#i made the mistake of writing it from shadows pov | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

perdidosbucky-yyo · 4 months ago

Text

𝓡𝓸𝓼𝓪

Part🥀

Main Masterlist

Pairing: Best Friend!Steve Rogers x Plus size! Fem!Reader (no mention of ethnicity)

Summary: Trapped in a prison of your husband and your mother’s expectations, haunted by the memory of your best friend, your only comfort is the ghost in your garden.

You thought you would never see him again but when he unexpectedly returns home from the war after 12 years, you’re not prepared for what’s to come.

wc: 6k

Warnings: Feminism doesn’t exist in this fic, the story is set between 1950-1965, fertility issues, detailed mention of miscarriage, body shaming (not from Steve), implied boner and handjob, violence, terms of endearment (I got carried away jsjs), detailed sexual abuse attempt (not from Steve), domestic violence, flashbacks and small time jumps (I hope it’s not confusing lmao), changing POVs (again, I hope it’s not confusing lmao), please let me know if I missed anything! more warnings to be added in part II.

a/n: This is my entry to @witchywithwhiskey 's Slasher Summer writing challenge, with the prompts: small town and stalker. I've poured my heart and soul into this fic, I had so many ideas I had to cut the fic in half so part two will be posted soon I hope (but it won't be part of the wc given that it ends today hehe) I hope you like it 👉🏼👈🏼

This is not beta'd any and all mistakes are my own.

“Move” your mother reprimanded.

You wanted to, you did, but your body wouldn’t listen, your chest was so heavy you felt trapped under the covers.

The sky was so blue, it reminded you of the blue puppies you once had in the garden. You cried all night when you came home from a trip to find them wilted and forgotten by your husband, they were the same shade as those eyes… every time you tended to them, it was like he was looking at you.

“Speak! Do something!” she hissed, the blue sundown behind her, tainted the room slate, and her black eyes became even darker. You noticed as she screamed in your face that her breath smelled of cigarettes, normally you’d be cowering in fear or trying to appease her but you remained frozen not even blinking.

Letting out a snort she wipes the sweat off your forehead with a cloth, “Look at yourself”, the woman grimaced, did you truly look so ghastly?

You wished she would just leave you, your mother was a busy woman, she had other things to do than take care of you… you hate to bother her.

“if you get any bigger people will know”, you vaguely hear her words, you tried to care but the sky was so beautiful, so peaceful, something you appreciated given your current state. Your whole body ached and nausea kept you awake every night, you were exhausted, and yet sleep never came.

“You reap what you sow darling, you must've done something to dese- You should be thanking God John hasn’t left you yet! he won’t put up with this for long, he wants a wife, not this” Her hand points to you in bed with a scowl on her lips.

Tears start streaming down your face, you wish the shadows in your room swallowed you. As saliva gathers in your tongue you feel like you’re about to throw up but your body still wouldn’t move.

She’s still rambling on about your failures as a woman, pacing around the room, so you take a frame from under your pillow, it was a photo of him and you.

Sophomore year, both of you sat on a bench just outside of your high school, he looked so handsome, you remember it well. Right after fall break, he wore a wool waistcoat that was much bigger for his skinny figure, and his hair was perfectly combed.

Both of you smiled from ear to ear, he was hunched over while you sat up straight with your knees resting on his.

It felt like it was a lifetime ago, instead of 12 years, you didn’t particularly enjoy high school, but Steve Rogers made it memorable.

Once upon a time you lived in the same neighborhood since you were 8 years old, the first time you saw him he was having an asthma attack as he crashed his bike into some trash cans. You ran to his side and quickly introduced yourself, his scrawny hand shook yours back before you took the white ribbon from your dress and pressed it against his bleeding forehead.

He instinctively reached for his head and your fingers grazed him for just a second, eyes so focused on yours, you realized he was scared, so your other hand reached to comfort him… sometimes you think you’ve held hands ever since, and neither of you could let go.

You couldn’t be separated even if your parents threatened and bargained, inseparable would be an understatement. After the accident, Steve found a kindred spirit and comfort in your friendship, while you discovered fierce loyalty and kindness.

It was strange that, at such a young age you felt drawn to Steve, and you knew he did too, as children it only made you want to spend every second of every day together.

You’d spend summers, riding your bikes all over town despite your mother’s scorn, listening to Billie Holiday records in Grandma Rogers’ dusty old house, reading in the library until it closed, playing tag in his living room while his mother baked in the kitchen, hiding in his basement every time your dad picked you up.

When the days you spent together weren’t enough, you begged for sleepovers, your sister had them all the time after all, but your mother thought it improper for a boy to sleep over, so eventually, you fashioned a sheet rope for Steve to climb once everyone had gone to bed, and then he’d sleep by your side.

Some nights you’d whisper what you imagined the past was like, both of you were passionate about history, sometimes Steve would caress your hair while you sobbed into his shoulder, cursing to hell all belts, but most nights you would stay silent, holding hands until you fell asleep, once the sun was up, Steve’s side of the bed was always empty.

This went on for years, even in high school, your love for each other only grew, despite the silly arguments like you spending more time studying than with Steve, or him always getting a black eye never knowing when to stand down.

The both of you knew this was forever, and there was nothing you could do or say that would make either of you leave.

You tried getting out of his hold, squirming and pushing, if it were anyone else you’d be suffocated, “G-osh Stevie for someone so lean, you sure are strong” you huffed and puffed.

“If my mother finds us cuddling she’ll never let you see me again” You laughed, but you weren’t kidding, young ladies were never to engage in inappropriate behavior with boys your mother would always tell you.

“Yeah, I’d like to see her try” Steve grunted, almost possessively, his arms only squeezing you further into his chest, you couldn’t breathe but it wasn’t because of his bruising hold, chills went down your spine, and butterflies flew in your stomach.

You chose to ignore his comment and what it made you feel, “We have to go soon, Bucky won’t wait for us forever and he’s our ride”, finally you felt Steve’s arms relax but his hands remained on your back, rubbing it.

Catching him off guard, you free yourself and jump out of bed, quickly running to your mirror to check if your hair still looks good and to your relief it does. As you turn back you catch a glimpse of him adjusting his pants which makes your cheeks burn hot, you didn’t understand why that made you proud, and it isn’t the first time it’s happened, but Steve reassured you it was normal…

You weren’t brave enough to ask him if it was normal that you wanted to touch it.

As you walk out to your porch, Steve’s hand reaches for yours, “Promise you won’t stray too far from me, God knows what kind of people Tony invites to his parties”, his eyes search yours for something, you don’t know what, so you nod while your thumb caressed his knuckles, Bucky was already on your driveway honking the horn without any regard for your neighbors.

“You’re lucky my parents are out of town Barnes!” you laugh as Steve opens the door for you, once everyone has their seat belts on, per your request, you head to Stark Manor.

After a short drive, you enter Tony Stark's ancestral home, it seems like the whole high school was invited. You never liked parties all that much, and neither did Steve but you thought socializing with other people besides each other would do you good, your mother insisted on it.

Swallowing a nervous gulp, you instinctively reached for Steve’s hand, just for a few seconds but then Peggy Carter jumped into his arms with a red smile and an even more gorgeous red dress that hugged her figure perfectly.

She was an exchange student, she was relatively new to the school but she quickly befriended your little group of friends, with her London charm and wit.

Your heart sank to your stomach and a knot formed in your throat when you saw his hands on her sides. Why were you jealous? he’s your friend you had to remind yourself, Steve couldn’t always be by your side, you knew this… and yet you couldn’t help the sickness brewing deep in your stomach when Peggy’s hands roamed all over Steve.

It was obvious Peggy liked him, but Steve’s reluctance to take her hand gave you a moment of relief, but then he was gone, lost in the sea of people. You hugged yourself as you considered asking Bucky to take you back home, but he already had his tongue down Dot’s throat.

Against your better judgment and Steve’s warnings, you found yourself in the bar, admiring all the bottles of liquor that came in different shapes and sizes, the one called Unicum caught your attention but as soon as you smelled it, you put it away.

“Not a fan I take it?” a voice comes from behind, following it, you find the host himself wearing a black turtle neck along with a blazer that hugs him just right, his brown eyes slowly studying you while he takes a sip of his drink.

Putting back the bottle, you chastised yourself for picking it up in the first place, “I’m sorry, this is expensive, I shouldn’t have touched it, I’m- I’m sorry” you sputtered.

You were nervous, but you realized you liked the attention, Tony was every girl’s dreamboat and the fact that his eyes were so focused on your body was thrilling.

With a sly smirk, he walks closer to you, “Don’t you worry Honeybun, that’s my father’s drink, break the damn thing if you want” he chuckled, “You’re Rogers’ little pet, aren’t you? he leave you all alone?”, he sounded a little drunk already.

Before you could get mad at his nickname, his arm wrapped itself around your waist “I think you’re a sweet-tooth Honeybun, you’re going to love Grasshoppers” he stated, without giving you a chance to refuse.

You were delighted to find out you did love the creamy drink, and after a few of them, Tony started to be less annoying to you, and if you squinted you could pretend he looked like Tony Curtis.

You missed Steve, where is he?

As Tony dragged you to the dance floor, squished between the crowd of drunk classmates, you started to feel suffocated and Tony’s grip on your wrist was starting to hurt, but your head was so fuzzy, and the room was so loud, he probably couldn’t even hear your protest.

Tony finally stops, his hands wander down your back until they’re on your waist, and his fingers dig into your dress, making your heart skip a beat, as he starts swaying you, Steve emerges from the sea of dancing silhouettes.

His smile of relief drops when he sees another man’s hands around your waist, you almost push Tony away in response, but you just put on your best smile.

“H- Hey I’ve been looking all over for you”, Steve says, his tone is friendly but his eyes darken when Tony pulls you closer to him, making you trip a little, you didn’t have your wits about you, and Steve notices.

“Baby I need to get you home” he almost pleaded, you’re shocked he called you the nickname he only used when you’re alone, his perfect blue eyes had… longing in them? that couldn’t be right, especially when you discover the mark of red lips on his cheek, making your blood boil.

“I don’t want to leave Steve, I’m- I’m having fun with… T-Tony”, you tried to sound unyielding but you could feel the tension rise between the two men, you were never good with confrontation.

“You heard her little man, you shouldn’t have left her all alone if you didn’t want someone to steal her from you”, Tony says matter-of-factly.

Your best friend looks stoic, not moving a muscle, he looks intimidating despite Tony being much taller than him. He’s one step away from invading Tony’s space, but you’re quick to place your hand on his chest, and you immediately feel him relax, his eyes soften too when he turns to you.

“Go back to Peggy, I’m sure she’s waiting for you” is all you say with a wavering smile.

His hand wants to reach for you but all he does is nod before he disappears into the crowd, you’re a little disappointed. The rest of the night is eternal, your feet grow sore, and you had your 4th grasshopper a minute ago so your mind is comfortably numb, but every time Tony gropes your hips, or his fingers trace your cheeks, you feel guilt deep in your stomach, and to your dismay the party only seems to intensify.

As you slow danced you tried to ignore how dizzy you felt, but when the song ended you couldn’t help but let your weight fall into Tony’s arms, he just laughed and reaffirmed his hold on you “C’mon Honeybun don’t tell me you’re sleepy, night’s young! I want to show you something”.

You felt him move you before you could even respond, “Wh-where are we going Steve?” you slurred, not realizing you called him by another name, your question was met with silence, Tony just kept on pulling you across the grand hall.

“I want to show you the pretty flowers in the garden Honeybun, no one will bother us” his smile was wide but it did nothing to ease you, he shushed you while you tried to voice your thoughts.

You felt watched… the night breeze flew by your dress and your skin prickled, but it wasn’t because of the night chill. You were too busy admiring the pastoral landscape to worry, your eyes followed the tree-lined path up to a beautiful pond, with pink roses everywhere, but before you could take a step forward, you were being pushed up against a stone wall.

“Ow! Tony what-” His lips crushed yours before you could finish your sentence, he tasted bitter and unwanted, you tried pushing him away but you were weak, the alcohol in you like heavy chains around your arms and legs.

“Don’t you wanna make me feel good Honeybun?” he slurred in your ear, your stomach filled with dread, you almost gagged, “please stop” you begged, but his hand brutishly covered your mouth “Shut up” he spat while his assault continued down your neck, you could hear his belt coming off and alarms went off in your head, a scared whimper managed to escape his hand.

The party was roaring inside, and the music was muffled by the stone walls, you were sure no one would hear your screams, you sobbed at the realization. You were about to accept your fate but then Tony’s thrown back by the neck and into the dirt, it was Steve!

Before you could react he was already on top of Tony pummeling him without compassion, animalistic grunts escaping his lips as his knuckles bloodied themselves.

“You don’t fucking touch her!” Steve growled, “You’re going to wish you were dead you piece of shit”, the hits kept coming, and you couldn’t stop watching, it was horrifying watching your best friend become this violent, controlled by his dark impulses, but a small part of you, a part of you that you wouldn’t acknowledge felt satisfaction, pride even…

Tony had been unconscious for a minute now and Steve wouldn’t stop, you were surprised he wasn’t having an asthma attack by now, the sickening sound of his fist meeting beaten flesh brought you out of your thoughts, you quickly ran to Steve to make him stop.

You grabbed his bloody fist in the air “Steve stop, you’re going to kill him” you cried, both of you heaving, you sensed Steve was making an effort to hold back, the blue in his eyes was almost gone, with only rage in them, “He should be six feet under just for putting his hands on you” he gruffed, you didn’t know how to respond so you only nodded, taking his hands in yours, and placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

Seeing your blood-stained lips made him feel unlike anything he’d ever felt before, a sense of ownership pleasantly lingered, but as he searched to see if you were harmed, your tear-streaked face made him move off Tony, and take you in his arms, the warmth radiating from him finally calmed you enough to let yourself feel the terror of what could’ve happened to you.

You let it all out onto Steve’s shoulder like you’ve done countless times before… except this was different, you’ve always felt safe with Steve, but after tonight, you also felt protected.

“I won’t let anybody touch you again baby” he lulls, your arms wrap around his neck and instinctively you rub off on his chest, needing to be as close to him as possible, his scent already soothing your soul.

“I promise”, he whispers in your ear and kisses your temple with such tenderness you barely feel his lips… everything is going to be ok.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice,

then kiss me once again

It’s been a long, long time

Haven’t felt like this, my dear since I

can’t remember when

It’s been a long, long time

♫ ♪

“He’s back in town” Peggy repeats after you remained silent for an awkward amount of time, you just couldn’t stop replaying this one song in your head…

“Did you even hear what I said?” Peggy’s annoyance startles you, making you drop the cup of tea you were nursing.

She rolls her eyes at you, while she grabs a dishtowel to wipe the spilled liquid, “Steve Rogers is back” she deadpans, carefully observing your reaction.

“So sad Sarah isn’t here to welcome him back home” you whispered, tears threatening to spill at the memory of the woman who took care of you for so long, far more tender than your mother ever was to you.

“Honorably discharged” she continued, probably not even hearing your comment “They even made him a Captain, can you imagine? I-”.

She keeps on talking but it’s all muffled noise to your ears, your mind running a million miles per hour.

Would you give him a call?

how much can war change a man?

would he call you?

what would you say if you bumped into each other at the supermarket? God, John doesn’t even know about him.

Knowing Steve was home rekindled the heartache you managed to bury in the back of your mind every single day, it took everything in you not to start crying every time you remembered his broken promise, but you learned a long time ago that it was best to keep your emotions under lock and key.

The sound of running water finally distracted you from your consuming thoughts, “Hon are you sure you’re up for visitors?” Peggy sings with faux concern as she does the dishes, “I know you’re still not over the incident but I have to agree with your mother, you need to try harder, this is not normal, when I was preg-”

Willing yourself not to throw the porcelain cup at her head, you grinned, “Maybe we’ll see Steve at the reunion, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you Peggy”, you sassed behind your stiff smile, but of course, she didn’t notice. Her reaction only confirmed what you suspected, like a little girl her ears perked up and her cheeks turned bright red “It’ll be so good to see everyone again” Peggy tried to conceal her excitement.

“I’m sure your husband will enjoy seeing everyone too” you reminded her, too tired to play nice with her.

Peggy’s eyes widen “You see, I don’t think Tony will be able to attend… you know how he is, always work work work” she laughs nervously.

You know better than that, Tony Stark was a sleazy drunk, you knew it since that night back in high school, but as the years passed, Tony’s attempts to hide his transgressions were feeble, by now the whole town knew every time he went away for business to New York City, he was on a bender gambling, drinking and sowing his wild oats, but Tony’s wealth and power always kept him out of trouble.

“Of course, I’m sure he’ll be back from his business trip just in time for the reunion” You pleasantly smiled before getting up and cutting up a piece of pink azalea cake for her to take back home, far, far away from you.

Once Peggy’s gone you start your chores, it was always the same, wash John’s clothes and press them, hang them by the door for the next day, then clean the windows, wash the curtains, scrub the floors until they’re shining, and never mop, last time you did your husband almost burned your books. Dust his trophy cabinet, sweep the garage, and finally make dinner and keep it in the oven so it’s warm when your husband comes home.

After finishing everything up to John’s liking, you always end up in your garden, the joy of your life besides a good book.

Your garden wasn’t grand or exotic like the other housewives’ gardens, Peggy would often say it was dull or pitiful or both, but in your eyes, it was precious and full of life.

From hybrid phlox, peonies, and hydrangeas to blue holly bushes, you took care of them with love and tenderness, your garden was your comfort in your darkest days, sometimes the only thing you looked forward to in your day.

But your roses… they were your most prized possession, every day without fail you tended to them, making sure they were safe and felt cared for, sometimes you would even sing to them, your roses were your babies, you could never forsake them like he did you.

You cried as you fertilized the earth for your youngling, your tears fell on the little sprout right next to the other roses, now in full bloom.

Your mind wandered 9 years back to when you first married John. You couldn’t fight your mother any longer, for years you rejected any suitor she brought, doctors, lawyers, professors, none of them compared to the one person you truly loved. Despite your mother’s constant denial, you hoped Steve would safely return and finally admit the feelings you knew he had for you, and take you far away…

But it was a silly fantasy, he never wrote, not once since you said goodbye that September night, so long ago, you hated him for it, you never understood why he abandoned you like that, you only knew he was alive because of the letters he sent to his mother, but his beautiful eyes haunted you at night, and when you didn’t dream of him you resented him for it.

Then your mother arranged a date with John Walker, he was young, easy on the eyes, and set to inherit his grandfather’s sugar company which was said to be a very wealthy prospect. He wasn't particularly sweet or charming but his easy-going smile helped you ease your nerves.

The first thing he did when he saw you was take your hand and plant a kiss on your knuckles, he was sturdy and his posture was always rigid, but he had this suave confidence that made you think he owned the entire world.

He offered stability and comfort when you needed it the most, so you forced yourself to love him, you told yourself that he would be a good husband despite not knowing his faults or even his traits,... Steve wasn't coming back, so you decided to trust your mother's judgment.

The first year of your marriage you came to accept the fact that as hard as you tried, you would never feel the same way for your husband as you did for your best friend, but life with John had become comfortably dull.

You never thought your life would turn like it did…

As you adapted to married life, you found out John’s easy going smile was a facade, he was strict and expected certain things of you. To please him in every possible aspect, that was a wife's duty after all, he'd turn mean and a brute if you failed in your duties but if you followed the rules, he would leave you be to read your books and tend to the garden. You learned the hard way if he came home to find his clothes wrinkly or God forbid the floors mopped instead of scrubbed, you would suffer the consequences..

Eventually, you learned to appease his ego and keep your head down, your days went out painfully slow, and you would dread every time the hands of the clock slowly approached the time of his return, each day you wondered what new insult John had prepared to make you feel inadequate.

Thinking his temper would placate once you carried his child was naive, you realize that now. The first time you got pregnant you were ecstatic to love someone with your whole heart and soul, and for your love to be returned, but soon there was nothing to tell.

It was difficult to keep it a secret from your husband, like your mother, he crushed you under his expectations, the weight of them almost unbearable, and both, always made sure you knew the disappointment that you were.

But missing his smell, the comfort he provided, missing Steve was the most painful.

Tonight was your high school reunion and you couldn’t stop pacing around the living room, it was almost time to leave and you were still waiting for John to come home and change. Given that it was summer, the nights were hotter so you wore a sleeveless, wide-skirt baby-pink dress, adorned with white lace, pearl earrings, and white gloves as the finishing touch.

You were about to call his office when you heard the car park in the driveway. Too anxious to wait for him, you ran outside ready to greet him with a scotch, “Welcome home dear, please hurry, I left your clothes on the bed. If we leave in five minutes no one will noti-”

John slams the car door before you can finish your sentence, “We’re not going” is all he says without sparing you a look, taking the scotch from your hand and drinking it in one gulp.

“Please John, don’t be like this” you protested, “you said we could-”

“For fucks sake!” your husband snapped, his hand hit the hood of his black Chevrolet Impala, making you jump scared, he treated that car like his baby… the alarms in your head cautioned you to choose your words carefully.

“J-John please, be reasonable, let’s go inside I’ll make you another drink” you pleaded, afraid the neighbors would hear you arguing, the street was busy with kids riding their bikes and people coming in and out of their homes.

“You don’t tell me what to do!” he barked out your name like an insult, his body shaking with anger he had to clench his fists, he took a step forward and you recoiled, making him huff in offense.

He took your wrist with force and jerked you towards him, making you tumble on your heels, “Stop being so dramatic” he reprimanded. You didn’t mean to upset him but you didn’t want to go alone, you couldn’t! John had promised weeks ago he would go.

“I fired over 50 of my best workers because they thought they could do whatever they wanted, I will teach you a fucking lesson too if you keep pushing me” he threatened with malice, tears threatened to spill, you didn’t want to look at him but his hand forced your chin up.

You instinctively shook your head, too afraid to even speak, that only fed his ego and in a second he was dragging you through the pavement and into the house, a sick smile displayed on his face.

“John you’re hurting me” you panicked, holding onto his arms for some support, as he kicked the door close, he dropped you on the carpet of the living room, you almost hit your head against the tube.

Your husband’s chest heaves above you and before he can touch you again you quickly get on your knees with your head looking up, trying your hardest to make eye contact with the man you feared “I’m sorry!” you repeated over and over, the knot in your throat making it painful to speak.

After a long silence, you see his features relax, you’re flabbergasted by his swift change of attitude, his smile slowly widens and you flinch when his fingers wipe a single tear “That’s what I like to hear Sugar”.

“You know what I think?” he continued, “You should be at home trying to get pregnant and start our family instead of running off to a party and see some moron you used to be friends with”.

Nausea overwhelmed you at his implication but your mind spun at the mention of Steve, how on earth did he know about him?! Maybe you weren’t as discreet as you thought.

A stabbing pain on your wrist interrupted your thoughts and you reached for it, John comically pouts “I’m so sorry Sugar, work was just so stressful” he sighed while helping you stand up, your scrapped knees shake as you find your balance. You couldn’t be in the same room as him anymore, but your body wouldn’t move, he didn’t like it when you refused to look at him, so he tilted your chin up.

“Tell you what, I’ll let you go to this thing… I know Tony and Peggy will keep an eye on you”, he grinned, pulled you close to him and kissed your forehead, making your body tense.

You desperately wanted to push him off of you, and you almost did, but it wasn’t a good idea to piss him off further, after tonight, you weren’t sure how far your husband’s cruelty could go.

“I need to call Peggy” stated, your voice meek, too afraid he would change his mind, “so they can come to pick me up” you clarify, taking John’s silence as your cue, you took a hesitant step back, and briskly walked to the phone in the kitchen, thankful you had some space from him.

After the 5th ring, Peggy finally picked up and without getting into the details, you explained to her why you needed a ride to the reunion, to which she reluctantly agreed. As you waited, you cleaned the scrapes on your knees, if you put on stockings no one would notice, you quickly re-did your makeup and hair, and It wasn’t more than 15 minutes when you heard Peggy’s tootle.

You were almost out the door when John called your name, clearly asserting once more his power over you, letting out a shuddery breath, you turned to face him with your chin held high.

“Get me a beer” he commanded, too entranced with the boob tube to even bother looking at you, the room went quiet and all you could hear was your heart beating in your ears, you knew what he wanted from you. You wondered if you would ever be free of his torment, but the weight of your wedding ring reminded you of your vows…

Till death do us part.

So you plastered on a graceful smile, walked to the kitchen and returned with an opened can to place in his hand, with a smug smirk, he pats your ass, “off you go” he dismissed, and you promptly did.

The ride to the school was silent, Peggy didn’t question your vacant stare or why you kept rubbing your wrist, her mood seemed sour and you had no intention of untwisting that ball of yarn she called a brain.

As you walked in, you barely recognized the halls you used to walk every day, you remember Steve struggling to open his locker, Bucky flirting with anyone who wore a skirt, skipping Gym class so Steve wouldn’t be all alone in detention.

As you walked into the gym, you admired the decorations, balloons scattered all over the floor, red and pink confetti cascading down on everyone, glimmering under the soft light. You recognized some people but there was so much people, you weren’t even sure you went to class with some of them, the party was in full swing, and people danced as the band played your favorite song.

Never thought that you would be

Standing here so close to me

There’s so much I feel that I should say

But words can wait until some other day.

♫ ♪

You are as beautiful as the day he lost you, Steve thought, from all the way across the room, you still hadn’t seen him but he saw you the moment you walked into the room, stealing the air from his lungs.

His heart aches so painfully to be near you he swears it could be a heart attack, he was frozen in place afraid that if he moved you’d disappear, he wonders how long it would take for him to win you back…

Something in you compels you to turn around, and when you do, a gasp escapes you… You couldn’t believe your own eyes, for a moment you didn’t recognize him, he was taller and incredibly broad, nothing like the man you saw last a decade ago, his posture was intimidating, but then you met his eyes, and those were the same. He truly was back, and all those emotions you kept under lock broke free, making your legs move forward before you could think, he immediately did too, and suddenly the both of you were running through the crowd to get to each other.

Without hesitation, you crashed into his arms, and he crushed you to him, easily picking you up, he was definitely stronger. Breathing him in, a sob almost escaped your lips, it was still the same after 12 years, the noise around you drowns out and it’s as if the earth stops spinning altogether… “I’m so sorry you lost your mom”, you whimper, it was the first thing you needed to say.

His hold only tightens, making it harder to breathe, memories of his suffocating embrace making you feel warm inside, you grip the nape of his hair for comfort, “I didn’t get to say goodbye” Steve whispers into your neck. Since you can remember, you always hated when he was heartbroken, his pain was your own, you wished you could take it away.

“I know”, you nod, before he slowly lets you down, making you realize just how much the height difference is, it made you nervous.

His hands settle on your lower back while yours rest on the sides of his shoulders, you’re so close, he’s hunched over and you’re on your tiptoes, just inches away from his lips, his nose nudges your own for a moment, making the butterflies in your stomach wild, you feel drawn to each other like magnets. Steve’s leaning in, and like a bucket of cold water, you remember the last 12 years, you remembered how easily he abandoned you, breaking every promise he made to you.

You quickly turn your cheek and you can feel his disappointment boring into your head, taking a small step back, you hold his hand tightly, not redy to let him go yet, and you shake your head, silently telling him you couldn’t kiss him.

The soldier had half a mind to grab and kiss you, remind you of what you meant to each other, after years and oceans apart he never stopped thinking about you. You both knew from the day you met , you were his, and he wasn’t going to let anyone get in between the two of you ever again.

But before he could say anything, Peggy Carter approached them.

“Well well, look at you two chums getting reacquainted”, her smile was sickenly sweet, but her eyes told you, you were caught… How long had she been watching? you ask yourself as anxiety settles in your stomach, and then your husband’s words ring in your head.

“I know Tony and Peggy will keep an eye on you”.

Your heart beats incessantly against your chest, and your breathing becomes shallow, she was going to tell John, you realized… and you were terrified of what he would do.

To be continued…

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments and reblogs are deeply encouraged.

part 🥀🥀

#slashersummerwc #carrot's harvest #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers au #best friend steve rogers #chris evans #chris evans characters #friends to lovers #steve rogers angst

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tamiart · 10 months ago

Text

I wrote a little romance scene between Halsin and Tav, mostly imagining Halsin’s POV.

Summary: Tav is breaking down under the pressure of the enormous task ahead of her, and Halsin happens upon her.

Since I don’t consider myself a writer, I have never tried to write anything like this before. But I love this game so much, and especially when it comes to these two characters, my imagination is continuously running away with me. I need more material with them, so I tried to create some of my own. I hope you like it.

Midnight Solace

Everyone was finishing up their duties in setting up camp. Halsin looked over to see Tav talking to Wyll and Gale, who were arguing about something as they tried to come up with a strategy for some fight or other, which was now an almost daily occurrence. Tav looked worn out, barely listening to the two of them bicker as she studied a map they had drawn in the dirt. The others were always going to her for help with their problems, and by Silvanus did everyone in this group have catastrophic problems. In all his many years, Halsin had never met such a varied, volatile bunch of individuals. They reminded him of his younger years when every mishap, every mistake, felt like the end of the world.

Tav was the most intriguing to him. She couldn’t be half his age, and yet this young, unassuming slip of a girl had gone out of her way, putting aside her own troubles and fears, which must be plentiful though she never voiced them, for weeks throughout their perilous journey to help many along the way, including himself. She was helping him find a way to lift the shadow curse, which had haunted him for a century as his greatest shame and failure. She had risked her life to infiltrate a horde of nasty, treacherous little goblins to free him - a huge, threatening wild bear that could have tried to kill her too for all she knew. But even in his most savage form, she wasn’t afraid of him.

Halsin had never met anyone like her. He often found himself watching her from across camp as she went about the daily routine that everyone had settled into - helping to prepare their meals, eating, talking and laughing with everyone around the fire, getting ready to go to sleep, preparing to head out in the mornings. He wondered about her as he performed his own duties. He felt himself drawn to her, and realized he was reluctant to leave her side. He was sorely tempted to forsake his druidic duties and stay with her, to be there for her and protect her for as long as she would let him during her quest to save them all. She stirred long-dormant feelings in him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this way about anyone.

Later that night, after everyone had sought their bedrolls, rest seemed to elude Halsin, so he gave up and headed towards the woods to lose himself in a hunt. As he walked past Tav’s bedroll, he noticed she wasn’t there. He looked around briefly, but did not see her. Slightly alarmed, he enhanced his senses and picked up her scent trail heading into the forest. Wanting to make sure she was alright, he followed it.

As he approached the stream nearby, he heard the sound of someone crying. He stopped and peered through the trees in that direction and saw that it was Tav, sitting by the water, her head resting on her bent knees. He felt a sympathetic pang to see and hear her so distraught. Not wanting to frighten her, he made his footsteps audible as he rounded a bush and approached her, and she started up and noticed him, and immediately turned away to surreptitiously wipe away the traces of her misery. He felt his heart stir.

“Oh, Halsin,” she said, “what are you doing out here so late?”

“I could not sleep,” he responded, “so I was going for a walk. I could ask you the same thing. Are you alright, my friend?”

At that, she failed at reigning in her emotions and burst into sobs once more.

“I’m sorry,” she sputtered through her tears. “I don’t know what’s come over me tonight.”

He hurried over and sat beside her. “It’s alright,” he tried to reassure her. But she could not stop, and he hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

His touch seemed to relax something in her and she leaned towards him. He put his arm around her and held her closer. The feel of her sobs shaking her slight frame melted away his final resistance, and he knew then that he would do anything to help this girl. He was lost to her. He held her until her sobs quieted into sniffles.

“What is it, my friend? Can I do anything to help?” He asked her gently.

“No, I’ll be okay.” She sighed.”Ugh look at me, I’m such a mess.”

“You are still beautiful. But stay here, I’ll get something for you.” Halsin quietly returned to his tent and found a clean cloth, poured a cup of water and grabbed a blanket as well, then returned to Tav’s side. She had calmed down and sat quietly staring into the stream with a troubled expression on her face. He draped the blanket around her shoulders and handed her the water and cloth.

“Thank you. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” said Tav, wiping her tear-stained face. “They’re all depending on me to be strong. I need to be strong for all of us if we’re going to get through this.” She took a sip of water and put the cup down on a rock.

He placed his arm around her again and pulled her close. “No one expects you to be invincible. You don’t need to carry all of it alone. We’re all here to help you. I’m here to help you.”

She looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyelashes. The distance between them was too close. The urge to kiss her was overpowering, and it took all of his will to resist. She needed him to be strong just now, and he would give her his support.

“Thanks, Halsin,” She closed her eyes and sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. “That’s nice to hear. I just… I’m so afraid. I don’t know what I’m doing half of the time. Why does every decision have to fall to me? Every time one of us gets injured, I wonder if I should give it all up. Maybe I’m just leading us all to our deaths.” Her voice choked on those last words, and she covered her face with her hands and pulled away from him. “I can’t… that thought… it’s too much to bear.”

“Your fears are completely understandable under the circumstances. We have far too much leveled against us, with no end to our journey in sight. What an incredible amount of pressure to undertake. But Tav, you’ve been amazing thus far. Why do you think everyone trusts you so implicitly? No one else could have gotten this eccentric group of misfits this far, to survive as much as we have. Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve managed it. You don’t realize how extraordinary you truly are. My dear friend, we would all follow you anywhere. I would follow you anywhere. If anyone is going to get us all through this, it’s you.”

Tav looked up at him again, a new light and curiosity in her glance. “You truly believe that?”

“With all my heart.”

Suddenly she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. Oak father preserve him, Tav had him wrapped around her finger. “Thanks, Halsin,” she whispered into him. She looked up at him again, and her face finally softened into a smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Tav, I - “ he tried to find the right words. “Please know that I’m always here for you, if you ever need to talk about anything. I will do my best to help you, in any way that you need.”

She was still looking up at him, her gaze searching. She was so beautiful, he could hold back no longer. Cautiously, he lowered his face down towards her, watching her expression as he did so. She did not pull away, and her lips parted as her glance fell to his mouth. He closed the distance and pressed his lips to hers. He tasted the salt of her tears as he kissed her, and she kissed him back, tentatively at first, but quickly growing more eager. Her lips were full, soft and warm. Finally they both had to pull away, gasping for air. He had to stop now before he took things too far. He couldn’t ask that much of her just now in her current vulnerable state.

Tav stared at him, stunned. Then as if suddenly realizing where she was, she blushed and gave him a shy, tentative smile. “Wow,” She gasped as she found her voice. “What was that?”

“I’ve dreamed about kissing you for a long time,” he confessed to her.

“Really? But I didn’t… I thought… you’ve never…” Tav stammered.

“I know. I didn’t want to do anything to upset you or harm our friendship. And I didn’t want to distract you during such a crucial and difficult time. I’ve been trying to keep my distance, to let you focus.”

Tave let out a breathy laugh. “Well, it’s a very welcome distraction.” She hesitated, then looked up at him shyly once more. “I’ve been thinking about that as well, with you.”

He wrapped her in his arms once more and held her in silence. They sat together, listening to the night sounds of the forest and the babble of the nearby stream. Gradually, he felt her relax in his arms. Her head began to droop against his shoulder. He could have stayed this way all night. But reluctantly, he gently shook her awake.

“You should try to get some sleep,” he told her. “Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

She sighed. “You’re right.” She stood up and handed the blanket back to him. She tried to return the cloth as well, but he told her to keep it. She seemed reluctant to go. “Thank you, Halsin. This was… it means a lot.” She smiled at him once more.

And she was gone before he could respond, leaving him alone once more in the woods, the blanket in his arms, all of his senses full of her, and his mind a whirl of thoughts, emotions and desires.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate #halsin #bg3 halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin x tav #bg3 headcanons #bg3 romance #bg3 fanfiction #halsin fanfic

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batmanlovesnirvana · 3 months ago

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Chapter five | The American dream.

masterlist

universe : Reeves, the batman 2022

pairing : battinson!bruce wayne x fem!OC

words : +9k

author's note : Hello to my loyal readers !! If you’re new here, welcome !!! This chapter is packed with angst—seriously, a lot of it… So brace yourselves. We’ll delve into Maryam’s struggles, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes… As always, don’t hesitate to comment; I genuinely enjoy reading your feedback, and it motivates me to keep writing :) Also, this chapter is dedicated to @gaypoetsblog bc your reblog meant so much to me and helped me finish the chapter 🫶🏽

I’m thinking of starting a taglist, so if anyone’s interested, please let me know in the comments :)

cw : Maryam going through an existential crisis, 18+, thriller, medical procedures, angst, mental health issues, depression, ptsd, noire, canon-typical violence, POV alternating, gritty, horror, illness, slow burn, action, fluff, mutual pining, forced proximity, crime families, crime, fighting ect… read at your own risk !

THE NIGHT AIR slipped through the cracked window like a whispered secret, cool and heavy with the weight of unshed tears, brushing against Maryam's skin as if it knew the burden she carried.

She pushed open the glass of her kitchen window to enter her apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges barely registering in her tired mind.

Finally, she was alone.

As soon as she crossed the threshold, her hands went to the scarves draped around her neck and head, tugging them free. The fabric fell to the floor in soft waves, revealing sweat-slicked skin and disheveled hair.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights; she knew the space by heart.

The shadows were her refuge, offering quiet sanctuary after the whirlwind of the night. She moved through the room like a ghost, her bare feet making no sound against the cold tile.

In the silence, her thoughts caught up with her—the weight of everything she had pushed down, shoved aside, now rushing back.

Her body felt heavier with each step toward the bathroom, the scent of Gotham's streets clinging to her suit like a second skin. She trailed her fingers along the edge of the countertop as she made her way in. Inside, the soft click of the door closing felt like a final seal against the outside world.

She flicked on the light. Its harsh glare bounced off the mirror, exposing a truth she could no longer avoid.

The violet bruise on her brow stared back at her, dried blood in a thin line across the cut, a crusted reminder of the night’s violence. She muttered a curse under her breath—it's going to be hard to hide that. Her skin was still smudged with dirt from the alley.

Bracing her hands against the sink, she leaned in to inspect the damage, touching the wound gingerly, wincing at the sting. It wasn’t deep, but still noticeable.

Sighing, she straightened and began peeling away the rest of her clothing. First, her cloak, then her suit—her fingers moving methodically, though her muscles ached with stubborn fatigue.

The Wraith was shedding her armor, piece by piece. With each discarded layer, she felt a small part of herself return.

Next came the contact lenses.

Carefully, she removed them, blinking as her natural hazel eyes, tinged with a yellow-green sheen under the light, came into focus.

But it wasn’t her eyes that held her attention.

Dressed only in her bra and panties, her eyes fixated on the constellation of bruises that marked her body—a silent testament to the fight, to the brutality of her return to the streets. Dark violet shadows bloomed along her ribs, and bruises traced her tibia. She lifted her leg onto the counter, examining them more closely under the yellow light. At least there were no cuts, save for the one on her brow.

For a moment, she simply stared at herself. The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger—scarred, beaten, but still standing.

But beneath the bruises, the cuts, the exhaustion—anger simmered.

And she knew tonight had only been the beginning.

Then, without warning, tears pooled in her eyes.

She hadn’t expected them, hadn’t realized how close they were to the surface until her chest tightened, and the raw ache began to spread through her throat. She placed a trembling hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that was clawing its way out, but it was too late.

Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed her, and the sob broke free, echoing through the cold, sterile bathroom.

It wasn’t just the physical pain or the exhaustion. It was everything. The years on the streets, the things she had seen, the violence that had become a constant in her world—it all came crashing down at once. It was too much.

She hated this life.

Hated every inch of the skin she had just shed—the suit, the cloak, the Wraith. It was a mask she’d worn since she was barely ten years old. It wasn’t some romantic notion of justice or a heroic vigilante life.

No.

It was a prison.

From the moment she was taken in, she had been molded into this.

She thought she'd escaped it two years ago, but somehow, she always found her way back—like an addict drawn to a drug.

Her training was not empowering; it was soul-crushing torture, a brutal crucible that shattered her spirit and forged her into a weapon for the greedy hands that sought to control her. Each blow felt like a countdown, a clock ticking down to the moment she would either break or become something darker.

Beaten and broken, she transformed into a tool, a phantom of vengeance, for those who saw her not as a person but as a means to an end. In the shadows, she learned to embrace the pain, channeling it into a deadly precision that left no room for doubt. Each lesson carved away at her innocence, leaving only a relentless hunger for survival and a chilling resolve to escape the chains that bound her.

Fish Mooney, the merciless gangster who had held the reins of her life from the very beginning, had stripped her of her innocence, her will, and her freedom. In the beginning, she wore the name Madam like a shroud, even as she felt the chill of its implications. Mooney's sweet words, laced with sickening honey, wrapped around her like a noose, promising a kind of safety that was always a mirage.

She was the definition of a witch, weaving a web of knowledge and manipulation, knowing the darkest secrets of everyone, especially Maryam's. This power was her weapon, used to threaten and terrify, ensuring Maryam’s compliance with every command.

To Mooney, she was a prized possession—a little spy, a puppet sculpted to perfection, a wraith in service of her sinister ambitions.

When Maryam first set foot on American soil with her family, she unknowingly crossed into a world where debts were owed and innocence was a luxury long expired. As the eldest, the burden fell on her—she was chosen to pay the price for dreams wrapped in deception.

Her family could do nothing but watch, their voices stifled by fear as threats loomed like shadows over their fragile existence. They warned her of the dangers, but what could they say to the merciless people who held their lives in the balance?

Nothing.

Nada.

So they stood by, hearts heavy, as she was engulfed by the seductive lies of the American dream, ensnared in the web of blackmail and veiled threats that hung like a storm cloud over their family.

They watched, helpless, as their little girl transformed into a hollow shell, caught in the very corruption that had promised freedom yet shackled her to a life of fear and deceit.

With each passing day, as she morphed into a mere instrument for the greedy, the weight of her family's helplessness settled over her like a leaden shroud. Yet, within this suffocating nightmare, a flicker of defiance began to blaze—an ember ignited by heartbreak and desperation, a fierce will to reclaim her stolen innocence and escape the clutches of a world intent on devouring her whole.

But amidst all this turmoil, becoming the Wraith was never a choice.

No— it was a matter of survival, stripped bare of all illusions and pretense, leaving only the raw, unyielding instinct to endure.

She had seen things no child should ever see. Blood, cruelty, the endless cycle of violence.

Gotham devoured its own, and she had been thrown into the thick of it before she even understood what it meant to live.

The things she had done—things she had been forced to do—were never for any noble cause. It wasn’t about protecting the innocent or stopping crime.

It was about serving those who had power over her, doing their bidding, becoming their weapon.

The memories flooded back, each one more painful than the last. The nights spent alone on rooftops, watching the city eats itself of corruption. The cold steel of a knife in her hand, the way it felt when she was ordered to hurt someone. The screams, the fear in their eyes—those were the things that haunted her. Not the criminals, but the fact that she had become just as ruthless.

She hated herself for it.

Hated the Wraith, hated the mask, hated the world that had forced her into this life. Vigilantism wasn’t heroism—it was a cage.

A brutal reality where she had no choice but to become what others wanted her to be. And the worst part? She had never known another way.

Maryam Ben Halimi was the embodiment of the immigrant struggle, a quiet girl sitting in the back of the classroom with wide, restless eyes.

She poured herself into her studies, each late night and early morning spent hunched over textbooks a defiant act against a world determined to render her invisible.

Yes, she made it to medical school, driven by the crushing weight of her family's dreams pressing heavily on her narrow shoulders.

Yet, the emptiness remained, a chasm within her that no amount of achievement could fill.

Often, she found herself questioning how she managed to survive medical school while Fish Mooney lurked in the shadows, her suffocating demands as oppressive as Gotham's thick summer humidity. Mooney had her hands deep in Maryam’s life, ever ready to drag her back into darkness if she dared to stray too far.

But somehow, against all odds, Maryam triumphed, donning the title of Doctor like a hard-earned badge of honor— a promise she had made to her parents before their lives were cruelly extinguished.

The day she received her diploma was supposed to be a celebration, a moment of triumph.

Yet it felt more like a double-edged sword.

That piece of paper not only represented her hard work; it signified the end of her obligation to Mooney.

That day, she was free of the Madam.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she drew in a breath untainted by fear, the shackles of her past finally falling away. It was a bittersweet victory, her heart swelling with pride even as the ghosts of her past hovered at the edges of her consciousness.

But beneath that fragile surface, weariness coursed through her veins.

She was tired—tired of battling invisible demons that raged within her, tired of pretending she could shoulder the weight of her life alone, tired of wearing the mask that had been pressed upon her for so long.

Though she no longer worked for Mooney or her clients, the memories lingered like an unwanted specter, always lurking just out of sight.

The nightmares, too, were relentless reminders of the wars that had marred her childhood, the chaos and destruction that had driven her from her homeland.

Each night, she carried those haunting images and sounds into her dreams, a heavy burden coloring her waking hours. She woke up screaming, grasping at shadows, and even the therapists she consulted couldn’t unlock the depth of her torment.

There were some truths too dark to share, especially with her remaining family, who could never truly understand. For them, the subject of Mooney was taboo, a whisper that could shatter the silence they clung to, while the past loomed as a silent monster, lurking in the shadows of their lives.

In her family, like many immigrant families, when something was wrong, silence reigned supreme.

They had mastered the art of avoidance, burying their grief beneath layers of unspoken words, pretending nothing had ever happened.

But Maryam could not shake the feeling that something was profoundly amiss, that her life was a web of contradictions—of duty, survival, and the relentless pursuit of an identity she could never quite grasp.

As she navigated the churning waters of her existence, the Wraith lingered in the background, a haunting reminder of the girl she had been and the woman she had been forced to become.

And so, for once, she allowed herself to cry.

Cry for the life she could never have.

Cry for the bruises on her body that told the story of a woman who had never been free.

She wept for the dreams that lay shattered at her feet, buried under the weight of expectations and the relentless demands of survival.

It was like a release, a desperate attempt to reclaim pieces of herself that had long been buried beneath the façade of the Wraith.

Her chest tightened, and her breathing became shallow.

Instinctively, she reached up to rub her neck, her fingers pressing into the tense muscles, trying to force herself to calm down. But it wasn’t working. The memories clawed at her, tearing through the thin layer of control she’d tried to hold onto.

Her hand slipped from her mouth, fingers trembling as she pressed them against her eyes, rubbing as if she could erase the blurry vision. But the world kept spinning, becoming more surreal with every passing second.

And then she heard it.

The screams—hollow, haunting, echoing in the silence.

Her heart lurched, and her breath caught as the sound of her mother’s voice echoed in her mind—a desperate scream that cut through her like a knife.

She could almost feel herself being pulled back into that moment—when everything changed.

Gunshots.

They rang out like explosions in her mind, and she gasped for air, her pulse racing wildly.

Serbian voices barked harsh commands—words she couldn’t understand, but their cruelty was unmistakable. They had been everywhere that night, flooding her home like locusts, devouring everything in their path. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, twisted with fear as he tried to protect them.

But the gunshots—the terrible, piercing gunshots—had silenced him.

Her vision swam. The bathroom lights were too bright, her breathing too loud. She could still hear the screams, the gunfire, the chaos of that night. She wasn’t here anymore, but trapped in that nightmare.

Her fingers dug into the sink, gripping it as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality.

But it wasn’t enough.

The Serbs’ voices, their boots pounding on the floor, her mother’s terrified cries—they overwhelmed her.

Her heart raced, breaths coming in short gasps. She wasn’t the Wraith now.

She wasn’t Maryam.

She was just a little girl again, watching as her world was ripped apart.

Her hands shook violently, her knuckles white as she gripped the sink harder.

“Breathe,” she told herself, but it didn’t help. The walls were closing in, memories consuming her. She saw her father fall, heard her mother scream—it all played out like a nightmare she couldn’t wake from.

Desperate, she opened the medicine cabinet and fumbled for her pills, her fingers trembling as she grabbed two bottles— Sertraline for PTSD, Prazosin for nightmares, and Lexapro for depression.

She swallowed them quickly, chasing them down with an ibuprofen for good measure, ignoring the bitter taste that lingered in her mouth.

It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

Next, she opened the glass door of the shower.

Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she stepped in, wincing as the warm water hit her sore muscles and cuts. It soothed her aching body, but she didn't linger. She was too tired. She just wanted to sleep.

Before that, though, she had to take her diabetes meds—something she hadn't done in two days. With everything that had been going on, she'd forgotten to take care of herself, and the familiar wave of guilt rose in her chest. She quickly washed her hair and body, feeling the exhaustion seep into her bones.

When she finished, she stepped out of the shower and slipped into a bathrobe, pulling the soft sleeves over her arms and tying it snugly around her waist. The mirror was fogged up from the steam, so she wiped a hand across it.

Her reflection stared back at her, and her stomach plummeted. The jagged cut beside her right eyebrow stood out sharply against her once sun-kissed skin, now a sickly shade of pale, swollen and inflamed.

She grabbed the first aid kit, her movements mechanical as she cleaned and dressed the wound, pressing gauze against the cut to stem any remaining blood. Her hands moved with a tired efficiency, applying a sterile bandage over the area.

When she was done, she slipped into her pyjamas, the soft fabric a small comfort against the cold air.

Then came the part she dreaded.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the case for her blood glucose meter. Pricking her finger, she watched the small droplet of blood form before pressing it to the test strip. The familiar beep from the meter told her what she already knew—her blood sugar was too high.

Sighing, she reached for her insulin pen. After attaching a fresh needle, she dialed the correct dose, pinching the skin on her stomach before inserting the needle and pressing the plunger.

The medication stung as it went in, but she was used to it.

When she was done, she placed the pen back in its case, rubbing her eyes as the fatigue finally hit her full force.

She snuggled under the covers, pulling them close as the warmth enveloped her aching body. Reaching for her phone, she quickly scrolled through the missed messages from the night.

As expected, the family group chat was filled with the usual chatter. Aunt Meysa had sent more links to prayers, while Uncle Fawzi shared pictures from the local market—cucumbers were apparently at a low price.

She rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her exhaustion.

And, of course, there were Aunt Jamila's long-winded voice messages, probably about something trivial.

Warda had shared pictures of little shoes she'd bought for her unborn child, prompting everyone in the group to coo in excitement.

Baya, Aunt Jamila's daughter, sent a few shots of Big Ben from her time in London—just the usual family stuff.

After a quick glance at those, she moved on to other messages. There were over a hundred from Sherine, and she sent a quick reply, telling her she was fine. Well, a lie, but Sherine didn't need to know the truth right now.

Tammi had sent an article about the drops, she skimmed through it. Nothing she didn't already know.

Setting her phone to charge on the nightstand, she turned her gaze toward the balcony. Outside, Gotham was its usual icy, chaotic self—couples arguing, police sirens wailing, people swearing at each other.

Just another night in dear old Gotham.

Her apartment didn't offer a spectacular view of the city, but from her bed, she could still make out a few stars flickering in the night sky. Her eyelids grew heavier by the second.

Exhausted to her core, she let sleep pull her under.

The dim light from the kitchen barely illuminated the cramped apartment, cluttered with unpaid bills scattered across the counter.

Batman's eyes lingered on one of the envelopes, its name reading Selina Kyle, before the TV caught his attention. The broadcast blared a grim headline :

‘Serial Killer Claims Credit for Second Victim in Two Days — GCPD Commissioner Murdered.’

His jaw tightened beneath the cowl.

Selina came in, visibly rattled, guilt shadowing her sharp features. "Jesus, what are they going to do to her? She's just a kid," she muttered, her voice wavering with worry. "And now they know who I am too. They took my phone, everything—"

She caught sight of Batman staring at the TV, which displayed a disturbing video.

The Riddler's eerie, altered voice filled the room as a newscaster warned viewers of the graphic content.

The screen showed the killer, his face obscured by a green hood and a question mark scrawled over his chest, taunting Gotham with another murder.

The camera panned to Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped with rats circling him, his muffled screams cut short as the video ended abruptly. A photo of the Commissioner, smiling in happier times, replaced the grim scene.

"Holy shit," Selina whispered, her eyes narrowing. "I've seen that guy too. At the club."

Batman tilted his head slightly. "The Iceberg Lounge?"

Selina shook her head, her voice low. "The 44 Below. It's the club within the club—where the real stuff happens. It's a mob hangout."

He stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "That's where you work?"

She shot him a glance, caught off guard. "I work at the bar upstairs, but yeah, I see them."

"Who?" he pressed, his tone unyielding.

"People who shouldn't be there. The ones who act all respectable in public... but they're not fooling anyone. I'm not stupid. I know what's going on."

Their eyes locked, his unrelenting gaze not letting her off the hook. "You're going to help me. For your friend."

She stiffened, then took a slow breath.

"Do you know the Wraith?" he asked, almost like it was an afterthought.

Selina blinked, clearly thrown by the question. "The Wraith?" She turned toward the fridge, grabbing a carton of milk. "Yeah, I've heard of her." She took a sip, the cold liquid contrasting the tension in the room. "Kind of a myth, though, right? Some people don't even believe she's real."

Batman's only response was a grunt, deep and unreadable.

Selina let out a faint smirk, shaking her head as she set the milk down on the counter. "It's funny, really. The rich, the mob—they call her 'The Wraith,' like she's some shadow they can't pin down. But the people on the streets? They call her 'Lady Justice.'" She crossed her arms, the leather of her suit creaking, her brow furrowing as she thought back. "I saw her a few times in the Narrows, years ago. Then she just... vanished. No one's seen her since."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Selina admitted, her voice softening. "But I used to look up to her. She didn't seem real, like something out of a legend."

Batman didn't respond, slipping back into the shadows as the faint sound of police sirens echoed through the streets outside. His cape whispered against the floor. "You're not safe here," he muttered before disappearing.

"I can take care of myself," Selina shot back abruptly, her voice sharp.

But he was already gone.

She turned her attention to the TV, the grim news continuing its endless cycle.

The newscaster's voice echoed through the apartment. "...with two public figures dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left scrambling for answers, hoping to catch the killer before he strikes again."

Maryam had barely gotten three hours of sleep when the shrill sound of her phone jolted her awake.

Groaning, she blinked her heavy eyelids open, her muscles screaming in protest as she blindly reached for the phone on her bedside table. Her hand flopped around, knocking over her lamp, her alarm clock, and a book before finally landing on the ringing device.

She squinted at the screen.

Jamie G.

Great.

She glanced at the time: 5:20 a.m.

What the hell do they want now?

With a sigh, she swiped to answer. Before she could speak, Gordon's voice came through, rushed and stressed.

"Mar, I need you to come right now. I'm in front of your building—"

"What?" Her voice, hoarse from sleep, cracked as she sat up, still rubbing her face. Her caramel curls fell messily over her eyes, adding to her confusion.

"Listen, just hurry. The killer struck again."

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, irritation creeping into her voice.

"Wish I was, kid. I need you for the autopsy. It's urgent."

She ran a hand through her wild curls, pushing them out of her face, annoyance clear in her tone. "Who the hell dies at this hour, making me leave my warm, comfy bed?"

Gordon's voice was grim. "It's Commissioner Savage."

The doctor froze, her eyes wide. "What the fuck."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now get your ass down here. We don't have all day."

With another exasperated sigh, she muttered, "Give me 15 minutes. I'm coming," before hanging up and tossing her phone aside.

Maryam sat on the edge of her bed, still processing what Gordon had just said.

Commissioner Savage.

Murdered.

"What the hell is going on in this city..." she muttered to herself, rubbing her temples as the weight of the news sank in.

She dragged herself out of bed, her limbs heavy with exhaustion from te night before.

In the faint light of her apartment, Maryam shuffled to her closet, grabbing the first clean scrubs she could find—black ones.

She threw on a gray undershirt since her scrubs had no sleeves and pulled on her trench coat. She quickly slipped into a pair of sneakers before heading to the bathroom.

The harsh bathroom lights stung her eyes, making her squint until her vision adjusted. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes made her look just as lifeless as the people she examined. Her hazel eyes reflected green under the yellow light, and the bruise near her brow still hadn't faded. Great, she thought, another thing to explain to Gordon.

Fixing her face seemed pointless. She wasn't about to impress anyone while cutting open a dead commissioner.

Her hair, a wild mess of curls, was exactly how she'd left it. I should've listened to myself and straightened it, she thought, regretting not doing it earlier—more like three hours ago—but exhaustion had won that battle. Instead, she threw it into a quick French twist, ignoring the stubborn curls that escaped the updo.

After splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth, she grabbed her bag, keys, and phone, and rushed out the door.

The early morning chill hit her as soon as she stepped outside.

Gotham's streets were eerily still, save for the distant hum of police sirens—a constant reminder of the city's chaos.

As Maryam approached the curb, Gordon stood leaning against his car, the streetlight casting harsh shadows over his exhausted face. He straightened when he saw her coming.

"Fifteen minutes? More like twenty-five," he said, tapping his watch, his voice laced with weary sarcasm.

Maryam shot him a sharp look, pulling the belt of her trench coat tighter around her waist. "You woke me up at 5 a.m. You're lucky I'm even vertical."

Gordon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know. Sorry, Mar. This one's bad. Real bad."

She could see it in his face—the strain, the weight of whatever mess was waiting for them. If the commissioner was dead, Gotham was about to spiral into chaos.

Without another word, she slid into the passenger seat, the cold leather biting through her scrubs. Gordon got behind the wheel as she buckled her seatbelt. "Worse than the mayor?" she asked, disbelief creeping into her voice.

He didn't answer right away, just shifted the car into gear and pulled onto the dark, empty streets of Gotham. "You'll see."

Gordon glanced sideways at her, eyes lined with fatigue. "You good?"

She sighed, pushing a stray curl from her face. "I'm here, aren't I?" She bit her thumb lightly, her gaze fixed ahead on the road. "But yeah, everything's just peachy." She turned to him with a raised perfect structured brow. "You?"

Gordon gave a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "How do you think?" He didn't look at her, just focused on the road, eyes narrowed against the dim streetlights and the occasional flash of a police cruiser speeding by.

"Yeah, thought so." Maryam leaned back into the seat, letting her head rest against the cold window.

The rhythmic hum of the car as it cut through Gotham's early morning streets was almost soothing, but her mind raced, unable to shake the weight of what Gordon had said. Worse than the mayor? That didn't leave much room for optimism.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the city slipping past in shadows and flickering lights. The distant sirens and low rumble of Gotham waking up to another day of chaos filled the quiet, and Maryam closed her eyes, trying to gather herself. But no matter how much she loved her job, sometimes it was all too much. The pit in her stomach deepened.

Gordon finally broke the silence, his voice rough and low. "This isn't just about the commissioner. It's the way it was done." His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "It's like this city's being torn apart piece by piece. I don't know how much more we can take before it completely falls apart."

Maryam didn't respond, but a cold chill crept up her spine. Gordon wasn't exaggerating. She'd seen enough of Gotham's darkness to know that when someone like the commissioner was taken out, it was never just a simple murder.

There was always something more beneath the surface, something twisted.

"Did you see the livestream?" Gordon asked, adjusting his glasses with one hand as they waited at a red light.

"Livestream?" she echoed, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"That freak recorded it live. Streamed the whole thing on social media." His voice was tight with disgust as he shook his head.

"Are you serious?" Maryam pulled out her phone, opened Twitter, and immediately saw the trending post.

Her heart sank.

Commissioner Savage, bound and trapped in a small iron cage with rats circling his head, gnawing at his flesh. His muffled screams filled the car through her phone's speakers. It already had millions of views. She scrolled through the comments—some people panicking, others making dark jokes. 'Only in Gotham,' one read.

She locked her phone, shaking her head. "What the actual fuck is wrong with this guy?"

"I don't know," Gordon muttered, "but he needs to be stopped."

As they turned the corner toward GCPD headquarters, Maryam noticed fewer police cars than she had expected. Gordon pulled up to the curb and parked, then turned to face her. His face was pale in the streetlights, worry etched deep in his features as he rubbed his mustache.

"Just so you know, the Bat's coming," he said quietly.

Maryam groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Oh my god, Jamie, you invited that autistic bat?"

Gordon shot her a look as he got out of the car. "Behave, Mar," he said, slamming the door shut behind him.

With a dramatic sigh, Maryam followed suit, shivering as Gotham's morning chill wrapped around her.

She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, muttering under her breath, "I'm always behaved..." Then, jogging to catch up with his hurried steps, she called after him, "You could've warned me at least!"

They didn't enter through the front, but slipped around to the back of the station. That's when Maryam saw him—standing in the shadows by his car.

Vengeance.

Even from the distance, their eyes snapped to each other instantly. Just hours ago, they'd been chasing and fighting one another, and now here they were again, face to face. Her, in civilian clothes; him, still in his suit.

Her fingers instinctively brushed the bruise behind her brow. Anxiety twisted in her gut.

What if he recognizes me? she thought, panic creeping in.

But she quickly shook it off. Don't be ridiculous. It was night, you were both fighting.

He. didn't. see. anything.

As they approached, Gordon led the way, walking straight toward the Bat, while Maryam held back, keeping her distance—just in case.

She stayed quiet, head down, but could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on her.

Gordon nodded at the towering figure. "Right, let's get this over with. I don't want them to see you," he said before heading inside the station.

Maryam kept her head low as they moved past, still staying behind. But she could feel Vengeance's eyes on her, even though she avoided looking directly at him.

Inside, they were greeted by Officer Martinez, who shot a dirty look at the Bat before turning to Maryam. His expression softened as he leaned in, kissing her on the cheek and handing her a small cup of coffee. "For my favorite colleague," he grinned, his mustache lifting with the smile.

She returned the gesture, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you, Lucas. You're a lifesaver."

Gordon interrupted the brief moment. "Hey, Martinez, keep an eye out while we go check the body, will you?"

Martinez looked between the trio, eyebrows raised, but nodded. "Uh— Yeah, sure thing, Lieutenant. You got it."

Without further exchange, they descended into the cold, sterile halls of the medical examiner's rooms. The familiar smell of disinfectant greeted them.

Maryam squirted some alcohol on her hands and snapped on a pair of gloves. "Which drawer?" she asked Gordon, gesturing to the rows of body fridges.

Gordon pointed to the far end of the room. "Third from the right."

She walked over, her footsteps echoing in the quiet, and tugged open the heavy metal door. The cold air hit her immediately as she pulled out the slab with Commissioner Savage's body lying still and lifeless, the weight of Gotham's madness now reduced to just another corpse.

Maryam took a deep breath, steadying herself as she pulled the drawer fully open. The sight of the commissioner's body sent a shiver down her spine. He lay there, pale and motionless, a stark reminder of the brutality that had engulfed Gotham. She couldn't help but notice the way his hands were positioned—fingers curled as if grasping at something that was no longer there.

The medical examiner grimaced at the sight in front of her, and Gordon muttered a low, "Jesus," looking away and clenching his jaw. The Bat approached from behind, cold and calculating, assessing the body over her shoulder.

"Let's see what we've got here," Maryam said, reaching for the flashlight on the autopsy tray.

She waved it over the commissioner's eyes, checking for any reaction. "No pupil dilation," she noted. "Which means he was likely already unconscious when it happened."

"He waited for him. At the gym. Pete liked to work out late at night," Gordon said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Not the best choice in a city this volatile," Maryam added, raising her brows to drive home the point, continuing her examination. "This isn't just a simple murder... no, there's definitely a pattern."

"There's a needle mark on his neck," Batman observed, his tone flat.

"Son of a bitch injected him with—" Gordon began, only to be cut off by the vigilante.

"Rat poison."

"That seems to be his theme," Gordon replied, frustration creeping into his voice. He stepped back angrily, running a hand through his hair.

"It wouldn't have taken long," Maryam said calmly, her gloved hands moving over the body. "Depending on the dose, the poison would've shut down his organs in minutes. A cruel way to go."

Batman followed Gordon to the evidence table, while Maryam kept her focus on Savage. As she worked, something caught her eye—the creepy, hinged cage-like head box nearby. She moved closer, peering inside at the intricate network of channels.

"It's a maze," the Bat said, examining it over her shoulder.

"What kind of sicko does this to a person?" Gordon asked, disgust lacing his voice as he looked into the bloody maze.

Batman pulled out a violet light, flashing it over the channels. "More symbols." A crudely painted cipher ended in a question mark within crosshairs. "Another cipher."

"What kind of light is that?" Maryam asked curiously, her brow furrowing as she eyed the tool in his hand.

The Bat turned his gaze to her, his expression unreadable, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, neither of them spoke. ***

Her focus shifted back to the maze. She narrowed her eyes, her voice firm. "This isn't just torture. It's a message. A twisted game." She clicked on her own flashlight, carefully illuminating the channels in the gruesome head box. "Each path could represent something—maybe even the victim's fate."

Batman's gaze shifted to the surveillance photos Gordon was sifting through. "He blasted those out after his message went viral. This guy murders you and your reputation."

"That guy's pushing drops," Batman added, spotting a figure next to Savage in the photos, his gloved hand still holding the violet light. "On the East End."

Maryam frowned as she glanced at the photos, her heart sinking. The commissioner was emerging from the Iceberg Lounge, shaking hands with a shady figure. "This doesn't look good," she said softly. "Even in death, he's destroying reputations. This could ruin lives..."

Gordon sighed heavily. "Why would Pete get involved in this?"

"Looks like he got greedy," Batman replied.

Maryam scoffed, shooting Gordon a knowing look. "Come on, Jamie, we all know half the cops in Gotham work for you-know-who. It's not a stretch to think Pete crossed that line."

"Are you kidding me? After everything we did to bust up the Maronis? We shut down their whole operation, and now he's caving to some dealer?" Gordon's voice was incredulous.

"Maybe he wasn't who you thought he was," Batman said coldly.

"You make it sound like he had it coming," Gordon muttered, frustration evident.

"He was a cop. He crossed the line," Batman said flatly.

Maryam nodded. "Zorro's right, Gordon. Even if you arrested Maroni, the drops and drugs are still out there. New ones hit the streets every day. I've lost count of the bodies with this stuff in their systems." She glanced back at the corpse. "The system is failing us. And now, someone's turning it into a game. More lives are being sacrificed."

Gordon exhaled, weighed down by the situation. Batman noticed something taped to the back of the head box—an envelope labeled To the Batman.

He opened it, revealing another greeting card. A cartoon scientist mixing beakers smiled out at them with the words, I'm MAD About You! Want to Know My Name? Just Look Inside and See... Inside, a cartoon explosion with the words, But wait, I cannot tell you—it might spoil the chemistry!

Maryam rolled her eyes. "This is childish. Whoever did this thinks it's a game?" She leaned closer, studying the envelope with a critical eye. "But it's also an invitation. A challenge."

Batman scanned the scribbled message and read aloud, "Follow the maze till you find the rat—bring him into the light, and you'll find where I'm at."

"What the hell does that mean? Bring him into the light? Find the rat?" Gordon asked, unnerved.

Batman's eyes narrowed as he stared at his name on the envelope. "I don't know..."

Maryam crossed her arms, contemplating. "It's a metaphor, right? Exposing someone, forcing them to face the consequences of their actions." She looked at the Bat, her voice firm. "We need to figure out who this rat is before more bodies pile up." A dark look crossed her face as dread gnawed at her. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

Suddenly, Martinez hurried down the stairs, snapping the trio out of their thoughts. "Lieutenant, they're coming back."

"We need to get out of here," Gordon said sharply, turning to his two companions.

The trio made their way out of the police station through the back, where the dim streetlights flickered over the darkened alleyway.

The heavy steel door shut behind them with a metallic clank, leaving them in the cool night air. Batman's shadowed figure was already scanning the surroundings, always alert, while Gordon fumbled with his phone, the screen glowing in his hand.

Just then, Gordon's phone rang urgently, the shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He glanced down, his brow furrowing. "I've gotta take this," he muttered before answering the call. His voice grew tense after a few exchanged words. "Yeah... Yeah, I'll be there. Right away."

He hung up, slipping the phone into his coat pocket, and turned to Maryam. "I need to go. Something's come up."

Maryam gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine, Jamie. I can walk from here."

Gordon hesitated for a moment, his expression softening as he stepped closer. He pressed a quick, fatherly kiss to her cheek—a simple gesture filled with warmth and concern. "Just be careful, alright?"

"I always am," Maryam replied with a faint smile, the weight of the night still heavy between them.

Gordon gave Batman a nod, a silent acknowledgment between the two men.

Without another word, he strode toward his car, the tension of Gotham's unrelenting chaos pulling him back into the fray.

The moment he slipped inside, he flipped on the sirens. The red and blue lights burst to life, flashing across the walls of the alley, followed by the sharp wail of the siren as the car sped off into the distance.

Maryam watched for a moment, her expression inscrutable as the siren's wail faded into the distance.

She exhaled softly, her breath misting in the cold air, then shifted her gaze to the looming figure of the Bat beside her. As she expected, he was already watching her, his shadowed eyes piercing through the darkness.

Fumbling with the belt of her trench coat, she pulled it tighter around her waist, as if it could shield her from the weight of his presence.

That gaze—it was relentless, cutting through her defenses. She swallowed hard, her heart quickening as she forced herself to look anywhere but at him. "Well... bye, I guess," she muttered abruptly, her voice sounding smaller than she intended. She turned on her heel, ready to disappear into the night.

But before she could take another step, his voice—low, grave, and unyielding—cut through the stillness of the alley. It stopped her cold.

"What happened to your face?"

She sighed, knowing he had seen it.

Gordon knew better than to ask, but him? "What are you talking about?" she replied, trying to feign confusion as she turned to face him, his form now just a few centimeters away.

"This," he said, pointing with a gloved finger at her brow, where a cut was surrounded by a bluish bruise.

"Oh," she attempted a reassuring smile, letting out a small chuckle and raising a hand dismissively. "It's nothing, really. I just banged my head against a table yesterday."

He remained silent for a moment, still looking at her, while she found herself unable to meet his gaze.

Having had enough of the silence, she crossed her arms defensively. "Can you stop looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his tone calm yet curious.

"Like you're dissecting me," she shot back, her voice carrying a hint of irritation. "I'm fine. Really."

His eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of skepticism and concern flickering in the shadows. "You're not fine. You're hurt. And it's not just a cut."

Maryam rolled her eyes, her defensive posture making her shoulders tense. "It's just a bruise, Zorro. I've dealt with worse." She turned her back to him, taking a step toward the alley's exit, but his presence felt like a weight she couldn't shake off.

"Doesn't look like it," he said quietly, closing the distance between them.

Their eyes locked, and she crossed her arms defiantly. "You're doing it again—looking at me like you can see right through me," she shot back, her voice tinged with frustration as she held her ground against his piercing gaze.

Vengeance tilted his head, the shadows accentuating the angles of his mask. "You think you're hiding something from me?" he asked, his tone steady but edged with curiosity.

Maryam took a step back, her heart racing as she fought to regain her composure. "It's just a bruise. It's not a big deal," she insisted, trying to force a casual demeanor despite the tension crackling between them.

He reached out and took her arm, the contact eliciting a short gasp from her lips. Then, he pulled her closer, his breath warming her neck as he examined the cut. "It's too deep to just be from bumping your head on a table."

She clenched her jaw, gripping his muscular arm, feeling the fabric of his suit tighten beneath her fingers. "Stop it," she said, her voice firm, and she pushed him away. But he caught her hand this time, refusing to let go.

"Get on the bike. You're not walking home alone."

"No."

"This isn't up for debate," he said, his voice low and commanding, though there was a hint of concern beneath the surface. "The streets aren't safe, especially not for you right now."

She met his gaze, unyielding. "I appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself. I'm not some damsel in distress."

He let out a soft sigh, the tension between them thick. "This isn't about being a damsel. It's about the dangers out there—the ones you can't see coming."

Maryam shook her head, frustration bubbling up. "I'm not afraid of whatever's lurking in the shadows. I'm not afraid of you, either."

"Is that what this is about?" he asked, stepping closer, his intensity unwavering. "You think you can handle everything on your own? You've seen what I can do. I'm not just some myth; I'm real, and I'm trying to help."

"I don't need your help," she shot back, her heart pounding from the confrontation. "You don't get to decide what I need. I can protect myself." Her voice was firmer than she felt, muttering under her breath, "I've been doing it for years."

Silence hung heavy between them.

"Just get on the bike," he finally said.

Frustration surged within her. "Oh my god, are you deaf or something?! I can handle myself, thank you very much!" Her hands punctuated her words, a familiar gesture when she felt cornered. "And why do you even care? We barely know each other!"

His gaze narrowed as he absorbed her words. "I won't stand by and watch someone get hurt when I can do something about it."

Maryam clenched her jaw, the defiance in her eyes flickering like a dying flame. "I'm a medical examiner. I've faced danger before. I don’t need someone babysitting me."

He shook his head slowly, frustration seeping through his tight-lipped expression. "This isn't just about you anymore. Gotham's a dangerous place, and you're already in over your head. You need someone watching your back."

"Maybe I don't want anyone watching my back," she retorted, taking a step away. "Maybe I'd rather take my chances on my own than rely on someone who thinks they know better."

He exhaled sharply, the tension between them thickening. "It's not about knowing better. It's about keeping you safe."

"Safe?" Her voice rose, anger sharpening her words. "You don’t even know me. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You think you can just swoop in and—"

"I know enough," he interrupted, his voice low and steady. "I know enough to see that you're hurting. And I’m not going to let you push me away because you’re scared."

Her heart raced, caught between anger and something softer. "You think this is fear? This is me standing my ground."

"Then stand your ground on the bike," he said, his voice calm but laced with concern. "I'm not asking you to give up control. Just let me help."

She paused, torn between her stubborn pride and the truth hanging in his words. "I don't want to be a burden," she muttered, her earlier defiance weakening.

"You're not a burden," he replied, though his words came slower, more deliberate. "You're... an ally."

Maryam bit her lip, weighing her options. After a long pause, she exhaled, her resistance faltering. "Fine. But this doesn't change anything."

He almost smiled—just a flicker of amusement in his usually stoic expression. "I wouldn't dream of it." Then, his expression hardened slightly. "Wait here."

She nodded suspiciously, watching him disappear into the shadows of the alley. Minutes passed, her gaze darting around anxiously. He was gone for at least ten minutes before he reappeared, but this time, the suit was gone.

In its place stood a drifter, or at least, that's what he looked like—his lower face hidden behind a bandana, black sunglasses covering his eyes, and a cap pulled low over his brow. The baggy clothes he wore made him unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the imposing figure from earlier.

She narrowed her eyes, studying him, but she still couldn't piece together who he was. His disguise was too good.

Without a word, he gestured toward the motorcycle parked nearby, a sleek, black machine that fit the man of mystery he was. He handed her a helmet, and she hesitated for only a moment before taking it, slipping it over her head.

Once she was seated behind him, she felt the rumble of the engine beneath them as he settled in front.

Through the hum of the engine, she spoke up, giving her address. "I live on—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice steady but muffled through the helmet.

She blinked, surprised. "What? How?"

"Just hold on," he replied without explanation, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Maryam frowned but didn't have much of a choice. She reluctantly wrapped her arms around his abdomen, feeling the solidness of his frame beneath the loose clothing.

The motorcycle roared to life, and they sped into the early morning, the city blurring around them as she tightened her grip, wondering just how much he really knew about her.

The wind whipped past them, the early morning chill biting at her skin even through her clothes.

Maryam's heart raced, not just from the speed of the bike, but from the thoughts swirling in her head.

The city lights streaked by in a blur, the darkened streets and shadowy alleys blending together as they tore through Gotham's chaotic maze.

She felt her grip tighten around him instinctively, her cheek nearly pressed to his back, sensing the calm rhythm of his breath against the wild beat of her own heart.

The streets were far from calm, even in the early hours.

She caught glimpses of figures huddled in makeshift shelters, a couple of homeless men crouched by a fire in a barrel, their faces hollowed by hunger and hardship.

Shadows flitted between the crumbling facades of abandoned buildings, home to those whom Gotham's elite had long forgotten. Maryam swallowed hard, her chest tightening with a blend of embarrassment and discomfort.

It wasn't the people that embarrassed her; she had once walked in their shoes. No, it was the man on the motorcycle—a figure that felt foreign, as if he had never known the grit of these streets.

The bike began to slow down as they neared a slightly quieter corner, still rough around the edges but not quite in the heart of the Narrows.

Maryam's heart was still pounding, her fingers curled tightly around his jacket, but she forced herself to loosen her grip as the motorcycle came to a stop.

"You can let go now," his voice broke through the rumble of the engine, a hint of amusement mixed with something more unreadable.

Exhaling shakily, Maryam removed her arms from around him and slid off the bike, her legs unsteady on the gritty concrete.

She stood there for a moment, watching him as he kicked the stand down, turning off the engine. With slightly trembling fingers, she fumbled with the helmet, removing it and shaking her head to loosen her hair.

A few stubborn curls had escaped her carefully pinned-up hair during the ride. She tried to brush them back in place, but they were wild, framing her face in soft, unruly waves.

Her cheeks were flushed from the wind, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, but it only made her look more striking.

Despite the smudges of fatigue and tension etched around her eyes, there was a sharp beauty in her features—a hint of vulnerability hidden behind the determination in her gaze.

"How—" she began, her voice still hoarse from the ride. "How do you know where I live?"

He turned to face her, his lower face still hidden behind the bandana, his eyes obscured by those dark sunglasses. "I make it my business to know things," he replied, his tone casual, though there was an underlying weight to his words that set her on edge.

Maryam's frown deepened, her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not an answer."

"No," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But it's the one you're getting."

Her frustration flickered, and she crossed her arms tightly, struggling to calm her racing heart. "You can't just—"

"You're safe," he cut her off, his voice sharp and final. "That's what matters."

Maryam clenched her jaw, her pride stinging. "I can take care of myself."

He didn't argue, just stood there for a moment, as if sizing her up. Then, without another word, he turned back to the bike, preparing to leave.

"Wait." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He paused, turning his head just slightly, though he didn't look at her fully. "What?"

She hesitated, feeling the weight of the tension between them. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a long silence before he spoke again. "Because someone has to."

And with that, the engine roared back to life. Before she could react, he sped off into the gloom, vanishing into the shadows as if he'd never been there.

Maryam stood in the dim light of the street, watching the empty space where he had been moments ago.

The cold air stung her face, her mind buzzing with unanswered questions. She shook her head, muttering to herself, "What the hell have I gotten myself into?"

As the engine hummed beneath him, Bruce felt the familiar tension ease slightly from his body.

She reminded him of someone.

Actually, she reminded him of himself.

He could still feel the ghost of her arms around his waist, the way her grip had tightened instinctively when the bike picked up speed.

She hadn't trusted him—he could feel that—but she hadn't had much of a choice, either.

The same way he hadn't had a choice but to intervene.

But why? Why had he stepped in tonight? It wasn't like him to involve himself so deeply, especially not with someone like her. Someone with a past she kept hidden, someone fiercely independent who clearly resented any intrusion.

Bruce's gloved hands tightened on the handlebars as the streets blurred past him.

There was something about Maryam that nagged at him, something he couldn't shake.

She had secrets—just like everyone else in Gotham—but hers felt especially tangled. That bruise on her face? He knew it hadn’t come from a table, no matter how convincingly she tried to spin her story.

And he actually had an idea of how... he just had to watch and analyze the night that he has captured through his contact lents.

He had a sense of how it had happened; all he needed to do was watch and analyze the night captured through his contact lenses.

But it wasn’t just the physical injuries that caught his attention.

He had seen it in her eyes—the quiet pain, the weariness that she tried so hard to mask with that bravado. She was running from something, even if she wouldn't admit it. But what? And why did he care?

Bruce shook his head, focusing on the road ahead. He wasn't supposed to care.

The mission always came first—Gotham came first.

That was the only thing that mattered. Yet, there was something about her—something about Maryam Ben Halimi—that he couldn't quite let go of.

He turned down a narrow street, heading toward the Batcave, the night wrapping around him like an old, familiar cloak.

His thoughts lingered on her words, the fire in her voice when she insisted she didn't need help. He knew that feeling, the instinct to push others away, to rely only on yourself.

He had been doing it for years.

But it was different now. She was different. He wasn't sure why, but he felt drawn to her in a way that made him uneasy. It wasn't just about protecting Gotham this time.

He pulled into the cave, the cool, dark expanse opening up around him. The bike's engine echoed off the stone walls as he came to a stop. He took off his sunglasses and slid the bandana down, revealing the familiar, stoic mask of Bruce Wayne.

But even as he shut down the bike and removed his helmet, he couldn't shake the feeling.

He couldn't shake her.

She had gotten under his skin in ways that made him question his own instincts.

Pacing toward the center of the cave, Bruce's mind kept circling back to her—her sharp words, her defensive stance, and the way her eyes had softened for just a split second when she gave in. Fine. But this doesn't change anything.

Of course, it didn't change anything. It wasn't supposed to. But something had shifted. Maybe not for her, but for him.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior.

This was why he worked alone.

This was why he kept his distance.

Attachment—any kind—was dangerous.

It clouded judgment, made things messy.

Yet, here he was, thinking about Maryam again, about her bruised face, about the vulnerability she tried to hide beneath her sharp tongue.

Maybe it was because she wasn't afraid of him.

Or maybe it was because, despite everything, she was still standing her ground.

She wasn't running from him.

And she didn't see him as a myth, a legend, or a hero. She seemed to saw him for what he was—a man, flawed and just as tangled in this city's web as everyone else.

Bruce exhaled slowly, his breath heavy in the stillness of the cave. He couldn't afford distractions.

Not now.

Not ever.

But as he stood there, in the familiar shadows, one thought kept gnawing at him:

He wasn't just trying to protect Maryam from Gotham's dangers.

He was trying to protect her from becoming something like him.

Or perhaps it was too late; perhaps, unbeknownst to him, she had already shed the city's sins, leaving her pure and untouchable.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to plunge into the depths with her, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned.

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harrystylesfan2686 · 1 year ago

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Thirst For Blood

Pairing: Azriel x Reader.

Summary: What happens when you finally escape one prison, only to be locked in another for merely surviving...

Warnings: Mentions of slavery and torture (nothing descriptive). Blood (ig)

A/N: This is probably my longest writing yet. I'm so proud of myself for this one. I tried writing in 2nd POV after the results of survey done by @leafsandstarlight so i apologise in advance if the povs change suddenly mid sentence. I did my best to edit out the mistakes but if there are some left still, do tell me and I'll correct them right away. I love this one and I hope you do too. 🫶💕

Masterlist

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The soft cracks of fallen twigs fills the silence spread across the forest. The wounds on your bare feet had finally stopped flowing blood. It didn't really mattered though, considering you were covered with it.

The streaks of dried blood coming out of your mouth lined all the way down to your chest, soaking through the torn material. The dress shirt and pants you had stolen from your very first kill had been ruined, having constantly walked for weeks. Covered with dirt and blood that now appeared dark brown.

You didn't know where you were going, only that you had to keep walking, running away as far as you can from the place you left behind.

You saw something move behind you and froze. You turned and held your breath, looking around, hoping for an animal or something to jump up and attack you. After what felt like ages but was probably a minute, your shoulders sag in relief when you didn't see anything unusual.

You turned to continue down your path but gasped when you saw a male right in front of you. Tan skin with black short hair atop his head, adorned in leather and blue stones. Not normal stones, you realized, Siphones.

You hadn't even had a chance to think about what to do now, before he twists his wrist at your direction and a black shadow comes out in a blur, hitting you on your forehead hard enough for the world to turn into darkness in you eyes and you fall unconscious.

-☆-

Azriel paced around the dark room, frowning at the females body asleep on the floor in front of him. The shackles around her hands and legs were bound to prevent her from running or pulling any tricks when she wakes up. It's been hours since he brought her here and imprisoned her, he realized. And she still hasn't woken up.

He has been trying to catch her for a long time, longer than what it normally takes him to find his targets. The creature that's been killing fae left and right. Draining every drop of blood from her victims and leaving the bodies for everyone to find.

She's been moving from one Court to another without leaving any trace of who or what she is. Never letting anyone predict her next move. It has thrown every Court into a spiral, not know what kind of creature has been killing their people everyday.

Azriel has been searching for the monster–her for a while. It took him a lot more time then it should. Always coming up blank while predicting what she was and what it's–hers next move would be. He was starting to question his position as the Spymaster, starting to feel ashamed every time he couldn't give Rhys the information he needed even though Rhys assured him multiple times that it's alright.

But now he knows.

He finally has the answer to all his questions. Finally found the only thing that kept him awake long into the nights, wondering why he couldn't perform his best this time. He felt as if he could finally breath freely again, without feeling abashed.

But as he watched her for hours, waiting for her to wake and using that time to observe her. How peaceful she looked and her calm features and clothes made him question himself, again. He's started to feel agitated. Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe she isn't the one he was after, all this time. But the one thing that stopped him from releasing her was the dried blood on her body. It seemed almost black from the darkness of the dungeons.

The wind in the room moved when a dark cloud formed and Rhysand stepped out. The energy in the room calmed to an eeire silence before he looked at Azriel and raised an eyebrow,"Still not awake?".

The shadowsinger shaked his head and sighed,"I don't know what's wrong. I didn't hit her with much force, just enough to make her faint for a few hours."

Rhys hummed and moved towards her sleeping form, staring at her for a few minutes before crouching down, raising a hand and placing it down on her head.

-☆-

You woke up with a startle and let out a small yelp at the sight of a male touching you. You scrambled back going as far as you can before your back hits a wall, breathing loud and fast while switching your gaze between the two male in front of you.

The one who was crouched in front of you stood and moved back, standing beside the male that was already stood with his hands crossed. Wait. You've seen him. He is the one that took you from the forest, the one with siphones straped to his body, seven siphones, you counted. They glowed so bright in the darkness. You forced yourself to look at your surroundings. A small room with four walls, a window on one of them and a metal door on another. A table in the middle on which a siphone–less male was now leaning against.

Your hands felt heavy when you tried to lift them, looking down and feeling the weight of the shackles locked on your hand and legs. The chains on them were small, enough to stand but not run. The air left your lungs and you felt like blood drained from you body when you realized where you were.

A torture chamber.

No no no.

Not again. You had just got out of one. You refuse to be locked up again. Anger filled your body as you looked up at your captures and snarled. "Release me!" You demanded.

The siphon male narrowed his eyes while the other's lips thinned in a straight line. The disappointment clearly displayed on both of their faces.

"No." Said the narrow eyed. And before you could speak again, the other one extended his hands as though calming a wild beast and said,"How about we start with introductions? I'm Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court." His then pointed at the siphoned one,"This is Azriel, The Spymaster of Night Court." He gave a gentle smile which you knew was fake and asked,"And you are?"

Rhysand. Azriel. The High Lord and Spymaster. Night Court. Prythian. Right. I am in Prythian.

Your expression soften and eyes widen when you realized how far you've travelled. You were at the very top Court of Prythian. Did you really walk all the way through the continent without even realizing it?

Rhysand cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows in a silent demand to answer him. You swallowed a lump, wincing when you felt your throat sore and scratchy from dryness. You opened you mouth and told them you name, feeling a lot calmed then you did a minute ago. Rhysand's eyes widens as he looks at you as if he hadn't expected you to answer. "Will you answer a few of our questions?" You nod slowly.

"First of all. What are you?" You frown upon hearing his question but then relax looking at him. Of course he doesn't know.

"I'm a Vampire." You answered. Both their faces shocked and you sigh. Feeling the weight of your life on your shoulders. Azriel composes himself the next second but the High Lord's mouth still agaped a for longer than a minute.

"That's not possible. Vampires aren't real, they're a folklore created by ancients to scare the younglings." It's Azriel that says it this time, shaking his head in disbelief. His voice oddly comforting and you lean your head against the wall closing your eyes for a second. "And even if they were, they are extinct. They haven't been seen in a Millennium."

"So were Seers. But they came back too, didn't they? Even if only one." You open my eyes and raise an eyebrow.

"Yes. And im not going to ask how you know that but that's because a female was thrown into the cauldron and it gave her powers." Rhysand states.

"Exactly." You say. "The cauldron made her a fae and gave her powers, along with her sister. And I know because I've heard about you, high lord. The one who stole Spring's wife." You laugh softly. "It's absured what they say about you."

Rhysand's jaw clench.

"Calm down. I'm not making fun of you." You gave an apologetic expression.

"How are you a vampire? Have you been hiding all this time?" Azriel winces as he says, probably cringing at how crazy his words sound.

"Couldron made me a Vampire when I was pushed into it. Since I was already fae, I became the creature who feeds on blood to live. I was transformed in hybern, been made one of the King's experiments." You explain. They both frown in confusion and share a glance while you close your eyes and rest yourself against the cold, hard wall, the exhaustion of your journey finally hitting you at once.

"How did you get here?" Azriel questioned.

"I used my powers."

"What, exactly, are your powers?" It's was Rhysand this time.

"Compulsion. I can compell anyone to do anything I want."

"Is that how you hid yourself? Killing or compeling the people, who saw you?"

You finally straighten your neck, giving them your full attention and raise an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? I compell the people to forgot they saw me." Rhys' body tenses as that. "You can control minds?" His calm tone shealing the panick and anger behind it.

"Not exactly minds. I can control your consciousness by looking into your eyes and ordering you." They shared a glance, unsure to believe you or not.

"Don't think im telling the truth?" You tilt my head towards the shadowsinger. "I can show you." Azriel assessed you cautiously and nodded once.

You peered into his yellow onyx eyes, the gold flickering in them can be seen clearly even from the distance between you both. Concentrating on energy thuming beneath your mind, your iris' expand as you give the order,"You'll do as I say."

His face cleared of any feelings, his expression bland as he repeated,"I'll do as you say."

"Take off my binds." You lift your hands and the corner of you lips quirk up.

His eyes widen,"No!" He exclaimed but his feet moved on their own, seeming as if they were they're own person. He stopped in front of you and sat on his toes, hands moving to your restrins. "What the fuck?" He barked.

"Azriel stop!" The High Lord ordered, stepping behind him and held onto his shoulders, trying to get him away from you. Azriel didn't budge.

"Stop." You spoke, pulling your hands back toward you before he actually opened your chains. Azriel stood and took a big step away from you, finally in control of himself. He and Rhysand breathing hard, staring at you in disbelief. "Believe me now?"

A moment of silence passed, no one speaking anything before Rhysand cleared his throat,"How–," He shaked his head slightly. "When did you became a vampire?"

"I'm not quite sure of the time. All I know is that when you killed the king, I ran and came here." You shrug.

"Tell us everything." He ordered, the traces of a gentle man gone, leaving only the authority of a high lord. "You said 'experiment'. What do you mean by that?"

"You don't think he just threw the high lady's sister in there and hoped for the best did you?" Your lips thinned. "He tried it at first, obviously. Trying to see if his theory actually worked. Since he couldn't throw in humans, he bought fae slaves like me and drowed us in the Couldron. He drowned one fea at a time. The first two didn't survive but he didn't give up hope. When the third subject resurfaced, he was overjoyed. Thinking it finally worked but all that hope was destroyed when he crawled out of the Couldron and died a few minutes later.

The forth subject the same as before but the fifth survived. She came out a dragon, being able to exchange skin for scales and pikes, hands to wings, and breath fire when angry. The king locked her up and tortured her, trying to check how strong she was. She lived a full month but at the end died of bloodloss." You sucked in a sharp breath, preparing yourself for further.

"The sixth subject came out looking normal. But everyone quickly realized they had made a mistake calling her a fail when she looked at a person and that person turned stone. She was executed the second she turned the gaurd stone. I don't know details more than this because as I said we were never transformed at the same time. I heard all this in small pieces of information, listening to the guards that were stationed to my cell, talk.

I was the seventh subject. The only fae who was weak enough to torture and strong enough to keep alive. They beat us, burn us, and tortured us in ways I couldn't even imagine were possible. I had a better of it though because not long after I was turned, you killed that king in war. When I heard the he was dead and the castle was in mayhem, I ran. I ran and compelled my way out of Hybern and into Prythian, in hopes of finding a better life." You gave them a lopsided smile and sigh.

"You killed innocent people in the process. You murdered your way through our land." Azriel finally spoke and the look in his eyes as he looked at you was pure rage.

"I was weak. I was hungry. I couldn't control my hunger, I didn't know how to. When I fed on those people, I planed to just take a sip of thier blood and leave. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't control myself in the few killings. I would never kill a person on purpose. I never want to harm anyone. And after I was strong enough, I did learn to control. I fed, compelled and ran." You tried to explain yourself but it seemed clear he didn't believe you.

"You could've used your power to get out of here the second you woke up. Why didn't you?" He abruptly changed the topic. You swallow a lump.

"As I said, I don't want to harm anymore people."

You turned to the high lord and said,"I won't hurt anymore people. You have my word. I just want my freedom. A peaceful life is all I want." You plead.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Azriel asked in an irritated tone. I glaced at him and said to Rhysand,"You can look into my head. If you find that I'm laying, you can kill me right here and never let me walk out alive. I'll accept whatever punishment you give. I promise you I'm saying the truth." You considered begging at this point if it got you free.

Rhysand looked at Azriel, The two of them held each others gaze for a minute without saying anything, having an unspoken conversation. Your eyes skipped between them, confused because they weren't even blinking.

Suddenly, Rhysand turned to you, stepping near and put a hand on your head. He either didn't notice the dirt in your locks or didn't care. You gasped feeling a dark shadow within you soul, you winced and shut your eyes because it felt almost painful, not so much that you couldn't handle it but enough to steal you focus only to the shadow digging around your subconscious. Your body locked itself in the position you were sitting in. You couldn't do anything but sit there and let the high lord examine your thoughts.

After what felt like forever Rhysand finally stepped back and sighed. The relief of body finally back to your control almost made you drop to the ground but you kept yourself composed. Breathing heavy and looking up to the high lord, you raised an eyebrow, silently questioning him.

"She's telling the truth. She doesn't intent on killing anymore people." Rhysand informed Azriel and his face relaxes the slightest. "And as for your request," He told you,"Fine. I'll let you walk through Night Court," I couldn't control my smile. "But only on one condition." He raised a finger.

"Anything." You noded.

"Azriel will be with you at all times. Anywhere you go, anytime you go. He will be there. At least until we are sure to trust you won't harm our residence." Rhysand ordered and Azriel clenched his jaw.

"Alright!" You felt so happy, you could dance.

Rhysand and Azriel shared a worried glance, again but you were too in your own joyful world to realize. You are finally free. You closed your eyes and rested you head on the wall, the smile on your face refusing to go.

I am finally free.

-☆-

Azriel watched with skeptical eyes as you practically skipped through the road. You both were on your way to a small bakery Feyre had suggested.

When you were taken out of the dungeons, the High Lady of Night Court had arried there complaining how long her mate had been gone. Her eyes had widened when she took a look at you, worry clearing written in her expression. When the high lord and spymaster explained who you were and what your situation was, she immediately took it in her hands to get you comfortable.

It was weird, to be honest. You had never experienced someone being so kind and nice to you, treating you like you were important, like you mattered. Even before you were turned, your life was rough, being a slave waiting to be sold, it was expected. So yes it had been very weird.

You were transfered in a house built above a mountain. Rhysand said it was because Azriel lived there and you were always expected to be with him, but you knew the real reason. It was because the House of Wind had ten thousand steps, standing so high the if you ever tired to run, you wouldn't be able to go far without being caught or dead. But you didn't care because you never wished to run. Never wished to give them any reason not to trust you.

So you accepted your fate with a happy face. You met with High Lord's inner circle who were cautious with you, still are, but a little comfortable thsn before. You only met them once and are sure they all could kill you the second you did something wrong.

Everyday you walked with azriel around Valaris, going from one shop to another, learning the style and culture of people of Night Court. You were first a bit scared to do or touch anything in front of Azriel, not even speaking much but you have to admit, you got used to having him around. Finding him at every corner you turned to, watching you. After a while you tried to talk to him, making small talks about random things as you walk and surprisingly he replied to you everytime.

Azriel didn't understand how someone can be so annoyingly curious about everything. You looked at every person, every dish of food, every single thing with so much curiosity and happiness, it made him almost angry. The smile of your face hadn't left for a second since they released your shackles. It was like walking with a bubble full of pure contentness.

Your eyes widen in excitement as you pointed to a bakery in front of you. "There is it!" You took your hand in his and walked faster, almost ran to the door of the small shop. He opened the door and stepped aside to let you in first and closed it behind you both.

You smile impossibly wide as you take in the pink interior. A few tables spread across the left side of the shop with even fewer people sitting on them and the right filled with freezers that contained verities of sweets. From cakes and pastries to cookies and different breads, everything looked so delicious, you can't possibly choose what to taste first.

"Good morning darlings, what can I get you?" The lady behind the cash counter asked with a smile.

"I apologise but I can't decide. Why dont you suggest me something?" You gave a smile.

"Alright do you like chocolate?" She asked. You opened you mouth to reply but stop, trying to remember if you've ever tasted chocolate. You don't think you have. Well guess you'll if you like it now. "Sure." You smiled.

When the lady asked Azriel what he wanted he just said that he doesn't want anything. You both go to sit in one of the empty tables on the very left corner, taking the seat opposite to one another. There is a widow right next to you from which you glimpse at every person walking through the road.

While you observe outside the window, Azriel observes you, thinking how can anyone be so energetic all the damn time. He thinks of how you look so different than how he first saw you, covered in so much filth, and now your skin is as clear as water. Your eyes and lips so perfect, he can admire you for days without stopping. The one thing he's sure is amazing, is the joy in your eyes, he swears you could have the deadliest disease and still be happy.

He breath catches for a second when you turn to him, realizing he had just been caught ogling you. He expected you to frown in discomfort or turn to the other way trying to avoid him but he stopped breathing entirely when he sees you smile even brighter at him. The blush on you cheeks and sparkle in your eyes fading away the rest on the world around you.

His focus entirely on how breathtakingly beautiful you are.

The moment shatters when a girl in aprone comes in with a dish and places it between you both, muttering a small enjoy and going away, leaving them alone again.

"I've never had chocolate before. I'm not sure if I'll like it or not." You quietly admitted. Azriel tried not to let his surprise show as he digested the information. Of course you never had chocolate, you were a slave most of your life. He mentally rolled eyes at himself.

You picked up the spoon and scoped a small piece of the brown substance. You put it in your mouth and instanty let out a small moan at the taste. Sweetness explods in your mouth as you chewe, digging in for the rest of the cake immediately.

Azriel tried to ignored what that moan did to his body. He tried to suppress the smile itching to appear on his lips as he watched you eat the piece of cake in utter amusement. The chocolate covered you lips and you tounge poked out the lick in clean. You finished the cake and beamed at him. "One more, please?"

Azriel's lips turn up at the corner as he gestured the waiter for one more pastry. He noticed the end of your lips still brown. "You still have chocolate on your face." He stated and pointed at his own lips, trying to show the exact place. Your hand came up and wiped the opposite end. "Better?" You asked. He shaked his head. "The opposite." You wiped it almost cleaned but missed a spot. You raised you eyebrows, silently questioning him again.

He sighed and reached his hand to your face and wiped the rest clean. His fingers felt rough against your soft skin. You intake a sharp breath feeling fire ignited against your skin as he moved his hand back. He then pulls his thumb near his mouth and open his mouth to lick the chocolate off. His eyes held your gaze for a heated moment and you forgot how to breath.

The moment interrupted when the waiter came in again. Bringing in the second dish of chocolate cake you ordered, though before she could rest it on the table, someone pushed her, causing her to lose footing and drop the dish, shattering it to the ground. A hundred broken pieces of ceramic glass spread through the floor and she spoke out a curse. Bending down to pick up the pieces, she repeated apologises under her breath, but as she picked up one sharp pieces, the sharp edge cut through her skin and she instanty dropped it and gasped. The small cut deep enough to gush out a trail of crimson blood.

You tense as the smell of blood fills the room faster than anything. You close your eyes and try to control but the smell is so strong you feel hunger hit you all over your body. Azriel quickly stood up and grabed you, standing you up too as you both quickly get out of the shop, you running as fast as you can from the desire to feed on that poor girl until you feel her limp in your arms.

Azriel pulled you in a dark ally beside the walk way, placing your back against the wall and resting both of his hands beside your head. You press your eyes with both hands trying to think of something else, anything other then the beautiful scarlet liquid ready to be suck on just a few steps away.

"How are you feeling?" Azriel doesn't mention how he feels proud of you that you controlled yourself enough to get out after not drinking blood for so long.

"Hungry." You growl, trying to distract yourself by thinking.

"You need to distract yourself."

You scoff. "You think im not already trying." You snapped at him, not even in enough mindset to feel bad. Your head hangs low as you reach to your hair, pulling as hard as you can. Pain. Yes that's what's going to distract you.

Azriel licked his lips. "I have an idea but I'm not sure you'll like it." He whispered.

"I don't care if I like it not. If you have something to calm me then act on it!" You finally lowered your hands and glared at him.

Azriel felt speechless as he looked at you. Your irises glowed red and veins that coloured black and purple pulsed around you eyes. Your mouth in a snral, showing off you pointed canine that stood out proudly with sharpest edge amongst the other teeth. You looked deadly as though you could kill him this very second without a problem.

It made him want you even more.

Pushing every doubt out of his head he slam his lips to yours. You mouth open in a gasp and he used it to his advantage, pushing his tounge in your mouth. You returned the kiss with a sigh, pushing yourself into him, hands in his hair and tougne tied with his. His one arm wrapped around you waist and other behind you neck pushing your head upwards to deepen to kiss.

You both kept your lips to the other until what felt like forever. Finally pulling back and opening your eyes to find him already looking at you. The hunger you felt now was of a entirely different reason than before the kiss. The gaze you shared was a lot more than desire, it was raw and intimate.

You smirked at each other.

"I hope you liked that, because we are definitely doing that again."

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#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #acotar fluff #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel angst #vampire!reader

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ficsbb · 7 months ago

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Sleep (Final)

》 Pairing: John Constantine x MascFem!Reader

》 Word Count: 2.6k

Note: Final part of Sleep! I adjusted pov, so you get more internal thoughts on Constantine and I have to say...I enjoyed writing it this way. Apologies for any mistakes with tenses, spelling, grammar etc. Enjoy!

The shift of Constantine’s body stirs you awake. You’re bleary-eyed and instinctively reach out to him, hand landing on warm skin. In the early days, you worried over disturbing him that way, conscious of how his eyes would flit about looking any other way but yours. It was obvious that intimacy was foreign for him, few, far between and then, completely forgotten.

Of course, until you met each other.

Constantine would find himself walking closer alongside you whenever he called you out to meet at a diner either early mornings or late nights. He had your order memorized before long, and it would be ready by the time you showed up. The small smile that would creep up on your face as you walked closer to the booth made something stir in him. He didn’t know what it was then. Only that it satisfied him more than any drag from a cigarette ever did. It started as a low thrumming in the pit of his stomach that slowly wound its way to the center of his chest. Every order pushed him closer to the edge.

“You okay?” The softness of your voice brings him back into himself. He makes a low grunt, taking your hand in his, absentmindedly following the lines of your palm as he moves closer to you. Constantine doesn’t answer right away, just sighs and stretches before turning to face you. His silence doesn’t bother you. It never did, really. This is where you both stood on the same ground. Sitting in peaceful bliss, tuning into the sounds around you harmonizing; making music just for the two of you to make sense of.

Your body is half in and out of the blankets. An old trusty fan whirring in the corner of the room makes the window curtain sway in rhythm. It’s already nighttime, and with every sway of the curtain, the full moon casts a shadow onto his face.

“Are you okay?” You ask again, insistent. He rolls his eyes playfully and nods, “Yeah.” You laugh a little, and he smiles at the sight of it. He can remember the first time you laughed at something he said. It was loud and obnoxious, and it seemed to have bounced off the tiles in his kitchen in a way that scratched the part of his brain where every cell of satisfaction was housed. It pulled and twisted at him with fiery bursts of warmth that scared the absolute shit out of him. Before he knew it, there was another sound accompanying yours, and it took him much too long to figure out it was his own laugh escaping him; rough and deep pouring out of his throat.

“If you really want, I’ll stay behind this time.” You get to the point, much too tired to pretend not to know what’s wrong with him. You can feel his body suddenly tense as he squeezes your hand in his.

“It’s not that I don’t want you with me. I do. I always want you with me.” You hold your breath, afraid any sudden movement might make him clam up and retreat back into his shell. Constantine doesn’t look at you. He continues to follow the lines of your palm, eyebrows furrowed, frowning. To anyone else, he would seem to be utterly frustrated and angry, but you know what this is. You know there is something sharp trying to claw its way out of his mouth, and he’s fighting to swallow it back down out of habit.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispers, and there it is. His chest is rising and falling semi rapidly. The air is thick and heavy with his fear and love and cynicism all rolled into a cloud swirling above him, reaching out to choke him.

“You won’t lose me, Constantine.”

“You don't know that. You don't.” He suddenly shifts onto his back, the moon now highlighting the tufts of hair near his belly button. There are scars riddling his body, many across his stomach and sides. Deep gashes that healed crudely over time. A few are raised when you pass over them, and every time you see them, you wonder how he has managed to survive for this long.

“No. I don’t, but I want to be your backup. I can help you. I love to be able to help you.” The cadence of your voice centers him. That swirling cloud of fear follows the current of air being pushed around the room by the fan in the corner and dissipates. He sighs out loud.

“You keep saying that as if you’re not helpful when you’re in the library.”

“Constantine-”

“I refuse to lose you. Don’t you understand? You are m-my life.” He sits up, losing his balance slightly; his back colliding with the headboard harder than he probably meant to. He runs one hand in his hair, roughly, and you sit up with him. You feel the panicked vibration through the skin of his thigh when your hand lands there.

“I am?” Constantine looks pained when you ask him that question. He starts to go through every touch of your hand on his body, the soft whispery kisses you have given him on the top of his eyelids while he was deep inside of you. How could you not know? Did he not show you enough?

“Of course you are.” He takes your hand and puts it to his lips, kissing you softly right in the center and then places it on his chest. The way he looks at you, then, with hooded eyes, lips parted and pink, your heart lurches out toward him. “I’m sorry you have to even question that.” He brings your hand to his lips again for a quick kiss and motions you to come closer and lay your legs over his. You do, without hesitation, you do.

“I don’t want to lose you either. I know you can handle yourself, you’ve been doing it for years without me but,” you sigh and look in his eyes, “I want to know I’ve done everything in my power to make sure you come back home to me. That we come back home with each other.” Constantine feels his heart skip a beat, the next big thumping pound in his chest jolting. Your eyes are glistening with unshed tears, and he can say for certain, without a shadow of a doubt that-

“I am in love with you.” He says, the words shooting out of his mouth hurriedly, impatient, and bent at the corners. Your intake of breath worries him for a second, but he doesn’t have time to think about it more because your lips are on his. They’re familiar and soft and warm against his. Your mind is whirling with what this really means. How it means that even though you have parts of yourself you wish you could change or how you’ve worried that you weren’t a pretty little thing made of porcelain, he’s in love with you all the same. When you part, all there is is quiet breathing back and forth between you both.

“Do you remember the first time you called me for a job?” Constantine laughs, head tipped back, and you watch the movement in his throat, committing the sound to memory.

“How could I forget? To this day, I don’t know how we ended up in that abandoned cabin.”

“Me either, but we were hiding out for a while, and it started to rain.” He sucks his teeth when you mention it, remembering that it took forever to get that smell of rain mixed in with musty cabin out from his coat.

“There were so many holes in the roof, I’m surprised we could find a decent spot in there.” You laugh, nodding along.

“But we did,” he grunts in response, “and I recall at some point in the night I was getting tired and you seemed to have noticed because the next thing I know, you took off your coat and folded it up as best as you could and placed it on your lap,” you shake your head thinking of it, “and I was confused by that. So confused.”

Constantine watches you pause mid telling. He notices this shine in your eyes, and when your eyelashes flutter as you look up at him, he thinks - no, he knows his heart stops right then.

“Without saying a word, you nudged me to come closer to you, almost like how we are now, and motioned me to lay my head on your lap and I did-” You whisper the next part, realizing, “I hadn’t been able to get a proper night’s rest until that night. And I knew then that I would always love you, Constantine.”

He could never possibly define the emotion that swells within him. It’s akin to looking up at the sky and feeling the spotlight of warmth from the sun setting just on you and no one else. How the light streams through the trees and catches only you and no one else. There’s always that sharp bite gnawing at him, wanting to keep that feeling from getting close, but all he needs to do is bring your name to his lips and it falls away; the points of the teeth dulling and retreating.

“Come with me.” You look at him confused as he moves your legs gently and gets out of bed. The way the blanket falls away from his body is sultry and distracting, but the sound of his feet as he walks over to you brings you back to focus.

“Where to?” You sit up straighter, moving closer to the edge of the bed. He goes into your shared closet and begins to rummage through things. You’re curiously watching him, but get out of bed and grab your nearest flannel. There’s a comfortable chill in the air as you reach over to your bedside table and turn the lamp on.

You watch him turn around with a couple of towels and a few other things stacked on top of them. You turn your head to the side, and he wonders if you could be any more beautiful.

“A warm bath should help your injury some more.” You don’t have time to say anything else as he walks out of the room. You look over at the clock and see it’s 2:35 a.m. You shrug and follow him, as you always do.

—

The bath is already running when you walk in. He’s brought a chair over from the kitchen to sit while he runs his fingers to make sure the water isn’t scalding. He knows it’s late. He knows that he wants to get back in bed with you as soon as possible so your warmth is marred into his side, but after hearing that you love him back, he wants nothing more than to take care of you like this.

“A bath?”

“Yes, a bath.”

“Hm, okay.” You go to take your flannel off, but Constantine moves behind you and takes over. His breath is at the nape of your neck, and you’re almost embarrassed that he has most certainly noticed the goosebumps that have risen over your skin.

“Let me.” You feel yourself begin to unpack, unfold in front him with every article of clothing he strips you of softly and slowly, delicately. You’re not usually seen as delicate, but with the ways Constantine regards you in touch and in words, you are to him, and that’s all that matters.

When you step in the tub and lay down, he sifts through the water with his hands. It’s quiet apart from that and the sounds of the chair as he moves.

“How is it?”

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Of course.” He watches you sink yourself completely and come up, hands wiping at your face to get the water away from your eyes. A part of him wants to slide in with you, but for tonight all he craves is to make sure you never question how he feels about you. Craves? It’s so strange to him still, this kind of need that makes his fingers itch to touch you all the time. If he were to be blindfolded and made to find you in a sea of people, he would know the feel and scent of your skin apart from everyone else, every time.

“So,” You begin, “may I?” He rings the water out of a cloth and begins to soap it up.

“May you what?”

“May I come with you next time?” The question makes a chuckle come out of him and he shakes his head as he starts to run the cloth over your arm, the suds making that foamy popping sound you’ve always loved.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“But you love me still, so.” You shrug and he can’t argue with that at all. It’s why he loves you, actually.

“The client wants me- us to meet him at the Vatican in a couple of days. Flights are booked.” You look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Like, the Vatican?”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I asked, but yeah.”

“And you were thinking of going without me?” He doesn’t have time to block the puff of soapy suds that land on his face. Your laugh gets louder when he sputters and wipes at his mouth.

“Play nice!” Your laugh turns to giggles. He continues to bathe you, scrubbing away at your arms, neck, and chest. When he gets to your breasts and a soft sigh escapes from your lips, he knows that the need to have you back in bed increases exponentially.

After a while, the silence hovers over the both of you comfortably. You feel your eyelids growing heavier with every passing minute.

“Ready?” Constantine’s voice feels far away, softly making its way to you like it's a secret you both share. You turn over and look up at him, wanting to sit in this moment for a bit longer. He’s leaned down toward you, hair disheveled, voice full of sleep.

“I’m ready, Constantine.” He feels his heart come up his throat, trying to bound its way out of his mouth to present to you as a gift. His life at your hands, beating and pumping only for you. How can this happen to someone like him? How? But he remembers that angels exist, demons too, but here you were given to him, a light swallowing him whole, and he’s letting you.

“I love you,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“And I love you.” Your hands are wet as they trace the lines of his lips. He doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, just smiles and helps you out of the tub.

Before long you’re both back in bed. Back in each others warmth, limbs tangled underneath the blankets you share. The old trusty fan is still whirring in the corner of the room, making the curtain sway in rhythm. You’re lying on his chest, his heartbeat syncing up with yours. You feel his hand on your head, fingers lightly scratching at your scalp. You’re asleep before him, almost always are. He knows this by your breathing pattern, and it calms him to know you’re safe tucked away in this apartment with him.

Constantine doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know how you get the information you’re able to get so fast when he needs it. He doesn’t know why he was born into a life like this and why he accepted it without question, but he knows one thing, though.

If ever he were posed the question, “Do you want to try again?” at any point in his life, he would say,"No." He doesn’t need to. Every time you look up at him with those eyes, he knows this is what it will forever be.

A new life, that always starts and ends with you.

#john constantine x y/n #john constantine x you #keanu reeves #reader insert #constantine 2005 #john constantine fic #john constantine x reader #john constantine #fanfic #constantine fic #masc reader #masc fem reader

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the-bear-and-his-sunbird · 9 months ago

Text

After ten years of not writing fanfiction, Baldurs Gate 3 has me in a chokehold. Inspired by one of the songs Halsins VA Dave Johnson put into his Halsin playlist, i made this. If you want the full experience listen to "I want to be your only pet" by Bombay Bicycle Club.

The whole playlist ist gold to be honest, so if you haven't do check that out.

The Tav is based on my Character Òrfhlaith (say it like Orla) who started as a Sorcerer/Bard and respecc. into Sorcerer/Paladin. For the sake of the story, the Tav is not named and only described with she/her pronouns and the title songbird.

English is not my first language, so if you find any spelling errors or grammatical mistakes, please do point it out.

I Want to be your only pet (I want to let go and forget)

Paring: Halsin x female!Tav (Halsin POV)

Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Yearning.

If you prefer Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55315462

Warnings: Mentions of past Trauma, sight violence, explicit description of blood, hinted panic attack, explicit sexual thoughts. Minord DNI!

Description:

“My Bear, my bear. My sweet, sweet Bear. I will protect you. I will see you safe. You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me. And if I cannot promise you anything, I promise you this: You are safe with me.”

Little snippets of Halsin learning to let down his guard around Tav and his every growing yearning through Act I- III.

After the group freed him from the Goblin Camp, which was honestly a miracle in itself, they went on to save the Grove. Halin still could not believe it. After all the moments worrying, hoping, praying he would find a way to ward off all harm, it was done. The Grove was preserved and on the way to begin anew, whilst the Tieflings were on their way to Baldurs Gate. Not that he would call it safe in any way. Even if he wished them a happier ending, he feared for their lives on the road to the city. Halsin prayed that Sylvanus would watch over the group of refugees. Especially whenever he thought about them having to pass through the shadow cursed lands on their own.

When they finished saying their goodbyes, Halsin asked permission to stay at camp. In his heart he knew that they would need his help to pass through the shadow curse. After all, he had seen it put into place, living with its weight for over a hundred years. If his knowledge could help them towards their goal, he would be glad for it.

Their way would be long and traveling with them would mean leaving the grove behind but for all that it was worth he was relieved to give up the title of Archdruid; it had clung to his shoulders long enough. If he was being honest, he never was really good at it. Sure enough, he understood enough of politics and leadership to keep everything running, but it teared at him. Every nag and every whisper a shred of himself fell away. People like Nettie made it bearable, but he knew that due to his position there was a distance between them that could not be bridged. So he quietly yearned for nature's sweet caress again, when he would run out in the early morning hours his paws on the soft, wet ground, looking for berries and honey. Hunting at night. Unburdened from the limitations, being Archdruid gave him. No, he was not sad at all, to let all that go. and Francesca would lead the Druids to a new beginning. Remind them of the true intentions they should strive for.

The first days in camp were truly magical, though so very different than the hundred years before: Being able to enjoy the sunbeams on his face, the crisp air of morning, knowing that no one would ask him to lead the way. No one to depend on his judgment and whisper about his decisions in the hidden corners, when they thought he would not hear them. The people in camp gave him space to go after his day, not wanting his leadership nor needing it. They shared their meals with him and though some eyed him suspiciously, no one bothered him. Mostly he was left to ponder over the shadow curse and the illithid infection.

Though she came to him every now and then. Halsin could tell that she was the leader of their, rather chaotic, crew. When she spoke, they listened. Some rather … reluctantly at the beginning. But nevertheless, they accepted her plans and did what they could to support each other on the road. And she was patient with them in return. At least more patient than most of the people he knew. Even when she had to end the quarrels between them seemingly every other night, she only used harsh words in situations deserving of them.

That did not mean that she was above frustrations: One time, after a particularly bad fight between Gale and Astarion (the rogue accused the brown haired man of having stolen a copy of one of his books to eat it, telling him to use his own damn library for dinner) where they nearly set the campground on fire, she had set them straight sternly, her brow furrowing, using a surprising colorful vocabulary.

Halsin admired her vigor to go on, no matter how bad her group returned at night. Often she would go to every person in camp chatting for a few moments, her face still swollen and bloody. Most of the time, she would swiftly discard her armor and put on some (relatively) clean clothes, yet sometimes she only undid the heaviest part of her armor, chucking it away carelessly, as she went on to greet the first person. She asked them about their day, offering them counsel if needed. Every time she also appeared at his side at the end of her round. Her eyes shining with a warmth that he could only describe with a warm summer's evening.

He came to like the routine. The few first nights she would ask about his comfort and share a few kind words with him. Later, when they neared the shadow cursed lands, she requested advice trying to find the best route. While he explained she listened intently, nodding while he was mapping the ways and when he finished, she thanked him for his words before she left. It was nice. Not having to answer for every decision that was made, but his words being heard and acknowledged. It made him feel warm.

After that she returned to her usual routine. Asking him about his well being with a soothing voice, smiling at him like the fresh morning sun. One particular evening, after she left, Halsin could not help but keep thinking about the way she leaned her head when she was listening. Or how her eyes focused when she was mulling over ideas.

He found her attractive, he did not need to deny it. But the way his attention seemed to stick to her, like a fly on a honeypot, made him uneasy. There was a time and place for such thoughts and he did not believe the current situation to be one of those. So he stuffed the thoughts of her laugh and her eyes far away and carried on.

Halsin heard her sing, one time at camp. Wyll was sharing a story about the fine dances back in Baldurs Gate and bards that could induce you with whatever feeling they pleased, with just a few strokes of their instruments. The Warlock recalled the way one particularly skilled bard sang a ballad full of yearning and heartache, that he never heard again. Halsin heard her surprised exclamation, telling the horned man excitedly that she knew that song by heart. Wyll had politely asked her to sing it for them, only if she did not mind. And she did not mind at all.

Her voice sounded a bit coarse at the beginning (there were not many occasions to sing anymore) but soon her voice unfolded like a flower petal in bloom. Halsin could have sworn to Sylvanus, her voice sounded like a songbird, both sweet and rich. Soon she was weaving a net with each syllable, entangling the listeners with her honey voice. Turning his head he could see entranced eyes, some humming along softly and tapping their feet. A gentle breeze passed through them as the song ended. Gentle quiet settled over camp. For a moment everyone seemed to be lost in their own thoughts before Karlach asked for another song, excitement barely contained. With a glint in her eyes, the songbird began to sing a folkish song. One that was easier to follow and more well known, stomping along to the beat. And soon enough a few of them joined in. All in all it went on to be a surprisingly jolly evening. From his spot on a thick branch, Halsin watched them sing and dance around, grabbing onto the unwilling campmates pulling them along, much to their pretended dismay.

She had suddenly stood before him then. Hand outstretched, eyes shining like the sun itself had made its home there. With his heart pounding in his chest, Halsin stared up to her.

“Will you be joining us?” She asked in a melodic tone. He wished for nothing more than to keep her voice around for the rest of the night.

It would have only taken him a word. One word and he could have joined their merry dancing, their laughter. But he did not dare to. Not with the memory of the Shadow Curse hanging on his shoulders, whispering every single failure he could count into his ear. Not with Thaniel lost, not with the unspoken promise of saving him or die trying. With a heart so heavy it could drag him right into the ground, Halsin shook his head. “Another time. But thank you for your invitation. It is greatly appreciated.” Her smile faltered. He could have sworn to see a flicker of concern in her eyes. With a pang of regret the Druid tried to say something soothing- He did not mean to steal the sun from her eyes.

As he was trying to find his words, she smiled again. “All is well, my friend. You take your rest and tomorrow we will see to the Shadow Curse.”

Her eyes laid intently on him, unfaltering. He could swear he saw a different kind of fire there. “We will see it broken and Thaniel freed once again. I swear." The way she said it filled Halsin with hope. She seemed so sure of it.

Before he could say anything in response, someone from the group (he could swear it was Shadowheart, rare laughter spilling from her lips) was pulling her away from him again. He watched her pick up her laughter full of sunshine again, holding the hand of the young cleric. Under the sea of stars she radiated light and warmth, turning in a circle, stumbling over her feet and catching herself, before holding onto someone elses hand. Halsin wondered how it would feel to catch her, to make her laugh and bring the light into her eyes. Holding her close to his chest as he traced the rivers of starlight on her skin. To bite her tender skin, taste her, devour her. Halsin inhaled sharply, willing the golden sparks on his skin away. He reminded himself that such were no thoughts to have. Now was not the time to relax and to come undone. Not before he had freed Thaniel and lifted the Shadow curse. This was his duty before everything else. She would help him. That was a small relief in the suffocating fear that had nested itself in his heart so very long ago.

With a sigh he looked at the wood he was chipping away at. He had to be alone for a moment. Grabbing his utensils, he stood up, swiftly waving goodnight towards the group as his feet carried him back to his bedroll. Staring up towards the stars, he wondered if he should carve a dancing bird.

After they saved Thaniel and killed Ketheric Thorm the land bloomed once more, roots emerging from the earth tasting the sun's kiss once again.There were no words in the world that could describe how he felt then. Everything he worked for, all that he wished for over 100 years, came to life. Just like that. The land that had clawed at them mere hours ago, now flourished in the light of the sun, reaching for it like they were drowning. Halsin felt like the weight on his shoulders had lifted a bit. Years of feeling like there was not enough air, now seemed to ease, as every inhale came a little easier to him. For a moment he let himself rest and gazed at the scenery around him, when a high pitched yelp ripped him out of his thoughts.

Startled, he turned towards the sound: Karlach had gathered everyone in reach of her in her arms, squeezing them tight to her chest. His Songbird laughed as she was swept up in the embrace of the tiefling woman, laughing freely. He cherished the starry eyed look she had, as she looked back on the land, her chest swelling with pride. There was seldom a moment when she looked so full of wonder, so carefree.While she smiled often before the others, when no one looked, her eyes turned grim, as a heaviness Halsin recognized all too well took hold of them. Shoulders sagging as if the burden of the world sat on her shoulders. It was a relief to see her unburdened, even if only for a moment.

When his gaze lingered on her face a second too long, their eyes met and time seemed to still, nothing existing besides them for a moment. Then she shot the elf a questioning look. Shame bloomed in his chest, as Halsin had realized he got caught staring like a fool and then kept looking at her still. Suddenly he wished to make himself as small as a mouse. But to his surprise she merely reached over to him and pulled him into the hug

“You are officially one of us now.” She said sneaking her free arm around his chest, squeezing him towards her. At least he thought it was her arm.

“Next time join us earlier.” So she must have thought his stare stemmed from lacking inclusion in the group. Halsin hoped, she would not find out the real reason he had been staring.

That evening the group celebrated once again. It was rather modest, as the weeks before had depleted their ressources greatly. Still, the relief after surviving moonrise tower seemed to give them new energy. Now the whole group seemed to buzz with excitement for the next chapter to come. As they drank and talked, Halsin could feel himself relax more than he had in years before- His Pipe pressed between lips, letting out a puff of fragrant smoke and watching it swirl into the bright night sky, whittling tools in hand again, chipping away at it slowly. The ground under him was soft and warm, bustling with life, ready to begin anew.

He chuckled as the songbird watched her in an armwrestling competition with Karlach, Wyll and Lae’zel on the side, discussing their forms, throwing in a bit of advice every now and then. Even if she was strong, Karlach bested the songbird easily, apologizing the whole time. Halsin could swear he saw a coin switch hands in the background. Whoever did not bet on Karlach was foolish, that woman would best everyone in camp, including himself. As Gale and Astarion started to bicker again, the songbird stood up and shooed them to do “something useful for once” with a grin. She loved them, he could see it clear as day. Seeing her made his chest uncomfortably tight.

Later that evening she came to him, out of breath, sweat glistening on her skin. She had been playing with the dog and the owlbear again. Eunning away with Scratches' ball before getting tackled, when she did not manage to run fast enough. She pointed her finger to the spot next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” She inquired, her skin flushed and eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “ No. If you want to rest here for a while, you are more than welcome.” The elf shifted to the side, allowing her to sit down next to him. She quickly made herself comfortable on the floor and crossed her legs. Her gaze shifted to his hands, holding his piece of wood.

“Can you teach me how to whittle? Every time I see you, I wonder how you do it and … I thought that this night is as good as any to ask you. If that’s not too much to ask” her voice seemed to waver at the end.

Was she nervous? Halsin wondered if he was intimating her somehow. Before he spoke he softened his tone on instinct.

“I don’t know if there is much to say about it. Most people tend to perceive it as boring, anyway. But nevertheless I’d be honored to show you, if you really want to.”

She shrugged. “Well most people can stuff it.” A huff escaped her lips when she saw the surprised look Halsin gave her.

“You do well to know what you like: They cannot take that away from you. No matter how much they sneer about it, this is yours. And besides: whittling is a hobby as good as any other.” He contemplated her words for a moment.

“Sometimes I think people look at me and think my feelings can’t be hurt” Halsin stilled for a moment “Thank you for your words. I appreciate them greatly.” She shot him a smile as the elf picked up his utensils again. While he was showing her what to use and how to begin, she listened attentively, asking for clarification a few times. When she leaned over, he could feel her warm breath on his skin. Hastily he cleared his throat and went on to explain.

“For me the vision of what I’ll carve comes when I’m already in the process. But for the first time, it would be a smart choice to already have an idea in mind.” He handed her a piece of wood, which she started turning in her hands over and over again, contemplating. Holding up his own work so he could show her.

“You could start with a spoon if you’d to begin very simple. Or if you would rather enjoy something artistic I could show you a fox or a bi-”

“A Bear.” Taken aback, Halsin looked over to her. She did not falter, as she continued. “It is you who is showing me how to do it, no? I met you as a bear the very first time. And …” She hesitated. “You do inspire me, you know? So, I would like to do a bear.”

By Silvanus, the bear would like to do you , he thought. Alone the notion that she was inspired by him of all people. Did she even know how extraordinary she was? But that was a thought he would keep to himself. So instead he said: “A Bear it is then.”

He showed her the outlines of the piece and what she would have to expect, while she was whittling. Soon they both worked in silence, elbows touching every now and then. Halsin sneaked a glance at her face: She made her focused face again, eyes solely on the wood in her hand, crouching over it, trying to find the best position for her blade. The tall elf chuckled and looked at his work again. His wooden bird came along just fine. The upper side of the outstretched wings was already apparent with its head thrown towards the sky, beak open as if right in the middle of a song. He wondered if he should carve the legs to be standing solidly on the ground or rather ready to set to the sky, when Galel came to them, asking for support on “urgent matters”.

“Thank you for your time.” came her voice from next to him. She gently brushed the shavings from her legs before standing up. “Will keep showing me how to whittle? I had a lot of fun,” her eyes held a cheeky twinkle “even if some people will call me boring now.”

With a short laugh he responded: “Well I hope you do well to know that you can be boring with me anytime.”

“Well. Until we meet here again, to be boring together.” She cackled and waved him goodbye, walking alongside the talking wizard. As Halsin watched her leave, he wondered why his chest was so tight again.

Sighing, he gathered the wood chips on one pile, cradling the rough wood between his big hands before discarding it.

It was not that he wanted to harbor her for himself. Far from it. She was a beacon of light in these dark times, one that everyone was sure to enjoy having around. And she seemed to like the company of her friends so much. But still his heart betrayed him. He would have loved to sit alone with her a moment longer, her light breathing next to him and their skin touching gently. Maybe she would lean over again, so he could smell her hair. In the short moments when the wind blew just right, her smell carried over to him: fire and berries. He wondered how she managed to smell like that. Maybe he would have asked her about it. Maye she she would have accidentally brushed his hand and he would have gathered his courage, reaching for it, holding it tight. A shudder ran through him. Maybe it was better that she left. He wondered how much longer desire in him would have stayed silent, when it wanted nothing more than to hear her breath coming quicker, tasting the sweetness of her skin, telling him that she needed him like a song- He shushed himself, swatting at his thoughts like they were flies. He picked up the wood she left for the next time. Weighing it in his hands, he looked at it. A Bear she wanted to whittle. He chuckled sadly. As if she had not been whittling away at his guard for such a long time.

Whilst on their way to Baldurs Gate, she came to his tent every evening and they calmly whittled away. Most of the time, both of them sat in silence. But sometimes they would share a few words, talking about their interests and stories, sharing comfort in their presence. One quit evening, when the others were gathering some supplies on the road, leaving the camp in a state of unusual calm, she opened up to him about her insecurities. Telling him about her experience as the group leader, comparing it to her wildly different life before.

In the spur of the moment Halsin asked her if she wanted to go back after this was all done. The whittling stopped, while her brow furrowed. For a second he was afraid that he overstepped. Was ist too personal? Did it bring up troubling memories for her?

But she laid her hand on his arm and found his gaze. “Actually I prefer it now. Even in these dire times.,” in her eyes a sudden bitterness pooled. ”I got all of you now, after all. That is more than I had before.” As her gaze shifted towards her workpiece again, Halsin noticed her hand lingering on his skin before pulling away to adjust her grip on the wood. The spot on his skin her hand had rested upon, felt empty now. He turned his head towards his own project again, not wanting to inquiry any further.

It was peaceful for a few days. So peaceful that he nearly forgot all the horrors that the world entails. Soon they reached Rivington. Their excitement for the city had already turned to anxiety as they reached the city gates, being denied entry as all the refugees were. For Halsin this Situation was unbearable. Seeing all these people in little makeshift tents, sleeping on the cold hard floor, having barely enough food to feed all the children. hated the city for its uncaring nature. Seeing all of the city's misdeeds he wondered if they felt any shame at all. All this time he held himself to such high standards, as he tried again and again to be deserving of the title as Archdruid. The leaders of this city could leave a legion to starve right before the city gates and be praised for it.

Since they took Yenna into their camp, he tried his best to keep his composure. The young girl was already scared enough and did not need to see the adults around her losing their nerves too. So he tried his very best to appear calm and collected, while a storm raged under his skin, growing stronger every day. One hungry face at a time.

The final breaking point approached in front of the circus gates. Halsin had seen the posters advertising the circus time and time again. A clown they all seemed to be excited for. Telling him about the jokes he would tell and all the attractions that could be seen. He did not truly understand the concept of that yet but he was willing to try, if the group decided to visit.

But in a cruel twist of fate, it seemed they did not need to go to the circus but rather it came to them. When it started to dawn, his group decided to pack up for the night, making their way down the roads of Rivington. A rather big crowd had formed cheering a sturdy human man on as he cracked his whip, forcing the animals to dance on small stands, as a middle aged woman played a fast song on a wooden flute. His blood ran hot through his veins as anger seemed to swallow him whole. He could feel the bear in him stir, ready to attack and tear the flesh of this disgusting person's bones. The noise around him made him nauseous. Halsin didn’t know why the fighting started. One moment he was thinking about ripping and screaming and the other he saw his songbird emerge from the crowd, weapon in hand, fighting a cloaked figure. Jumping forth as fur emerged from his skin, he did not care who started it at all. He was glad for the fight.

After the battle was won, Halisin stayed as a bear, wishing for the comfort this shape brought him. His strong body shifting on his paws, every smell more intense but also his mind quieted a little. Everything seemed more manageable like this. But now even as a bear his heart pounded and his breathing did not seem to slow. As Halsin stood still, he noticed that his body was shaking like leafs in the wind, the memories of long bygone times whispering in his mind, demanding to be seen, no matter how much he seemed to push them away. He growled and made his way back to camp with the others. He needed to be away from everything for a while. No one should see him losing control like that.

He did not care what looks he became as he nearly ran through camp, ignoring his name being shouted. There were only his feet, pounding on the ground, coming quicker with every moment until he was sprinting into the first spot of trees he could see, not stopping until his feet reached water. The Lake. Exhaling he pressed his snout into the water only coming up for air when he felt like his lungs were about to explode. He did not want to be alone like this. But also he could not go back, have them ask questions about why. Especially when he did not seem to know either.

A thump behind him alerted him prompting his muscles to tense on instinct. He sprung around, jaws open to expose his sharp teeth. She stopped in her tracks, carefully holding up her hands.

“Halsin? Do you need help? Are you hurt?” Her voice was gentle but Halsin detected an urgency behind it. Looking for a reaction, she slowly stepped close to him, kneeling down an arms length away, her right hand outstretched towards him and stilled. Uncertain his eyes flickered between her and the trees. The light had already vanished, casting her silhouette in blue and gray hues, as she silently waited for him to breach the distance. He realized that she was leaving him the choice: To either come to her or run away if he felt the need.

Desperation clawed at him. Why did he even hold back? What was it good for in the end? She was here now, offering comfort. He would be a fool to deny her. So he took the last step towards her and laid his face into her hand. A sigh escaped her lips, that he could only describe as relieved. Soon enough her fingers started carefully stroking him. Minutes passed, his breathing coming slightly slower than before, his mind gradually clearing from the fog of panic he was lost in.

“Oh my sweet friend.” she whispered, her steady voice not much about a whisper. Her right hand was still on the side of his face, gently caressing him. He did not want to bear the burden anymore, to shoulder it all alone. All the memories of hardship and loss, the memory of himself sitting behind cold and rotting Goblinbars and, before that, behind a closed bedroom door, his eyes tracing the pattern of the carvings on the door time and time again until they burned themselves behind his closed eyes.

It broke him when he saw the eyes of the animals. He knew the look all too well.Some of them had no hope of escaping anymore. Those who did looked like they paid greatly for their resistance: Time and time again under the cruelty of their so called masters. One day even those who held on the longest would give in. They would become the broken puppets the Circus desired. Their fur dulled, their scales spotty. Dancing to some people's badly played lute. Carving patterns into the iron rods. He could have sworn that they would carve and carve like he did-

Halin shuddered and pulled his fangs back. If he would not be in his bear form already, it surely would have been broken free by now. He could taste the blood in his mouth, could free it dripping down on the cold forest floor. Halsin wanted to pull back. He did not want her to see him like this, afraid and grappling for control. He felt his trembling in the trees around them.

When her other hand appeared on his head, he finally looked up. His eyes adjusted in the dark to really look at her. After the fight, she had thrown the upper half of her armor away and traded it for a dirty shirt which by now had been stained with no small amount of blood. With her arms outstretched towards him, he was able to see the smears and stains that appeared blue and purple on her skin and hair. Blood both from her own wounds and those inflicted on others were running over her skin like a river delta. Even though she smelled like blood and sweat and leather, the wind carried the faintest whiff of berries- It startled him. After all this her hair still smelled like herself. It was absurd.

Halsin wondered if he began imagining things. Nevertheless, his tension eased a bit as he allowed himself to step an inch closer, nostrils flared. She smelled lovely, more now than ever.

“Let me help you. My gentle bear, let me heal your wounds.” She whispered again, her hands stroking his fur, beckoning him closer.

My Bear, she had said. If his mind had been clearer, he would have asked her about it. But right now Halsin gave in and pressed his head even harder into her hands. He did not want to think anymore. He wanted to relax into her warm touch and forget.

She pulled him close, guiding his head onto her lap, as she sat on the stained earth below them. Halsin let himself fall to the floor, his strained limbs protesting. The Bear groaned as he adjusted himself to laying on the floor, without bothering his wounds too much. As soon as he stilled, one of her hands started to caress his neck, the other gently touching his snout. It had stopped dripping blood, but he tasted it still on his tongue. He winced again, wishing to wash the foul smell of these people away.

"Shhh." She hummed “ It’s alright. You’re alright. Let me take care of you.” Her hands suddenly stilled. “Can you show me where you are hurt?”

In my heart he wanted to say. But the bear was not able to speak and he was glad for it, his treacherous thoughts would not reach her ear. Instead he forced himself to turn himself on his side, so she could see his stomach. His already dark fur was clumped with strands of blood and dirt, in the night it seemed to be almost black. When he had pushed himself on his hindlegs to strike at his opponents, his soft underpart was exposed just long enough to strike him.

In the darkness she reached over, her hand already glowing. Bowing her head onto his, her forehead silently connecting with him, she whispered sweet nothings into his ear. Halsin felt her magic on his body as it encouraged flesh to mend and skin to heal. To him her energy felt like hope in new beginnings. Like the soaring of wings. It felt like being home again. Almost felt like the relief he felt after they saved Thaniel. She truly was his sun, with the way her entire being seemed to emit warm light, his beacon that guided him through the darkest of times. Everywhere she went, it felt summer had begun anew.

Only moments passed until his body was healed, but her hands stayed on his fur long after it. Several minutes went by in silence, with only their breathing filling the space between them. After a while she groaned and repositioned her leg, wincing. Guilt exploded in his chest as he looked up, slightly pulling away from her, reading her expression. She gave him a tired smile, bloodied lips stretching to reveal her dimples. Halsin realized how exhausted she really looked, not only from the battle but rather carrying the weariness of all the weeks in her eyes. And still she went to care for him, before all others.

Halsin wanted nothing more than to keep her to himself, to shield her from all her sorrows and to be held by her in return: To find comfort in each other. The desire to hold her tight seemed to burn through his chest, gnawing his way up until he felt like he could choke. Who was he to ask anything of her? He tried pulling away from her completely, but her hand on his back tightened

“Don’t go away. Please. I don’t want… “ She trailed off. Halsin saw a flicker of anxiety on her face. “Stay, please. Just for a moment.”

She let go, stretching her arms out wide in front of him. An Invitation. Halsin noticed that her eyes held the same request, like the day she asked him to dance and like so many nights before It would only take him so little to accept. He forced himself to push his worry down, as the Bear pushed his head into her hand. In an instant she pulled him close into her chest, pressing her face into his fur. The bear inhaled sharply as her arms tightened around him in a silent plea. It felt like she tried to wrap her entire body around him. Carefully he lifted one of his blood-soaked paws and wrapped himself around her, gently pulling her into his chest. Now she nearly laid on him, her body rising and falling quickly with his ragged breath. It still was very fast.

As if reading his thoughts she murmured: “Breathe with me.” Pushing himself back on his hind legs, he pulled her even further onto him, which earned him a soft laugh from her, and rested his head carefully on her back, observing her steady breathing. Trying to detect a pattern, he started to exhale and inhale in rhythm with her, his heart slowing down little by little. Relief washed over him, gentle but strong, like an ocean wave that came upon the shore. A part of him wondered if she knew how much this calmed him, breathing together as the gentle night breeze carried it away.

Hasin felt her hand begin to draw patterns on his chest, trying to untangle the knots in his fur whenever her fingers catched a particularly bad one and finally closed his eyes. Nothing could coax him away from this moment, having her in his arms, her warmth seeping into his fur, holding a light within him that kept his sorrows at bay. If the world would have ended in this moment, he would not care for it.

After what felt like hours of peaceful silence, he felt her stir again. She hesitated for a moment but then turned her mouth towards his ear and spoke.

Halsin felt like his heart wanted to explode in his chest. Warmth began spreading in his body, sending a pleasant feeling into his exhausted body. My bear. The first time he heard the word could have been a mistake on his part, born of wishful thinking and the blood flowing from his wounds. But she said it again. And again. My bear. Oh to be hers indeed.

Halsin wished her to hold him like this every night, have her close, let her stroke his hair and tell him that there is nothing to worry about, like a prayer that only he could hear. To have her say that he is safe with her again and again until he started believing it again. And he would swear to her that she is safe with him, promising it with every breath, kissing it into her skin. He would be pulling her in his arms softly as either elf or bear. Holding her and letting himself be held. Feeling her body against his, shielding her from harm. Halsin desperately wanted to worship her every inch, calling her all the wondrous things he could think of.

Showing her how much he needed her in any way possible, hearing her scream his name into the night, her moans just as beautiful as her songs. He longed to leave his mark upon her skin, to show everyone how desired she was, for nature had made her so very beautiful, inside and out. If she did not know by then that she was like the sweetest honey to him, he would make sure she knew every day and night.

He scolded himself for being selfish. But her words, the way she called him mine; he wondered if there was any possibility she could return his feelings after all. That she felt the same way he did, when she gazed at him. Why else would she call him my bear? But uncertainty rang loudly in his ears. What would he do, if he was wrong about it? She called the others my friend and some even sweetheart. What if he misunderstood her intentions and she left him, disgusted by his brazen words? No, disgusted by him.

Then he would never be able to look at himself again. Only imagining that she could sneer at him and turn away hurt him beyond comprehension.

Tonight he could not muster the strength. Too sweet was her embrace, too comforting her words. And he was so tired of pretending he possessed strength that had left him years ago.

Nestling even further into her skin, he savored every second. He just wanted to breathe in her scent and pretend that his feelings were returned. Pretend that he was wanted the same way like he wanted her. Pretend that there were better days to come for him, where he could be himself with her. Building a safehouse for everyone who needed it so that no one would ever fear for their lives again. He imagined never carrying so much weight again. But those were far away dreams. No, tonight Halsin could not shoulder the dark shroud of reality. Instead he vowed to ask her about it, to finally ask her if she felt the same. Tomorrow.

If he only knew, how much she yearned to do the same.

#bg3 #halsin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate halsin #baldur’s gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin x tav #halsin silverbough #halsin fanfiction #tav #honestly i had issues with my Tav at the beginning but she grew on me so quickly #The song options for her camp ballad are either Dream a little Dream of me or Down by the River #Still unsure #Maybe ill write a fic about that too but with her name and more fleshed out backstory

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mika-no-sekai-blog · 1 year ago

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With the last breath II

Word count: 1200+

Warnings: none I can think of

Part I || Part III

This was supposed to be just a short paragraph of Azriel's POV, but on Saturday's night I sat down and started to write. And it turned into a whole chapter. Well such things happen 🤷

English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes 🙏

Azriel didn't bother to think things over. Not now. Y/N was safe in his arms, but it meant nothing. It could be late.. He didn't want to think about it because it would mean a great pain. Because it would shatter his whole being. He pulled her closer to his strong chest and rather concentrated on flapping his wings. He flew up back to the balcony she fell from. Anxiety was eating him alive so he couldn't wait any longer and needed to make sure. Slowly and carefully he put her on the floor while making a list of necessary steps to follow.

First step: check her vital functions. Holding his breath he lightly pushed two shaking fingers to the pulse point on her throat, soon moving them under her nose. When he was sure she was breathing and her heartbeats were steady, he sighed with relieve. Y/N was alive. Still alive. He felt a big stone falling off of his chest, suddenly feeling bit lighter. Azriel closed eyes for a moment exhaling shakily. He took several deep breaths trying to calm down the shiver and his too rapid heartbeats. He had to concentrate.

Second step: look for injuries. For who knows what reason she was unconscious. Y/N could have been hurt before she fell or during it. Carefully touching her body he checked her for injuries and fractures. Another sigh of relieve left him as he didn't find any blood, lumps, bruises nor broken bones. Shallow breaths was the only abnormality he detected. After considering everything possible Azriel came to the conclusion that there is only one reason for this. Y/N had to pass out because she was scared. But why was there a smile on her face? It was so long since he saw her smile like this. It didn't make sense. Pushing it aside he decided to think about it later.

Third step: get her warm. Gently Azriel picked her up in a bridal style and took her into the House. He couldn't help it. His arms tightened around her flabby body. He always thought Y/N was petite, but holding her like this she seemed even more fragile and smaller. During joint dinners she ate so little that it made him worried whether she was enough fed. And now Azriel could clearly state that Y/N certainly wasn't. She was so light he could hold her in one arm without any troubles.

Standing in the corridor he hesitated. Azriel wanted to take Y/N to her room, but just then he realized he had no idea where to go. She lived together with priestesses above the library, but he'd never let himself nor his shadows enter their private part of the House. He also didn't want anybody to find out what happened to her for understandable reasons. It was up to Y/N to decide if she wants inner circle and others to know about it.

After debating with himself whether he should take her to his or some vacant room, Azriel decided his room would be better. Despite everything, nobody ever dared to invade his privacy without his permission. Not even his brothers.

He struck down the corridor while the shadows helped him opening the door and then closed it silently. They even rolled the covers on the bed aside and took out a blanket from his closet. They seemed to be just as worried as their master, lightly touching her skin and caressing her forehead. Usually Azriel would hold them close to his body, afraid they would scare Y/N or make her feel uncomfortable, but now he just let them do as they pleased.

Carefully Azriel laid Y/N on the bed and pulled the covers up, wrapping her tightly in. He stopped to look at her face. Y/N looked so beautiful and calm. How many times he imagined her in his bed.. Watching her peaceful sleep.. Touching her delicate skin.. Pressing her body to his.. And now she was here right in his bed, her scent mixing with his own. Azriel noted to himself to make sure the House doesn't change the sheets until her scent completely fades out and maybe not even then.

He reached out and tucked few stray locks of hair behind her ear. They were so soft, much softer than he imagined. Suddenly the realization of what he had just done hit him hard. After long years of dreaming he touched her. For real this time. And he even held her in his arms. Shocked Azriel retreated few steps from the bed, bumping into an armchair under the window. Slowly he sat down. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded like crazy. In disbelief he gazed at his scarred hands. As he finally processed that information, a small smile found its way to his face.

A glass of water appeared on the nightstand next to the bed. The House sent him a reminder.

Fourth step: hydrate. Even unconscious Y/N might be in shock and in need of water. He stood up moving back towards the bed and hesitantly sat down on the edge of the mattress next to her. Slowly Azriel lifted up her head, this time being well aware of every little touch. With heart thundering in his chest he enjoyed the sensation of her smooth skin and soft hair in his rough palm. Azriel wanted to memorize it all, so he could replay these feelings later. This was the first and most likely the last time he can touch her. Once Y/N awakes she would leave and avoid him as before.

He reached out for the glass and halted thinking about the best way how to get the water into her mouth. As unusual as it was, Azriel was nervous which caused a slight tremor of his hands. He didn't want to pour out the glass on her. If only there was a spoon. But it wasn't the only way. His gaze settled on her full lips. Sweet, lovely and gently rounded like two petals of pink rose. Breath caught in his throat as cold sweat ran down his spine. He felt torn. Should he ask the House for spoon or.. Azriel swallowed decided the guilt can torture him later.

He took water into his mouth, but ended up drinking it himself. He was too nervous. Taking several deep breaths he tried it one more time. Leaning over Y/N his lips pressed into hers. Little by little he let the water flow into her mouth. His eyes closed. 'Oh, Mother,' he cursed mentally. Literally everything about Y/N was much better than he'd ever imagined. Her sweet floral scent mixed with smell of old parchment and ink messed with his head and senses making him stay in this position even after all water was gone. Gods, if he could.. If only she allowed him.. Azriel rather pulled away before doing something really bad.

It was too many feelings and thoughts at once. He needed more space and time to think this all over. He didn't believe that he would be able to keep himself under the control near Y/N, so he retrieved back to the armchair under the window. There had to be some way. No way he could continue to live like before, to keep the distance. Not after he got to touch her and taste her.

The shadows swallowed Azriel leaving him to his thoughts.

#azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar

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shiratamako · 4 months ago

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Hi!!! 👋 I was hoping that you could write a snippet from Aymeric’s POV about your girl! 🥰

Flesh and Blood

882 Words, Pining and Heavy Angst Set after As Goes Light, So Goes Darkness Heavensward Patch 3.1

The Warrior of Light had been unnaturally quiet after rescuing the hostages from the basilica. The scream of a child being thrown from the height of the spires still rang in Aymeric’s ears, even if Vidofnir rescued the blameless girl. Dressed in blackest coat, she was always close to him, trying her best to keep up with his pace. She gave her benediction to restore his vitality, yet she could still not offer a smile or cheer on the events that should be cause for celebration.

When Count Edmont said that he saw much of Haurchefant in him, that was when he heard the White Mage give a strangled gasp, her mouth twisted in silent anguish. Her eyes glistened as she stymied her grief, her eyes narrowing to prevent the flow of tears. The staff in her hand trembled as she struggled to hold it.

Without warning, she took off, leaving the Scions and the crowd unceremoniously as she hurried down the steps. He looked to Lucia and gave a nod. He would see to her safety himself, descending the stairs swiftly after her.

“Shira!” he called out her name instinctively as she headed in the direction of the cathedral. Aymeric caught up to her. He approached her, trying to make his presence small rather than to seem as though he was hunting her down. Her gaze was downcast as she refused to look at him.

He wished to reach a hand out to her. He wished he was closer.

He wished he was Haurchefant.

As Aymeric, he felt like he could do nothing. He was utterly powerless before her unalloyed pain.

Aymeric made his voice exceedingly soft, speaking through his throat in barely above a murmur. All consonants lost their harshness, fading into sumptuous whispers with a faint, warm rasp like a crackle in a hearth.

“Was it Lord Edmont’s words? I know you grieve still,”

She shook her head fervently, denying it. He knew there was no cause to deny it. He knew Shira would have been truthful — after all, Haurchefant came to him one night, announcing of his happy decision. The Silver Fuller spoke of the promise that he would be engaged to Shira. He wanted to protect her smile, to cherish all their happy days together.

For that, Haurchefant needed a ring and a suitable goldsmith to create an oath given form. That was why he went to Aymeric for assistance in recommending the finest artisan in all of Ishgard. Even though Haurchefant was unable to fulfil his promise to her, Shira still wore the ring on her left ring finger.

Aymeric spoke again, as sensitively as he could. “Please, Shira. I want to know what troubles you so,”

Her voice was small and faint, choked out by her tears. “I saw a vision. An echo…”

She finally raised her eyes to meet his; her soft oceanic blues. The shadow of the cathedral created an annular glow around her irises.

“I— I could not save you in time, when you fight still wounded,” She spoked her hushed, diffused oracle of the ill portent she saw, afraid and breathless. “You fell, even when I fought my hardest to protect you. I could not bear… to see you fall.”

The tears fell down her cheeks, and his heart split in twain at her sincerity, her compassion for him. He offered Shira a grateful smile. Few reminded him of his mortality, that he too, was a man that was flesh and blood. Even in the past few days he carried on despite his wounds, as though he could not fall for his duty to witness a new era.

“Rest assured I am safe, in no small part thanks to you.”

He tenderly wiped a tear away with his thumb. He soon realised the gravity of his mistake when her eyes widened in terror, her breath seizing up at his touch as she drew away from him. He rescinded his hand immediately with regret at what he had done.

“Forgive my presumptuousness, I… only wished to dry your tears,”

He cursed his momentary lapse in judgment, though he refrained from showing it on his face. He felt himself so callow to think himself as a fairy tale knight. She was not a child in need of succor; he could not simply just wipe away her every tear with kind words.

Shira quelled her own disquiet, her breaths shaky as she wiped tears from her cheeks. She looked to Aymeric, though she could never meet his gaze.

“I understand, Ser Aymeric. Thank you regardless,” Hiding her own torment, her weak voice was stiff and invariant in tone. “Please excuse me. I think Lord Artoirel will be expecting me at Fortemps Manor.”

She bowed to him, overtly distant and formal in her parting. She walked over the bridge to the Last Vigil with hurried steps. As her form grew smaller on the horizon, Aymeric was left alone in the cold shadow of the cathedral.

“Fury, strike me down,” Aymeric rasped in his solitude. He curled his hand to his chest as he offered both a prayer and confession. For he too, was a man of flesh and blood and no better than any other.

“If I cannot give her peace, grant her your mercy.”

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secretthegriffin · 1 year ago

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A MOST RESTFUL NIGHT

summary: crosshair often fights his exhaustion, but tonight proved to be a little bit more difficult...

pairing: crosshair / fem! jedi ( can be seen as reader as they're unnamed)

A/N : so this is basically an excerpt from a story I'll never finish. I don't usually post what I write but I felt this is special. I also would like to point out I am in no way shape or form a professional writer so I'm sorry if there's mistakes but anyways this is mostly in cross' pov. and its super fluff. with softie and slightly touched starved cross. so no warnings. :)

He sat alone in the darkness of the shuttle. All of his crewmates have been asleep for some time now so the ship was especially quiet. He held his fire-puncher with his supplies, ready to relax and clean the weapon. Most of the time his rifle hardly needed it. Alas he cleaned the damn thing so much though it turned habitual. Often avoiding sleep entirely he would indulge himself with said habit until complete exhaustion. It is so cleaning his rifle, he found himself entirely lost in the activity. He didn't even notice the hesitant figure approaching him from the shadows of the ship.

"How can you see? Its so dang dark" she sighed.

Almost startled, he looked up from the gun speechless. There the jedi stood as breathtaking as ever, standing before him.

"I don't need the light, I can see in the dark". He replied sarcastically.

Avoiding the jedi's sleepy eyes, he took her in. she wore her regular jedi robes, except she had a tightly fitted tank and shorts on as if she threw the robes over her sleep wear.

"figures" she yawned stretching her hands above her to the ceiling. cross was thankful it was dark, she wouldn't see his hawk like eyes devour every inch of her as she stretched. From her pretty face and soft curves down to her beautiful breasts and long smooth legs. Cross would be lying to himself if he said she wasn't attractive. Maker, she was down right the most stunning jedi cross had ever laid his eyes on. He keenly watched as she carefully made her way through the dark to the opposite side of the sofa he sat on. yawning once more she gestured to the rifle.

"Well, go on" she proclaimed.

"What?" He was taken aback a bit to be honest.

"Don't let me stop you from cleaning the damn thing". Gesturing once more to the rifle, but with a smile.

That damn smile. It made cross's heart flutter a bit. She could never know what she does to him. She made him felt things one never thought could exist. He hated it. Hated she made him felt this way. And yet. He hated how much he loved it. oh so much. With heat rising to his face, he smirked. going back to his business. Basking in the warm feel of her watchful eyes as he silently cleaned the weapon. He didn't quite understand why she watched. But he also didn't really care. He loved the idea of being the very object of her interest in this moment.

"Its soothing". She whispered. as if reading his mind.

"Excuse me?" He whispered back.

"The noise. Watching you...its.. Meditating" she hummed, closing her eyes.

"hmm". He didn't really know what to say, she must be especially tired.

"Can I get a better view?" Her bold question surprised cross a bit, making him stop suddenly to directly look at her.

"What do you mean?"

She huffed. her cheeks going pink as she smiled at him again, turning his insides to mush.

"Like this". She lifted his arm off his lap and gently adjusted herself to lay across his lap so her head rested on his thigh, looking at the rifle and his hands.

"Now I can watch closely and comfortably." she said quietly lifting her hands to snuggle between her head and his thigh.

"If I didn't know any better, sweetheart, I'd think you're looking for a different kind of entertainment tonight". He teased with a chuckle. Though he was not so subtly trying to hide the fact he was entirely flustered by the closeness. He couldn't take his eyes off her beautiful face. The warmth of her body on his thighs sent shivering chills through his body. Maker what he wouldn't give to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer to him, into his lap.

she giggled at his response but playfully smacked his leg.

"shut up. now c'mon, I'm trying to meditate." she insisted.

Looking down onto the gorgeous jedi, Cross gladly went back to his rifle, but not without a stupid smug smile on his face.

She watched intently as his skillful fingers cleaned the rifle. His hands were so carefully delicate as he took the weapon apart. She was surprised the mean marksman could care enough about something to treat it so. Watching as if he was an artist, it relaxed her. Sighing as she slowly fell asleep to the soft clanking of the metal.

As soon as Cross noticed she was soundlessly asleep, he thanked the stars for such a moment. His gun long forgotten, Cross silently studied her features and the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looked so gorgeously peaceful and so serene. and so perfect against his lap.

"Mesh'la". He breathed. Gently brushing loose strands of hair from her face. His hands trembled as he ever so lightly with the tips of his fingers traced her face. they ached to reach out and hold her, but he could never let himself do that. After some time she began softly snoring. So with a tired and heavy sigh Cross tucked his arms under her, lifting her to his chest bridal style. He slowly and carefully made his way to her bunk. Softly laying her against the cot. But as he turned to go to his own cot, her hand reached out to his wrist stopping him.

"Do you wanna lay with me?" she whispered. She sounded so tired, and so beautiful. Cross sighed another heavy sigh, he too was tired. hesitating, he slid next to her, not touching her, but sitting awkwardly just next to her. He eyed her as she lazily curled herself next to his side, falling back to sleep. for a moment he thought about going to his own bed. until she reached out in her sleep, wrapping her arm across his chest to snuggle into his side. cross's heart completely stumped. He completely gave into his feeling he was never going to beat, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her as close to him as possible. He curled into her, almost melting. Soaking in the warmth of everything her. He felt so undeniably comfortable, he wished the stars this wasn't a cruel dream. As he held her tighter to his chest he succumbed to the drowsiness he'd been avoiding for so long. Loosing another internal battle. Falling oh so deeply into a blissful slumber.

-----the end---- <3

#tbb x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb headcanons #tbb crosshair #star wars meta #star wars #soft crosshair #oneshot #the clone wars #clone wars fic #the bad batch #star wars fluff #star wars crosshair #fanfic #touched starved #the bad batch x reader #clone trooper crosshair

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cathreaux · 6 months ago

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So, I posted the ficlet again (a fic version of this scene from Colin's POV with the headcanon that he had feelings for Pen earlier) but separated so in this way I can made a list when I write others ideas inside the same au!

(I forgot to said before, but I'm sorry for any mistake that could been, english is not my first language so I tried to do it my best, so let me know if something can't be understood)

The original post was by @girllookingoutwindow for the polin week, a beautiful set of GIFs yo can see here.

Set GIFs by @girllookingoutwindow

His idea was brilliant or, perhaps, the only solution that he could think to bring her back.

To his life.

To his side.

What else could do it a desperate man who is trying to win her forgiveness?

"What do you say?" He asked trying to dissimulate the hope on his chest when he extended his hand for shaking it.

He feared she could say no, but he was trying his best to show her that he could do it. He could give her whatever she wanted. If that was prospects and a future husband, then that is what he's going to give her. Her happiness was the more important thing for him and he would do it anything for make it real. How he felt with the simple thought of seen her married with this disgusting and stupid faceless man —a man that any of them know yet— it did not matter. In fact, all that kind of thoughts could keep it hidden in the corner of his brain, where they always did.

A weaker man could be broken in pieces at the mere thought of seeing her go away in the future, bonding and being hold by other man, a man that could never know her in the way he did, that could never appreciated her as she deserved. A man that could never understand the torture of her silence and her deception.

But he was preparing for this for years. He could... Compartment all the nightmares into the shadows, at least till the day her absence would turn his soul into dust.

"You want me to shake your hand?" She looks at him like he was acting mad, or silly. Maybe both. All sassy and naturally charming, as she was for the first time they meet. He couldn't feel offended for her tone, not when she was looking at him with her perfect ocean eyes that remembered him the Egeo, her gorgeous hair beautifully styled, as the magic of a sunset surrounding her head, and her lovely self just bringing her attention to him.

It was all that he wanted.

"It is perhaps unusual" he agreed, inhaling when he comprehend that he gonna touch her hand. Her naked hand, without gloves. He did his best for hidden the chaotic feelings that round in his head and chest and for ignored the storm that always attacked his stomach "but are we not friends?".

His nervous grew when he was waiting for her answer. It wasn't her friend anymore? He completely lost her?

He could not.

If she said no, he would have to think in something else, make another plan for spending time with her, but he couldn't suffer the season —or his life in general— without her presence. Without her words, her thoughts, her carisma and lovely smiles, less if that meaned that he lost her kindness and her grace.

No.

He worked hard through all this years for having Penelope in his life, in any way that he could had. He would not allow that his crassness and idiocy destroy that.

She stood up —so tiny from his perspective, but still so beautiful—, moving with an inherent grace that only embraced her femininity in gold, as an ethereal goddess that blessed him with her presence, but so precious that it was hurting seeing her. And then was her stunning silhouette, the curve of her neck, the reddish generosity of her lips, her gorgeous blue eyes and her pale skin that always made him wonder how soft and warm could be every time they meet, how delicate and magic could be having her fingers touching him.

Sometimes that kind of thoughs emerged even when they don't seen each other. When he was far, far away and memories and fantasies was the only way to deal with the distance. First, with him eagerly awaiting for her letters, and later, with the torture of her silence.

Now her hand was extended and, slowly, approaching to his. He would like to say that he waited patiently, but it would be lying.

He could look calm and serene, but that was only the shell of a hopeless man that was starving for her touch.

He initiated running through her palm with the tips of his fingers, sliding over her skin with a delicate and gentle touch, savoring the moment as the gift it was. He knew for the very first moment after touching her that all the situation was a bad idea.

He didn't think on this enough.

He did not believe that there would be a fire and a wild sea fighting within it from the very first contact, destroying every piece of control that he had. He did not believe that he would be so breathless, or that holding her hand, after so many times of wonder how would feel, could made him so full and, still, let him so empty at the same time. So needy for more.

He closed his hand around hers, mesmerized for how perfectly fits into his. Like if that was her place, where it's belong.

He look at her and when their eyes met he felt that he could get lost into them and would be thankful for that.

"Friends" Her lips looked gorgeous when she accepted their friendship, nodding with her head in a lovely movement that captivated his attention without even trying.

But she never tried, she just... Did it. Even the first time he seen her, before they meet, she only was being herself, moving to her new house with her family and he couldn't stop seeing her through the window, fascinating by this fairy girl with red hair that held a book with so much love against her chest and who laughed like an angel.

He knew he was being selfish, but just for a stolen moment, he left himself have a little more. Just a tiny piece of a lost dream. Holding his breath, he extended his other hand and held her with all the tenderness he could put in his touch. Just for a moment, she was captivated by him, doesn't mattered if that was only her hand.

He couldn't help but the smile on his face or the relief that he felt after hear her. They will be fine. With her hand on his and her beautiful eyes keepers her attention on him, he felt like everything was possible.

And it felt good, that she recognized their relationship. That she was giving him another opportunity for being in her life, for being better, more and, with hope, enough for her so she would want to keeping him in her life.

He didn't want to think about the idea of get her prospects. It would be easy, of course. After all, how could a man looking into her eyes and don't be completely charmed by her? But for now, that didn't mattered. Maybe in a future he would have to accept the idea that another man would be the most important for her, but not in that moment.

For a stolen moment on the sand of the times, in that garden, she was looking directly to his eyes, her hand was still on his and he could enjoy having her again in his life.

And, as always, he would take everything he could without make her feel uncomfortable.

Even if he was much closer than he should have been, feeling the warm of her body and with her perfume surrounding them like an aura of vanilla, cinnamon and oranges, the same perfume that he chose some years ago and convince Daphne to gift her for him every Christmas.

Even if, not for the first time, forbidden thoughs about her crossed his mind, as if his brain still doesn't understand, after so many years, that they're just friends.

After all, that was all that she wanted from him, and even that was difficult. Eloise, the rules of the ton, her interest and the constant possibility of lost it if him was not enough... He fought against all that for years and becomes her friend was a gift that he never going to minimize.

Friends. What a wonderful word for speak about closeness and warm feelings, and it was still a term that put limits without hesitation.

He better remember that friends is all that they were.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton polin #polin fanfiction #polinedit #colin bridgerton #penelope featherington #colin x penelope

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ozwriterchick · 1 year ago

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A Joe Burrow Story...

A/Note: My first RPF, well the first I've published. I normally write Marvel (Steve, Bucky, Sam) but decided to try my hand at something a little different.

I hope you like it, if you do, please like, reblog and leave me some feedback (kindly would be appreciated..)

Fic inspired by @burreaux-drys - thank you for your amazing writing, even if it is "all over the place"

I do not own the characters in this story except the OFC/OC characters mentioned.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied, translated or in any other way taken/stolen.

Characters: Joe Burrow; OFC!Reader; OC!Readers Best Friend; Mentions of other Bengal players; OC Bengal team members (kind of)

Warnings: Mentions of stalking; Shy reader; Police; that's about it except Joe Burrow I think deserves his own warning (in a good way); Not Beta'd so any mistakes are my own

W/C: 2748

Reader’s pov

I watched the players on the field, easily singling out the one I’d come to see. It really wasn’t that difficult, he stood out with his mop of dirty blonde hair and the number 9 on his jersey.

My eyes roved down his body to his slim but manly hips and back up again to his broad shoulders, made even broader by the padding in his practice uniform.

He was looking good, but again, he always did, especially to me. I’ve been in love with him for a while, always from afar, and he had no idea. Maybe today would be the day I’d get up enough gumption to actually tell him.

This was a closed practice, but that never stopped me before. There were plenty of ways to sneak into Paycor stadium, even when it was on lockdown, if you knew what you were doing. And I did.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I took my attention away from practice to check.

BFF: Where are you? I’m at your place

Me: Oh, I’m out running errands, sorry.

BFF: Tell the truth, you’re at practice ogling J again aren’t you?

Me: Maybe.. Maybe not.. I can neither confirm nor deny that accusation

BFF: Well then, I’ll join you, I need to see me some Sam.

Me: It’s almost over and it’s a closed practice today, so you won’t be able to get in.

BFF: Closed practice?

BFF: They don’t let anyone into closed practices, how did.. You know what, I dno’t want to know. Let me know when you’re home. Unless you and J are doing something after practice

Me: Will do. Love you xx

BFF: Love you too xx

As you slipped your phone back into your pocket you realised that practice was over for the day. You slunk back into the shadows as a couple of the players and officials looked up towards where you had been sitting. Regardless of anything else, you shouldn’t have been there and you didn’t really want to get caught and banned.

Making your way back to your car you see a line of fans waiting for the players to come out of training. You chuckle to yourself that they clearly don’t know the tricks that you did.

For a moment you contemplate joining them, you have something you want to give to Joe, but decide maybe next time would be a better option and you jump into the car and head home.

Later that day.. Back at Paycor Stadium - Joe’s pov

I have a stalker. There’s no getting around it any more.

I’m sitting in Coach’s office with the cops and Zac, admitting for the first time that somebody is stalking me. I knew it all along really, but just didn’t want to admit the ’s’ word to myself. I figured it was just an overzealous fan and that it would be ok.

Things were left on my car at training, when I was at the gym, even when I was at the grocery store but today, I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

After practice I signed some autographs and took some pictures with the fans who’d j for me. I love my fans and I love interacting with them - for the most part. Every fan group has those ones who are a bit.. umm, crazier than others. Fans that would do anything to get closer to their idols. Not that I consider myself an idol, but I know with my position and public persona, that I’m as much a likely target for the crazies as anyone else.

“So, Joe” the Detective said “Tell us exactly what happened today to make you finally call us”

“Well, I left training and headed to the grocery store. While I was there, I took a couple of pictures with some fans, nothing major. When I came out to my car, there were flowers on the hood and something under the windscreen wipers.”

“And this is what was under the wipers?” The Detective asked, holding up the piece of paper that had been on my window.

I nodded, and continued. “I didn’t really think a lot of it, I just grabbed the flowers and the note and tossed them into the front seat. Once I got home though, I wasn’t quite so sure this was an innocent interaction.”

“And why do you say that? Joe, if we are going to find this and make sure nothing happens, we need every piece of information you have.”

“Of course detective. Well, I got home and parked in my garage and as I got out of the car, something just felt off. The door between the garage and the house was open but I swear I closed it before I left. I kinda shrugged it off at first, thinking maybe my Mum had been around, or the cleaner had come even though they weren’t due for a couple of days.”

“But that wasn’t the case?”

“Well, no, once I got inside I realised some things had been moved around and then I saw the note on my kitchen bench.”

“And this is the note you found inside your house?”

I couldn’t bring myself to look at it or read it again so I just nodded and looked down at my hands in my lap.

“Joe, we need to get ahead of this” Coach said. “Detective, do you think we should do a press conference and alert the public to keep an eye out? I’m sure this person has been around training/practice and the stadium, probably coming to game days when we play here.”

“Let’s just wait it out for now, we don’t want to scare the stalker off and not be able to find them, or worse, have them escalate their behaviour into something dangerous.”

I feel like all I can do is nod, once again. I just never pictured myself in this situation.

There was a knock on Zac’s office door and one of the admin staff came in with a folder and handed it to Zac, whispering something to him. I saw his eyes go wide and then he looked down at the folder.

“Ummm, detective, we may have some more information that could shed some light on this case. We video every practice/training session and these are some stills from today’s practice that might be very interesting.”

Zac hands the folder to the detective as I sit up a bit straighter in my chair, curious about what they could have found from today’s video, given it was a closed practice, meaning nobody was able to come in and watch.

The detective opened the folder and examined the pictures closely and then handed them to me.

“What am I looking at?” I asked.

“Apparently someone was in the bleachers today during practice. Detective, this was a closed practice today which means that this person has snuck in and possibly could be the person you are looking for.”

I peered closer at the photos. They were grainy, a bit blurry, you couldn’t really see who it was. It did look like a female but who could really tell. I’m sure the police had ways of making the image a bit sharper and maybe getting some identifying details.

The police thanked Zac and I and made their way out with suggestions to beef up my security at home and at the stadium and to also be very aware of my surroundings at all times. They didn’t think, if this person who snuck into practice today was my stalker that they posed too much danger, but you never know.

I sat for a bit longer with Zac, talking out what was happening because the only other people I could talk to at the moment were my family and my teammates and I didn’t really want to worry either group until we knew more.

On the way home, I rang my security company who agreed to schedule more regular patrols around and near my place and also to ramp up the security footage around the outside of my home.

I hated that I have to do this but I guess my safety should be number one to me and I know my Mum would kill me if she knew about this and I didn’t take these extra precautions. It all just felt so limiting.

1 week later - Reader’s pov

I haven’t been back to Paycor. Almost getting caught in the stadium made me back off a little bit, I didn’t want to get into trouble and be banned from practice or games in general.

I’d been following Joe and the Bengals activity on social media but it just felt so impersonal, that I was itching to get back to practice. Actually Joe didn’t seem very active on socials the past week and most of the Bengals feed had focused on Tee, Sam and a few of the other players. All great players but Joe was their franchise player, the top QB in the league and they should be showcasing him whenever they can.

It made me wonder what had happened in the last week.

After I left training I headed to the grocery store to get some supplies, as my best friend was coming over after work that night for a movie night. As I was leaving I saw Joe entering the store. I knew he shopped here but I had never actually run into him and I just smiled at him as I walked out of the store to my car.

He has a very distinctive car and it was parked next to mine so I took a moment to admire it before I loaded my bags into the back seat and headed home again.

Later that night when my friend arrived she had some very interesting news.

“Girl, Joe Burrow has a stalker!”

“What? I mean, how do you know this?”

“I heard some of the detectives at work today talking about it. Apparently someone left some things on his car at the grocery store this afternoon and after he got home, someone had broken into his house and left him some kind of note - I don’t know what it said but they are beefing up security at his house. This is huge.”

“Why haven’t they said anything about it though?”

“Well, they probably don’t want the person escalating to even more dangerous behaviour, although they may be too late for that if whoever it is has already been inside his actual house.”

That conversation has stayed with me, to be honest. I couldn’t imagine how scared Joe must have been to go to the police about it all.

Today I was heading back to practice. This one was open but I thought I’d stay in the background anyway, amongst the other fans and not up front like I usually try to be. Fate, as it seemed, had other plans.

As practice was finishing, a surge in the people there pushed me towards the side of the crowd, closer to where the players exited the field. As Joe walked past he looked at me and smiled and did a double take. Did he recognise me? Is he curious of who I am?

I decided to make a quiet retreat and wait outside for him and hopefully get the balls to talk to him, or give him the gift I had for him.

A few of the players dribbled out of the stadium towards their cars, all stopping to sign autographs and take pictures with the fans.

Joe’s pov

I walked out of the stadium towards my car and it always fascinates me how many people stay after practice to talk to, take photos with and get autographs from the players. I still struggle to understand that some of them are here exclusively to see me.

Given recent events however, it makes me more cautious as well, and I hate that because I love giving back to my fans.

As I went along the line of fans, I saw one at the back who looked kind of familiar. I waved her over and said “Do I know you, you look very familiar?”

“Oh, umm, you don’t know me” she said quite shyly. “We bumped into each other at the grocery store last week.”

“Oh yeah, well it’s nice to meet you, did you want a picture?”

“Uh, sure” she replied and got her phone out.

We took a couple of selfies and then she quietly said “I have something for you” and as she reached into her bag I got really nervous. Maybe this was my stalker. Now that I think of it, she’s at training a lot, and yes I did see her at my grocery store just before that stuff was on my car.

I nervously looked around for security and mumbled some excuse about forgetting something and sprinted back into the stadium and straight to Zac’s office.

Reader’s pov

I can’t believe it, I finally got the time, opportunity and guts to talk to Joe and he ran off. I started to put the drawing I’d done of him back in my backpack when I looked up and saw security coming towards me.

I quickly walked towards my car and managed to get in and drive away before they got to me. I hope they didn’t catch my licence plate and haul me in for questioning. Just my luck I’d get in trouble because of an innocent meeting at the grocery store.

Maybe this was my sign to just find a new hobby?

Another week later - Joe’s pov

Once again, I’m sitting in Coach’s office with the detectives who this time have some good news.

“We’ve made an arrest” the detective told us.

I breathed a sigh of relief that this was over “That was quick, how did you get a break so fast?”

“Well, it all came down to the fans. Those at practice helped us out with some info, and your observations also gave us some insight. We tracked the person down and an arrest was made this morning. We have some pretty tight proof, so you may not even have to testify, but if you do, we can probably put them away for a few years. At the least, you can get a restraining order that prevents them from coming near your house, or the stadium, or generally within about 500metres of wherever you are.”

“Thanks detective, I'm so relieved” I said. “Did they happen to say why they did it?”

“Just a big fan, a bit lonely and wanted to be closer to you but just went about it the wrong way. Kinda feel sorry for them, but you know, we can’t let emotion into it, otherwise we’d never catch anyone.”

“Well, thanks again detective” Zac said “We are more than grateful for your speedy resolution to this issue.”

1 year later - Reader’s pov

I walked into the lounge room and smiled, I couldn’t believe I was here. The misunderstanding from 12 months ago led to a beautiful friendship between me and Joe. I got over all my nerves with him and we were now able to laugh and joke about the situation.

The police did clock my licence plate that day at training, and they did come to my house and question me about the stalking. I didn’t hold anything against Joe for thinking it could be me, I was awkward and nervous and shy whenever he was around and he obviously just didn’t see my vulnerability.

But at the next training session, he saw me again and came to talk to me. He asked me if he and I could have a conversation over coffee, so we went and he told me they’d arrested his stalker and he apologised profusely for thinking it could be me.

He said that when I’d told him I had something for him and reached into my bag, he freaked out and just left.

I laughed and told him that I’d drawn him a picture and I’d love for him to have it if he wanted it.

We chatted for a while longer and then went separate ways. We’d swapped numbers so that I could arrange to give him the picture and we ended up texting back and forth most days.

I’m not sure if anything will come of this but a good friendship but you never know…

#ozwriterchick #Joe Burrow #NFL #NFL Fan Fic #NFL Football #Joe Burrow x Reader

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cho-aaacho · 1 year ago

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(Flufftober 2023) Love Letters

Main Masterlist I Archive Of Our Own

Flufftober Masterlist I Prompts List

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Love Letters, Friends to Lovers, Flufftober 2023, Reader is genderless

Note : Hello, since the prompt is "Love Letters" I'm writing this from Jake's POV. Let's assume that it's a love letter written by him to you.

(Flufftober Day 24)

Hey, good morning. I hope the dawn caresses your gentle day, much like I do when I am adoring the spectacle of the October horizon, humming with the dawn in September, dancing in the cherry blossom of April, and touching the first snowfall in December.

I've noticed that you're so happy these days, and your warm smile wandered into my new life, embracing my darkest path with your warmth. I wondered where that sweetness of yours came from.

Is it because of your favorite movie? Or perhaps the tender caress of the morning breeze? Or could it be because of me?

But it doesn't matter. Because every step you take and every dance you do makes me happy.

Your smile, with its gentle innocence, never fails to fill my heart with happiness.

Did you see the shooting stars yesterday? It was the time when you could see the night sky painted with a lantern from heaven. I couldn't help but think about you when my eyes caught a line of shooting stars. How I wish that you were here too, with me under the same sky.

Five years have crossed your life since we first met, sharing our lives in colors of red and blue, entwining our gray and black, and feeling our gleam and sorrow. I cherished every journey of ours, every minute of our dance, and every moment when the moonlight caressed our day.

Yet you still believe that our relationship isn't just about friends?

Do you feel a glimpse in your heart to see me more as a friend? Do you ever wonder why I always gaze at you with these eyes? And talking to you with a different intonation? Or how much I'm trying to hold back my anger every time your presence comes across me?

I was hoping that you would realize my feelings.

But I understand if you like someone else, or maybe you are waiting for someone to hold your hand and walk through the rose petals. Every time I think about it, I'm hoping that person is me. I hope your heart beats for me and you are in love with me, falling for me harder than I've fallen for you.

But who am I? Why am I thinking you would be in love with me?

Even if God rewrote my story or put my life in a parallel universe, I would still find myself miles apart from you. You are too shiny for a shadow like me.

But why did God plant these feelings inside my heart if I knew they would never reach you? He doesn't have the right to put me in this agony.

But it's okay; I accepted that. As long as I can see your face and hear your voice again, I'm happy with that.

In the end, I must confess these feelings. Even if you start to hate me, I will accept that.

I love you.

I love you so much.

I love you like the rain showering the dry soil.

I love you like a rainbow rewriting the pastel sky.

I love you like sunflower petals in the morning.

I love you with all of my heart.

Note : I made a little mistake. This prompt should be for Day 25😔😔

#resident evil #resident evil jake muller #resident evil jake #jake muller #jake muller x reader #jake muller x you #jake muller fluff #fluff x reader #resident evil fluff #flufftober2023 #flufftober

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gracie7209 · 1 year ago

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Amaryllis Chapter 9

Pairing: Frankie x f!Reader

WC: 6.4K-ish

Rating: E

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI We do some jumping around here, flashbacks, frequent POV changes, and back and forth between different scenes. Really bad attempt at adding an accent to mask one’s voice, reunions, reunion sex , Oral f receiving, Tom (in general), Reader’s first time + creepy!Tom, mildly dubious consent - (just in case), fingering, unprotected PIV, loss of virginity, BiPolar AF!Tom, it’s not all terrible though, sweet Frankie, sleepy Frankie… there’s just a lot going on this Chapter. I apologize if I forgot anything!

Summary: Frankie comes home. No one knows he’s alive except for Santi. Not even you. And until Tom was dealt with, it had to stay that way. But how can Frankie stay away, knowing you’re so close, when the thought of seeing you again is what kept him alive?

A/N: Please read the warnings… there are definitely some potential triggers in this chapter. Some of which were extremely uncomfortable to write let alone read, so please just tread carefully. All mistakes are mine!

*I’m always always always grateful for any feedback so let me know what you think!!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

—

What the fuck am I doing?

Frankie is suddenly frozen. He hears your front door unlock, he hears a voice. Your voice. But he can’t move. His spine is rigid and his feet feel like lead.

He’s here, in your driveway, in front of your house because he had to see you. He’s been staying at Santi’s, but tonight Frankie had been alone with his thoughts for far too long. He figured if he took a drive, it would help clear his head. His conscious mind didn’t tell him where he was going, but drove him to you nonetheless…

Frankie and Santi have been back on American soil for about four weeks now. Still healing from his injuries, he’s almost back to normal, but ribs take an incredibly long time to heal. He’s been patient, knowing that if anyone found out he was alive, it would ruin everything. But knowing you were so close and not being able to talk to or see you? He felt like he was losing his ever loving mind…

And now, he’s here. When he absolutely shouldn’t be. This could undo everything he and Santi have spent the last month trying to work out, simply because he couldn't wait a few more days…. Fuck!

Especially with Tom not being officially dealt with yet. He was putting you in danger by simply being here.

You, on the other hand, have been trying to get his attention, even though you have no idea who he is yet. Frankie never stopped to think about how you would react to seeing him. He just pulled into your driveway and walked right up the porch steps, but as soon as his knuckles made contact with the door, he realized how insane it was for him to just show up like this. He instantly turned around and tried to run off toward the car. It was dark outside, the only light besides the moon came from your porch, so he was partially in the shadows when he heard the door open which stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Hello?”

With his back still to you, Frankie shudders at hearing your voice. His urge to turn around and run to you so overwhelming, his fists were clenching and his fingernails were carving half moons into his palms.

“Um,” Frankie clears his throat to give his voice a deeper tone. “Uh, I was just uh lookin for Tom. Ha, yeah my dumbass didn’t even notice his truck was missin’. Sorry t’ bother ya… I’ll just be on my way….” And with that he starts walking back to the rental Santi had gotten him.

He prays it’s enough to deter you. He knows he fucked up by coming here. He wants nothing more than to feel the warmth of your skin, to hold you and let you know that he never stopped thinking about you the entire time he was gone.

But he couldn’t do that to you yet. You didn’t know he was alive and he selfishly rushed over without thinking- idiot.

He doesn’t hear a response to his half-assed attempt at a cover, so he relaxes slightly as he quickly approaches the driver's side door…. Completely missing a small divot in the gravel driveway and tripping over his own feet.

“Oof!” Frankie’s hands fly in front of him to catch himself against the side of the car. His palms smack hard with the screech of his skin against the glossy paint.

“Shit!” He’s grateful the car had been there or he probably would’ve fallen flat on his face.

“Oh my gosh, are you ok?!” No no no no no… He keeps his head down, but chances a glance over in your direction, and sees your figure running over to him. shit.

“Nah, m’ alright! Just tripped over my feet is all. I’m ok!” He really hates the way his voice sounds. He’s added a ridiculous southern drawl, pitifully trying to disguise it from you and it’s shaky and high pitched now with adrenaline from the fall.

“Here you dropped— this.” The last word coming out slowly.

“What the hell?”

Frankie hears it in your voice. He reaches a hand to his head and of course his hat is missing. Having fallen off of his head when he tried to catch himself.

He can hear your breathing pick up, can hear what you’re about to say before you say it and he winces— “Frankie??” Your voice is strained and raw. You’re crying.

Turning his head even further, he squeezes his eyes shut. Foolishly trying to hide his face in an almost childlike notion that if he can’t see you then you can’t see him.

He feels you near his shoulder.. You’re not touching him, but he can feel your presence. “Frankie?” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Look at me? —please?”

Keeping his head down, he slowly opens his eyes. He can see you in his peripheral vision. The porch light glowing behind you shrouds your form in a damn near perfect halo of light.

With a deep breath he stands up straight, turning fully to face you.

Your intake of breath is sharp, almost piercing to his ears. Your hand quickly comes up to cover your mouth and he can see you trembling.

Frankie’s lips part, about to say something when you barrel into him, pushing him back against the car. You wind your arms around his body, as far as you can with his arms coming around to pull you in tight. Much like when he first saw Santi again, he tries to stifle his grunts of pain at the impact. Not giving a shit in the slightest when he’d gladly take this pain and then some if it meant he could keep holding you.

You’re not sure how long you both stay that way. Neither of you are willing to let go for fear that this isn’t real. Frankie’s rubbing your back, nuzzling his face into your hair. Your scent overwhelming him completely, as he tries to keep his breathing even.

“How?—How are you here right now?” The hurt laced in your tone is equal parts confusion and disbelief. You take another moment. You don’t want to pull away, but you have to know.

“Everyone thinks you’re dead Frankie. How are you here? What happened? Tom said…”— Frankie cuts you off, but only because he wants you both to preferably be sitting down when he tells you.

“Hey.” Frankie’s voice is stern, but calm.

“Can we maybe go inside to talk? You’re shivering.”

You nod, and Frankie’s hand comes up to slowly cup your cheek. His thumb ghosts over your bottom lip before he reaches down to grasp your hand.

You don’t say anything as you walk back to the house. His palm completely envelops your small hand and he makes no move to release it even as you walk inside.

—

You are unbelievably warm. Your velvety walls clench him so tightly within your heat, Frankie thinks he would gladly die here.

No, no if he was going to die, he wants it to be with his name on your lips as he goes down on you. Hearing your little whimpers, knowing that he could bring you there, bring you to such a height with only his mouth. He’s happy he’s not dead, but what a way to go.

Your hands are tangled in his hair, rubbing at his head, then pulling lightly on his curls when his tongue swipes in just the right way.

You pull him up to you and bring your hands to his cheeks. You frame his face and stare up at him. His eyes are glazed over and he feels drunk, drugged on your taste and he kisses you then. He wants you to taste yourself. To taste what he does when he loses himself in your decadent heat. He sucks the tip of your tongue into his mouth and flicks it with his own. “Frankie,” you moan his name and it is music to his ears.

He wants to hear you do it again.

“Frankie,” but your lips aren’t moving…..

“Frankie….” He can hear your voice clear as day, but you’re just smiling up at him…..

—

“Frankie…” you whisper lightly.

He doesn’t respond so you say his name a little louder, but soft enough so as not to startle him. “Frankie. Frankie, wake up..” You reach over and shake him lightly.

Frankie realizes like a bucket of cold water just hit him, that he’d been asleep. Unfortunately, the rest of his body is taking a little longer to catch up. So instead of saying anything, he just stares back at you.

“Are you ok?”

He looks at you like he’s seen a ghost, but nods his head reassuringly. He must’ve been really tired. It’s taking him longer than completely necessary to come back to himself.

“I need to go check on the baby… but I’ll be right back.”

“Wait… Tom? What time is it?”

He knows he’s been here too long.

“It’s about 5:30. It’s ok Frankie, he’s not here. He must’ve stayed with one of the guys last night.” He nods, slight panic settling in, but then you whisper, “I’ll be right back ok?”

“Ok,” his voice is still rough with sleep.

You laugh a little to yourself as you get up and make your way to the baby’s room. It’s still a little jarring to you that he’s lying in your bed. That’s he’s here at all… You can’t wrap your head around it.

You had talked for what seemed like hours. He went over what happened after their mission went sideways. How he survived, and how he managed to make it home. Obviously glazing over some of the more crude details for your sake, but it didn’t matter because he was here with you now.

At some point, you had both laid down, still talking, but facing each other. As his eyes got heavier, you didn’t have it in you to cut the conversation short.

Neither of you were thinking much of anything past just being here with the other. Tom was simply an afterthought that somehow escaped your minds entirely.

So when you felt sleep trying to pull you under, you asked him to stay.

And he stayed.

—

While you and Frankie had been getting reacquainted, Tom had been with Santi. He had convinced him to come out for the night, the objective being to get him shitfaced enough to let slip what had actually happened the day Frankie “died.”

Frankie couldn’t have picked a worse time to go see you. If everything went correctly, they would’ve gotten a confession from Tom, possibly with even Benny and Will present. However, Tom hadn’t been out with the guys in quite some time, so he went at it hard, having started well before he had even left to go meet Santi. Things got out of hand rather quickly and Santi knew that they would have to come up with a different idea. He was texting Frankie to let him know, but couldn’t get a reply. He tried texting him a few times with no response, so he stepped away and tried to call. It went straight to voicemail. “Fuck Fish, what are you doing??” He called his own house phone, kept mainly for emergencies, just to be sure that Frankie wasn’t there.

He called again and again and still couldn’t reach him.

—

Tom woke up with a start on Santi’s couch. He wasn’t exactly thrilled.

“Shit, Pope?” Tom grinds the heel of his palms into his eyes, ridding himself of sleep that is quickly replaced by panic. “Why the fuck didn’t you just take me home?”

“Calm down alright…. We’re lucky we even made it here. It was like one in the morning before we left the bar and since my place was closer, I told you just to crash here.”

Tom looks like he’s trying to remember, but is drawing a blank. Before he can question it, Santi gives him a swat to the shoulder, and chuckles to himself— really selling it.

“—You can’t remember shit can ya?”

To Tom, Santi had been matching him shot for shot, when in reality he had stopped much earlier after slipping the bartender a little something extra to give him something besides alcohol.

Tom just rubs his temples and groans, obviously hungover and Santi sighs quietly in relief. “Let me just get dressed and I’ll take you home”

Probably the best at keeping his composure when under pressure, Santi knew that he was running the risk of bumping into Frankie at Tom’s place because he knew that that’s exactly where he went. He just had to hope that Frankie knew what he was doing and would be gone by the time they got there. It didn’t stop Santi from sending text after text to try and give him a heads up though.

—

“What the fuck Fish?!?!”

As soon as Santi walks in, he lays into Frankie.

“Man I know, I know how much you wanted to see her, but fuck, we could’ve had this done by now.”

“I know. I’m sorry.“ Frankie rubs the back of his neck.

“What were you thinking?”

“I couldn’t get out of my head, alright? So I took a drive—

—That’s where I ended up. I tried to leave before she saw me, but, didn’t work out that way. I fucked up, but we can still do this.”

“Him waking up here is a red flag. It’s never happened before but I knew I couldn’t risk bringing him home. When I couldn’t get you, I knew where you went. We got lucky this morning, Fish… I don’t know that he’s going to be as loose going forward. He’s a piece of shit, but he’s smart and when he thinks anything’s off, he puts his guard up. We have to think of a new plan.”

What Santi doesn’t know is that Frankie already has a plan in motion…

“I think I got us covered — You feel like making a trip to the safe house?”

—

After Frankie leaves you, sure enough Tom comes waltzing in, hungover and looking like a wreck. Santi follows him in and tells him to go shower while he makes you guys breakfast. His “treat” for not getting him home last night.

As soon as Tom’s in the shower, Santi asks you what happened. You explain that Frankie showed up and told you about.. well, everything. You guys eventually fell asleep, but Frankie’s phone was already dead. He left as soon as he saw the messages which was shortly before they arrived. Santi knew they didn’t have time to discuss it before Tom would be out of the shower so he tells you to trust that he and Frankie have it figured out.

After Santi cooked some scrambled eggs and toast, everybody sat down to eat. It was quiet and more awkward than normal. Hungover Tom was whiny and would mope around most of the day unless he had a showing. You were grateful that today he did have a showing so you knew you would have some time to let your mind decompress since Tom arrived just moments after Frankie left…

—

You go back into your room after checking on the baby, to find Frankie searching for something.

“Do you have a charger? My phone’s dead and I forgot to let Santi know I left. It wasn’t exactly part of the plan for me to come here.”

“Of course, here..” you hand him the charger and he sets it down on your nightstand before taking your hand and sitting you both on the edge of the bed.

His thumb is making lazy circles over your hands as his gaze is centered there. You lean in and rest your head on his shoulder.

This is the closest contact you’ve had with him aside from the hug you shared when he first arrived. You don’t know what exactly is holding you back, holding him back… You don’t want to question anything, so you don’t bother pushing the issue. You both seem content enough with simply being in each others’ presence… Soaking up as much as you can while he’s here, you also don’t feel the need to fill the silence. The only sound currently is his breathing, strong inhales and slow exhales that bring you peace, knowing he’s right here with you.

Before you know it though, you hear an almost constant string of ‘buzz buzz buzzing’ sounds coming from the nightstand… Frankie’s phone finally having enough charge to turn on…

He knows there are sure to be several texts from Santi, but the sheer amount is staggering… He reluctantly breaks his hold of your hands and looks through the messages.

“Shit shit shit….. fuck. I’m sorry.. I have to go.”

Frankie stands up quickly and starts fumbling for his things.

“What’s wrong?”

You could tell he was nervous, almost frantic even, by the way he was patting himself down. His keys and wallet were in his jacket pocket already. All he needed was his phone, but he kept pacing the room, searching for any evidence of himself being there.

He held it together pretty well for the most part and you knew it was mainly for your benefit.

“I really shouldn’t have stayed. Tom could’ve shown up at any time last night. —I’m a fucking idiot.”

He clocks the hurt look on your face immediately, turning toward you.

“No, no, no… hey, hey.. I’m glad I came here.” He puts his hands delicately on either side of your face, making sure you hear him.

“Whatever happens, it’ll all be worth it to be here with you right now. But, I want to get this done right. Santi’s on his way here with Tom…. I fucked up, but I still have time if I leave now. I'll get a hold of you as soon as I can, ok?”

“Frankie… Frankie, wait.. please. It’s ok… I’m not scared of him anymore. I’m tired of hiding. I just got you back…”

“Not yet, not yet… We have to get him to admit what he did. I… wait”

Frankie is feeling around the pockets of his jeans, looking for something, before eventually finding it in his inner jacket pocket.

“Here, take this.”

“What is it??”

“Just keep it with you and leave it on. I think I have another idea.”

“Frankie, please..”

“I need you to trust me. We don’t have time right now, but I promise you….”

With both hands still on your face he leans his forehead against yours…

“I’m not going anywhere.”

—

After Santi left, Tom was supposed to get ready for one of his showings, leaving you alone to make sense of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Instead, he decided to take the day off. Basically he was just hungover, and used the excuse to reschedule the showing for another day. After a while, he went to sit on the couch. He turned on the TV and without looking toward you, he said “you seem different.”

You had mercifully just gotten the baby down for a nap…. The monitor sat in the kitchen so you could hear if he began to stir. You had hoped that it would be another quiet afternoon, but today you weren’t so lucky. Tom’s question instantly has you on edge.

“How so?”

“I don’t know. You seem, better?”

“Tom, what’s this about?”

You were tired. There was rarely a day that went by that Tom didn’t question you about one thing or another.

“Here. Come sit.” What?

Tom pats the spot on the couch next to him. You feel your insides churning. This is bad. He never, ever asks you to sit next to him. There were never kind touches, or cuddling or anything remotely resembling affection between the two of you and you were immediately on alert.

You slowly make your way to the couch and sit on the very edge. Cautious as to what in the hell this was.

Tom looks to you then. His eyes almost seem regretful? “I don’t tell you enough how beautiful you are. I’m sorry.” He reaches over and pats your knee. You don’t budge. Your eyes are focused on his hand as he slowly gives it a squeeze before returning to his lap.

“Tom. What’s going on?”

“I got a call earlier.” He seems withdrawn. Like he’s just trying to keep himself together.

When he doesn’t immediately keep going you ask, “ok, and what was the call about?” On the outside you carry yourself well. You act as though you have nothing to worry about. On the inside, everything is screaming to you that this is dangerous. Something is very very wrong. You have no idea what is about to be thrown at you.

“They um…. It was from Pope.”

“But he was just here. Is everything ok??”

“Yeah, yeah he’s fine. He actually received the call..” His eyes are unfocused, just blankly staring toward the TV. The voices droning on in the background meld together and set the tone.

You stayed quiet. There was no upside to rushing him.

“Did I ever tell you how I met Fish?” Oh no, oh no….. fuck this was bad.

“That was Frankie right?” Your voice cracks on his name.

“Yeah.” his head hits the back cushion of the couch and he looks over to you. He looks like he might cry.

“Francisco “Catfish” Morales. You know he was like a little brother to me. He joined the team shortly before Benny did. He’d known Pope for a long time and he was fresh in the service. They always come in feeling high and mighty. Ready to serve God and Country and he was no different. He was good, I’ll give him that. He hit all his marks, and was a helluva pilot right out of the gate.”

“Tom, why are you talking about Frankie?”

Of course you now knew the truth. Frankie had survived his ordeal. The man looking at you now having been the cause. But now Frankie was back home. Obviously, you were different today. You had a piece of yourself, one you had thought gone for good, find its way back to you and you weren’t letting it go again.

But to Tom, he thought you still believed Frankie was missing. So you played along. Anxious to see where this was going.

“Tom?”

“They found him.”

Tom’s eyes squeezed closed, tears that had collected in the corners were now trickling down his cheeks. In all the years you have been with Tom, he has never cried. Not once. This entire thing unnerved you to no end.

“Is he—?”

“They found his body.”

Hearing the words, even knowing they were a lie, made you gasp. Tears immediately slipping down your cheeks.

“But how?” You choke out. “You all knew the likelihood of him surviving the fall was low, but if they’re just now finding him—” You gulp, “how would they know who he was?”

“Dog tags. Fish always wore his dog tags.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can say. You couldn't remember ever seeing Frankie wear dog tags.

“Even though we’ve been out of it the last couple of years, he felt they had some greater meaning, or something like that.”

He seemed genuinely distraught

“I'm sorry Tom. I know he was your friend.” The words feel like acid on your tongue.. Tom was not his friend. But, with the way he was acting, you almost felt bad for him.

Out of nowhere, Tom continues…

“We were arguing.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were talking about you.” He brings a hand up to his face, rubbing his jaw.

“What about me?” He instantly snaps his attention to you. “Don’t play dumb,” he practically hisses the words to you. “You know exactly what we were talking about.”

And just like that he softens back up.. “I just needed to hear it from him. Needed him to admit to what he’d done.”

“You never told me what happened that day. Just that he went missing. That he slipped and fell and that you couldn’t find him.”

Tom doesn’t seem to hear you. He just continues on….

“He kept trying to dodge my questions. Kept saying we didn’t have time to talk about it blah blah blah… He just didn’t want to admit it.”

“Ok. So, what happened?”

“I got him to talk. Got him to finally admit to his betrayal. To yours…..”

Tom is looking at you and you feel a stab of guilt for your part in what had happened. Did you regret it? Not at all. What you had with Tom was a lie. A farce. Just a decoy to help protect your mother.

What you had with Frankie was Real. And you could never regret something like that.

But you were married to Tom and that fact bothered you. You weren’t a cheater, even though you didn’t believe that that’s what you had done. It still bothered you that to anybody else, you had.

You decide to try and keep the conversation going… “Ok. Then what happened?”

“Hmph, something I never thought I'd have to do. Never imagined that I’d have to put him down.”

There it was.

You weren’t sure how to respond.

Tom catches the shock on your face, and tries to counter, but you cut him off.

“What do you mean by put down?” You knew. You knew exactly what he meant, but it was your turn to want to hear him speak the words. “I just mean I had to put him in his place. Fish never was good at lying so I asked him flat out.”

“What did he say??”

“He told me what happened. Between you two.”

“But I had already told you what you needed to know, Tom. Why would you question something you already knew?”

“Because what little info I got from you had to be forced out of you!” You wince at the memory. Pushing down the bile trying to make its way out of your throat, you were grateful that you’d broken his nose before because he chose to leave you alone for the most part. But that night was something you wanted to forget.

“Ok, so what did he have to say that was different from what I told you??”

“Not so much different. He very clearly fucked you. Tell me, how was it for you?”

“Tom, we’re not having this conversation. You asked me to come to you. What’s your point.”

“Part of me held out hope. That maybe he could’ve lived through it. After all the bullshit we’ve lived through, just seemed like a shitty way to go. He just couldn’t keep his mouth shut….”

There it was again. You wanted to latch on to it, like Tom was trying to admit to what he had done. You just didn’t want to seem too eager and tip him off that something was up.

“You still haven’t told me how it was with him? Did he worship you? Did he make love to you?”

“God, Tom stop! He’s gone. Why are you still acting like this?”

“He made a comment to me before, uh before everything happened..”

“And? What did he say?”

“Oh, he told me that he didn’t fuck you. He said that he “loved” you. Told me he worshipped you and showed you what it was supposed to be like.”

You’re crying now. The tears are running down your face as you try to quietly blink them away. You couldn’t believe that Frankie’s words were coming out of Tom’s mouth. Why?? Why would he tell you this?Where was he going with it?

“My pretty little wife, did you enjoy yourself when you fucked my best friend? Did he show you what love was supposed to be like? Hmm??”

“Tom stop. I’m done with this. Either get to your point or leave me the fuck alone.”

“You forget sweetheart, it doesn’t matter to me what you do… you’re mine. I’ll never let you be rid of me.”

“Yes, I know. You remind me of that fact often, but it doesn’t mean I have to look at you, or like you, or respect you. You go and do whatever you want. I could honestly care less. And now, I’m done listening to you.”

“Good.” He seems smug. You wish you could wipe the look right off of his face.

You get up and storm to the kitchen. You’re still not sure what the fuck was even happening. Why was he being this way?

After a long pause, “You know,” he hollers at you. “I think you did like it. Didn’t you?” He’s still sitting on the couch..

You outwardly sigh because this wasn’t going to end. He was itching for a fight and you were the unfortunate soul who had to deal with it.

“What do you mean Tom? Huh? What did I like?”

Tom just glares over at you now. His eyes are still a little bloodshot and he looks tired. He stands up and makes his way over. You were at the sink, trying to start a load of dishes to assuage your frustration before he decided to chime in again.

You can feel him standing behind you. He’s not touching you, but you can practically feel his stale breath on your neck.

“You liked how he fucked you, didn’t you?” His voice is lower, his words said through clenched teeth…

“Was he very different from me?”

“You tell me Tom….. how were all the other women you’ve slept with during our marriage?”

“That’s not what I asked....” Tom doesn’t miss a beat, and continues.

“There's no harm in just answering a simple question sweetheart. I saw to it that it would never happen again, so just tell me…”

Again. He’s being vague, but you are bound to get him to spit it out. The recorder Frankie gave you sitting safely in your pocket. You decide then that this was probably your last chance. Tom was smart, but today he was hungover, and not on his game. That wouldn’t be the case going forward. It was now or never, so.. you decided to tell him the truth.

“Yes.” Stated simply, no malice, no sarcasm, just the simple truth.

“Is that right?” You turn around and face him now. Your back against the sink. He doesn’t back away and instead is barely inches from you.

“Yes, Tom…. I’m not sure what else you want me to say. I answered your question, so leave me alone.”

“Ah ah ah, no ma’am….. I want to hear about it. I want to know all the dirty details about you and Fish….”

“You’re sick, you know that? Why? Why would you want to know? He’s gone Tom, just let it go!” You’re sick to your stomach because you’re not sure how this is going to play out… he was deranged and out of his mind.

“Yeah he’s gone. So it shouldn’t hurt to just tell me what happened that night should it??” He moves in just a little closer, essentially caging you in, but you stand firm. You’re not scared of him anymore.

“We had sex Tom… as you already know. Unless I need to explain to you how sex works, you know what happens…” God please, why was he doing this?

“I’m well aware of the mechanics babe… but that’s not what he told me you did. He told me that he “loved you,” tell me the difference…. Did he love you?”

You can’t help your small smile at that because, yes… He did love you. You were sure of it. And you loved him. And he was alive, but Tom didn’t know that. You look at your feet for a second and then look back up at Tom.

“Yes—he did.”

You brace yourself as you feel his hands instantly grip your upper arms… not painfully, but firm.

“How so?” Tom says, gritting his teeth. You’re not sure what he’s after, but his voice almost breaks on the last word. He’s in pain. Not because he loves you, more like the equivalent of a child finding out someone else played with their favorite toy. An object. His jealousy was the result of pure possession.

“He took care of me, Tom. He made me feel wanted, not owned.” You feel his grip tighten, but you’re emboldened by your feelings for Frankie, that you know he feels too. So you continue in spite of the almost unhinged look he’s giving you now.

“Frankie Listened to me, he talked to me, he.. he loved me. And then, he made love to me. For the first time in my life, I got to experience what that felt like.”

Tom’s grip on your arms is past the point of pain now and you’re sure there will be bruises, but you press on….

“So to answer your question, my dear husband… Yes, he loved me.”

You wait a moment to allow the words to sink in, before hitting it home—

“—And I loved him.”

You close your eyes, because you know what happens next. You oddly feel more free than you have in years… Telling Tom exactly what you thought and not worrying about the consequences. But nothing happens. Instead, you feel him loosen his iron grip on your arms as his hands fall to his sides.

When you open your eyes, he’s just staring at you. His empty stare makes goosebumps erupt across your skin.

“I killed him.”

Surely you’re not hearing him correctly, but your jaw still drops at the words.

“Tom?”

“I killed him.”

You know you need to speak but your mouth refuses to form any words… you’re just standing there, frozen. Was it fear? Or shock? A combination of both?

Shock that he actually admitted it, on recording, but also fear for what this meant moving forward. The only thing you get out is the question you’d been asking yourself every day since Frankie went missing… With tears running down your cheeks you quietly ask, “why?”

And then his demeanor completely changes…

“Because, baby, he wasn’t just going to stop. He would’ve kept coming back, to try to get you to run away with him, and I couldn’t have that… to think about you leaving hurt me so much…. You’re my wife, and the mother to my child. I couldn’t let him ruin our perfect family.”

You were used to his mood swings in general, but this was like a completely different entity had taken over and your jaw hangs loose with the weight of it.

Frankie’s alive. He’s alive…. You’ve seen him, you’ve held him, but Tom’s delusional state leaves you feeling completely unnerved. He hadn’t succeeded in killing Frankie. By the Grace of God he survived, but what was to stop Tom from finishing the job once he found out he was alive??

He backs up and reaches for your hand.. “Here, come with me..” He carefully leads you to the couch where he pulls down a photo album from the bookshelf. He sits down beside you and opens it up. “See? It’s our wedding day…” He nudges your shoulder with his own. “We looked pretty happy here didn’t we?”

You reluctantly look down at the album. Taking you back to another time, another life. You did in fact look happy. You were about to begin a new life with someone you thought was going to take care of you. You were nervous, but could’ve never dreamt what life would have in store for you.

“And that night? I’ll never forget it. I know you won’t either. It was your first time after all.” He’s looking at you with a hungry expression that makes you want to vomit.

You remember that day…

—

The wedding was small, but charming. Your family; your mama, Abuelo and your cousins were all there and you were truly excited to take this new step in life even if it wasn’t what you had intended. Tom even seemed genuine in the beginning.

The night in question was your first time being intimate with anyone. And it set the stage for what you could expect from there on out. The night wasn’t limited to just one occurrence either. The very first time, Tom, was extremely gentle with you. He tried to be soothing and talk you through it, preparing you as it was likely to be painful. He was also quite a bit older and much more experienced and you trusted him to take care of you.

He brought you to orgasm for the first time using his fingers and kissing you through it. He wanted you to be comfortable before moving further and it was actually… Wonderful—

You’d never experienced an orgasm before and if this was how it was, you could only imagine what it would be like to actually have sex. You were anxious, but also excited to take the next step.

When he entered you for the first time, he was slow and tried to allow you time to accommodate his size. He made sure you were ok and continued as you nodded.

He made little comments during, like, “you’re so tight. My God, I’m not gonna last baby ....”

It didn’t take long before he pulled out abruptly and came on your stomach. His words a blur, but he kept babbling things like “so amazing… you’re so beautiful.. I can't wait to do it again..” but you were too overwhelmed to really hear him.

You were sore, but not terribly uncomfortable. You were still reeling from everything that had happened in general. Tom had his arm around you and you both just laid in the afterglow as a married couple. There was maybe fifteen minutes of peace, before Tom was ready for round two.

“Alright pretty girl, let’s see what kind of mess you made….” You knew what sex entailed, you knew the first time would hurt, and you also knew that you were likely to bleed the first time… but seeing it, and seeing Tom’s expression change from curiosity to hunger, made you visibly shudder…

“Look at you… that’s beautiful.” He wasn’t looking at your face.

Between your legs was a mess of your slick tinged with blood. You were immediately embarrassed and moved to get up and clean yourself off, but Tom stopped you with his hand… “No wait, leave it…. It'll help make it easier this time…”

“We’re doing it again?” Your voice was full of confusion, you thought it was a one and done thing, not multiple times in one night.

“Of course, it’s our wedding night sweetheart. I plan to make love to you all night, and then again and again for the rest of our lives…” You gulp, but he moves in and catches your lips in a greedy kiss. One that leaves your head spinning as he lays you back down. He parts your legs and makes a show of using your slick to coat his cock before he enters you, never again as gentle as the first time.

—

You think he has wholly and completely lost his mind. He was speaking as if he hadn’t put you through hell the last seven years. As if you both had always been in love and that this was just a little blip in your otherwise beautiful lives together. He was insane.

“Why are you showing this to me Tom?”

“To show you.. No, to remind you who you belong to. Who that kid belongs to…” he chuckles at his exact use of the words he spoke to Frankie back in Colombia.

“If I belong to you then why did you have to kill Frankie???”

“Because he was asking for it. He would’ve just kept coming back for you like a goddamned golden retriever, trying to save you from me. But I put that pathetic dog down—

And now,”

Tom moves to sit closer to you, “I have the both of you to myself and everything can go back to normal.”

“Go to hell Tom. I am never going to be happy with you; you’re a fucking monster...” You can’t help break in your voice or the tears as they cascade down your face. He just smirks ever so slightly and leans in closer…

“Maybe. But I’m your monster…. Isn’t. That. Right?” Tom punctuates the last word by tapping his finger hard against your nose.

He gets up and chuckles to himself, walking down the hallway to your shared bedroom. He closes the door and leaves you to your thoughts.

Your heart is racing, but you do your best remain calm. You gently pat the pocket holding the voice recorder and will your breathing to slow down. You fucking got him. You had Tom, on tape, confessing to murder.

And you couldn’t wait to give it to Frankie.

—

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A/N: I’m always super anxious about posting, but am just trying not to let myself overthink it. Let me know your thoughts and as always, thank you for reading! Your comments, questions, like and reblogs absolutely make my day and I appreciate every one of them ❤️

#frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #triple frontier au #pedro Pascal characters #pedro Pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fandom

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