’ll shank you in your sleep~” Wind said in a sing-song voice, but you knew he held no malice. You just chuckled at his “threat”.

“It’s so strange to me how we all felt you there with us, Y/n. Even if we didn’t hear you most of the time, you always gave us warmth.” Wild said.

“You guys gave me warmth too, and were there for me in my darkest days. Even just accompanying you for a few hours a day made me feel less alone,” you looked Wild “Even when I felt abandoned, I know you guys wouldn’t leave me.”

“13-year-old me would be so happy if she knew she was talking to her favorite heroes. She needed that. I needed that.” you said, combing through Wind’s sandy hair.

Legend frowned at your comment.

By the implication of your tone and words, it seems like your early teens weren’t joyful or memorable. You needed them. You needed him. He wished he could’ve heard you back then. It seemed like some of the others could hear you better during their journey, but he only heard you a few times. And from what he remembers, most of them weren’t happy.

He was also one of the last members of the group to recognize you. He only remembered you about 4 or so months ago. His past had clouded him and his mind, leaving him as leftovers.

Leftovers of Hylia’s game. He hated that damned goddess. A fraud. A parasite across each and every era. He had nothing to thank her for. Nothing besides… you. Simple, yet irreplaceable you. Millions of people had seen his quest and lead him through it, but you were an outlier. A special one. His guide.

Marin was a memory at this point. Not even a dream, like he thought she was. She was a distraction… a replacement. A replacement for you. Kind, smart, perfect you.

₊˚✩⊹

#link x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe au

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stellar-solar-flare · 3 months ago

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A Fairytale Of A Disaster | S.R.

Chapter 2: Looking For The Happy Ending

Explicit - 18+ only! | Steve Rogers/Doctor!Reader

Your friend set you up with a perfect guy. Unfortunately, when it's time for you to meet 'Grant' for the first time, he has stood you up. On Valentine's Day of all days.

Was it too good to be true? Or does he instead have a very, very good reason why he's late, and a desire to make it all up to you?

FIC MASTERLIST | AUTHOR MASTERLIST | AUTHOR AO3

<< Previous chapter

Fluff, hurt/comfort, meet-cute, misunderstandings, eventual smut, healthy communication. | Background Sam Wilson/OFC.

Chapter Word Count: 2696 words.

Reader Specifics: She/her, late twenties (a few years younger than Steve in this fic). Training to be a trauma surgeon (has completed med school, in residency stage). Likes books and houseplants. No description of appearance (other than clothes and such), no use of Y/N.

A/N: I wanted to write a Valentine's Day oneshot, and then it turned out it has parts. Oh no. Well, here we are. I hope you enjoy this fluffy little trope collection! As always, thank you for reading, and hearing what you think means a lot to me.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption. The Avengers are living together in the Compound - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

Chapter Warnings: Discussion of Steve's canonical trauma; mentions of Steve/Peggy.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 2: Looking For The Happy Ending

A part of you was really, really glad that you had decided to order the wine; you could feel your nerves flaring up, now that the initial surprise at the evening’s direction had passed. It was less so that he was Captain America, the literal superhero, the most eligible bachelor in the entire country according to many, and more so that his musky scent and his warm presence were going straight to your head. It felt like on some level, after all the conversations, you already knew who he was, but messages couldn’t have prepared you for everything. Like how the sheer presence this man had, how he could simply stand next to you and send off a signal that he was completely aware of you, was making your head spin. Feeling some initial curiosity and a little crush over messages was one thing; being hit in the face with the raw, sparkling physical attraction you were feeling was quite another. And even as you didn’t exchange words — too much attention here, too many ears listening — you could see Steve stealing looks at you over the brief minutes you waited.

You weren’t quite so sure any more that you didn’t believe in fairy tales.

The car arrived so fast that you were at least half-certain that Steve had carried it with him, tucked into his back pocket with the assistance of some Tony Stark’s bordering-on-magic technology. You barely had time to get your food back in a cardboard takeout container and finish the glass of wine before Steve glanced at his smartwatch and told you that the car was waiting.

You reached for your purse to pay the bill, and he stopped you with a gentle hand placed on your forearm. He’d slipped into the bathroom earlier to wash the worst of the dirt off his hands and face, and now, when he wasn’t afraid of making a mess out of you — oh, your subconscious needed to get things together or you weren’t going to survive this night — you could feel the entirety of his palm pressed on your bare skin.

“Please. Let me. That’s the least I can do for having kept you waiting,” he murmured, his eyes in yours.

He was already going to cook for you; you thought about arguing about the fact, but looking into his eyes, it was clear that this was very important to him. You could have afforded it, certainly, and it did feel a little unfair to let him pay when he hadn’t been enjoying the food at all. But since he was on Tony Stark’s payroll, you doubted the few drinks, the appetizer, and the fish and chips you now held under your right hand were going to make much of a dent in his cash. If it made him feel better…

“Only if you insist,” you replied after a beat, smile on your face.

“Oh, I do,” he smiled. “A lady never pays on the first date. That’s the rule. Especially when I asked her out.”

Apparently, Steve’s rules for a first date also included helping you into your coat and paying for the tip of the person working in the cloakroom. His hands were warm when they brushed against your shoulders as you slipped into the coat he was holding up, even as he didn’t linger. It seemed that he ran hot, or that the suit had some sort of temperature regulation built into it, because he didn’t seem to mind stepping from the warm restaurant into the cold February evening. The biting wind made you huddle deeper into your coat for the few steps from the door to the car waiting at the curbside.

“Ladies first,” Steve smiled, reaching to open the front passenger door of the decidedly nondescript black SUV.

Before you could ask, you realized that the driver’s seat was empty.

When he’d mentioned calling the car, you had obviously assumed that he’d be calling someone to drive you over to the Avengers Initiative Campus upstate; instead, he had literally called the car.

“It’s not on the public market yet,” Steve said, answering your wordless question. “Something Tony’s been tinkering with. It’s easier if we have vehicles stashed here and there in fully automated garages.”

“For date-related emergencies?” you grinned as you slipped into the seat, guiding your skirts with a hand as you did.

“Among other things. Although I don’t find myself in this situation very often,” he said as he closed the door after a quick glance to check that your skirt wasn’t going to get caught in the door. “It isn’t the kind of guy I want to be.”

He was smiling, but there was something underneath his tone. For the few seconds it took for him to go around the car and settle in to the driver’s seat after tossing the shield in the backseat — heedless of the white leather of the car and the grime on his suit — you thought about it.

It couldn’t be easy for him to date; not with the reputation and the fame attached to his title. And not with the demands of his job causing all sorts of delays and rain checks; all the emotions coming through his voice had already told you as much. He would’ve accepted it if you hadn’t been willing to give him a second chance after almost standing you up. He would’ve left it there and never bothered you again. And yes, perhaps that would’ve been fair — there was nothing wrong with not wanting to deal with your significant other having a job like that. But the same could also be said about your job.

Instead of replying immediately, you let him focus on merging into the traffic, even as you realized that compared to the things he usually did, driving — even in New York — was probably as easy as breathing. You shifted in your seat to recline more comfortably.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re that guy,” you replied. “Not the one to keep someone waiting without a very good reason, and not someone who dates just for the thrill.”

He gave you a chuckle in reply, but something about the way he glanced at you was so warm that it tingled in your veins.

“Thank you. And it does mean a lot. I can’t say I…” he murmured, his eyes back on the road again and you were certain it wasn’t just about the traffic. “I didn’t exactly have the easiest time concentrating today. I kept thinking that I’d blown the chance to have something great once again, that the world had again decided that I wasn’t making it to a date.”

His words lingered in the air for a few seconds, during which you very clearly understood what he was talking about. Of course, it was ancient history in more ways than one, but everyone knew the story of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter and the dance that had needed one hell of a rain check because he had sacrificed himself to save the world from the alien weapon. After the seconds ticked by, he glanced at you again, redness on his cheeks and something panicked in his eyes.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that, I don’t… I’m not comparing, I don’t want to compare, I’m not looking for any sort of replacement for a road not traveled, it’s just…”

He sighed, trailing off again. His eyes stared forward, and his hands squeezed the wheel of the car hard enough that they might leave finger-shaped dents behind. Finally, he spoke again, something resigned in his voice:

“I’m sorry. Look, if you don’t want to do this, if you don’t feel like you’re up for this after that, just say the word and I’ll drop you off where you want,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to make you feel like you’re a second choice or anything like that. I’m obviously not great at this and if you don’t want to deal with that… ”

“Hey,” you said very softly. “No need to go looking for a grenade to throw yourself on, Captain. This isn’t an army camp.”

You reached over, letting your fingertips brush the top of his hand right there on the edge of where the wrist turned into the back of his palm. He glanced over at you again as you sank back to your seat, and even with the brief contact, you didn’t miss the fragile hope in his gaze.

“I’d rather hear how you feel than leave this car,” you continued. “I don’t think there’s anything very surprising about those things crossing your mind, and it doesn’t have to be about comparison. Obviously being faced with rather similar circumstances to the ones that were present when something very traumatic happened to you would bring up memories. Of events, and of people.”

Some of the tension drained away from Steve’s shoulders, but the chuckle that left his mouth was a little joyless.

“You’re pretty good at that,” he said.

“I’ve trained,” you raised your brows. “Comes with the skillset. But seriously, I’d understand if you need a rain check after what has obviously been a pretty intense day for you. We could plan something else.”

Your eyes flickered back to that cut on his chest, visible through the tear in the suit. The wound was already closing, and probably in a few hours it would be completely gone. You wondered if people thought that the same also happened to everything he experienced. If the public accounts about the eidetic memory were true, then he remembered everything, and even as his brain was probably better at processing things and arriving at the place where he could look at experiences logically, that didn’t mean the experience wasn’t intense.

You pulled yourself back to reality, reeling in the doctor and the researcher in your head and looking up at him again. He was staring at you — as much as he could, with his head halfway turned towards the road, but nothing about the way he was driving indicated that he wasn’t focusing on that, too.

“Is everything alright?” you said.

He breathed out, scrambling for words again as he returned his complete attention to the road.

“No, yes, it is, I mean…” he breathed back in, gathering his composure. “I am not used to anyone… getting that. Or even asking that.”

Something twisted in your chest, and had he not been driving, you would’ve wanted to take both his hands into yours. It hadn’t taken you more than a few texts with him to realize that this was a thoughtful man with a big heart and so much to give, and now, it didn’t surprise you that he wasn’t used to people understanding what it was like to be him.

“I don’t think anyone can ever understand another’s experience, not really,” you said. “And I wouldn’t dream of thinking that I know what it’s like to be you, what it was like to go through everything you have gone through. But I know how it is to have to be the one who has everything under control in the operating room. I know how it feels to feel like your job takes over all other aspects of your life. How it is to wonder if you’ll be lonely for the rest of your life and… And thinking that the best chance of finding something great you had had in a long time had just slipped through your fingers.”

You could feel the heat on your cheeks as you said the last words. They had halfway escaped your lips, brought forth by the way he’d accidentally served you his heart on a platter. Even as you hadn’t been fighting gods-knew-what in Antarctica, it had still been quite an emotionally intense night, and that was obviously bringing everything out in the open. You lowered your gaze to your hands in your lap, not really daring to look at him. You might’ve just made everything beyond awkward.

But when Steve spoke, it didn’t feel like that. His voice was genuinely warm, so warm it made the atmosphere change too. As if some sort of miniature sun had suddenly been trapped in the car and its rays were now transforming whatever floated in the air into something you could just let be there, existing in between the two of you.

Forming a bond of trust.

“Thank you,” he said. “For trying to understand. And for telling me all that.”

“I don’t think that’s something you should need to thank me for,” you murmured back. “But I do want to hear, if you want to talk about it. And I want to hear as someone who wants to get to know you, not as someone who is a medical professional.”

The cautious smile on his face had spread a little, and upon your disclaimer, it briefly lit up his whole face. Then, his expression returned to a more somber state, but it wasn’t quite heavy anymore. Just serious, as he looked back to what had once been, and a tiny hint of nostalgia had crept into his voice.

“I think it took me a couple of years to get back out here not because of any burning love for Peggy but because I needed to let go of the life I would’ve had, could’ve had, back in the forties. So that everything wouldn’t be tainted by comparison, not to something that was necessarily better but to something that was familiar. I’d built all these hopes about my life, if I got healthy, if I got into the army, if I met someone with whom we’d hit off… Realistically, it wouldn’t necessarily have been Peggy. It might’ve been, but it might not have worked out at all with her if things had ever progressed beyond some chemistry and one kiss in the middle of a war zone. But I had these images in my head about a happy ending and everything it meant in that era, and I think that if I’d tried to find one here earlier, before I went through all the therapy, I would’ve not been able to appreciate the good things — not because they wouldn’t have been as good or better than what I’d thought I’d have but simply because it wouldn’t have been the exact image I had conjured in my mind. And now, when I finally felt like I was ready to try to find that happy ending again, I was pretty scared that something great was going to slip through my fingers again, as you put it,” he said, and smiled a little sheepishly as he stopped. “I don’t know if that makes any sense. But I don’t want a rain check, if you don’t, despite everything.”

You smiled, not just at his honesty but the admission in between the lines, that he truly thought this might become that happy ending and that it had already felt like something great to him. It wasn’t really a surprise, after what he’d said about being marriage-minded when it came to dating — realistically, things wouldn’t have progressed this far if he hadn’t been thinking that — but it was still different to hear it like this, sitting right next to him and feeling the words, rather than as an explanation of his general mindset over messages.

“I think it makes a lot of sense. And I appreciate your honesty, and the fact that you worked on yourself and made sure you are doing things for the right reasons,” you said. “And for what it’s worth…”

You smiled to yourself, peeling open the cardboard container that held your food and extending it to him.

“…I don’t see a reason why this night can’t be absolutely great despite everything. Want some fish and chips?”

He chuckled, reaching over to grab a fry. As he did, he brushed his little finger briefly over the knuckles of your hand holding the box, sending a tingling feeling of electricity up your arm, and you knew that he heard what you’d said between the lines, too.

I don’t see a reason why this can’t be our happy ending.

Next Chapter >>

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #ssf fic: a fairytale of a disaster #captain america x reader #steve rogers x female reader

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eloise175 · 10 months ago

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With the release of chapter 138 of the manhwa, we got to see the first attempt at brainwash up close, and also how Penelope’s suspicions cement themselves as true. Time for another chapter analysis and theory-crafting session RAAAAH 🦅🦅 (be mindful that it contains spoilers!)

We’ve seen before how Penelope had this idea that the Laila was Ivonne, and it appears that she’s becoming more and more convinced of it.

Penelope is very much creeped out by this, and also doesn’t feel inclined to interact with ‘Ivonne’ more than necessary since this signals the ending of hard mode approach. Though that does not stop ‘Ivonne’ from trying to get close to her…or better yet, to play victim whenever Penelope’s around, to try and make it pass off as Penelope’s doing, with fake tears and everything.

After a conversation, which Penelope cuts short (understandable), ‘Ivonne’ tries to follow her but trips and falls. To someone else it might look like Penelope might’ve done it (that is exactly what ‘Ivonne’ aims at).

Penelope catches her mid-fall, and notices with dread for the second time that ‘Ivonne’ is unnaturally cold, just as you’d expect a corpse to be.

This is the part where Penelope gets overwhelmed; it hits her that this might truly not be the real Ivonne and so Penelope tells her to pretend like she doesn’t exist, she’s basically telling her to do whatever she wants because she won’t intervene with her plans.

This is where you can see how things are starting to affect Penelope mentally, but also physically as she will become increasingly thinner because she avoids meals to not be anywhere near the ‘real daughter’.

During this, Reynold comes back from training assumedly, and something interesting happens with him, something that can be seen in his eyes, basically that strange glow.

His change in demeanor is very odd, as he tells Penelope off for whatever reason, accusing her of wanting to hit Ivonne all along. It all spirals when he uses Penelope’s past against her, aka what she told him in the attic, saying that her behavior is the motive she isn’t treated as an Eckhart.

It makes something in Penelope snap, because she actually had high hopes for Reynold, but in the end she got disappointed again. Her words “You haven’t changed at all.” get Reynold out whatever trance he was in and he follows after her where he apologizes for having misunderstood. This is where the chapter ends currently.

From here the theory-crafting/speculating starts.

Some time ago, SUOL-nim made a post on her Twitter/X account where she posted this image:

This is one of those moments when you applaud the artist for their great attention for details, because if you look closely there’s a pattern going on. Both Reynold and Derrick have this pink highlight at the bottom of their eyes, but when you look at Ivonne, she has a green highlight.

I was suspicious when I first saw it, but looking at it now, it was obviously overshadowing.

We can see it more clearly here, right under her pupils where the green spots appear. It looks unnatural and artificial, almost as if it wasn’t meant to be there in the first place.

It could be related to the glow that appears in Reynold’s eyes when he is under the control of the brainwash.

I think that Reynold wasn’t supposed to break free of the brainwash here. But when he does shake off the effects of the mind control, you can see how his gaze changes from indifferent/angry, back to normal.

When there’s that unnatural glint in his pupil, his eyes look lifeless, with most of the light having been sucked away from them, and the usual pinkish highlights turn a murky grey. Even the blue’s shade looks darker and more muted.

Maybe this might be the initial stage of the brainwash? What if it changes and becomes even more evident the longer the target is under the effects of the brainwash?

Tbh I’m curious to see how the others’ eyes changes under the effects of the brainwash and how they look even while resisting it. After the greenhouse scene (which is going to be in the upcoming episodes) it is hinted that Callisto seemed to resist being brainwashed, can’t wait for that.

#el’s thoughts #el’s rants #chapter analysis #exited to see more details lol #penelope eckhart #penelope eckart #reynold eckhart #reynold eckart #ivonne eckhart #yvonne eckart #villains are destined to die #vadd #death is the only ending for a villainess #death is the only ending for the villainess

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phr3ia · 5 months ago

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Resonance (Jiyan x Fem!Reader x Calcharo) [Chapter 1 : Drained]

How long has he been awake?

Jiyan wasn't entirely sure. The days had started to blend into one another after the most recent set of battles, with Tacet Discord outbreaks happening more and more frequently. Every day was another day of fighting, of trying his hardest to make sure every one of his fellow Rangers made it through the day and had another day where they might be able to get home.

...Some days though, even his best efforts were for nothing.

This was one of those days.

He fought fiercely, trying to keep the majority of the TD away from his subordinates. But one of them - a brave, foolish soul who had seen an enemy approaching Jiyan's back - had tried to intervene.

Jiyan didn't notice until he'd heard the choked cry behind his back. But when he'd turned back and saw them crumple, eyes blank...he lost his head a bit.

The next thing he was aware of, the TD were gone, and his subordinates were staring at him with a mix of awe and fear. His Tacet Mark was throbbing, and he was dimly aware of the way his entire body shook with an energy he needed to contain.

"Go back to camp." He'd ordered, all of them scrambling at the chance to return to camp, to rest and try to forget the image of Jiyan's rampage that he was sure was imprinted in their eyes. And Jiyan...had stayed in the valley, channeling the excess energy thrumming under his skin into killing even the smallest TD that crossed his path.

Now he was trudging back to his tent - exhausted, heart-sore, and numb. But upon entering his tent, he stilled, eyes immediately locking onto yours sitting on the edge of his bed.

"...Hey.." Jiyan greeted politely, his voice tired but courteous. "What brings you to my quarters?"

"I heard about what happened." you said, your tone was sad yet filled with understanding. Despite your gloomy demeanor, you were keenly aware of the struggles Jiyan faced each day and the toll it was taking on him. Although you had known each other since childhood, the word "best friend" was never explicitly mentioned between the two of you. However, the undeniable bond you shared spoke volumes beyond mere words. Both of you grew up side by side, chasing dreams together. After graduating from the Military Academy a decade ago, you rarely had the chance to see each other, unless under special circumstances.

As Jiyan ascended to the role of General, leading thousands of soldiers under his command, you became the Secretary Of Justice in Huang Long. You administer the government's criminal justice system by investigating crimes, prosecuting offenders and overseeing the correctional system. A position you earned through your undeniable intellect.

Upon noticing your melancholic behavior, Jiyan immediately sensed that something was amiss. He has always known you as a cheerful and carefree woman, who maintains an optimistic outlook on everything. It was unusual for him to see you behaving so strangely, as if you were miserable. However, Jiyan refrained from pressing you for details, knowing that your poorly-lit behavior may be related to your job, Jiyan acknowledged that the workings within the Department of Justice are private matters that he needs to respect.

"It was our first casualty this year, and I- I'm not sure I handled it well..." His voice was heavy, as he slowly came to sit in front ofyou. He could feel his chest tightening, and he looked away. "I don't know if I'm fit to lead them. Losing a soldier under my watch, I felt... I felt like..." He shook his head.

You could see through every barrier, every lie he tried to bury himself within. He didn't try to hide it from you. He brought his hands up, his broad-fingered hands gripping his own Tacet Mark. He closed his eyes, "All I did was wield them as weapons." His breathing sped up, and Jiyan slowly opened his eyes. "I want to do better...for them, for the Rangers..For Huang Long.." His body ached all over, and he welcomed the touch of another's hand on him, a touch that was not healing but comforting. Jiyan needed it, now more than ever.

"Jiyan." you said, gently placing your hand above his. Your previously unhappy demeanor had faded. "The first rule of leadership is to save yourself for the big decision. Don't let your mind get cluttered. I know you're always doing your best for Huang Long. Whatever you do, don't lose yourself in the process. I hope you would care enough for yourself to know that you deserve to receive as much as you give." Your gentle smile reassured Jiyan, conveying a sense of comfort and hope with just that simple gesture.

Jiyan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes, and leaned forward, his forehead resting against your shoulders. His breathing seemed to steady, his heart slowing, and he whispered, "Thank you, Y/N..."

He wasn't sure how long it took for him to feel the world slowly coming back into focus. But when Jiyan finally pulled back, he was a bit steadier, eyebrow furrowing as he glanced at the map that was folded on his table.

"I know we should call it a day, but...Tacet Discord activity is off the charts...I need to at least examine the map, make sure the strategic points are still secured..." He admitted. "And that we have enough reserve forces to rotate out. My mind won't rest until it's done, and besides..." Jiyan frowned, "I have to appear in control, or else the rest of the Rangers will lose heart. And I need to, I need to manage, I can't-" He stopped, fingers tightening around his hilt. "Just...give me a moment, and then I promise that I'll rest." He didn't want to overwork himself, but it was their lives at stake. He couldn't afford to let them down.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" you asked. Having previously been a member of the Military Defense Team under General Geshu Lin's command, your expertise and experience were invaluable.

Jiyan opened the map and spread it flat on the table. He took in the details, lips pursed in thought, as he mentally compared the map with the TD activity the Resonators had reported. It was a never-ending task, protecting the borders of Huang Long. Jiyan turned back to you, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You could give me your unbiased opinion, like always. Keep me from potentially running myself into the ground."

"You can look over my records, reports, and see if there's any new information on the Tacet Discord's movements, that'd help a lot." He gestured towards the papers on the table. "I don't trust every piece of information at face value. A second set of eyes can't hurt. With that, Jiyan returned to his map, eyes scanning the depiction of Jinzhou and its surroundings. His fingers continued to lightly trace lines in the map, considering different strategies to deal with the outbreaks. Jiyan's carefully constructed calm shattered for a moment when he noticed a freshly marked TD hotspot. "Damn..." He muttered, going back to the reports. Your presence, however, did help, and Jiyan's eyes flickered over to you. He wasn't sure if you would pick up on it, but Jiyan couldn't help the relief of having someone else to share the burden with.

"General. It's important that we pinpoint these areas, especially since the City Guards are stretched too thin as it is." You suggested as you attentively observed the placement of the TD marks on the area. As both of you analyzed the map, Jiyan found himself relaxing a bit more. He'd always admired your sharp mind, and while you spoke, he found himself absentmindedly staring at you. "So, General, what do you think about my plan?" you abruptly asked, shifting your gaze towards him, which snapped him out of his trance.. Jiyan's cheeks warmed in embarrassment and he hastily looked away. He glanced back at the map, a frown creasing his features. "That's a solid plan. We need to move the Rearguard into sectors with the highest Tacet Discords. Some soldiers seems to have reported multiple sightings of TD moving in a particular formation, I want to explore that." Jiyan's voice trailed off in thought as he watched your expressions. "Though it'll be chaotic, but we can make a dent into some of these hotspots...There are some reinforcements camped out a bit south-east. I'll have to consider rotating these additional soldiers in...and perhaps get some fresh supplies to the current Rangers." Jiyan stretched his arms, eyes squinting a bit. "Once we do that, and the replacements are settled in, I think I'll be able to relax." It was said lightly, but Jiyan was acutely aware of how heavy his eyelids were. He glanced back at you, his eyes softened appreciatively. "Your input has helped ease the weight. I'm grateful for it, truly."

"Ha! Admit it, I'm better than you." you teased with a smirk, your arms crossed over your chest as you chuckled.

"Not a chance." The General replied with a light laugh, shaking his head in disagreement.

Jiyan stood, stretching his back to alleviate some of the muscle pains that had settled after his recent battle. He'd need the sleep, but he grabbed a small box from his desk, rummaged through it, drawing a tea bag to the table. "Tea?"

"Absolutely." You replied with a warm smile.

And the rest of the night was filled with conversations that brought smiles to your faces.

[2 hours later...]

"Thank you, General. I had fun!" With midnight approaching, you knew that Jiyan needed to rest.

"Hey, would you mind if I visit you in Jinzhou the day after tomorrow?" Jiyan inquired, hoping for you to say yes. It had been a while since he had a normal conversation with you, and he honestly missed those times when he could just be himself. Not as a soldier, not as a general, but simply as Jiyan.

"Of course." You both value and respect each other's work schedules. You and Jiyan acknowledged that both of you couldn't spend as much time together as you used to when you were younger.

"Anyway, I should head off. It's getting late, and you can't hide that tired look of yours anymore." you chuckled, pinching the General's cheek. "Hey, cut it out!" he playfully pushed your hand away, feeling a twinge of embarrassment that you still teased him like the short and shy boy he once was.

In return, Jiyan tousled your hair as he wrapped his arm around your neck, restraining your movements.

"Alright! Alright! You win!" you surrendered, dropping your arms in defeat. Jiyan was now too tall for you to reach. "What's that?" Jiyan teased. He seldom heard you admit defeat, so hearing you say this was like music to his ears. You couldn't help but just roll your eyes at him as you freed yourself from his arm.

"Would you like me to accompany you back to Jinzhou?" He was concerned about you returning late at night with only a few soldiers escorting you.

"No need. I can take care of myself." you replied confidently. There was no need for you to prove yourself, as you were also known for mastering the element of fusion and handling it like a crazy maniac. However, at times, your overconfidence can lead to distractions, which is one of your downfalls.

"Oy, you keep forgetting the huge gap in our strength. You can't rely on going into a rampage to defend yourself. It's not the best approach." Jiyan remarked, aware of your occasional recklessness.

"Whatever you say, General." you sighed, rising from your seat. "Stubborn as always." Jiyan mumbled quietly as he escorted you out of his quarters.

"Goodnight, General." you bid farewell as you closed the door behind you. "Until then, Madam Secretary." Jiyan headed back to his bed, the slow exhaustion catching up with him. His armor had been stripped to reveal his elegantly toned body, sleek and unfaltering. He'd need to rest, he'd need to heal, just a bit more. He started to undress, shelving his armor. Jiyan laid down, the weight of the day finally catching up with him, and the soft snores filled the room sometime later. He was finally drowning in the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

End Of Chapter 1 🥀...

Who would you choose in a world where love and duty collided, and where the heart's desires clashed with the demands of fate? The unspoken love of Jiyan, who has known you since childhood, or the fiery passion that Calcharo harbors for you, despite the shadows of his past?

#wuthering waves #Wuwa #wuwa fanfic #wuwa x you #wuwa x reader #wuwa jiyan #wuwa calcharo #wuwa smut #wuwa romance #wuwa violence #fanfiction

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whatitsdecending · 8 months ago

Text

Chokehold: Pt. VI

Vessel x Reader x Noah Sebastian

The high of being around Vessel had soon come to an end as he had to leave for a quick tour and it seems like there is trouble between your friendship with Noah following that phone call from a few weeks ago.

A/N: hello me again, me… I’m bad at updating and I apologize! This is another filler (i know:/) just because I do want to get to the juicy stuff which happens after where we leave off in this chapter :) enjoy!

Word Count: 2.2k

Content warning: some lighter details of smut

—————————

Three weeks passed and you never heard from Noah.

It was worrying; his abrupt end to your conversation and then going ghost since then. Not one text of him sending a stupid meme for you to look at or even a picture of Jolly doing something idiotic at their house. Nothing. And it made your heart ache.

Was it something you’d done? Did he figure out what was going on between you and Vessel? Your mind constantly retraced the conversation, wondering if he had overheard something he didn’t need to… in fact, that was a good possibility.

You did take the call while Vessel was finishing up dinner and stepped away while you answered, not wanting there to be so much background noise you couldn’t hear what Noah was saying. Vessel said something and you responded, doing everything you could to cover the sound so it wasn’t as obvious. Clearly you did a bad job at that.

But why did he seem so mad about it?

Noah’s temper confused you sometimes but you knew he put up shields to prevent himself from getting hurt again. That part of him is something you could relate to, and it was one of the many things the two of you bonded over during your first few conversations. But from your entire relationship with him, you both never wanted something serious. The entire no strings attached thing is something you both agreed on, had it become too much?

Your mind pondered the entire situation while you spaced out on Vessel’s bed. You’d become entranced by the repetitive motion of him folding his clothes and packing them into his suitcase. That time had come, where Vessel had to go to Germany for two weeks for shows. It was just two weeks, you’d tell yourself. He will be back and you will watch their show in London before you get to spend the holidays with him. Though that time will probably fly by and then you’re going back to work with Bad Omens.

It pained you as you thought about the possibility of a ruined friendship between you and Noah. Maybe being able to speak to him in person would help and you could explain yourself with more ease in person than over the phone.

“Well that’s all I need.” Vessel’s voice broke you from your trance and you noticed he had finished fitting all he needed into the suitcase. His eyes danced across the solemn look on your face, his own becoming confused. “What’s wrong, Y/N?”

“Just gonna miss you, that’s all.” You mumbled. A gentle smile tugged at his lips as his eyes softened. He stepped over to where you sat on the bed and wrapped his long arms around you, pulling you in close to his torso.

“I know. But I’ll be back here soon, just a few shows and you get to go enjoy the coolest one of them all.” He said. You snorted at that last part, knowing it was going to be pretty cool since Vessel hasn’t been able to contain his excitement and spilled everything that’s planned for their Wembley show. As he rambled on, you grew more excited as the days passed by. Now that their tour was starting in two days, the excitement was almost at its peak.

His hands gently pushed against your back as he held you closer to his chest, the subtle scent of his cologne wafting into your nose and settling the constant ache in your own chest from these past few weeks.

Time flew by so quickly that the moment he mentioned he needed to meet his band for rehearsals hit you like a train. You knew the entire process from your own experience, but when it came to the expense of the happiness you’d fought for all your life, it was debilitating.

The light buzz of his phone on the bedside table startled you both, taking away the warm trance you’d both been encased with. His brow furrowed as he read the message and stuffed the phone into his back pocket.

“II is outside.” His voice was soft as he ran a hand along the back of your head, cupping around the base of your skull and bringing your face to his. It was a gentle kiss and long enough to show you he didn’t want this moment to end. Neither did you.

Vessel hesitantly zipped his suitcase closed and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder as he pulled the luggage from his bed. Your heart ached more and more with each movement, each taking you closer to when he’ll be leaving.

You followed him down the steps and out into the freezing air of December, noticing II waiting in his car in the driveway. He stepped out and headed to where you stood with Vessel.

“Y/N!” He said in a way of greeting. “Looking wonderful as always.” He pulled you into a tight hug. “It’ll be over soon, I promise.” He gave you a small squeeze of reassurance before he pulled away and took Vessel’s suitcase.

“II!” You called as he began to head back to his car. “Make sure he stays out of trouble.” A smirk pulled at his lips as he gave you a thumbs up.

“I’m not the one who gets in trouble…” Vessel mumbled from your side. You turned to face the man you’ve become so accustomed to and felt that ever growing pain be the strongest it’s ever been.

You cupped his cheeks with your hands as you stared into his eyes. “I will miss you, Ves. I hope you have an amazing tour and everything goes smoothly. I’ll see you in two weeks.” He smiled down at you, noticing the sliver of tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as that ache grew to be too much to bear.

His hand reached up and covered your left one moving his face to lay a kiss on your palm, before taking both your hand and his and placing it over your heart. “Only two weeks, darling. Then you’ll have me as much as you want until your duties come around.” He glanced over to where II was patiently waiting and then back to you. “Don’t get into any trouble.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead and walked away.

In a matter of a minute, the car was gone and you were alone. Usually being alone didn’t bother you since it was all you’d known for years… but this was a different type of loneliness that you had no idea how to handle.

Though it was only two weeks, this shit was going to suck.

—————

Snow fluttered around you as you placed some firewood into the basket Vessel used to hold them. Before he left he made sure to stock up on the logs so you’d be able to keep a fire going while you read, knowing the sound was something that helped engage you more into your stories.

It’s been a day since Vessel left for tour and you were still adjusting to the newfound silence that filled his home. Usually, you could easily figure out what room he was in since music had the tendency to follow him everywhere. Whether it was something he played from his phone or his own voice carrying through the house. Whichever the case may be, you always loved it.

Sleep didn’t come easily last night as you tossed and turned in the sheets, longing for his warmth and strong arms to hold you as you fell asleep.

Everything ached. Your heart and mind as you longed for his presence beside you… but the worst was the ache between your legs as your mind wandered off to the night before he left.

His hands wandered your body, the one he’d come to memorize so quickly, as his eyes watched yours with a fiery intent. You laid bare beneath him as he masterfully touched you in every way that made you melt for him.

You sighed as his fingers would brush past the place you wanted them most. Vessel smirked at the reaction and his hands pressed against the sensitive skin of your thighs, spreading them apart even further than they were before. Your breath hitched in your chest as you watched him lower down to your core, the slickness illuminating under the light of the candles surrounding the two of you.

He placed kisses on each thigh, moving closer and closer…

His lips made contact with your clit and your hips bucked into his touch. Vessel dug his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as he held you down on the bed, not allowing you to move as he teased you with his tongue.

“Ves…” you moaned. “Please-” The whine that came from you sounded pathetic to your ears, but it turned him on even more as you felt the growl he released against you.

“What is it that you want darling?” He asked, his stare holding yours and you did your best to relay the message through your eyes. “Use your words, love.”

You took in a deep breath as he watched with patience. Your mind moved a million miles per hour as you thought of how to tell him what exactly you wanted. You closed your eyes as you took one last deep breath before saying; “Vessel I want you to make me ascend to the stars.”

Your phone buzzing on the table in front of you snapped you back to reality. That ache between your legs intensified during your daydream, and now you knew you’d have to take care of it at some point.

Picking up the phone, you notice it’s a message from Vessel. You open it and smile at what he sent; a mirror picture of him and the guys in their stage getup and a caption that said: All ready to make some people cry!

You quickly typed back a response and then another, asking him to send one of just himself… for reasons you won't explain until he gets back.

—————

Today was Wembley day. The band had been in London for a few days now, but you hadn’t been able to see them because they were so busy preparing for this show. You texted back and forth with Vessel, learning there were much more “extravagant” pieces for this show than what they’d grown accustomed to.

So now you walk around the venue as a security guard leads you to the backstage entrance. He gave you a little pass that said “crew” and explained I will be hanging out in Vessel’s dressing room for a bit until the show starts and I can chill on the side stage.

The arena was huge and you were so thankful this security guard was showing you where to go instead of you having to figure it out on your own.

Your journey ended when he stopped at a door, nodded and left. A nervous pit began to grow in your stomach as you raised your fist and knocked. The door swung open seconds later and Vessel pulled you inside, slamming the door behind you and pushing your body against it.

Your breathing was rapid as you stared at each other. “Hello.” You said, noticing that he was shirtless and had the pants he performs in on.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive,’’ he breathed heavily. “I was getting worried.”

“Traffic. You know how bad it gets when there’s an event.” You cracked a smile.

“I know… I just needed you here.”

Your hand rested on his chest. “I’m here now, Ves.”

“I know.” He whispered. His hand wrapped around the back of your neck and pulled you to his lips. It was gentle and intimate, everything you’ve wanted in the last two weeks. You just wanted him like this, to hold you close and kiss you like nothing else mattered around the two of you. His arms belonged around you and that’s all that matters.

An hour later you’re standing on the side of the stage, making sure to stay out of the way of the crew running around and doing their last minute tasks. You’d peaked out a few times and gasped each time when you saw just how many people were here to watch them perform.

You were going to have to get used to the arenas since Bad Omens will be performing in them as they open for Bring Me The Horizon. But in the meantime you stood back and gaped at the crowd, wondering how the hell they could perform and not throw up from the nerves.

The lights turned off and the roar of the crowd was near deafening as the beginning of Chokehold echoed through the building. You watched as Vessel was guided through the side stage, making his way to the middle of the stage. You became entranced by the pure beauty of him as he did what he loved most.

And that part of you ached once again. Your heart, it ached in a way that it hadn’t before and you felt even more drawn to everything he did. Whether it was the simple things he did at home or while he put his all into performing, you didn't know.

What you did know was that your heart beat for him.

And that you loved him.

#bad omens #noah sebastian #sleep token #vessel

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diejager · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4

Cw: blood, death, canon typical violence, guns, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.6k

Series masterlist

Finland was a beautiful country, with a wide expanse of snowy plains and forest that covered the frozen earth. Green pines were tipped in gleaming snow, shiny and holy in a way that brought out awe and astonishment instead of anxiety from the mission. For a pretty country, the land was bathed in blood, old and new, both Finnish and Russian.

Standing on the border of Finland and Russia was a compound, one built by shady funds and shadier reasons that the CIA decided to send Task Force 141 to shut down. The images from drones showed that it tainted the snow black and grey, a mark on the land people wanted gone. It was your target.

Price gathered you around the table for the mission's debriefing, standing at the head of it, he had pictures displayed on the table, and physical notes about the mission and Laswell dealt with the extra explanations, sliding files to the screen. A Russian compound from what Laswell's intel told you, hidden under the thick, forested area of the border with a skeleton crew of around twenty ultranationalists.

The CIA had mentioned that their initial assumptions of the ongoings were human trafficking or an information hub for terrorists and prisoners. Whether it was the first or the second, the secretive compound had to be detained.

"Our main objective is to gather information about the things happening behind those walls. It's an infiltration and intel gathering. We leave in 15.

With the dismissal, you all filed out of the room, boots sounding loudly as you made your way to your barrack and then armoury for the mission. Everyone would need to be ready, you'd have no air support or cover, and you'd all be on field.

Nikolai warned you about turbulence, the harsh wind of the Nordic countries was stronger than the British weather, but the ride was calming, interacting with your teammates on the three-hour flight. Jokes were passed around by Gaz and Soap, they were by far the goofiest of the bunch, though with a bit of insistence, Ghost shared a few of his dark humour.

Humour wasn't something you'd relate Ghost to, the brooding mass of a man seemed so cold and distant to you, yet he cared about the team, and now you too. Price, however, had the worst dad jokes one could think of. Although his jokes were bad and as dark as Ghost's, you couldn't contain your cackle when you saw the disgusted expression on the three, younger men before you.

"Approaching the landing site," Nikolai called out, his voice ringing out from the headset.

The carrier shook violently, and your stomach dropped along the plane, lowering to the cleared, paved ground near a village. It was a rocky landing, the landing wheels jerking upwards a few times before it stopped moving. You followed out behind Price and Roach once you were cleared by Nikolai, hearing the blades shutter and halt as your eyes adjusted to the white land.

You were warned about snow blindness, staring at the beautiful sight through dark glasses, it made everything sombre, but you wouldn't risk it. By habit, your eyes scanned the area, watching for things that could bring to your team. When everything seemed fine, you faced the blurred figure that moved to your side.

"First time 'ere?" Ghost asked, his voice gravelly from not using it much apart from the few jokes he told, they could be counted with both hands.

"No, I've been here once, just nowhere this calm," you replied, watching Nik's back.

He walked with long strides, casual and comfortable with the older-looking man standing farther from your group, weary with age. You lingered on the Russian, ready to act if the old man had dark intentions. They spoke, hands moving in small and wide gestures as they exchanged words. You were too far to catch a whisper of their discussion, but the smile that stretched on the man's lips told you it was going well.

They shook hands and Nikolai called out, urging you to follow the Finnish. Edvard, the local that would host you during your stay, his cabin would act as your temporary safe house in the remote village. He was Nik's contact in the area, someone you couldn't trust to keep your location safe. Edvard had nothing to lose, an old man living alone on the outskirts of the village, and a family lost to Barkov’s tyranny.

The broken-down car burped and spewed exhaust with loud rumbles, it seemed as old - if not, older - than the driver itself. Your team of seven, four of which were burly men and three leaner but still cracked with layers of warm jackets, vests and gear, somehow fit. With little to no baggage, except a bag from each, four of you fit the car, it was tight but you made it work, Nikolai sat at the front and the two last - Soap and Gaz - were left out in the cold, in the pickup’s bed with the bags. It was a miracle the ford hadn’t dropped from the sheer, combined weight of its passengers.

The hour-long ride was uncomfortable, being forced to lay over their laps to fit during a long and bumpy road promised a sore back, especially when you were staring up at your Lieutenant’s face. The warm brown hues that hazed back down through the tinted glasses made you flush, his gaze had always been intense, in and out of duty. None of your teammate’s stare compared to Ghost’s. The ride was silent, awkward to the point you’d hear a pin drop if Nikolai and Edvard weren’t talking - a rough mix of Finnish and Russian that none of you understood - and the boisterous chatter from the men outside. Talking helped get the mind off the cold air, gloves, hats and balaclava weren’t enough for the cold. Their chattering helped mince the uncomfortableness you felt, forced to stare continuously at the man who liked being unseen.

You were out the second the engine was shut down, jumping from Ghost’s side as if their bodies burned you. You were grateful they hadn’t mentioned your little run, knowing it was unbearably confining. The cabin wasn’t much, but it had heat, food and warm water, it wasn’t decrepit looking nor was it run down. You shrugged your glasses once you stepped into the cabin, white light illuminated the open-concept place furnished with old things, the yellowed doors were mostly rooms and a bathroom. Two rooms to the left and two others to the right, one was Edvard’s and you’d have to share the rest and the available couch.

“I’ll take the couch,” Ghost’s decision was quickly made. He preferred to sleep alone - if he even slept - and taking the couch let him have the whole view of the cabin. It never sat well with him to stay the night in new places, new was unknown, and unknown was dangerous. He might sleep an hour or two, but he’d be ready to move if anything happened.

“Roach with Winter, Gaz with Soap, and Nikolai with me.”

Your team had foregone the pickup truck, it would’ve been easily seen and heard by the Russian’s guards and their surveillance around the forest. The trek through the forest was cold and quiet, you could see it a mile in, the compound stood out under the green pines with its white lights and the tall, grey walls. Your plan was to slip in through the back and take out the security system before Alpha and Bravo would go in. You and Gaz - team Echo - were tasked with taking down the two guards near the back entrance and from then, shut down the system and take out anyone on the way.

“Team Echo in position, moving in, “ Gaz called, hand motioning you to take position and wait for his call to kill. One shot to the head, or a double tap to the chest.

Your intel told you they had walked the same path every time, one man went left and the other, right, with a rotation every half hour. The last swap was five minutes ago, so you’d have around twenty-five minutes to complete your task. You followed the left man, watching through your night-vision goggle (NVG) his figure waddle between the trees. You moved quietly, approaching him with your handgun in both hands; you’d all agreed that it’d be a better option if you wanted to stay quiet, a muzzled handgun would echo less in an empty forest void of sound.

His steps were loud and careless, too used to being the only ones in the area, they covered yours and let you get closer to him. When you slid next to him, you shot out, side colliding with his back. He fell with a shout, eyes wide in shock as he reached for the rifle that fell a foot away from him. Before he could grasp it, you aimed for his head and fired, blood spraying from the wound as the exit hole oozed it. You searched his body, padding down his sides and hip until you found the keycard they used to leave and enter the facility.

You felt at ease, this was your field of work, killing was a better skill than healing in these moments, but being a field medic had its merit. Your hands were stable, your body moving by instinct - habits beaten in by your training - and your mind tuning the loud voices that swore at you. Everything felt colder, more numb when you were on duty, it was nearly calming to your mind, blocking out all noise when you were on the move - concentrate or you die.

“Gaz, what’s your status?” you called, standing from the body, sliding back into the dark.

“Good, meet me back,” he answered, and you could hear the snow crunch beneath his feet.

You backtracked and flipped up your NVG, seeing him crouched behind a tree and nodded when you caught his eye. You showed him the keycard, both entering the clearing around the walls. The door clicked open when you scanned the keycard, it beeped before you pushed it open. You looked both sides, rifle aimed for anyone to turn the corner and walked in when you saw it was safe. The insides buzzed with a loud hum, booming enough to almost cover your shots, so you and Gaz would have to hastily make your way to the security room.

You move in first, Gaz watching your back as you followed the instructions Laswell gave towards the security room, her plans were clear and simple: once inside, down the left hall and turn right at the corner, then turn right and up the stairs to the fourth floor, the target room was the last door on the floor with a bold Безопасность - security. You watched both ways before you turned right, and did again before turning and stalking to the stairs. The climb was quiet, no one had entered or walked the east wing and the stairs were vacant. It was a rapid climb to the fourth floor, where the only ultranationalist you saw was entering the security room. You turned to Gaz, nodding a silent message - one you’d conveyed many times before - and hastily made your way to the room’s door.

You burst through the door, throwing a flash grenade into the room before you rushed in with Gaz behind you. You heard their screams - two distinct voices, both males - and shot them down when they blindly searched the tables, one for his gun and the other for his radio. You searched the whole room before radioing the others: “Security room clear. I’m watching the cams, Cap’n. The backdoor’s still open, you have less than ten minutes. “

“Copy, Alpha moving out,” Price answered.

“Bravo out,” Ghost replied, he and Soap moved to meet up with Alpha Team.

They would make their way up, clearing floor by floor while you and Gaz would search the fourth floor for mercenaries and information. It was quickly done, you swept the floor, going room to room with your rifles raised, watching Gaz’s back as he led. You assumed the floor was vacant since no one rushed in after the screams, giving you enough time to search the security room for stray files or anything Laswell would appreciate getting her hands on.

“Floor one, clear.” They cleared the first floor, moving up to the second.

There were four doors apart from the security room, two held bunks and were dirtied with stray clothes and other inconspicuous things. Disgusting, you’d be punished severely for having such messy barracks and rooms, laps around the base of extra training time, the Ultranationalists had no organization in this base - different from others you’ve seen. The third room was an archive of some sort, rows and rows of file boxes, all unlocked. They were old files, you swiped through each box and saw the dates marked on the manila folders. Some were dated from before the 21st century, the oldest from 1989 and the most recent from a month ago. There were too many to take, but Laswell told you to search for a computer and save whatever was on the drive.

The last door led to a briefing room, albeit small, with a computer placed on the table. This was what you were tasked to find, you skimmed the side, searching for the disk or drive that held the information you needed.

“Floor two, clear.” It had been quiet on their side, they met enemies on the way.

While you were preoccupied with the laptop, Gaz looked over the folders spread on the table, flipping pages and reading words he didn’t understand. Russian, they were written in Russian and none of you were able to read, nor speak it. Sure, you understood, but only enough to know the basics. Your finger nudged the small edge of a disk, the round corners of the plastic rectangle. You pushed it lightly and it slid out, grabbing the protruding cartridge and placing it in the pocket of your black jacket, under your vest.

“Found the drive.”

“And I got the files, seems important enough.”

It was radio silence for a while, you waited for the other teams’ reply before moving down, watching the room’s door for gunmen. You locked eyes with Gaz, asking him whether you should move or wait for them. Although both sergeants, you trusted his experience in a field he was thrust into longer than you, he had the rank years before a greenie like you. If he told you to wait, you’d wait; if he wants to move out, you’d follow him out.

“Floor three, clear-“ the radio cracked, Soap growled into his mic, a deep, throaty sound akin to Ghost’s roars. “We’re moving up.” The gravely tone told you all you had to know, he and Ghost met someone on their floor.

From your position, you watched the door open and Price popped his head in, nodding his head towards Gaz - folder in his hand - and you - disc secured in your vest. With Price’s order for evac, you all followed him out, face snugly hidden under your black balaclava and thick clothes in the cold winter of Finland’s night.

Price called Laswell once you confirmed you were safely back to Edvard’s cabin, jumping into a secure line and retelling your mission with the promise of giving her the disc and folder once you landed on British ground, back on familiar land with cloudy days and rainy evenings. While the colder air was refreshing, a sight you last saw years back, nothing felt better than familiar ground, the safety and comfort your barack brought or the thrill and amusement the pub you went to last week left you with, watching your team getting wasted on alcohol to a successful mission.

You’d wait out the night, trading posts for night watch with the others, your team’s paranoia of being followed and never knowing if the enemy had called for backup after you reached the security room. So many times bad luck struck you, fate dealing you a bad hand in your endeavours. Ghost would go first, being the most paranoid out of everyone - for good reasons, he’d been betrayed too many times to count, and he knew the sharp edge of a knife better than anyone else - then you’d take his place, let him rest while he could, after you, Soap, Gaz, Roach and Price, the Captain would be able to wake everyone up in the early morning.

You tried sleeping, rolling from one side to the other, one leg knocking the other while your mind stormed with wild thoughts and wandering words. Your eyes closed, ears muffled with the soft cover of your pillow, but sleep evaded you, chased away from stray thoughts. The voices, and the screaming pain from memories long gone haunted you when you weren’t on field, the drowned-out sounds of gunfire and grenades submerged the memories. Tonight, however, the cries were louder, more painful and desperate than they were yesterday or the day before, twisted and turning wouldn’t do you any good, nor would it do Roach any good, who slept a few feet away from you.

So you left your bed, what harm would it bring if you took your post early, you couldn’t sleep and wouldn’t be able to either. Sound sleep had escaped your grasp the moment you touched Finland. Outside the door, you caught Ghost staring back at you, alerted by the sound and movement of your exit. You gazed back at him, silent as he was with his beautiful, brown eyes.

“Mind if I join you?” you tentatively asked, voice low to not startle the others. You stopped on the other side of the couch, waiting for his reply. You were hyper-fixed on his eyes.

While your relationship with him had a bumpy start, you admired him, you looked up to the beast he was: solemn and strong-willed. He moved forward without looking back, seeing things until the end without an ounce of hesitation in his step, of fear or trepidation on his face - his warm eyes - and he never stooped low, head held high and powerful. His huge figure with broad shoulders and thick arms were distracting at times, when you saw him walk down the hall at the base, cloaked in black and a simple, skull-painted balaclava over his face than his masked one.

He was your lieutenant, your second in command and you trusted him with your life as he did with you, months of working side by side had strengthened the link between you. From strangers to colleges to brothers in arms. You learned to read the smallest signs on him, from non-verbal, tensing shoulders to the dilated joy in his eyes when you watched the others stumble drunkenly.

You moved when he nodded slightly, eyes watching you sit beside him before returning to gazing out the windows. Join him, you did, silently sharing this moment with Ghost, rare moments of calmness (even with the noise in your head). You sat in silence, a few calming minutes of respite, you traced the few visible stars from the inside of the dark cabin. The countryside had its perks, especially at night, where only darkness clouded the skies, this one was painted with stars, some bright, some dim. It was a sight for sore eyes for city dwellers like you, used to the grey skyline and bright skyscrapers that loomed over the houses and flats in the UK.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Ghost’s voice was mellow, having a slight rasp from the small use of his voice. It was deep and soothing to your ear, it captured your attention and kept it on him. His question wouldn’t be left unanswered.

You hummed, bobbing your head as you peered at him from the corner of your eyes, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark lashes fluttering when he blinked. His face was turned towards you, his pretty eyes looking at you with calmness in them. Perhaps he knew your answer wasn’t satisfactory for him, or perhaps he knew you hid something from him. Something weighed on his mind, you could tell by his continuous staring. You wouldn’t urge him to ask the question that lingered on his tongue, not unless he felt comfortable to ask it. You learned quickly that he was as mentally guarded as he was physically, building a thick and high wall around himself, it rarely cracked but it did.

You tethered on the limit of his comfort, the nearness between you was as close as you could get to him without having him tense, however, physical touch was a negative. You did once touch him and he flinched, muscle rippling and freezing at your cool gloves, you hadn’t touched him since then. You knew the fear of being touched, you’ve been once before, though you worked it off slightly. You still jumped, but you wouldn’t panic.

“Somethin’ bothering you?” he finally asked, pushing out the words after a tense moment in his body.

“Not really,” you shook your head, returning his stare. “Just feeling excited about returning home. It feels safer, no?”

This time he hummed, a distracting sound that rumbled out of his throat. You loved the sound of his voice, albeit rare for him to speak more than a few lines here and there, you cherished the moments he did. You could sit here, with him, gazing into each other’s eyes, admiring him for everything he was. Respect and loyalty were given to him, for his experience and his trauma. You knew the way everyone looked at him, fear from outsiders and warmth from the Task Force, they were your family as you were theirs.

“You won’t mind if I stay here ‘till I take over, L.T.?”

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