#if i had the ability to gif this would be a much better post lol

[jezebelblues]

so not cool | h.s

summary: in which spiderman is obviously much cooler than dad

cw: dadrry. overuse of the word spider-man. u could play a drinking game by how much its mentioned prolly

word count: approx 1.7k

| the result of being up for 20h, writers block n being bored out of my mind !! idk what this is but…it’s..definitely an addition to the dadrry universe .. for sure (prob will delete 🔥)

not necessary but here’s the first dadrry post if ur into that

masterlist

July 2021

The sound of the credits rolling filled the living room as Harry leaned back against the couch, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips. Atlas, now three years old and still wide-eyed with excitement, sat curled up against his father’s side, his tiny fingers clutching the corner of a fleece one direction blanket that Harry had bought off Etsy, something he found to be absolutely hilarious. They had just finished watching the original Spider-Man movie, the one with Tobey Maguire, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the awe that was practically radiating off his son.

“Dad,” Atlas breathed, his voice filled with wonder as he looked up at Harry with those big, round eyes that mirrored his mother’s. “Pider-man s’cool.”

They were working on his pronunciation of R’s and S’s. Not too much progress yet.

Harry bit back a laugh, ruffling his son’s messy curls as he glanced down at him. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Atlas nodded vigorously, his little legs kicking against the couch as his excitement bubbled over. “He climbs n’ has webs n’ fights ba’guys!”

Harry grinned, watching the way Atlas’s face lit up as he recounted all of the abilities with the fervor only a toddler could muster. His little hands gestured wildly as if he were mimicking shooting webs out of his wrists.

“Best superhero in’a whole world!” Atlas declared, sitting up straighter as if this revelation were the most important one he’d ever made.

Harry chuckled, reaching over to grab the remote and lower the volume on the TV. “Better than Batman?”

“Super much better.” Atlas exclaimed, his voice incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Harry would even ask such a thing.

“Better than Iron Man?” Harry tried again, his tone teasing as he listed off another iconic hero.

His boy paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration as he thought it over. His little hand lifted to his chin in the same way Harry often did when he was deep in thought, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. After a moment, Atlas shook his head decisively. “M’yeah. Way cooler.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, folding his arms as he played along. “So, that’s it? Peter Parker’s just the best?”

“Yeah!” Atlas said excitedly, jumping off the couch and running around the living room, pretending to shoot webs from his wrists. “He’s fast ‘nd he can climb buildings like this!” He hopped up on the couch and began to scale the back of it with his small, wobbly legs, pretending he was on the side of a skyscraper.

Harry leaned forward, his hands hovering near Atlas to catch him in case he lost his balance. “Easy there, spidey,” he chuckled. “No need to break the couch, bub.”

Atlas giggled as he perched himself on the top of the couch, still caught up in his make-believe world. He turned to Harry, his eyes bright with excitement. “Daddy?” He paused, watching his father’s gaze resettle upon him. “y���think spideys stronger than you?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking as he leaned back against the couch again. “Stronger than me, huh? That’s a tough one. I mean, I’ve got some pretty strong muscles too, you know.” He tried to persuade his son, flexing his bicep in front of him.

Atlas tilted his head, considering this for a moment before a mischievous grin spread across his face. “M’no cause he can do this!” He flung his wrist out, making a thwip! noise as he pretended to shoot webs across the room.

Harry’s grin widened as he watched his son in full superhero mode. “Alright, alright, you’ve got me there. I don’t have webs.”

“Duh!” The boy exclaimed again, leaping off the couch and landing with a soft thud on the carpet. He scrambled back up and raced over to Harry, his little hands grabbing at his dad’s arms as he looked up at him with pure adoration. “But y’cool too, dad.”

Harry laughed, his heart swelling at the sight of his son’s wide grin. “Oh, just cool am I? Not the coolest?”

Atlas giggled, shaking his head, jumping in place with his palms against his dad’s knees. “Nope, he–he still more better.”

YN had been listening from the kitchen as she prepared dinner, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. She leaned against the counter, smiling to herself as she heard the playful back-and-forth between her husband and their son. Harry always had such a way of connecting with Atlas—whether it was through silly games, bedtime stories, or, in this case, debates over superheroes.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and wandered into the living room, catching sight of Atlas now climbing into Harry’s lap. “What’s all this about Spider-Man?” she asked, crossing her arms with a mock-stern expression.

The curly haired boy whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw his mom. “Mama! We watched’ed pider-man!”

YN raised her eyebrows, glancing at Harry, who shrugged with an amused smile. “I see,” she said, nodding seriously. “And where does daddy rank on the superhero scale?”

Without missing a beat, Atlas giggled and pointed at Harry. “M’he not a superhero—he’s just daddy!”

Harry feigned offense, gasping dramatically as he clutched his chest. “Just dad? C’mon, mate, I’m way cooler than that.”

Atlas giggled even harder, clearly enjoying the game. “Y’climb on buildings?”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around Atlas and pulling him into a gentle bear hug. “Okay, I can’t climb buildings, but I bet Spider-Man can’t make pancakes as good as me.”

The boy paused, clearly torn by this new piece of information. He loved his dad’s pancakes, after all. But after a moment, he shook his head, his resolve firm. “Pider-man don’t eat pancakes.”

YN laughed as she sat down on the couch beside them, placing her hand on Harry’s knee. “He’s got you there, babe. You might have to accept second place.”

He sighed in mock defeat, his dimples deepening as he looked down at his boy, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Alright, fine. he can be the coolest for now. But when you get hungry in the morning, don’t come crying to me for pancakes.”

“He make them for me!” Atlas shot back with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing his dad.

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Atlas’s curly head. “You think Parker knows how to make chocolate chip pancakes like I do? I doubt it.”

YN watched them with a soft smile, her heart swelling with affection. She loved these moments—the way Harry could be completely goofy and playful with their son, never taking himself too seriously, and the way Atlas adored his dad with a fierceness that made her heart melt. It was a kind of magic, watching the two of them together.

She ran a finger through Harry’s curls, pressing a kiss into the locks as she breathed him in. “I’m plating dinner.” She mumbled as she ambled back into the kitchen.

Harry grunted as he stood up, pulling his son up in his arms along with him. “To the table, web-slinger.” He told Atlas, swinging him in his arms with small little swooshing sounds.

Their boy giggled as Harry swooped him through the air like an airplane, his little arms stretched out as if he were flying. They made their way to the kitchen, where YN was setting plates of steaming food on the table.

"Hungry?” YN teased as Harry plopped Atlas into his booster seat.

He nodded enthusiastically. "I want 'tatoes!"

Harry chuckled, grabbing a spoon to serve Atlas a helping of mashed potatoes. "Here you go, bubba. But no webs at the dinner table, okay?"

He giggled, pretending to shoot webs one more time before focusing on his plate. Harry and YN exchanged a fond smile, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of dinner-plates clinking, forks scraping, and the occasional happy hum from Atlas as he devoured his meal.

After dinner, they settled into their nighttime routine-baths, pajamas, and a bedtime story.

Atlas, freshly bathed and smelling of lavender, jumped snuggled into his bed. It was navy blue with cartoonish planets littered about, but his favorite thing would have to be his rainbow zebra-print 1D blanket tucked around him. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar worn copy of Goodnight Moon in his hands.

"Goodnight room, goodnight moon," He read softly, his voice soothing. Atlas's eyelids grew heavy as he clutched his favorite stuffed animal, a plush giraffe.

YN stood in the doorway, watching her two boys with a soft smile. She loved these quiet moments, the way Harry's voice softened as he read to Atlas, the way their son's small body relaxed into sleep. "Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere."

As he closed the book, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Atlas's forehead. "Goodnight, spidey."

Atlas's lips curled into a sleepy smile, his voice a soft mumble as he drifted off. "G’night, daddy."

With that, Harry quietly stood and tiptoed out of the room, YN slipping her hand into his as they left their little guy to dream of webs and skyscrapers.

The door closed behind them with a soft click before he scooped his wife over his shoulder quietly, trudging toward their bedroom and throwing her onto the bed through her soft protests.

YN laughed as she landed on the bed, playfully swatting at Harry as he crawled over her. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, though her smile said she didn't mind one bit.

Her husband grinned, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of their bedroom. "Well, if I'm not the coolest in the house, l've got to show off my other skills, don't I?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling him down for a kiss. "You're still my favorite," she murmured against his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands resting on her hips as he whispered back, "Good, because I'm not giving up that spot anytime soon."

The house grew quiet, the hum of the evening settling in around them as they lay together.

Outside, the stars were beginning to twinkle in the night sky, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound breaking the silence. Harry reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, wrapping his arms around YN as they snuggled into each other.

It was in those days that Harry realized—he didn't need to be the coolest superhero. Being Atlas's dad, YN's husband, and the maker of the best chocolate chip pancakes in the world was more than enough. It was everything.

[draconic-desire]

🔹 Oculus Infinitum 🔹

Yandere Satoru Gojo x Reader

He’s infinity; in comparison, you’re nothing. So of course using your cursed technique on him backfires.

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! Yandere behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, nsfw, non-con/dub-con, afab!reader, slight mindbreak

Infinity is often interpreted as the largest numerical magnitude to exist. And while that fact may be true in theory, infinity is better defined as the endless division of infinitesimally smaller and smaller values. One can be separated into half, half to a quarter, and so on, until the space between fractions almost ceases to exist.

Almost.

Gojo is a lot like infinity. Blame it on his technique, sure, but you suspect it runs much deeper than that. His actions never reach an end; instead, each one sinks further and further into your skin, fangs so small you barely feel them until it’s too late and the venom irreversibly invades your veins. He’s chipped away at you, piece by little piece, until you are the opposite of infinity; you are nothing.

On a surface level, most would say you have it pretty good. You (are trapped in) live in a huge home, filled with opulent furniture and all the luxuries you could ever want. You’re (expected to) allowed to cook meals for the two of you, including your favorite dishes. You still have (basic rights) privileges, such as free roam of the house, your own selection of clothes, access to the television and your phone (minus the ability to call or text, of course), even outdoor time with Satoru’s supervision. Why would you ever need to leave?

You had escaped, once.

Calling it an escape would be generous. Nothing ever happens without Gojo’s knowledge, without Gojo’s permission. How foolish you had been, to think you could evade his Six Eyes. Despite weeks of planning, he’d dragged you back home within the hour.

The chains hadn’t been removed for an entire month after that, and their lingering presence on each post of Satoru’s bed serves as a constant reminder that they’ll never rust.

Currently, you’re in the (not your, nothing is ever truly yours anymore) house’s lofty kitchen now, preparing dinner for his return home from work. Glancing up at the clock, you see it’s nearly time for him to arrive. You click the stovetop on and place a pot of water over the open flame, watching the blue fire flicker. Your thoughts immediately go to Gojo’s eyes, twin infernos of endless blue. Those eyes never seem to close, never seem to be too far from your own. They have the ability to lock you in place and throw away the key forever.

Moments later, the sound of the door opening and closing, along with the click of multiple locks, echoes from the hallway. Long, casual footsteps alert you to his presence behind you. His velvet voice, so languid and carefree, fans your ear as he settles his hands on your hips. “There’s my girl. Already making dinner for me?” He places a surprisingly chaste kiss to the top of your head. “Missed ya, baby.”

You add rice and a bit of salt and stir the pot in front of you in silence. When did you stop fighting him on that? On losing your full name to simple titles like girl and baby? The old you would have gagged at those pet names. The old you that kicked and bit the hand of your captor like a rabid animal, always fighting for freedom.

His grip tightens when you fail to immediately respond, though you hear him force a light tone to his voice. “What, curse got your tongue?”

Tension immediately floods your muscles. Gojo is a vain man; your silence maims his huge ego, something the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer will not stand for. You must react. “No, Gojo. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

You worry your lip when the quiet drags on. “I-I’m sorry?”

Gojo barks out a laugh, but his smile is strained and all fangs. “Back to Gojo again, huh?”

A mistake you notice too late. The spoon falls from your grip as you turn your head slowly. He’s still wearing his blindfold, but you know those infinite abyssal eyes are currently boring into your soul, daring you to speak. “Ah, no! Satoru, I mean—”

“Shh, baby. I get it.” His hands move to your shoulders, which he begins to massage. “Is it because you’re mad at me for neglecting you?”

To an outsider it may sound like he’s teasing, but you know all too well the creep of annoyance laced into his deepened, husky tone. “Or are you just being a brat?”

Swallowing, you place a hand on his toned forearm in an attempt to calm him. You feel him practically melt into the touch. “Truly, ‘Toru, I’m fine.” Your honeyed tone makes you sick, but you’ve learned it can subtly manipulate your captor in the right setting, usually this domestic fantasy world of his. “You’ve been so busy with work, and my mind has just been wandering. Why don’t you go sit while I finish up with the food?”

He hums absentmindedly, fingers swirling patterns across your abdomen. “I have a better idea…” Hot breath caresses your ear, eliciting a shiver. “Let me make it up to you.”

A deft hand snakes its way down the back of your bare thigh, barely ghosting across your skin. You can feel him, solid as a rock, yet you know there will always be space between you. He can touch you, but you’re powerless to do the same.

Just like in everything else, you can’t hold a candle to him. Your cursed energy is inconsequential, a tiny spark against his infinitive well of power.

Talk of your innate cursed ability is a topic you actively choose to avoid. Your technique, when activated, allows you to briefly control the thoughts and consequent actions of a single individual—but only after you’ve kissed them. And it often backfires tremendously, with the kiss causing overwhelming feelings of obsession or insanity in the receiver. From more than enough uses you’ve learned to see it as more of a curse in and of itself, and one you prefer to keep hidden.

Especially from the man behind you. Gojo—Satoru, you correct yourself—has enough twisted love that you wouldn’t dare try to possess his thoughts. The mere idea makes your throat tighten with panic.

Satoru’s technique, on the other hand, causes every nerve ending along your skin to explode as his hand falls beneath your skirt and skate across your barely clothed core.

“Been thinking about this all day,” he groans. “Are you wet for me, baby?” Before you can respond, Satoru easily moves your panties aside and spears you with his middle and ring fingers.

The invasion makes you jolt instantly. An involuntary gasp leaves you as he presses deeper, his fingers sheathed to the knuckle. You hate how your walls immediately tighten around him, slick with your arousal. No, you don’t want this, but Gojo gives you no choice in the matter but to practically ride his hand as he lifts your skirt with his other hand to get a better view.

“I’ll never get tired of this.” His thumb passes over your clit, pulling yet another shameful moan from your lips. Your tense demeanor only causes your pussy to accidentally squeeze him tighter, spurring him on. You try to pull your thighs together, but Satoru wrenches them apart easily with his other hand. “Oh, no, none of that. This pussy is mine.”

You squirm, grasping for something to get you out of this mess. “Satoru, stop, the food will burn—”

“Forget it,” he commands, ripping your skirt off. “We’ll order takeout after.”

Your heart drops. “After…?”

“Aw, you thought I’d stop here?” His condescension floods your ears. “No, babe, I’m only just getting started with you.”

His persistence, like infinity, has no end.

Without warning, Satoru removes his fingers from your core and swings you over his shoulder, smacking your bare ass and wrenching a yelp from you. You blanch when you realize he’s carrying you to the bedroom.

“Wait, Satoru—!”

You are unceremoniously thrown onto the bed, said white-haired sorcerer towering above you. He pounces immediately, locking your limbs in place. Satoru must see the fear, the readiness to engage in fight or flight, across your face, because he brushes a tender hand across your cheek to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” he teases, but it somehow sounds like a threat. His fingers, still coated with your arousal, hook around your thong and slide it down your legs. “You’re acting like this is our first time or somethin'.”

Oh, it was far from the first time that he had touched you or been inside of you. But something about today, about this time, sends fear skittering across your whole being. Perhaps it’s all the reminiscence lately, or the fact that your thoughts drifted to your innate technique for the first time in weeks. Panic sinks its claws into you.

Breath ragged, heart pounding, you grab his face in both hands and react without thinking; for the first time since he kidnapped you, you willingly kiss Satoru Gojo and activate your technique.

Satoru immediately reacts, deepening the kiss and pressing you more firmly into the mattress until you feel as if you’re nearly suffocating.

Release me, you project into his mind, threading a hand through his white locks and squeezing hard.

The world suddenly goes very, very still.

Satoru freezes. Slowly, painfully, he parts his lips from your own and straightens his arms against the mattress to hover above you once more. His breath comes out in jagged huffs. The only sound that remains is the unending tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, bringing you closer to your doom.

For a second, you almost believe your technique worked.

That is, until he quickly sheds his blindfold, and you are meet with those stunning, terrifying, brilliant, paralyzing blues. He whispers your name with a foreign stillness that chills your bones to ice. “Do you…have a cursed technique?”

What an idiot you are to have thought you could sneak past Satoru Gojo’s barriers and Six Eyes. You can’t touch his physical form; why would his mind be any different?

It takes all of your willpower to withhold the panicked, hysterical laugh threatening to escape you. “Look, I can explain—”

Satoru leans back on his knees, one hand carding through his hair as he looks up to the ceiling. “God, babe, I knew you could see curses and harbored cursed energy, but here you go surprising me!” He laughs, a gleeful chuckle that has you reeling.

“You’re not…mad?” you dare to ask, inching your knees towards your chest. Maybe your technique failed, but you can still buy some time and get into a safer position.

Satoru gazes down at you, head tilted and a full grin on his lips. “Mad? Baby, why would I be upset when for the first time in our relationship, you were the one seducing me?”

Oh, no. No no no no no.

Grabbing your ankle, he drags you back to a supine position, your pussy on full display for him. He licks his lips at the sight. “Plus, you trying to get inside my head was cute and all. Weak, but you gave it your best!” He laughs again, and you realize that he never took you seriously, not even for a second.

The thought should enrage you—it would have infuriated the old you—but all you can manage now is a low whine as his hands go for his belt.

Satoru pulls himself free, his already hard cock pulsing in anticipation. Precum beads at the tip as he lines himself up with your entrance. “What was it you asked me for? Release, right?”

Your eyes bulge at his implication. “Wait, Satoru, I didn’t mean—!”

You barely have time to react as he buries himself in you completely. A choked sob bubbles up your throat as you breath through the stretch of him.

Satoru moans in ecstasy as he begins a steady pace, thrusting mercilessly into that squishy spot deep inside your core that has you seeing stars.

“Kiss me again.” It’s light and breathless, but it’s an order, not a request. Fear makes you comply immediately, though your kiss is a hesitant, timid thing compared to your earlier attempt to sway him.

He’s having none of that. No, Satoru had a taste of your affection, and now he’ll tolerate nothing less than your full reciprocation. If only you could truly peer into his mind and see that no amount of your cursed energy would change him; your being was already permanently imprinted on his brain. You were his perfect doll, held in the palm of his hand.

Nails rake down his back as you arch against the mattress. Every time he thrusts, he grinds against your clit, and you feel yourself chasing your finish. You hate this, you want it to stop, but you can’t help—

“Please, Satoru,” you plead without thinking, meeting his limitless eyes. You feel yourself drowning in them, a blue sky that never ceases.

For a split second, his rhythm hesitates. “…Say that again,” he whispers, almost reverently. “Beg for me.”

You’re not quite sure what you’re asking for. “P-please, I can’t take it anymore, please let me—!”

“Choose your next word carefully,” he warns, voice shifting to a low growl as his hand moves to your throat, adding ever so much pressure.

Tears streak your vision. The embarrassment of your technique failing and the lewd position he has you in all crash down upon you, and another piece of you breaks. “Please let me cum,” you concede.

To your dismay, his pace slows, and you cry out in protest as your orgasm fades. “I just need you to do one more thing for me, baby.” He leans into your neck, nipping and sucking at all your sensitive spots, torturing you even further. “Tell me you love me.”

Alarms should be blazing through your head, but the fog of your arousal clouds your judgement as you seek your climax.

That piece of your soul he took shatters into a million shards as you whisper, “I love you, Satoru.”

The two of you shatter simultaneously. You register all too late the warmth invading your core as Satoru pumps his cum deep inside you.

He’s never come in you before.

Your name is murmured over and over like a prayer against your neck—or maybe it’s a curse. You jolt in overstimulation when he pulls out and bends down to place a kiss against your puffy folds. “So good for me, baby. This perfect pussy belongs to me.”

He kisses you a final time, long and slow. When he pulls away, a languid smile sweeps across his features. “You’re all mine, (Y/n). Even your mind.”

With the use of your innate technique, you’ve dug your own grave for good. Satoru will never let you go now.

After all, infinity is indivisible.

[helaintoloki]

Relenting

pairing: sparrow!ben x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of death, sparrow!ben is an asshole as usual, some fluff if you squint

notes: haven’t posted on this blog in forever but the new teaser brought me back from the dead so here’s this

summary: the world is ending and ben thinks it’s time to enjoy what’s left of it

You swirl the glass of champagne in your hand and watch as the alcohol begins to whirl around the cup. There’s a slight breeze in the air, but it’s warm and strangely comforting despite the current circumstances. The music from inside faintly reaches your ears out on the balcony, and though you feel slightly guilty for missing out on such a momentous occasion for Luther and Sloane, you can’t bring yourself to go back inside. What’s the point? Your time on this earth is limited, dwindling with each second that passes, so why bother trying to act like it isn’t.

An unwelcome presence joins your sulking figure outside, and you don’t even bother to spare him a passing glance. You think you hate him, or at least you want to hate him, but it’s hard to despise the man who shares the face of your long lost love. Blame it on nostalgia or pathetic longing, but there’s still some small part of you that believes he could be just like the boy you knew and loved in your youth, even if he hasn’t shown it at all in the time you’ve gotten to know him.

Finally acknowledging his presence, you take a swig of your champagne before retorting, “Don’t you have to go be an asshole somewhere else?”

“You’re hilarious,” he replies in a deadpan tone, and you don’t have to look at him to see that he’s rolling his eyes in annoyance. You like how easily you get under his skin, and his sarcastic remark prompts the smallest quirk of your lips.

“Yeah?” You reiterate with a small shrug, eager to push his buttons in any way you can. “My Ben used to think so too.”

“Would you shut up about ‘your’ Ben, already? It’s pathetic,” He snaps in irritation, obviously set off by your remarks. “All you do is whine and complain about what a jerk I am instead of realizing I could help you out if you’d just help me.”

“By pretending to be your dead girlfriend? No thanks,” you scoff with a wry laugh before downing the rest of your drink. It burns your throat, but the discomfort is almost soothing in a way. It’s a type of pain you can control and inflict upon yourself out of your own volition. You haven’t been in control of anything since becoming wrapped up in all this apocalypse time travel nonsense, and you grapple for any semblance of it whenever possible.

“It’s not pretending if you technically are her,” the Sparrow insists adamantly, faltering for a moment as he adds under his breath, “albeit a more whiney and uptight version of her.”

He immediately ducks when you chuck your glass in his direction, narrowly missing his head in the process. You wish you had Diego’s precision so you could hit the desired target of his face, but the look of bewilderment on his features is good enough for now. You wordlessly turn to head back inside and rejoin the wedding festivities, because forcing yourself to act like attending wedding at the end of the world is normal is much better than spending another second out here with him, but his firm grip on your wrist halts your movements. If you really wanted to you could break free from his hold, you’re a better fighter than he is and you could easily use your abilities to overpower him, but you make no attempt to do so. The touch is familiar, comforting despite how hard you try to deny it, and you’d like to savor it even if it’s not right.

“The world is ending, and there’s no going back,” he reminds you, the gentleness of his voice almost scaring you. It’s a jarring contrast from the usual sharpness that he speaks to you with, and you’re not sure if it disgusts or comforts you. He sounds like your Ben now, and the realization prompts your breath to hitch in your throat.

“What do you want from me?” You demand with a lack of conviction, your previous confidence dwindling as you morph back into that same scared little girl who once thought she could never survive without the boy she loved.

“I want to spend whatever time I have left on this shit hole with my y/n, even though I know it’s not really her,” the Sparrow relents in defeat as he comes to terms with his fate. “Don’t you want to spend one last night with Ben?”

You remain silent, your lips held together in a firm line and your brows creased in thought as you digest his words. This man is not yours, not even close, but he belonged to another version of you in this timeline, a version that is currently buried six feet underground. This entire time you’ve done your best to fight the urge to give in to him, to let yourself play pretend with the Sparrow and act as if tragedy had never struck the Umbrella Academy. With the world coming to an end, did it really matter now if you finally relented to his pleas? Didn’t you deserve to be happy, too?

Taking your silence as rejection, Ben slowly begins to release his hold on you. However, he’s taken by surprise when you immediately throw yourself into his embrace and pull his face towards you for a kiss. He doesn’t notice the tears that streak down your cheeks or the way your hands tremble as you cup his face; he’s too busy savoring the taste of something that had been taken from his years ago.

As he wraps his arms tighter around your waist, he determines that this time around, he’s not letting go.

[shockercoco]

Like a Snake

Feyd Rautha x reader

Warnings - 18+, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, blood

Word count - 466

a/n - this is something I quickly wrote based on a post I made the other day about expecting Feyd to cut his tongue during his opening scene. Also I haven't written smut in over a month and I feel like I lost my ability to do so bc I struggled lol. I hope you enjoy :)

The other day Feyd had the bright idea to basically slice his tongue in half during a training match. One of his foot soldiers had handed him the wrong blade, causing Feyd to lose his temper. Earlier that day, Feyd had asked you to attend for support – not like he needs it – and you agreed because you had nothing better to do. However if you would’ve known you would be watching blood spill out his mouth you would’ve said no, you were never good with blood.

When you ran up to him, mainly to stop him from killing someone, he had said, “it was either this or his throat.”

Since Feyd wasn’t allowed to talk with his self-inflicted injury, it was kind of freeing not having to listen to his yelling and complaining. You’re sure the staff around the palace were pleased as well. Unfortunately, his injury didn’t prevent him from scowling at people any chance he had. 

Feyd was in a bad mood for the rest of the week, of course because he wasn’t able to talk to you, but also for the selfish reason that he couldn’t eat you out. He wanted to make up for lost time as soon as he was healed, telling you he wanted to try out his new tongue,

When he finally managed to get you on your back, he made a show of showing off his tongue before diving between your legs. You thought that it wouldn’t make you feel any different than any other time he went down on you, but you couldn’t have been more wrong.

He started off with sucking your clit, and you instantly let out a moan when you felt the two sides of his tongue sliding against you. Still, that was nothing compared to when he started to quickly flick his tongue against you like a snake causing your mouth to fall open as you stared up at the ceiling.

When you started squirming around too much Feyd wrapped his arms around your thighs and pressed his hands down on your stomach to keep you in place, but that didn’t stop you from trying. He pushed two fingers inside of you and began to swiftly move in and out when you felt you were drenched enough. The sound of the wet squelching coming from between your legs and the feeling of  his split tongue against your sensitive cunt was more than enough to make you cum.

Feyd let out a laugh when he looked up to see your hands gripping the blankets beneath you as your walls contracted against his fingers.

“That was kind of quick wasn’t it?” he asked with a tilt of his head as your body began to relax. He then smirked and said, “how about we try again?”

[sebscore]

if you feel comfortable doing so, how do you think the grid would react if gzd was going through a rough patch and she’s being like really quiet and in her head?

i’m kinda slipping back into this era and i just need the grids comfort

THIS IS ALL I NEVER WANTED

pairing: lando norris x driver!reader / daniel ricciardo x driver!reader / sebastian vettel x driver!reader / lewis hamilton x sebastian vettel

warnings: reader feels defeated and is ready to give up. swearing. mention of sexism.

author’s note: the comfort fic is finally hear, lmao :) sorry that it took me this long, got caught up with gentle hit, but it’s here now !!

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''That's the car of Y/L that goes into the gravel- another DNF for the young driver.'' Crofty commented as he watched her retire from the fight for the third consecutive race. 

Meanwhile in the car, Y/N's radio was bombarded by her engineer. ''We're so sorry, Y/N. A podium was possible, but we'll keep pushing harder for next time. We'll debrief.'' Marco apologised, frustration and guilt audible in his voice. 

''Understood.'' The indifferent tone came as a surprise to the team and viewers, but it was understandable as the driver hadn't been able to finish a race in over a month. 

The ride back to the paddock was humiliating to say the least. The pitiful looks from fans, the judging eyes of critics and the loud whispers didn't do much to brighten the dark cloud that was her mind. 

Her post-race interviews also weren't a great help to her already declining confidence. 

''It's the third consecutive DNF for you- how are you managing to stay positive and to not lose hope in the car?'' Nathalie asked her, sounding compassionate. 

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. ''Nothing is positive at all,'' she sarcastically chuckled, ''I think I'm doing everything right and then it all goes wrong for some reason.'' 

''I'm working hard with the team, but it doesn't seem like it's paying off at the moment. I'm just very disappointed and I- yeah, well, I hate the car.'' 

The reporter in front of her wasn't used to the visible pessimism of the female driver. Y/N was known for her cheerful and up-beat character, always open for a chat and ready to take on any challenge. That figure seemed to be missing at the moment. 

''I hope it gets better for you, Y/N. You're an amazing driver and I wish you good luck for the next race weekend, thank you so much for talking to us.'' Nathalie rounds up the interview before signalling to her cameraman to stop the filming. 

Y/N was about to leave, but a gentle grab of her wrist stopped her. ''Hey, darling- don't let this get you down, alright? There are many people rooting for you here, me included, and we all want to see you do well. You have incredible talent and we know these lasts results aren't a reflection of that.'' 

The Sky Sports presenter had a soft spot for the young woman ever since her arrival to the paddock. Nathalie has always been amazed by Y/N's ability to shrug off all the sexist remarks and to prove the people that doubt her wrong. 

''Thanks, I appreciate it.'' The soft smile on Y/N's face was a fake one, even a child could spot that. However, her words and gratefulness were genuine and that's all that mattered to Nathalie. 

The driver moved quickly between the different journalists, not in the mood for the long and lovely chats that would have happened had she crossed the chequered flag. ''If one more person reminds me of all the DNF's, I'm going to knock myself out with one of these microphones.'' She mumbled to her team's press officer, making the woman laugh but also look at Y/N with a bit of concern. 

Luckily for her, all the media responsible people must have listened to her prayers and went easy on her- maybe sensing her agitation and worsened mood. She and her press officer moved back to the team's hospitality, where a dreaded team briefing would take place. 

''Obviously these aren't the results that we want. We want wins, podiums and points.'' Her team principal started off the meeting, standing at the head of the table. ''It is clear that changes need to be made, whether that be the car, the strategy or the driver even.'' The eyes of the team shifted from their leader to the young woman staring daggers at him. 

''It's not my fault that the fucking engine blows up or that another drivers decides he wants to play bumper cars.'' Y/N defended herself, not seeing why she should be replaced. 

He shook his head. ''I didn't say it was your fault, but we have to look at all the options and that includes you, Y/N.'' The man clarified, taking a deep breath. 

The woman rolled her eyes, causing Marco to send her a stern look that said ''Please, don't make this harder on yourself.'' She got his sign and sat up straight in her chair, figuring her slumping didn't give off a great impression. 

The briefing continued for another hour, going over all the alternatives they had and all the work they had to do while waiting for the next race weekend. ''Alright- thank you, everyone! Have a great break.'' The team principal dismissed the team. 

Y/N was the first one to get up and leave, debating if she would slam the door, but she didn't want a Kevin x Guenther moment with her boss. 

By the time she was on her way to her hotel, most fans had gone home themselves and the paddock was occupied by crew members cleaning the place up. Y/N had a slow pace while walking, not in any hurry to leave the circuit. 

''You're going back to the hotel?'' A voice behind her spoke up, making the female driver yelp as she didn't expect someone to walk up on her. 

Y/N turned around, Lando looking at her with a grin. ''Did I scare you?'' He laughed, finding amusement in making his friend flinch. 

''You could have been a serial killer for all I know, you idiot.'' She slapped his arm, the tension leaving her body as it was only Lando and not some creep. 

''Only on track.'' He winked. 

The young woman frowned at his action. ''Please, never do that again.'' Her feigned disgust with his wink resulted in a light push from her friend. 

''So… you're going to the hotel now?'' Lando asked her again, not having received an answer yet. 

Y/N nodded. ''Yeah, I could use some sleep before the flight tomorrow.'' 

''You, uh, wanna take a car together to the hotel? You know- that way we're not wasting gas, I guess.'' He nervously asked, mumbling the question almost under his breath. 

''Sure,'' Y/N chuckled, ''Seb will be proud of us.'' 

They decided to take his car as she wasn't in the mood to drive anymore and Lando didn't seem to mind. She was grateful for Lando's company, at least her bad day would end on a good note. 

''Sorry about the race today, I know you could have done more.'' Despite being competitors, they were also great friends and it's not fun seeing your friends have bad results. 

Y/N sighed. ''My team- they're, uh, thinking about replacing me.'' She wanted to get her worries off of her chest and Lando bringing up the race seemed like the perfect oppurtunity for it. 

''What?'' He exclaimed, not anticipating that sentence to come out of her mouth. 

''They say they just have to think about all the changes they could make to get better results, but they've been talking an awful lot about the junior drivers so I'm just preparing myself for it.'' She clarified for him, resting her head against the window. 

Lando let her words sink in. ''They- they can't possibly do that, you're one of the best drivers on the grid.'' It came out louder than he intended, but the thought of one of his best friends not being with him on track anymore upsets him. 

''They can do that,'' she sarcastically chuckled, ''I'm impressed I lasted this long- I just know the FIA will be throwing a party now that they don't have to be feminists anymore.'' 

''What do you mean 'lasted'? You're not going anywhere, we have enough races left where you can show your true skills.'' Lando took his eyes off the road to look her in the eye, perhaps wanting her to see how serious he was. 

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, not wanting to talk about it any further. 

The car stopped in front of a red light. ''Hey,'' Lando put his hand on top of hers, ''I'm being serious. We've been racing against each other for over 10 years now- you're a good driver. You'll probably be a World Champion one day.'' 

''You really mean that?'' Her usual confident demeanour had been traded in for an insecure one, her voice coming out smaller than normal. 

He chuckled, nodding his head. ''Of course, I wouldn't lie to you.'' The gentle way he was looking at her assured her that he was in fact being serious and meant everything he said. 

''Thank you,'' Y/N turned her hand and squeezed Lando's, ''now, shut up and drive me to the hotel!'' She pushed his hand away. ''Enough of this emo shit.'' 

''This is the one time I am being nice to you and you just reject my love.'' 

''Stop being so emotional, Norris.'' 

''There she is!'' Daniel loudly announced as Y/N stepped onto the plane, his hands up in the air. 

She tiredly waved at everyone, exhausted from the lack of sleep she had gotten. The young woman groggily sat down next to her Australian colleague, Michael sitting in front of them. 

Daniel snickered at her disoriented state. ''Good morning to you, mate.'' He greeted her, his infamous bright smile on his face. 

''It's fucking early, what are you so happy about?'' She mumbled, while trying to find a good sleeping position. 

''I'm grateful that I get to live another beautiful day, Y/N! We don't appreciate our existence enough, we need to-''

''I'll be grateful for my life when you shut up and let me sleep.'' She interrupted him, closing her eyes and pulling her hat slightly over her face. 

The McLaren driver opted for another teasing comment, but he could see the obvious exhaustion she had going on and let her be, a light pat on the shoulder working as his way to say ''have a good nap''. 

About an hour later the turbulence of the plane woke her up from her much needed sleep. Y/N took her hat off and noticed Daniel still awake, scrolling on his phone while listening to music through his headphones. 

A soft push against his arm brought his attention from his device to the woman next to him, immediately smiling upon seeing that she's awake. ''Sleepyhead.'' 

The beam on his face slowly changed into a nervous frown, worrying his friend. ''What is it? The reality of life finally settled in?'' Y/N awkwardly said, trying to cheer him up. 

''No, uh, it's just that uhm interview you did with Nathalie yesterday- I watched it.'' He answered, sympathy written all over his face. 

''Oh,'' she sat up straight in her seat, ''well, you know it was just after the race so obviously I was very frustrated. You know how it is.'' The driver tried to come off as nonchalant, failing horribly. 

''Lando told me, Y/N.'' Daniel revealed, wanting her to drop the 'it's not a big deal'-act. 

She sighed. ''Oh, that little snake.'' She muttered under her breath. 

''No, I'm glad that he told me. He said he's never seen you so defeated and the way you were talking to Nathalie- you haven't given up, have you?'' Daniel had seen how her recent race results had affected her, but he wasn't aware how deep her frustrations and insecurities had settled in. 

Her silence to his question was an answer in itself. 

''You've been working your ass off since you were like what? 5-6? You're not gonna throw all of that away just because of 3 bad races, right? That's nothing like you.'' The Australian ranted, baffled over her ruined confidence. 

Y/N glanced outside her window, seeing they were high above the clouds. ''I'm not throwing anything away, it's just… my teams seems to have already made up their mind and are just waiting on the right time to tell me that someone else is taking my place.'' The young woman clarified, her words not helping Daniel's growing worries. 

''They would be fucking idiots to replace you, you know that.'' He sneered, rolling his eyes at the thought of another person driving in her seat. 

She weakly chuckled at his response, not finding much humour in the insult to her bosses. 

Daniel's shoulder gently pushed against hers. ''Hey, maybe you need to talk to Seb or Lewis, they're better at this pep-talk shit than I am.'' He suggested, figuring the two older men might have more of an influence on her. 

Y/N let his words process for a few seconds, considering seeking a listening ear in either of the world champions. ''I- I don't know, Dan. They probably have better things to do.'' 

''Like what?'' 

''I don't fucking know- planting trees, feeding Roscoe, whatever.'' She blurted out, making both of them laugh at the random activities they could be doing. 

''Just think about it, I think you'd feel a lot better after talking to one of them.'' Daniel didn't want to push her, knowing it would have the opposite effect on what he wanted for her. 

A tired smile made its way onto her face. ''I will, thank you.'' 

''Good,'' his face mirrored hers, ''and if they do replace you, they're just like Netflix.'' 

''Like Netflix?'' 

''A bunch of cunts.'' 

''I've never seen her that quiet.'' Sebastian mumbled to the Brit next to him, observing the young woman who sat slumped over in her chair. 

Lewis looked over at her, being as equally bewildered as his German colleague. ''I don't blame her, all the stuff they've been saying about her is awful.'' He whispered back. 

''What do you mean?'' Sebastian frowned. 

The Mercedes driver uncomfortably shifted in his head, leaning more towards his friend. ''People have been saying a lot of shit on social media and those fucking annoying journalists certainly don't help. Also, that interview their team principal did.'' 

Sebastian rolled his eyes at the mention. ''Hanna showed me, that was so out of line. He knows people have been wanting her out since the day she got in- shame on him for making all of that so public.'' 

Her team principal had given a quite lengthy interview over the break between the race weekends, publicising the team's problems and their possible solutions, which included a hint to a potential driver change-up. 

''None of the DNF's were even her fault, it's absolutely ridiculous.'' The slander on her name greatly upset Lewis, aware of the talent she possessed and it made him angry that there was even a chance that she might not be on the grid with them the next year. 

''I know and it has taken such a toll on her, Daniel said he talked to her, but I'm a little worried.'' The Aston Martin driver told Lewis, his puzzled look turning into one of sadness. 

The Brit scratched his voice. ''Maybe you can give her some confidence? You've known her for a long time, I'm sure she'll appreciate it.'' 

Sebastian slowly nodded his head, figuring the World Champion might be right. ''Yeah, I'll talk to her later.'' He confirmed, still watching the obvious daydreaming woman from across the room. 

The driver's briefing went on for about half an hour more, the director seeing the visible boredom on every person's face and calling it a day for everyone. 

Y/N couldn't have been more relieved that the meeting was finally over, wanting nothing more than going back to her own hospitality and figuring out ways to make the car work, and actually finish this time around. 

She was one of the last people to leave the briefing room, only George, Lewis and Sebastian walking behind her. The latter tapping her shoulder. ''Hey, haven't talked to you today.'' 

''Yeah, lots of briefings with the team, you know.'' The younger one responded, giving him a quick glance. 

''How's that going?'' 

The woman remained silent for a few moments, considering how much she should tell her mentor about the current state of her place in the team. ''Uhm, well, it's going… decent, I guess.'' Y/N muttered, trailing off. 

''Decent?'' Sebastian repeated, as if asking ''are you serious?'' 

''There are like a bunch of reporters around us, what do you want me to say?'' She replied, a defensive tone to her voice. 

The German patted her back, sensing her agitation. ''It's okay, let's discuss somewhere private.'' He calmed her down, suggesting a different place to have a conversation. 

''Okay.'' 

They opted for her personal driver's home, that being the closest space where they could talk with just the two of them. Some of her team's staff had given the Aston Martin driver some weird looks while they walked through the hospitality, but he brushed them off. 

The pair sat down on her small couch once they arrived, not much space between them. 

Y/N felt some nerves settling in her stomach as she waited for Seb to start speaking, not knowing what he was going to tell her. 

''I'm just gonna be straightforward,'' he started off, ''you can't continue with this attitude, cause you're only setting yourself up. You are a great driver, Y/N. We all have our off weeks, we're not perfect.'' 

''I understand that this isn't a nice situation to be in. Trust me, this green vegetable that I'm driving isn't doing much better at the moment,'' he chuckled, making her crack a smile, ''but if there's one person that can completely turn their season around, it's you.'' 

Y/N avoided eye-contact with him, not sure how to respond to his kind and encouraging words. ''I appreciate that, Seb. I'm not giving up, it's just… very difficult and people are constantly bringing it up, and making articles and shit- that doesn't help me at all. I'm still gonna do my best, but… yeah- it's just difficult.'' 

''I know it's hard and I've heard the media has been hard on you. That's what they do and they see you as an easier target for clicks and whatnot,'' Sebastian rolled his eyes at his own mention of the media, ''But you're better than believing their words.'' 

''You are a talented driver, you have so much potential. Do you think I would have spent all these years with you if I thought you shouldn't be in F1?'' He asked her, a look on his face that told her he wanted an answer. 

The young woman timidly shook her head. ''No, you wouldn't have done that.'' 

Sebastian smiled at her response. ''See?'' He put his arm around her, pulling her closer into him. ''Whether you believe it or not, you're leading this new generation. You're a decent car away from being a World Champion, you know that right?'' 

''Did you talk to Lando? He also said that.'' Y/N nervously grinned. 

''Just accept the truth!'' The German squeezed her shoulders. ''You've proven that you can do anything. You don't want to let down all those young girls that started karting because of you, right? What message would it send to all of them that their role model quit, because she got bumped off the road or her car simply decided to turn itself off.'' 

''You're right,'' she sighed, admitting to herself she needed to drop the pessimistic attitude, ''I don't just owe it to myself, but also to them.'' 

Sebastian nodded along to her words, letting out a deep breath. ''I'm relieved you're seeing it, I don't like seeing you like this. It's weird not seeing you smile or making fun of the drivers.'' He smirked, patting her shoulder. 

''I guess everyone deserved an off-day, tomorrow I'll start again.'' Y/N grinned, laughing at Sebastian's reminder of her fondness to poke fun at their colleagues. 

The senior driver gave her one last squeeze and stood up from the couch, adjusting his pants. ''No more frowns, alright? You're gonna do great this weekend and you're gonna show everyone why you deserve your seat.'' 

Y/N nodded, more confident than when she first walked back into her driver's room. ''Yes, I'm gonna do my best, Seb.'' 

They bumped their fists as if to solidify it was going to be a great race weekend for them both. 

''And go easy on me tomorrow with the teasing.'' 

''I'd rather be run off the track again then let that happen.''

taglist :: @cl16version @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @alonsogirlie @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123 @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis @champomiel @ooooohmicky @koufaxx @flannelforthetoads

@mysticfalls01 @ghostcorazon @mango-bear @totally-random-person @youkissedareaderinthedark @phoenix-luv @hamilton-mount @calcaneous @aurora-maria @idkiwantchocolatee @anonymous-platypus1

[ay0nha]

An Ode to Ruination | T.S.

SUMMARY: Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callus to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath. 

PAIRING: Tommy Shelby x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.5K

WARNINGS: ANGST, swearing, smoking, drinking, semi-preoccupations with thoughts of death/suicide, mutual pining, meanish tommy because his feelings are hurt, canon-typical things, protective!tommy, rushed ending, etc.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I’m back on my bullshit.  This is inspired by @zodiyack​‘s request/post (here). HAD to get it out of my system, I mean look how pretty he is. This is a mix of Old writing I had to dust off the cob webs for mixed with new stuff, so be kind. Enjoy.

“You’re leaving.”

Tommy’s tone was sterile. It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.  

The cracks behind his exterior were so deeply concealed you hadn’t thought anything could slip between. Yet, standing before him, your decision was the ice-pick that’s pressure had shattered him.

“Ada told you?” You hummed with formality; his presence clearly a response to the question. “London will treat me well.”

Tommy tracked your movements. You envied how he filled the space better than you. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his presence. Regardless, you felt like a guest in your own home. You felt caught, exposed.

The air was thick, causing Tommy’s deep breaths hard to hide behind a crackling record that you had on a continual loop, never able to stand too much silence. Your bags were organized beside the door for the morning, causing your heart to echo against the empty walls.

There was an odd sense of pride you felt with his presence. It confirmed the distant admiration that Tommy held for years. That the shared affection wasn’t something fabricated but complex. You respected his drive, but your desires fell elsewhere. He carved space for you despite your protests, but you could never be the one to fill it—you could never be his.

“A better life, eh?” Tommy mocked you, cigarette rolling over his lips with habit. “Fucks sake.” The confidence in his demeanor faltered. But he regained it quickly with a bitter laugh, “...I’ve given you everything, and here you are asking for more.”

With an instinct to comfort him, you wanted to reach for him. It spoke of your ability to read him and how exhausting it had become to interpret. He would miss you.

“Tommy—” You began. The calmness in your voice was deceiving. You could see it in his face, how expectant he was for you to tell him you’d stay. “—I’m not safe with you.” You paused, letting your admission sink in just as harshly as his words had, “I’m going to London.”

—

The bliss was idyllic.

Your wrist balanced on the windowsill as you lazily tapped the ash of your cigarette. The cool air caressed your arm and gave you goosebumps that reminded you that you were still alive. Human. Your senses were perked. The city outside kept you attentive as your head rested back. The day was long, but hearing the taxis carrying bubbling people made it worth it. You imagined how some were on their way to find warmth in their home while others were dressed for an endless night of laughter.  

The living room was empty and quiet. You could no longer hear Ada’s shuffling feet above you, ushering both her and Karl to sleep. It was odd that you found such freedom with them. Protection of sorts that you could rely on as a necessary stepping stone. It caused a headache to form at the back of your head, reminding you of your lack of sleep.

Privilege came with the name associated that made your stomach churn.  It was simple to push Tommy into a subconscious level. The task became daunting; an ache emerged from so deep within that it took months to realize from the start he was responsible.   It was as though you could feel how his eyes were still on you.

It became a habit to remind yourself of your newfound safety. The distance created life: happiness and tranquility. You traded bloody nights for bedtime stories, sewing razor-filled caps for gin-filled gatherings, and Tommy’s scarcity of communication for peaceful nights like tonight.

A disruption was overdue. You answered the phone after the third ring.

“Ada?” The voice was unmistakable, even if it was whiskey drenched. It took him a beat to realize you were on the other end. “... ’m callin’ for Ada.”

Chewing on your lip, you debated silence and pretended like the call had never begun. But that incessant ache begged to be relieved.

“I can wake her.” Your voice was soft, promising something you were unwilling to do. It was nicety that filled the quietness you were met with.

“I—uh—” Tommy sighed deeply. The words were lost, jumbled behind an always racing mind. You could picture him well; his crisp shirt no longer having life as it was rolled up by anxiety, his tie no longer present, but still suffocating him, and everything around him reflecting how he moved with an intemperate haze. “—I’m drowning—”

“Tommy…” You refused to burst, but his name on your tongue tattered between warning and heartbreak. When he drank, he opened up to you, a foolish cycle. “Let me get Ada…”

The dark chuckle on the other end forced you to press yourself closer to the phone. “Sometimes, I wish I were dead so you'd think of me.”

A frown perked your lips. You were made out to be more heartless than the most heartless man you knew. It was a naive guilt trip that you almost slipped on. “Be fair to me, Tommy.”

There was a crackle on the other end, a cigarette lit purely by regret. The drag was long, trying to pull something thoughtful from a blurred mind. The reports he received from those he paid off weren’t enough.  You were thriving with his absence, seen with a mix of people who, even acquaintances, valued you better. It elicited resentful envy. However, out of arms reach, you worried Tommy endlessly. The London associates sought blood, no matter who provided it. The paranoia was ruining him, and no answer could reassure him.

“You a communist yet?” Tommy cleared his throat with a vulnerability that was only reserved for this night. Maybe, you thought, it was an effort on his part.

“Almost…” The teasing comforted a dodged homesickness. “Think my card got lost in the post.”

“Shame.” He tutted with a gentle wit. There was a tender sadness he carried with him. It was almost as volatile as his anger. It was easy to blame it on the war, but it had latched onto him long before, never planning to let go.

You imagined how his exhaustion mapped along his body. His body probably mirrored your own; head back, limbs weakly sprawled, heavy-lidded eyes imagining the other beside each other, and a mutual worry that bounced between you.

“I am happy, Tommy…” Your promise was delayed, hardly believable. “Ada and I do miss everyone.”

I miss you.

Tommy hummed, “...have a funny way of showin’ that.”

“You haven’t seen our smoke signals?”

The laugh you were met with was small, light, and barely there, but it rushed through your limbs and heated your chest. You had a moment to catch your breath and slow your heart rate. Tommy was addicting. Chronic. His aura was intimidating. He was callous to those close to him. And yet, there was that desire to sink below that murky water—drown in him entirely when his want was so clear in his breath.  

—

You knew Tommy would be there. For Ada—you reminded yourself. Yet, seeing him so closely caused your heart to lurch, your blood leaving your extremities with such fascination that you became light-headed.

“Drink.” Ada all but scolded you, crystal pushed into your hand. The instruction was welcomed, but it wasn’t enough to settle you. “Otherwise, you’ll clam up if Tommy bothers to find us.”

Tommy worked the crowd well. It was a feigned charm that he played into only for advantage. Although he claimed to be here for family, business always loomed. Ada hadn’t cared either way, the glitz far too intriguing to question his sudden presence in the city.

“Give him time…” Ada spoke openly to the air, her night’s indulgence tracing her words. “...always time with that one—wastes it, and yet, expects you to be there when he hollers. Does your head in, it does…”

The champagne bubbled down your throat. The night was meant to be celebratory, but you’d be lying if you said you knew why. It was a part of your distinction from the Shelby family that you questioned if ignorance truly brought you bliss.

“Surprised he came himself. Thomas Shelby in the flesh,” Ada continued with ease, mocking her brother. “Surprised he even lifted a pinky. Typically one of his goons—” She looked to you, her revelation cutting her off. “You do understand what you do to him, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to.” Your words were sharp. Your eyes filtered the crowd for the gloved waiter to replace your glass. “There’s nothing that I—I’ve put all that behind me.”

“That?” She pressed with practiced bits of patience. Ada’s smile grew comically. The shy glancing took years to turn into full sentences and Ada knew firsthand how to read her brother, and the way he lingered spoke volumes. He was past smitten.

It was all or nothing; you were it.

You were grateful how her attention shifted to her own relationship. You never tired of hearing how Freddie treated her and loved her since they were children. There was somberness in her eyes, but devotion carried in her words. You saw how she carried him with her; certain mannerisms mirrored not only in her but Karl. Love withstood.

There was a point in your life you believed you’d find something similar. You hadn’t faulted your growing mind; it was natural to romanticism your future at such a young age. Those around you promised there was something fruitful to look forward to. However, life proved difficult; men remained boys, and the only person that you regarded stalked toward you as if you were nothing more than a stranger.

“Ada.” Tommy approached his sister as if she were alone. He’d visited her in the city multiple times but never once shared the air with you. “Enjoying yourself tonight, eh?”

“Mothers can still have fun.” She teased him with a peck on the cheek. Even in her state, she ridiculed her brother’s behavior. With a shoulder pushed against his, Ada encouraged Tommy to acknowledge you. “Have you no manners?”

To others, his expression may have appeared vacant. However, Tommy wrestled with himself, unsure how to maneuver in uncharted territory. Stalling, his eyes danced the crowd as he languidly out his matches and carton. It denoted how natural his icy illusion became, and now he seemed able to practice it on you. Once he landed on you, you realized why he struggled to meet your eyes. It was his only form of self-defense.

“London suits you.” Tommy nodded, his greeting muffled through the newly lit cigarette. The small rush it gave him was enough to stay vigilant.

“It has its moments.”  Your chest perked from the attention and chill, but Tommy’s eyes never faltered from your own. You were daring him to take your body in. It was the sole reason you chose a dress that cut low both front and back.

Tommy was never a blind man.

Nor was his sister. Ada excused herself, claiming whatever ‘this’ was, she wanted no part. You are no fun, she said. However, you weren’t sure who it was directed to. You held back from following her, but your shoulders remained open; you wouldn’t fold into yourself.

“I didn’t know communists could have fun…” Tommy mumbled to himself, eyes going to the crowd once more. Ada’s self-imposed isolation rippled through the family, only fracturing the stress of everyone’s well-being.

A scoff bubbled in your throat, “And what do you know about pleasure?”

“Pleasure?” Tommy became focused and pointed with his words. “Pleasure doesn’t exist.”

Eyebrows cinching with frustration, you stepped closer to be heard, “Don’t pretend like your pleasures don’t have names.”

That drunken call all those nights ago was a mistake. It showed you insight into a dream. In that dream, Tommy was free of what haunted him, light and present. Faithful. There his voice wrapped you in warmth with fulfilled promises. You never were as skilled at hiding your emotions. Your heart was broken on your sleeve.

“I’m going to—

There wasn’t a need for a protective air as those around Tommy knew never to challenge him. However, far and few between, there were those men self-entitled with such idiocy; they couldn’t recognize they were prey.

“Thomas Shelby. Birmingham man in London.” A hand clapped down on his shoulder, breaking the forming bubble around you. “Thought that was you! This must be the missus…”

“Not quite.” Your tone was bare, your hand extending with trained expertise. You could handle pleasantries. But the man was bold, leaving a damp kiss on your knuckles as if marking you.

Tommy was subtle, moving his body to act as a buffer. Fingertips brushy feather-bare against your lower back. You thought it would end there but held back a flinch when Tommy’s warm palm flattened where your back curved.

“Ah, understood!” The man replied with a boisterous cackle. It reflected years of unfiltered nicotine and a wet and sick penchant for bourbon. “I’ll have one of you warm my bed once all of this shit is over.”

You pinned your breath to the roof of your mouth. Your loss for words wasn’t due to the ill-mannered man. It was from the brush of Tommy’s thumb against your skin. It was a comfort and an apology for how he would have to agree with the man to keep him at bay.

It was all a part of the plan you were slowly catching onto.

“A good lay is a good lay, isn’t it, Mr. Shelby?” The man prompted again, a gauge to know if the future alliance would be worth it.

“Exactly right.”

You could storm off, cause a scene. Your anger steeped deeper than that. It lived in your bones, morphing into something vindictive. You stayed the course and played your part willingly. The morals you lectured Tommy on didn’t matter anymore when all along he had the upper hand.

To the man, you were a plaything, someone who the conversation held no standing. The information would be forgotten, implied confidentiality,   as you’d move on to your next client. However, the further you orchestrated the conversation to continue, the more you learned.

The night was a business move, another party dosed in secrets and danger. You took in the man’s features, noting how he was aging, greys just starting to filter through his scalp. Your stomach turned, knowing there would be a bullet between his eyes by the end of the evening. The interaction was a courtesy.

Once alone again, you didn’t hesitate to move from Tommy’s shield. You felt dirtied.

“I can’t believe you.” You spat. “You’re incapable of—

“Enough.” Tommy’s words were low. He pinned you with a look alone, keeping you steady. “You want to run from me, but you can’t.” You battled with him until you lost. His face hardened like you were another associate. “It was him or you.”

[ghostfacesvalentine]

HALLOWEEN DAY 29: Lightweight - Dr Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dr. Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Drinking, reader is slightly drunk, mentions of medication/prescriptions. Nothing crazy or graphic.

Type: One shot

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Halloween night at the club with Dr. Reid. The team goes and after the reader can’t handle themselves, Spencer makes sure they get home safely and eventually they confess their love for each other!

Notes: This has been in my drafts and I had to dust it off. I’ve wanted to post this for so long, maybe I should’ve finished it better or prolonged it? I was in the mood for fluff and here it is! I <3 Dr Reid 4 evaaa

The lights were flashing at all sorts of rates, all reflecting off the crowds movements. Colors overwhelmed the scene, different accessories poked and dropped to the floor as the movement remained constant. It wasn’t much of Dr. Reids ideal atmosphere, but you dragged him here.

You absolutely loved Halloween and wanted nothing more than to join the contests that would be held at the club downtown tonight.

Both Emily and Penelope thought it to be a fantastic idea, after pleading Reid to go with you three, your magic seemed to work. Now here you were, with a drink in hand, swaying from a distance as the remixed versions of well known songs infiltrated the speakers.

Spencer followed you around like a lost puppy, always close to you with his own drink being held against his chest. He was stiff as a board, watching the crowd when Penelope and Emily swayed around to the beat of the song, laughing and drinking their night away in cheesy but fierce costumes.

It was incredibly rare to have a moment like this without them being called away for a case, so you knew to enjoy it to the best of your ability.

Your hips bumped against Spencers when you noticed he seemed to be lost in thought. “Come on Reid, loosen up.” You groaned as your lips found their way to your straw, looking up to Spencer through your eyelashes.

His body language screamed uncomfortable and a part of you felt some remorse for insisting he should come with you. Your smile dropped when he looked away from you, turning around to put your drink down, you placed your hand on his shoulder in order to bring his ear down to your level “We don’t have to stay Spencer, we can go-”

Spencer pulled away from your grip to shake his head and look back to you “I’m perfectly fine, the music- I just don’t dance.”

Your eyes stayed on him, eyebrows forming a frown of concern for him. Wandering your gaze elsewhere, you noticed a group of girls, shooting their glances in your direction and you were more than certain they weren’t staring at you. A smirk drew across your face, after a few seconds, you bumped your elbow against Spencer and pointed your drink in their direction.

“I think they want to talk to you tiger.” You teased, your eyes looked to Spencer as he frowned. Anyone would be ecstatic to get the attention of a group of attractive women, but Spencer just seemed confused. “Come on Spence- we don’t get to have fun so often, I’m sure they don’t bite.”

“How are you sure? At least two of them have claws.” Spencer half joked back, which earned a chuckle from you. “Come on.” You grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards the groups direction. A smile was plastered across your face as you met up. “Hi, this is my friend Spencer, he has a few magic tricks he’d like to show you.” You hollered over the music to the group as you let go of his wrist then began to fade back into the crowd and towards your table.

A satisfied grin came across your lips when you noticed the wows and claps coming from where you left your coworker. Hugging yourself as you leaned back against the table, you looked back over to your other two friends who still continued to dance. A part of you wondered where they had this energy, you were exhausted, but you thought you’d have to sell your soul to have night off on Halloween night.

You reached up towards your head making sure your clip-on cow ears remained on your head. It was a last minute costume, easy to put together, cute as a button.

It seemed loneliness hit you harder than you would’ve thought and earlier than you expected. “Not tonight” You thought to yourself as you left the glasses at your table and made your way to Penelope. “Hey! Finally you join us?” She shouted as she continued her movements.

“Where did you leave Reid?” Emily looked around for any sign of him. only to have you shout back “With company!” Meeting each other with smiles, you continued to dance along in your small triangle. Reaching for Garcias hand, you held it as you continued your movements, not caring if it was at a rhythm or not, you were buzzed and having the best night in months.

Eventually the music would slow down, still sensual and loud, the bounce of the bass filled up the room, but the crowd would disperse to other bars or to refresh themselves. You decided upon one last song when Emily made her way to get you three another drink. The string of the bass was low and the vibrations rang through your ears, you were surely feeling the buzz a little bit more when a hand came to wrap around your wrist.

“Do you want me crawling back to you” The speakers sang at the touch of the other, your eyes looked to the hand, then up to connect it with a familiar face, “It’s time to go.” Emily smiled to you, surely sorry to interrupt your moment but also since she wouldn’t want any of you to leave alone tonight, not while the unsolved cases were being waited on for any other leads. Meanwhile she had to ensure you were all safe.

You ran your hand through your hair as you took the last drink of the night into your hands. “Y/n” You heard through the rumbling of the speakers as they picked up again on the beats. Looking around, you noticed another familiar face. “I’ll walk you to the cab.” A hand latched onto your wrist again, this time firmer, keeping you from bringing the drink up to your lips again.

Nodding slowly, as your eyes tried to connect to Spencers. You allowed him to take the glass from your hands and set it down on a table. He seemed worried about you, not letting you go from his grip. “I’ll make sure she gets home I promise.” You heard him from afar, a wave of sadness came over you.

Not again.

You were a lightweight, it was shameful to you, but you could never keep up with any of the team, two drinks and you were already questioning what you were seeing and where. Not to mention your orientation, never being able to clearly identify where you were headed exactly.

Instead, you leaned into the familiar hold beside you, comforted by it really. “Spence- you don’t have to. Really.” You protested as he lead you out into the front entrance of the club and down the sidewalk away from the line and crowd. Your brows forming a frown as you depended on his grasp as you walked, the alcohol was certainly kicking in again. Everything slowed around you, spun for a moment.

Thankfully Spencer cut you off before you could be unaware of your surroundings. “Don’t be silly, I want to make sure you’re home.” Your heart seemed to flutter when he assured his intentions. “Spence- w-what about the girls you were talking to?” You pouted as you tried to steady your steps along with him as you walked further down the street.

“I’ll come back to them.” He murmured as he tried to help you walk without making your intoxication too obvious. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, but you laughed, leaning into him your eyes seemed to hide as the walk continued for what seemed like an eternity.

“Y/n” You heard Spencer whisper out as he noticed your drowsiness. “Did you take your medicine before we came here?” He stopped you near one of the windows of the businesses you were walking past, away from the walking area. Holding you with both hands on either sides of your arms trying to meet your eyes.

“Shit.” You whined out when you looked down to his legs. You sure did, when you weren’t supposed to, not when you were going to drink anyway. “I’m an idiot.” You whimpered out to Spencer as you leaned your back against the glass.

“It’s okay, we just need to get you to bed, soon preferably.” Spencer held you up, hooking an arm under yours and wrapping around your back gripping you against his side as he took out his phone to call for a ride.

“We’ll be home soon.” Spencer soothed you as your feet seemed to give up on the heels you were wearing. Your purse dropped from your shoulder to your arm, trying your best to keep it on your person, Spencer laughed a little at your drowsiness. “It’s not funny Spencer.” You complained as a small laugh escaped your lips as he tried to keep you up with him, “It’s a little bit funny.” Spencer teased as he took his coat off to wrap around your bare shoulders,

“But my costume-” You whimpered as you looked down again to your uneven stance. “It’s still your costume, you’re just- a cold cow.” He snorted out as you wobbled slightly. Turning back to see the car pull over to the edge of the sidewalk for you both, Spencer lead you towards the door, opening it for you and letting you slide into the seat first, following after you.

The whole ride you just leaned over against his shoulder as Spencer instructed the directions. You were drifting in and out of sleep, making yourself comfortable on him. Sure you were intoxicated and in a way, drugged, under the influence but that didn’t cloud your vision on Dr. Reid.

He was such a lifesaver, well, obviously he was, he had saved countless lives and prevented many other tragedies along with his team but what would have you done without him tonight?

Emily and Penelope might’ve noticed a little too late, the guilt would’ve been everlasting. How did Spencer realize? He was busy, wasn’t he? Either way, you were more than glad he did. Your eyes focused on his hands, trying to ease your breathing as the ride continued.

Your sober brain would’ve never had the courage to initiate anything, but his hands looked so inviting. Even leaning your head against his shoulder was terribly comfortable, more than you’d like to admit.

Mindlessly, your hand reached to grab his fiddling one. This was a big no-no with Spencer, especially after a night at the club. He seemed shocked at first, stiffened, but you were half there anyway to acknowledge anything that may lead to your eternal embarrassment.

But your eyes stayed on his hands as he let your hand intervene. It was an innocent moment, but for the first time, you seemed to find comfort in him more than usual.

It was common for you to look for any sort of comfort in anyone you grew close to and this time it was the team that fell victim to it. Spencer being part of it, but tonight, you seemed to want to display any sort of affection towards him.

Spencer squeezed your hand as you began to reach your destination, you looked up to see your familiar street. The joy you felt couldn’t possibly be put into words. You watched as Spencer tipped the driver, thanking him as he opened the car door, helping you out and onto the sidewalk.

Though you were only a few steps away, you just couldn’t handle anymore steps in those heels. Reaching down to unbuckle them, you gripped yourself against him as you loosened them up. Spencer looked down to you, holding you in return as he watched you unstrap your platforms. He knew they must’ve been killing your feet, but before you could step on the pavement, he took the liberty to pick you up, “Grab your shoes.” He whispered as he hoisted you up bridal style up towards the entrance of your house.

“I don’t want you to get sick. If you can avoid walking around barefoot, it’s best to.” He explained as he walked. You were sure if you weren’t flustered before, you surely were now. Looking towards your knees as he led you to a stop, after a brief moment, you came to a realization- keys.

Rummaging through your purse you found them, doing your best to unlock the entrance as you were being held by Spencer. This all felt like a fever dream and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

Letting you push the door open, he stepped into your home, letting you down to your feet then closing the door behind you. “Why don’t you wash up tonight? You’ll sleep so much better.” Spencer advised as he made sure you were able to stand, but you simply stood there before him.

He looked so handsome, with tousled wavy hair, unbuttoned shirt, and loosened tie. Spencer went as Patrick Batman, but the hair product seemed to wear off halfway through the night, just as your costume was disheveled by the time you made it home.

Spencer frowned to you as you stared up to him in a daze, looking to your lips quickly then back up to your eyes when he realized what he did. A small sigh escaped your lips, you never thought about Spencer like this, why tonight? Not only did his touch seemed so inviting, but his affection did too. You wanted nothing more than to kiss him in this moment.

Your eyes stayed on him for a moment, neither of you said anything, instead just stood at your entrance in silence, just staring at each other. “What is it Y/N”

“How did you notice?” You wondered out loud, earning a confused gaze from the man. “That I was at my limit. How did you notice? You had your back turned, you were far away.” You continued as Spencer broke off the gaze and looked to the rug in front of your staircase. “Spencer.” You pleaded as he wouldn’t look at you for a moment.

He sighed and then looked back to you, pursing his bottom lip as his eyes met yours. “I talked to those girls you walked me over to.” He started, looking to you in defeat when he realized that wouldn’t be enough for you.

“And?” You continued as he stood still before you. “And I showed them a few magic tricks, because you told them about it.. but”

You stood there patiently, forgetting about the costume you had on, cow bell wrapped tightly around your neck, none of your accessories short of presence for the first couple of minutes you’ve made it in at home.

“I just came back to look at you.”

Your stomach was surely doing flips at this moment. For the first time you were left speechless for a moment. You frowned as you kept your eyes on him. “What do you mean Spence?”

“Y/n. I don’t want to talk to anyone at a club, I think it’s great that the rest of you do and you have fun. But I only went because of you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Thank you Spencer, I really appreciate it, but I’m also a part of the team and I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” You protested as you leaned back, slightly taking offense to the comment coming from him.

“It’s not that you can’t take care of yourself, I know you are. But, I don’t know. I can’t help it. I don’t know what I’d do with myself if I let anything happen to you.”

There was a slight frustration coming from Spencer when you seemed to not catch on to what he was saying. You looked to him cluelessly and in desperation to want to understand.

“Y/n. I care about you. I feel better around you. I don’t know how to really explain it any other way than to say I really like you.”

You stood there in shock, almost sobered up by the sound of his words. You were sure your eyes were like saucers, even in your state you could still tell that Spencer was nervous as could be at his confession. He ached for any response but you just stood there for what seemed like hours.

“I really like you too Spence” you admitted, both awkward, in costumes and a little buzzed. It seemed like relief washed over his face for a second. Spencer looked down exhaling a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in.

“Would it be wrong to ask you to stay a little longer? If you’re not doing anything-“ you wondered out loud to break the prolonged silence.

“What? No yeah of course. I can stay.”

[authorred]

Astarion headcanons because it's been too long and I love this man | Astarion x GN!Reader

Preface: Astarion, as complex as he tries to make himself out to be, is really a simple vampire. There are many ways to make him yours, and all of them don't require rocket science.

THIS MAN DESERVES THE WORLD--also it has been like 8 months since I last posted but shhhh

Warning(s): None

Don't talk about his bite mark scars much, if at all. It doesn't necessarily bother him, but he'd rather not talk about it

If you're an artist of some kind and you draw him, he'll try to brush it off by acting grandeur and arrogant, but internally he'll be twirling his hair and blushing

If you draw what you believe he looked like before being turned he won't react the same way, but he'll stare at it (maybe to try to remember?)

It's no secret that Astarion has sexual trauma. I don't think he'd do well with hypersexuality or someone who wants sex a lot

I don't think he'd mind you being sexually attracted to him--he wouldn't blame you smh--it's not a deal breaker for him

Personally, I think he'd do better if any sexual attraction came second

Like he's said, he needs time to do anything intimate. Not that he'd never do it again, but every time he did it in the past it was for an ulterior motive (or against his will)

He needs a friend first, partner second

Show him he's worth more than his seduction and body

Moonlit night dates

Massage his ears when he sleeps on you

Kiss his wrinkles and laugh lines--softly, chastely

Handle him gently

Do not even think about adding a third to your friendship/relationship. Astarion has most likely never had someone to himself, that would definitely make him feel unworthy/not good enough

Making him slightly jealous might be okay but tell him you find it cute when he's slightly jealous, and you appreciate it. Assure him that it's okay.

After having his guard up for so long it's natural he'll feel uncomfortable being vulnerable--assure him

Assure him a lot. Tell him his feelings are valid and that he's not wrong for feeling x

When he loves you, he loves you wholly. Any sexual feelings he has will come way down the line

When they do, go so slowly. You cannot be impatient, otherwise he'll shirk away, and the relationship will change

I think Astarion would flourish better in a majority nonsexual relationship (sorry x, he's sexy af but his lore and boundaries are more important than his rail-ability)

Compliment him a lot--not anything superficial--compliment him. Compliment him like how you'd want to be complimented by someone you love

If you can, write him poems

If you're going to inevitably die before Astarion; when you start to age he won't love you less--he'll love you more

Your health will always come before his

If you're sick he'll take care of you for the most part

If you're in danger, even if you can handle yourself, your survival is always number 1 to him

Will sacrifice himself for you

Won't accept the opposite, but knows he can't stop you if you did

Would be devastated if you died for him

Genuinely would never get over it

I don't think he'd want to get married in the traditional sense but he would 100% want to do something to prove his commitment

FLOWER CROWN MAKE THIS MAN A FLOWER CROWN

Please just be so patient with him

Don't treat him like fragile glass, but don't be rough with him either

PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS

Hug him a lot. He needs it

[emeritusemeritus]

Spellbound [Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader]

Title: Spellbound.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Ravenclaw!Reader

Timeline: Non-specified, no mention of canonical events but I pictured OOTP as I was writing.

Summary: Sick of how his twin’s devastating crush on you is affecting his Quidditch abilities, George takes matters into his own hands and meddles.

Warnings: Use of a love potion, essentially dubious consent. Pining, crushes, probably minor swearing. Fred’s a love sick puppy. Questionable morality on George’s behalf. Not beta read.

Word count: 2.7k

This was inspired by a lovely Anon request I was sent, original post here. I hope this is what you were looking for, I enjoyed working on this so much! 💙

George Weasley was one half of the infamously disruptive Weasley twins; usually mentioned second and hardly able to be distinguished from his slightly older twin to those that didn't really know him. To those that did, his identifying qualities included being slightly quieter, more patient, more understanding and perhaps more moral... sometimes. Though it was never said aloud, he was the slightly better Quidditch player with a slightly better aim and was arguably more passionate about the game than his twin. He had more focus at least, which was never more obvious than during this season of Quidditch when Fred had been mightily distracted through most of the games, missing bludgers an amateur could have hit and earning more fouls in one season than he had in his entire time on the team. His reason? He had a crush. An almighty crush on you which made him distracted, inattentive, sometimes irritable and almost constantly mopey.

George was perceptive by nature and had picked up on his brother's infatuation not long after it began, noticing that Fred's attention was often pulled away as soon as you'd walk into the great hall or class. Didn't matter that they were in the middle of a conversation or a tactful sale, in you'd walk and out would go Fred's sanity. George couldn't deny that you were pretty, you'd turned his head a few times, not that he'd ever admit that to his brother, but the affect you had on Fred was almost laughable. He was certain he'd seen his brother drool once over you, the hearts in his love-stricken puppy eyes almost making George want to laugh and vomit at the same time.

When he wasn't pining for you in ways George could hardly fathom, Fred was often touchy and sulky at the unrequited nature of his crush. If he saw another bloke talking to you or making you laugh, he'd be insufferable for the rest of the day, shooting daggers at the culprit and threatening under his breath to set off a dung bomb in the unsuspecting lad's dorm.

To make matters worse, you'd started attending Quidditch games regularly when Ron made Keeper in support of your friend and also as support for Hermione so that she wouldn't have to sit alone with her two best friends on the pitch, despite being a Ravenclaw. Many people went to support their friends and as long as they weren’t competing against your house you figured it was fair game to support them. You'd also infrequently started attending practice sessions with Hermione, sitting in the stands or on the side lines where you would spend most of the time studying or drawing. It was a double edged sword for the team if you showed up or not; if you didn't, Fred would mope about and keep checking that you hadn't arrived late during the entire time on the pitch. If you did show, he'd spend the time trying to impress you with comical dives on his broom, outlandish tricks and almost everything exactly fulfilling his actual role to get your attention.

So George came up with a plan. One night when they were restocking the skiving snack boxes and checking on their slow-brewing potions, he'd come up with a plan that was admittedly a little immoral but should surely work. Tensions had risen between the twins after Fred had received another avoidable foul causing them to nearly lose the match and George had walked out of the changing rooms in a huff to start on the restocking, not wanting to hear Fred waxing poetic about how fit you looked in your jumper or how loudly you were cheering for him the few times during the match he'd actually played well.

George was sick of listening to it and it pushed him to a point when his plan seemed to be the only choice.

The next morning George had woken Fred early, dragging his half asleep twin out of bed to get to the Great Hall bright and early, the older of the two still dishevelled from sleep and rubbing his eyes, grumpy to boot.

"Don't see why you're dragging me down at this time, not like they'll run out of food," Fred complained grumpily as he tried to fall into step with George who seemed to be walking at a faster than normal pace down the staircases. About halfway down the staircases, Fred noticed that his jumper was back to front and had fixed it with a huff and a yawn, battling the wool over his wide shoulders.

"Told you, I'm starving," George replied vaguely with a shrug, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he turned away from Fred to conceal it.

They took a seat at the table and once again Fred complained as he saw hardly anyone up yet except for a few Ravenclaws huddled together on the other side, talking in hushed but excited whispers. Fred begrudgingly accepted a glass of pumpkin juice from George and simply looked at the few slices of toast in front of him, his stomach still asleep. So consumed by his tiredness he didn't even notice that George hadn't taken a bite of any food even after five minutes, despite his prior claims of being starving. Fred sat in a gloomy slump at the table, head in his hands and staring down at the table, if his eyes were open at all whereas George kept his eyes trained on the open door in a much more jovial mood.

"Morning," your voice rang out quietly but pleasantly. George had to physically place his hand over his mouth to conceal the laughter that was threatening to burst out of him watching Fred's reaction to your voice. It was like he'd been electrocuted or at least unknowingly stunned as his head shot up, elbow banging on the table as it slid off the edge of the wooden table as his head whipped up to look at your face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," you said with a timid smile and a little laugh before taking a seat beside George. You’d usually sit with the other Ravenclaws but as it was so quiet this morning you figured you would sit with the twins.

"You're up early," George says with a smile, offering you the jug of pumpkin juice, which you gladly accepted. Fred had said nothing but his pink cheeks were talking all by themselves, though you didn't seem to notice.

"Wanted to take a long walk around the grounds this morning," you reply after taking a sip of the juice that George had poured for you. "I've been trying to do more exercise lately... it's always so pretty in autumn so it's not as horrible getting up early."

"Why?" Fred says, finally speaking. He regrets it the instant your eyes fall upon him, realising that the word had tumbled out of his mouth before he could even think, his tone a little sharp and defensive, as if it was an unnatural thing to do. "I meant, about the exercise."

"Oh, well I guess it's good for my head," you explained, placing down your cup. "And the waist line, I feel like I put on a stone every term with how good the food is." George chuckles along, finally helping himself to the breakfast food in front of him but you notice that Fred hardly reacts.

"I know what you mean, if it wasn't for Quidditch I'd probably be the size of a troll."

Your laugh renders Fred even more speechless than he already was, so much so that he'd accepted his fate as forever mute at this point.

"Well thank Godric for Quidditch," you say with a smile. Fred doesn't miss the way your gaze suddenly flashes over him, most notably his arms as he lifts the cup to his lips, making him choke into his juice. It was the first time he'd ever noticed your gaze slip over him so obviously.

"Must be tough being a beater, those bludgers must be really heavy," you say, your gaze hardly moving from Fred's arms, up and across his shoulders before slipping down again. He couldn't believe you were looking at him like this, especially when your eyes travelled up to his face and you caught his eyes. You didn't look embarrassed or look away, simply gave him a playful smile before addressing his twin again as he replied to you. Fred was dreaming, he must be.

But the attention didn't stop. Fred didn't know what had changed that morning but he started noticing little things like how you'd catch his eye when you walked into a room, like you were seeking him out, or if he gazed over at you it was only time before you would look in his direction too. He no longer had to pretend that you were cheering the loudest for him at Quidditch matches because you actually were, and noticeably so. You still attended practice sessions infrequently but you no longer kept your head down and in your books, now you were actually watching the team practice, though it appeared you were really only concerned by one half of the beater duo.

George's plan had worked. Fred was in a good mood more consistently, played better during Quidditch as he was actually focused on the game and no longer trying to get your attention as he already had it. Sure he was still grouchy if another male approached you but he didn't feel quite as bad about it when you would seek him out mid conversation, as if you wished it to be him instead.

"I'm gonna ask her out," Fred says one night as they enter their dorm, throwing off his big jumper and leaving it on a pile on the floor beside his bed.

"Maybe you should wait until after this season mate, only two more matches to go if we carry on playing well," George says delicately, taking off his own jumper but instead choosing to fold it onto the chair beside his bed unlike his sloppy twin. He watches as Fred's face scrunches up in displeasure at his words but he doesn't immediately question them, taking time to think about it.

"Yeah maybe," Fred says eventually, reaching don under his bed to pull out the large tray of stock they had stashed, mainly the slicing snack box stuff.

The two of them restocked and replenished the stock they had on hand for a while, completely ignoring all homework before they slipped down to the common room later that night.

"Gonna check the potions," George whispers in Fred's ear before slipping off, leaving him with Lee in the common room.

If Fred noticed anything off about George when he gets back, he doesn’t mention it. But George can feel it, the sense of dread and guilt, exactly what he didn’t want to happen was coming to fruition. He realised then that he’d have to break it to Fred, admit what he’d done.

“You coming mate?” Fred asks, grabbing his quidditch stuff ready to head to the pitch but pauses when he sees George sat on his bed, not making an effort to move. He looks sad, distressed even.

“What’s up? You didn’t eat all those Bertie boys did you?”

“Fred,” George says quietly, eyes slowly rising up until he’s looking into the all too familiar eyes of his twin. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

For the first time in history, Fred and George Weasley weren’t speaking. It was their first proper fall out, first argument and the first time in history that they hadn’t been wandering the corridors of Hogwarts together, causing mayhem or mischief but no one knew why. The tension between the pair was awful for them and everyone around them. Then suddenly, they were back together again even though it was still tense and not at all like it was before, they found their way back to eachother.

“Y/n,” Fred says from behind you, pulling you away from your conversation as the Ravenclaw table, your friends looking on curiously as you turned with a smile to see Fred behind you looking a little nervous.

“Hi Freddie,” you say with a smile, having missed him.

“Can I borrow you?”

You nod, turning to your friends to say bye and got up from the table and followed him out of the Hall, thinking how strange he was acting. He leads you up the staircases with little explanation and manages to sneak you up into his dorm through the portrait hole, something you couldn’t believe he managed to do.

When you walked into his dorm, you saw George sitting on the bed you assumed to be his, the room a little untidy but not awful.

“George?” You say, worried about the sad look on his face. He gives you a little smile and a brief wave as Fred closes the door behind you.

“What’s a matter? What’s going off?” You say, looking between the two. Fred offers you a seat on the nearby bed you assume to be his and he sits beside you, both now looking nervously at George.

“George has something he wants to tell you,” Fred says, casting a rather harsh glare at his brother, tone sharp and resolute. George takes a deep breath, clearing his throat as he looks up at you.

“I,” he manages to get out, but shuts down the moment he opens his mouth, apparently losing all the words he needed.

“It’s okay Georgie,” you say gently, trying to give him confidence.

“No it’s not,” Fred retorts in a much harsher tone. Your head whips round to him and he softens as he looks at you.

“He’s been giving you love potion,” he says, nodding his head towards his guilt stricken twin. Your mouth falls open in disbelief, a frown pulling at your eyebrows as you try your hardest to think of how it was possible.

“But.”

“I didn’t really mean to,” George says weakly but quickly changes his wording when Fred’s glare increased threefold. “Okay I did but not with any malicious intent. He’s bloody obsessed with you and I couldn’t stand the pining anymore, it was insufferable. He wasn’t focusing when you were at Quidditch and I just wanted him to focus again so I thought if you gave him attention back then he’d have his head back in the game and it worked.”

“George!” You say completely outraged, in disbelief that he’d have actually done that. “Stop it right now! It’s not funny.”

He frowns at you briefly, just quick enough for you to see as he looks between you both.

“I haven’t given you any in over a week,” he says curiously, “I ran out last week.”

The room is silent after his reveal as you start to slowly realise that even if you had been given the love potion initially, being without it hadn’t actually changed your feelings of Fred.

“You’re obsessed with me?” You ask, turning to Fred who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up.

“I wouldn’t have said obsessed… but yeah, I really fancy you,” he says, not quite meeting your eyes. It’s a split second decision that leads you to closing the gap between the two of you, legs touching as you scoot along his bed and slowly lean in to him, trying to gage his reaction. He doesn’t resist in the slightest and finally looks up into your eyes just long enough to realise what’s happening before your eyes close and your lips meet.

George slips out quietly with a pleased look on his face, knowing that everything would be alright in the end. He walks down to the little store room where they brew their potions and he smirks to himself when he sees the still very full cauldron of love potion simmering, the pearlescent pink glow radiating from it.

You’d believed him to easily, both you and Fred. And if he had to take the hit for a little while, it was worth it.

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[manicrouge]

SIN CITY

[𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗 𝚁𝚞𝚜𝚜 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 09/02/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Rorke finds the Ghost's and you fear you're never going to see Keegan again.

[𝙲𝚠]: Major character death, violence, gore, graphic injury, hurt/ comfort, reader goes THROUGH IT, idk if there's anything else.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 7k (exactly btw)

[𝙰/𝙽]: This has literally been in my drafts since Decemeber and I wrote way too much of it to not do anything with it so = I hope this is enough to suffice. Also, this is entirely based off of the mission 'Sin City' in call of duty ghosts, so if you haven't seen or played the game and don't want spoilers then please skip this !! (I would be surprised if you've not seen this yet you're in the Keegan tag.)

Also, if people do enjoy this I am down to write a part two so please let me know :3

ENJOY !!

There may be typos, apologies!!

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

‘If I ever went missing, would you go and look for me?'

It was silent for a moment, and after five seconds passed, you turned to look at the man lying beside you. As you observed his features, you realised that his eyes were closed and while you doubted someone’s ability to dose off so quickly, you sure as shit didn’t doubt Keegan’s. His hand on your waist gave him away as it tightened on you, pulling you closer to him.

Opening his eyes, he peered at you with a furrowed brow. ‘The fuck kinda question is that, princess?’ He asked, ‘of course I would. Besides, need you with me,’ he said, ‘who else would I have to watch my back? Didn’t spend all that time training you for you to disappear on me, did I?’

Smug bastard.

'You're full of yourself,' you bit back.

'Good reason to be,' he said, brushing a hand through his black hair, moving his fringe away from his eyebrows, 'I'll consider being humble when I lose you, princess. But that hasn't happened and it won't be happening on my watch, not at all,' he reassured, pulling you closer to him.

You slapped his chest, letting out a heavy sigh, resting your head against his chest. In the dead of the night and the silence in your room, you listen to the thud of his beating heart while held up on a tiny bed. You were practically on top of him, legs intertwined. 

There wasn't anywhere to go, however, and he didn't seem to care about you closeness at that moment. Rather, he settled with the heat of your body much better than he would have settled in a bed with more space.

'You think this'll ever be over?' you mumbled, closing your eyes, 'I'd like to sleep in a bigger bed with you; this ones a little cramped. Maybe even watch something on a TV too.’

'You're free to take the floor if you want to, I'm not stopping you,' he grunted, pinching your waist.

'I'm gonna blow your brains out,' you sleepily mumbled, placing your hand over his. His chest twitches as he lets out a short laugh, folding his arm behind your head so he can brush his fingers through your hair. 'I mean it,' you grumbled.'

'Of course you do, princess,' he said, 'of course you do.'

—

Throughout your training as a Ghost, you gained an understanding that things will never ever be as easy as you wish they were. But, it came with the job, you suppose, whether it was spoken or not. 

Feelings as such only ever drift in when you don’t have a distraction, and the absence of Keegan after Elias sent him to Colorado Springs proved to be bruising. 

Admittedly, you had been apprehensive with Elias’ request, although, in private, you digressed as you noted that Elias is your Captain, and you were to never question your captains judgement. Even when it came to someone that you loved. So, you bit your tongue, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you allowed yourself to relax. 

But, you have some things you needed to do before you got any sleep, or before you thought about anything else other than Rorke and the Federation. 

‘JSOC’s going to want to move fast on this, so load up before you get any shut eye,’ he advises.

You follow behind him, standing beside Logan as he walked with Hesh and Merrick by his side. Fortunately, the brunt of the experience has been dealt with, you had survived Keegan’s absence overnight, and in a matter of hours, he would be back by your side. Inwardly, you’re embarrassed at your clinginess to him, but deep down you know he enjoys it. 

‘We’ve got six hours until Keegan gets back,’ Elias says. 

Upon the mention of his name, Riley brushes his head against your leg, and you look down at the German Shepherd, rolling your eyes. Leaning down slightly, you scratch his head. ‘Shut up,’ you grumble to the pup when he looks up at you, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth. When you pull your hand away, he licks it, staring back at you. With a huff, you fold to his attempt of cuteness, moving your hand to the his head again. 

‘Hold up,’ Merrick says abruptly. 

An arm grabs your forearm suddenly, and you let out a startled breath, though when you look in front of you, you realise you’d almost walked right into Hesh. Exhaling, you turn your head to Logan who gives you a short nod. 

‘Somethin’ feel off to you?’ Merrick asks, turning to Elias.

The man immediately turns to his right, observing a laptop left perched on a desk. He says little for a moment, and when you turn your head away from your Captain, you acknowledge Merrick’s watchful eye as he peers down the scope of his gun, observing the sights through the broad windows located to the left of you. 

‘Security’s working,’ says the man to the right of you. 

Merrick slowly backs away, keeping his eyes trained o the window. You feel your throat tighten as you keep your eyes on the man, his paranoia working well to leave a heavy feeling in your chest. Logan lets go of your arm as he glances at his brother, a look that you don’t miss, and Merrick looks at you. You open your mouth to speak, holding the gun in your hands close to your chest, snapping your head to Riley as the dog begins to bark, glaring directly through he window that Merrick had just kept his eyes trained on. 

While he may be a dog, he is surely not an idiot- in fact, you’re quite sure that Riley is much smarter than many of the people you had encountered when you had been a simple rookie, before Elias had taken you under his wing. He could certainly kill more people, that’s for sure. 

It all seems to happen in slow motion, and the night you had spent prior seems to dissipate in one moment. There’s this hissing, you hear it from below, and before you have time to contemplate what exactly it is, a black can is thrown over the balcony, a train of green smoke pouring from out of the top of it.

‘Fuck,’ you curse, ‘get out!’ you yell, watching as another two cans containing the same foul smelling gas are tossed over  the balcony, hitting the ground with a clink.

As you begin to sprint, you find the air around you is similar to the air you breathed whenever you were spending time with Keegan on his smoke break. All oxygen left your lungs as you broke into a sprint, your eyes water, and before you know it, you falling down to the ground, gasping for air as you feel your eyes grow heavy. 

In the midst of the panic and over the thumping of your heart in your chest, you hear Elias call out, ‘Riley, hide!’ before breaking out into a fit of coughs.

You wretch, clawing at the ground in some form of futile attempt to escape, but nothing works as you watch Logan collapse right before you, spewing out violent coughs. Never have you felt so defenceless, so weak as you succumb to the gas, the world around you growing blurry before fading into complete darkness. 

—

‘What are you doing up, kid?’ Keegan asks, seeing you appear beside him.

Letting out a small yawn, your boots crunch against a few stray rocks as you approach him, taking a seat against the rock he was leaning on, looking out at the remnants of No Mans Land. Logan and Hesh had regarded it as their home, as did their father, though, you couldn’t really picture the place without the addition of a crater which grew every day, claiming the lives of old rickety buildings and unsuspecting wildlife.

It was a sorry sight to see for sure, and inwardly, you were happy you never had the misfortune of seeing your own home falling to pieces.

‘You need sleep,’ he said, taking a drag from the cigarette between his lips. 

Your eyebrows raise as you look at him, crossing your arms over yourself. ‘I thought you said you didn’t smoke,’ you say, 'you're a liar.'

You didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes at your comment, and when he pulls it from his lips, exhaling a cloud of grey smoke, he chuckles. ‘Thought I told you not to hang onto every little thing I tell you, princess,’ he stated, ‘seems like we’re both guilty of doing something we’re not supposed to, hm?’

Placing the cigarette between his lips again, he turns his attention to you, noting that you’d crinkled your nose as the smoke he’d exhaled blew back into your face. ‘You can handle the fuckin’ dust in the battlefield, but the moment you smell a cigarette you fold?’ he mocks, laughing.

Your brow furrows at his comment and you fought of the urge to rip the cigarette out of his mouth. Instead, you allowed him to have his silly little cancer stick knowing that, if you did so something so cruel, he was sure to be upset at you, no matter how close the pair of you were. Cigarettes were difficult to come by and you liked him enough to let him have one in peace. 

—

When the world fades in, you’re moving.

You don’t know how, and for a short second, you’re convinced you’ve died. But, when you take a sharp breath and feel your lungs burning, you’re crudely brought back to life. When you look ahead of you, you witness two soldiers trailing behind you. Keeping your head bowed, you wince at the dizziness wrecking your tired mind, attempting to hold your breath in fear of the due ache in your lungs.

Swallowing, your mouth is dry and you feel the urge to vomit as your head keeps swaying from side to side. Your limbs feel like jelly, fluid. You can hear them talking, although, everything seems miles away from you, and you feel your eyes water as the tightness in your chest grows. If they know you’re here, do they know where Keegan is? The thought sends a chill down your spine, and in your delirious state, you declare that you will kill anyone who even dared to touch even a hair on his head. Even if it meant your death too. 

‘That all you got you piece of shit?!’

It’s Merrick, you recognise his tone from anywhere, it nearly shatters your delirious state entirely, though, the grip on the back of your collar tightens as your pulled away from him.

There’s more shouting and a loud smack, Merrick, you imagine, is on the receiving end of such a hit. A Ghost in true fashion, that’s for sure. As you attempt to lift your head again, you find the world growing dark once more, and, while you feel as though you should fight against it just as you had seen him do, you allow yourself to fall back into the abyss as you feel your lung burning and throat swelling. 

—

There’s a screeching when you come back around, a vile ringing in your ears. ‘Well, I guess if you want something done right, do it yourself.’ 

Your blood runs cold.

As you slowly begins to lift your head, a hand grabs your face, forcing your head up. The light protruding from the window to the left of you is nearly bruising, and when the hand holding your face successfully tilts your head up, your eyes meet with Rorkes. He looks down at you with a wrinkled smirk, his hold tightening on your hair, yanking it harder. You wince at the pressure as he keeps his eyes on you.

‘You’re finally awake,’ he acknowledges, pushing your head down, letting go of your hair. ‘Good.’

He walks away from you, and as you look around, you note that Hesh is sitting directly across from you, Logan is to the right of you, and Elias is to your left.

As you continue to look around, your face pales at the disappearance of Merrick, and while you sit, you recall the faint memory in your banging head of the man being surrounded by Federation soldiers.

He’s smart, you think, you could leave that bastard in a forest with a knife and he’d have his own fuckin’ city in a month. He’s fine. 

‘Nice to have the family back together, isn’t it?’ Rorke asks, looking to Elias. The man shows no fear, looking the devil right in the eyes with a stoic expression on his face. ‘One thing, though,’ he says, ‘we’re just missin’ our quiet friend, aren’t we?’ he says.

Your heart calms at such a statement.

He doesn’t have him, he’s fine, he’s safe.

You expect him to keep his eyes trained on Elias, counting on the fact that he is the Captain, but, he turns his head over his shoulder and looks at you. Heaving a heavy sigh, he turns his back to Elias, placing his hands down on his knees, ‘where’s Keegan?’

Looking him in the eyes, you spite your dry throat as the muscles in your neck contort and you muster up a mouthful of phlegm. He keeps his eyes trained on you, and you lung forward, a spray of mucus and saliva coating his face. ‘Fuck you,’ you heave, ‘I’m not telling you a fuckin’ thing,’ you sharply state.

He looks at you with wide eyes, standing up and wiping his face with the palm of his hand. 

‘Damn bitch has got some fight in her, doesn't she?’ he laughs, turning to Elias, ‘not your daughter by blood, but by attitude… fuck me, Elias, you’ve got yourself a mini me!’ he exclaims. You bite your lip, taking a deep breath as you look at your Captain with bleary eyes. Grabbing the back of the man’s chair, he pulls it to him. Elias’ gaze doesn’t leave his. ‘Where is he?’ he slowly questions. 

There’s a moment of silence.

‘You know I’m not telling you a damn thing,’ he spits, baring his teeth in his direction.

Never have you seen the man so agitated, his bruised face flushed red, his split lip oozing with blood, a thin line of it trailing down his chin. He looks like a savage beast as the sunlight behind him renders his features darker than typical, and the curve of his lips when he addresses Rorke even sends a shiver up your spine.

Of course, a Ghost was loyal to his own until death, and even then, they were buried down to watch over them. Once a Ghost, always a Ghost. Elias proved his worth much more than Rorke ever could, and while you wondered what exactly they had done to break the man who Elias had described as ‘one hell of a Ghost,’ but one thing was for certain. A man who broke was not a Ghost. Never was, and never would be.

’Go fuck yourself,’ Elias hisses.

Rorke laughs, nodding his head, letting go of the back of his chair. It lands with a clatter, and you watch as the man continues to nod to himself.

‘Dangerous fuckin’ game you’re playing,’ he states, and you watch as his right hand moves from the front of him, trailing around to the side where his pistol sat in his holster.

He’s gonna shoot Elias. Your eyes grow wide as you watch the man retrieve his weapon. Your muscles tensing as he holds it out in front of him. It’s aimed right at his chest, overing above his heart. ‘Well, let's see if I can change your mind,’ he exhales. 

BANG.

In a moment, his hand whips around, and when the trigger is pulled, all the air in your lungs exudes like puss from a pimple.

The shot causes your ears to ring. It’s loud, and everything is fuzzy. For a moment, you look up in search of the wound, hoping that the bullet had not went through your Captains skull. Only, when you look in his direction, you see the smoking pistol pointed directly at you. Your eyes grow wide, and you let out a short breath.

You heard the gun go off, the bullet had to be somewhere. And then, you felt a wetness pooling against your thighs. Everything seemed to move slowly when you raised your head up, looking across to Hesh with wide eyes. 

I’m going to die, I’m going to die and Keegan isn’t here with me.

As you manage to get a short breath in, agony hits you like a truck and you lean over without a second thought.

I’m going to die.

All you training, everything, how to stop the bleeding, none of it matters; you’re truly at the disposal of the enemy and there’s nothing you can do. Not even you Captain can do anything. 

‘NO!’ Elias screams, dragging you back into the moment. 

Between the thudding beats of your heart, you hear Hesh screaming out bloody murder, thrashing against the ropes that keep him tied to the chair, ‘Son of a bitch!’ he screams, looking directly at Rorke, ‘I’m going to kill you! You hear me? I’m going to fucking kill you!'

A shaky breath leaves you as your eyes well with tears, and when you look down, you gulp hard at the sight of a wound oozing blood. Your throat tightens as you feel your entire body grow hot.

‘Easy junior,’ Rorke warns with a disapproving tone. You keep your head bowed as his shadow looms over you, ‘I ain’t even started with you yet,’ he chuckles.

Keegan, where’s Keegan- I’m going to die.

Your eyes sting as your trembling hands press against the rope, pulling against them. You need to get out of there otherwise you are going to die. 

Elias calls your name, you hear it, he shouts it, yet, it seems so quiet.

'Look at me!’ he demands, and while everything in you is telling you to keep your eyes trained on the wound, you force your head up, sniffing hard as you look your Captain in the eyes. At the very least, even if Keegan isn’t there with you, you have him.

Elias, you captain, your military father. There have been plenty of jokes made during particularly bleak moments in missions where Hesh and Logan have likened you to their sister. It's an honour, truly, to know that they were your brothers no matter relation, and Elias entertained the idea that you were the daughter he had never had. 

Rorke appears behind him and it’s then that you don’t realise how many seconds are passing. Every single second feels like an hour, and you’re more than aware that every second passing is yet another drop of wasted blood. You’re running on borrowed fucking time, and there’s Rorke, the big fucking man he is, parading around in front of you like he’s a jester. ‘That’s right,’ he chuckles, placing his hand on Elias shoulder, ‘that’s it,’ he sighs, ‘show him how much pain he’s causing you right now.’

‘Keegan will kill you,’ you rasp out, stifling a short whimper as you clench your teeth. ‘And if he doesn’t, then I will.’

You’re more than aware of the situation your in and your pessimism seems to waver with your consciousness as a sudden boost of adrenaline fills you with defiance. If you’re going to die, you might as well run your tongue; the worst thing that can happen in this moment is him simply putting you out of your misery. 

Rorke laughs at your threats, ‘you see,’ he begins, ‘funny think about your old Captain here,’ he stops himself for a moment, shoving Elias as he resumes his position, looking you in the eyes, ‘He lets his men die to save his own ass,’ he states, turning his attention away from you, turning his attention back to the Captain.

Exhaling shakily, you look over to Hesh and Logan who return a look equally as frightened. Never have you seen the pair of them appear so apprehensive, although, you definitely don’t miss the look of anger. No, even though the look isn’t intended for you, you feel a chill run up your spine. 

‘Dammit, Rorke,’ Elias yells, ‘this is between you and me!’

The world seems like its on a merry-go-round, twisting and turning leaving a delightful fuzziness in your head. Adrenaline is pupping through you, and you’re thankful for the emotion, for, if you didn’t have it, you very well would have been out like a light. Your hands continue to pull against the ties of your rope, and while your wrists are burning from the constant pulling and tugging, you breath a short sigh of relief when you feel them loosening. Whoever tied it clearly weren’t trained in the art of kidnapping. 

‘Leave my kids out of it!’ Elias demands.

You feel your heart warm at his sentiment, giving you all the more fight to get out of these damn binds. Works gun is right next to him, you can get it, you can reach for it, and you can blow that fuckers brains out. 

‘You’re talking to a superior Lieutenant,’ Rorke says, pacing back and forward, before finding his way right back to Elias. Looking down at the man, he calmly speaks, ‘show some discipline.’

You feel your face grow warm listening to their exchange. 

‘You were never one of us, you’re not a Ghost,’ Elias cruelly says, turning his face away from Rorke, looking down to the ground. Rorke hums, turning his attention back towards you.

The ties are growing looser, they’re getting there, you can almost get your hand out of them, yet, you maintain poker face as you look up at Rorke. 

‘Well,’ Rorke breathes, ‘that’s just cause I’m better than you!’ he exclaims, keeping his eyes trained on you. You watch as they narrow, it’s a subtle one, one that you had noted during parring matches with rookies.

As Keegan had taught you, when soldiers get lazy, they give themselves away and it’s always in the eyes.

Your eyes dart to his hands, seeing him clench his fists as he snaps his body around, driving his fist into Elias’ face. The man falls to the side with a grunt as Rorke takes a short breath before raising his other fist, ‘I’ve always been better than you!’ he seethes, punching that man again. Elias tilts his head back against the chair, and you watch as both Logan and Hesh begin to fight much harder against their restraints. Either way, someone was getting out and Rorke was going to pay. ‘But you��� you call yourself a Ghost?!’ he barks, hating Elias again. 

As he looks down on Elias, you pull a hand free from the ties. Keeping your eyes trained on Rorke, you look down at his gun, gritting your teeth. ‘You’re nothing! You and your kids, you’re dead!’ he declares.

Wrong move.

With his proud declaration, you push yourself up from out of the chair, snatching his pistol from out of the holster on his thigh. Such, unfortunately, doesn’t go unnoticed by Rorke as he whips around, grabbing your arms, forcing the pistol up. You place your hands against his, using all the strength you can muster to pull the gun away from him. 

Nothing moves him, however. 

But he’s a monster, he likes to play with his food.

He’s not using all his strength, he’s taking it easy on you, and you’re still losing. As he does so, he laughs in your ear. ‘Oh,’ he gasps, ‘she’s still got a little life in her,’ he laughs aloud, positioning the gun so your pointing it directly at Elias. ‘Didn’t he ever tell you not to aim guns at people?’ You grunt, driving your foot against his boot, feeling his grip falter for a moment. You attempt to move the gun upwards, your finger pressed against the trigger. Everything burns. Everything hurts. But you’re not going to stop, you’re going to kill this bastard even if it kills you. 

Unfortunately he’s a scummy man, and as punishment for you stomping on his foot, he drives an elbow into your stomach, winding you.

Your hold falters- you almost fall to the floor- but he keeps you up on your feet, and through gritted teeth declares, ‘they could go off!’ His finger jams against your pressed against the trigger, a loud shot ringing in your ears. You watch a Elias throws his head to the side as a bullet drives through his chest. You fight against him harder, shaking your head. ‘That’s is!’ He grunts, ‘just a little more that way,’ he instructs you, forcing your hand further to the right. You actively pull away as the both of you fight against each other. Tears are running down your faces at that moment, every pull and tug driving the bullet in your stomach further and further. 

‘Dammit, Rorke, STOP!’ Hesh begs. 

 ‘Point it… at…’ another shot is fired, and Elias takes it with a grunt, 'your Captain.’

As though taking candy from a baby, he lets go of your hands, plucking it out of your sweaty grasp. Gunpowder invades your nostrils as he lets you go. Rookie mistake, you hear it in your head, but it isn't your voice. It's Keegan's.

You wobble on your feet, staggering backwards as your get your bearings. What you need to do is untie Logan who is right behind you, and then when he's distracted you can get to Hesh. Yet, as you step back and begin to move towards Logan, Rorke whips around to face you again driving the butt of the pistol into your face. It hits you with a crude thwack, a stoke of colour meeting your gaze as you fail to catch yourself, tumbling to the ground.

Logan screams out as you fall to the ground, and you tense as you brace for impact. You land with a thud, a broken cry escaping your lips when you feel the bullet lodge in your stomach dig further in.

The pain leaves you gasping an you clench your teeth as the room spins. Nausea spread through you as you lay there attempting to collect yourself, gulping back the urge to vomit.  Resting your palm against the ground, you begin to attempt to pick yourself up. If you can just make it to Logan, you can make everything right.

Keeping your eyes trained on Elias, you watch as Rorke circles him as a shark did its pray. Both Hesh and Logan are calling you for you, the rattle of their chair thumping causing your ears to ring. Licking your dry lips, you tense when Rorke turns back to you, pointing the pistol in his hand directly at your head.

‘You got fire in you, kid,’ he breathlessly confesses, ‘I like that… risking your life to protect your Captain,’ he chuckles, leaning into Elias, pressing his finger against his chest. ‘You could learn something from her, Elias.’

‘She’s my daughter,’ he croaks. 

‘Yeah,’ Rorke nods, glancing at you, ‘and she’s gonna get to watch you die. Her and your boys.'

Shot after shot is fired, every bang against you to witness as you grab your stomach, pressing down against the wound to keep yourself from losing more blood than necessary. You’re far too dazed to get up and fight against the man who saw the very life of your Captain as some sort of joke. So, you watch, helpless, as Rorke empties a clip into Elias.

‘No! No! Dad!’ Hesh cries. His face is red as he frashes against the ties keeping him from his father, the very sight making your headache. His tone is piercing as he carelessly spits out curses at the man before him. ‘I’ll kill you, you hear me?’ he screams, ‘I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you! Motherfucker!’ 

The worlds a little blurry. 

Your eyelids grow heavy, and when you force the open upon hearing a thud right in front of you, you’re surprised to see Elias’ face meters away from yours. You fight against the urge to drift off. You’re not going to die, you’re getting out of this and you’re seeing Keegan again- you can't die.

‘You did well,’ Elias breathes, looking at you. Your blood runs cold at the sight of blood seeping onto the ground, ‘I’m proud of you, you and my boys,’ he utters, wheezing for a single breath of air. His lips are blue as he stares at you, your eyes welling with tears as you're forced to watch as the man struggles for his last breaths.

Rorke’s boot is planted firmly on top of his head, and you catch your Captain glancing up at the man.

For the very first time, you see fear in his eyes. It's a dastardly look, mixing with the loss of blood in an unappealing manner as his face grows sickeningly pale. Something tells you that Elias Walker is scared of dying.

No Ghost is to be scared of death, that's not who we are.

But, we're scared of losing each other.

Elias Walker is scared of losing his family, of leaving them behind.

Rorke sighs, pushing his boot further down, leaning down to press the muzzle of the pistol against his forehead.

Keegan, please.

‘Oh… you are right, Elias,’ breathes the man, ‘I’m not a Ghost,’ he grins. There's a pause in his words, and you find yourself searching for some form of sickly hope that just in the nick of time, there will be a bullet in Rorke's head rather than Elias'.

Rorke remains tall and as he licks his thin lips and eyes Elias, you find a dismal pit in your stomach that you know you're never going to recover from.

‘I’m the man that hunts them, and sends them back to the other side.’ 

With that, he pulls the trigger. 

You scrunch your eyes shut as you hear the rattle of the man's chest, a wet pray covering your face. Your lips form into a thin line as you choke out a broken sob, and when you bring your lips together again, the metallic taste of your Captains blood. Behind you, you can hear both Logan and Hesh sobbing, the anger the pair of the showed silently dissipated into grief.

The rustle of fabric in front of you unnerves you, and you attempt to turn away from Elias' corpse, letting out a startled breath when a shadow looms over you and you're grabbed.

'Leave her alone,' begs Logan, 'you got what you wanted. Leave her be... please.'

Rorke holds you in his arms like a child would a doll, and to your surprise, he guides you back into the chair you had jumped out from, forcing you back into it.

Standing back from the three of you, he rubs his mouth with his hand, his lips curling into a small grin as he hums to himself. 'Some talent is between you kids,' he says, 'real shame you're fighting the wrong side of this war, really, it is.'

—

Much to your pleasure, you find Merrick alive.

Despite your doubts prior, you knew well the man was capable of surviving. After the execution of Elias, Rorke left you with his soldiers and you, Hesh, Logan and Merrick were all forced onto your knees, kneeling on the balcony where the attack had first initially ensued. You’re unsure as to how much time had passed, but you were sure the wound was not getting any better as every time you shifted, you fell light headed. 

The soldiers that had been observing you receive something on the radio, although, your entire body is hot and your ears are ringing, the memory of Elias’ face stuck in your head as you were forced to witness his death close and personal. You’re quite sure there is residue on of the crime on your face, so, you keep your head bowed, out of the way of both Logan and Hesh who look completely broken. 

‘You alright?’ Logan whispers.

You’re shaking, but you nod your head. 

‘Just Peachy, L, don’t worry about it,’ you utter, keeping your head down. 

A shadow is cast over you and you catch sight of the boots of three soldiers.

‘The boss wants the girl alive,’ says one of them, causing you to snap your head upwards, looking at the three of them.

The one in the middle is pointing at you, marking you out of the crowd while the other two simply observe. 

You feel dirty. 

The man beside him nods his head, grabbing his pistol from his holster, aiming it at Hesh, while the other one approaches Logan, repeating the process.

It’s terribly calculated, killing both of the brothers, clearing the world of Elias once and for all at the same time. You keep your eyes trained on Hesh, eyes occasionally drifting to the window as you sit and wait. Planting the pistol firmly against Hesh’s head, you hear Logan grunt beside you. Hesh moves to the side, his forearms tensing, preparing for the shot. At the very last, they’re showing them mercy. They could have slit their throats, left them to drown in their own blood, yet, they’re making it easy.

One shot to the head. 

Then you see him. 

A small flicker of light in the distance. 

The light at the end of the tunnel.

The glass shatters, the man holding the gun to Hesh’s head stumbling down onto his knees, his hand firmly planted against his chest. It all happens so fast, the man beside him stands dazed, looking at his colleague. Another shot is fired, going right through the mans skull. A spray of brain, blood and skull covers you as the man fulls forward.

‘HESH, LOGAN! NOW!’ Merrick demands, the pair of them jumping to their feet. 

Logan shoves the guard to the ground, pulling him away from you while Hesh and Merrick rush two of two of the soldiers by the balcony. The awestruck soldier is left to you and you watch as he rushes forward, pulling the gun from the corpse of the dead soldier. Fortunately, Hesh manages to grab the rifle from off of the solider standing on the balcony, elbowing him in the stomach. Rushing up to you, he hits the back of the mans guns with the butt of the rifle, causing the man to fall to his knees. You watch with wide eyes as the solider attempts to rush up to him while Hesh fights with the other one. 

Another shot is fired. 

The soldier behind Hesh falls to the ground. 

‘I got you! Go!’ Merrick yells as more shots are fired.

The rest of the soldiers standing behind are dropped. To the right of you, you hear a gunshot as you stand up, watching Logan push himself up from off of the ground, the blood of a Federation soldier soaking into his t-shirt as he steps over the corpse. Grabbing the pistol discarded on the ground, Logan quickly fires a shot through the head of the solider Hesh is fighting with. A bullet whizzes past you, and without a second thought, you snap around, firing two shots directly into a soldier to the right of you. There are more shots from the right of you, and when the final body drops, you exhale. 

‘You okay, Merrick?’ Logan asks as Merrick unties the ropes around his wrists. ‘Rib’s broken, but I can move,’ he reassures, rushing up to Hesh. 

Logan pulls himself free, immediately approaching you, ripping off the edge of his t-shirt. You watched with a furrowed brow as he eyes you. 

‘Need to keep you from bleeding all over the place,’ he states, ‘c’mere,’ he instructs. You step forwards and he hands you the scrap from his t-shirt. Pressing it against the wound, you groan as he wraps the rope around you waist, trying it tightly around your waist. ‘Keegan’ll kill us if you lose a drop more blood… lost enough today too,’ he says, tying it tightly. ‘You still good to fight?’ 

‘Always,’ you say.

Holding his hand out, the pair of you bump fists and for the first time since this morning, you feel the dread swirling in your blood slowly coming to a stop. 

‘We got to get going,’ Merrick sharply states, marching ahead of the free of you. Hesh follows after him. ‘Keegan, we’re up and moving, get here as soon as you can,’ he instructs.

You look at his back in surprise, your own hand falling to your ear piece realising thatchy hadn’t taken them off of you.

‘Check… I’ll meet you in the kitchen,’ confirms the voice you have missed so terribly.

You clear your throat, wincing as you proceed forward, following after Merrick. Part of you wants him to say something to you, to tell you that everything is going to be okay, but you understand that doing such would absolutely be irresponsible, so, you busy yourself listening to Merrick. 

‘We need to make it to the west side of the building,’ he states, ‘it’s the best chance of getting out of here.’ You nod silently, taking a moment to take a breath. Everything was going to be fine, and in the end of this, you were going to have Rorke’s head in your hands. ‘You still good to fight, Eclipse?’ 

‘Always,’ you give a short nod, ‘bleedings calmed,’ you confirm, despite the burning causing you legs to wobble slightly. In due time it will be over, all of this ill be a distant memory. Just push on a little longer, that’s all you have to do. 

‘Shh.. noise behind the door,’ Hesh warns as he approaches it, ‘lets make this quick.’

—

As you push through the room, you exhale when a voice calls, 'I'm almost there,' Keegan confirms as your brow furrows, a particularly step sending a shot of pain through your stomach up your back.

You clamp your mouth shut as you whimper, your dry mouth longing for a drop of water. Eventually, this will be over, you just had to stick to it. He's almost here, you just have to keep pushing on. That's the only thing you can do.

Just keep fighting.

'You better find a place to hide, though, lotta guys headed right to you,' he warns.

You want to complain upon hearing such, why can it never just be easy? Everything has to be difficult, no matter what you're doing, you can never just catch a break.

‘Key,’ you exhale seeing the man standing before you.

His hardened haze softens upon catching sight of you, and you waste no time rushing up to him, throwing your arms around him. While unprofessional, you feel no shame in confessing that you were going to die without him, and if anything, you were deserving of this moment. The hug you share is brief as he grabs your forearms checking you over.

He stops when he sees your stomach. 

Merrick curses and falls to the ground, ‘shit,’ he hisses, attempting to push himself up off of the ground. As you look back to Keegan, the pair of you turn your attention towards the doors behind you, hearing voices edging closer and closer.

Grabbing you, he looks to Hesh and Logan, ‘get him up,’ he demands, gently guiding you into the room behind you. ‘We gotta hide, not gonna be able to take them,’ he states, pulling you to the side. ‘What the fuck happened?’ he whispers as Logan and Hesh quickly help Merrick inside the room.

You feel his hand against your stomach, wincing as he looks at you. The pressure on your stomach falters as he pulls his hand away, observing a wet patch in his gloves.  

‘Got shot talking back to Rorke,’ you confess, and while you’re sure it’s something you certainly should not be proud of, you speak with a glowing tone as you look at him. Besides, he trained you all those years ago, why should you be ashamed?

'Logan thought fast, used the rope he tied us up with to try and stop the bleeding,’ you mumble. His gaze hardens as he looks at you, and you swear you can see his Adams apple bobbing beneath his mask. Gently he pushes you behind him, helping you to the ground. Looking over his shoulder, he reaches his hand behind him, squeezing your knee. 

It’s so quiet, yet you feel as though your heart is going to burst. 

You place your bloody, shaking hand over his and offer him a wavering smile. He takes it in for a moment before snapping back into action. His hand is pulled from your knee and you’re left alone. 

'Turn that radio down,' Merrick hisses as Hesh helps him down

He hums as the doors burst open. Pushing you behind him, you all sit and watch as shadows pass you by.

And then the world begins to still. You're unable to describe just what it is you're feeling, although, despite the weight and severity of everything happening around you, you feel light as a feather. Your clothes are soaked at this point and in spite of your efforts, you find your breathing slowing as you lean against the wall.

Clumsily, you reach your had out to latch onto the floor as you feel an overwhelming drowsiness hit you. You've put in all the work and effort you can muster, yet, you've tried from it and as you wade through the mush of panicked voices and the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears, you succumb to your body's desperation and fully close your eyes, wading into the quiet of the stream.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Birthday Boy

A/N: A little something for our favorite birthday boy. Written for @fandom-free-bingo Happy birthday Tony Stark! Leave a heart, comment or reblog if you enjoyed the story.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Avenger! F! Reader (our reader has Falcon-like abilities and Red Wing as well)

Warnings: 18+ smut, fluff.

Word count: 2675

Square filled: “You’re coming with me.”

Fandom Free Bingo Masterlist

.

“You’ve got one on your left, Y/L/N. He’s armed. And does nine o’clock work for you?”

Rolling your eyes, you ignored the last bit of Tony’s sentence and jumped into action. Disarming the Hydra soldier wasn’t a big deal for you, what was distracting was the constant commentary coming in from the snarky billionaire who was hard to push off.

It was his birthday and you were one of his closest friends, all he wanted to do was go out, party and spend time with you - meaning he wanted you to potentially hook him up with someone while he did the same for you. And then the two of you would bitch about your respective dates over breakfast the next day, laugh and get over it, like you always did.

But this time around it was different. You were finding it harder and harder to keep your feelings for the man at bay. You couldn’t remember when it all actually went from friendship to something more, maybe it was around your fifth bad date when you felt super down in the dumps, Tony had been the best listener, he always was, he just never got enough credit for it. You spoke all night, he wiped your tears and made you feel better about yourself. You felt truly seen and heard. That was when you realized what lacked in all the other boys that you had found in Tony, someone you wanted the most and someone you probably could never have.

Which is why you were avoiding spending another drunken evening with the man, you would probably end up spilling your guts and if he didn’t feel the same way, you’d be left heartbroken and you would lose a really good friend.

“Good job, Y/N. You’re a solid addition to the team, unlike Legolas over here with his carpal tunnel syndrome.”

You chuckled as you heard Clint swearing at Tony over the comms, shaking you head, you continued your way into the building to extract information. Once you were done, you stepped out and made your way over to the jet where you were met with an impatient looking Tony.

“What?”

“You haven’t answered my question. Tomorrow, you and me, out on the town? It’s my birthday in case you forgot.” his big brown eyes implored you for an answer, standing in your way until you did. Sometimes you hated how persistent he could be, and more than that the fact that you fell for those gorgeous eyes every single time.

“Well?”

“Ugh. Fine! I’ll go. But you’re paying. And you will drop me home in case I get shitfaced.” you sighed, pushing him away and towards the bathroom to change.

Now you were kind of dreading tomorrow as much as you were looking forward to celebrating with your friend.

.

“How about fishnet stockings over there? She’s got a rack that would get you googly-eyed.” you tried to avoid the disdain in your voice as you nodded at the blonde who sat at the far end of the bar.

Tony was sucking on a wedge of lemon post the shots you two had downed before he turned his gaze in the direction you were pointing at. He hummed in appreciation but did nothing about it, simply went on ordering you some more drinks.

“What?” you frowned, secretly hoping he wouldn’t approach the woman because it would break your heart but Tony wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. Especially when it came to women. He just loved showing off how much he ‘didn’t have to try’.

Tony shrugged, not answering you right away, instead he pushed a drink towards you, his knee nudging yours now that he had slid closer. The familiar smell of his cologne mixed with motor oil and coffee filled your nostrils, making you wish just for once you could snuggle closer to him and just revel in his scent. Pushing your luck a little, you laid your arm across his shoulder and angled your body towards him, to your surprise he pulled you closer and kissed your temple, making your little heart flutter hopelessly.

“Careful Stark, the ladies are gonna think we’re together and you might end up having an off night.” you teased.

“Tony Stark never has an off night, sweetheart. Never.” his breath fanned your cheek as he spoke, raising an eyebrow up at you just to make sure you understood his point. A tingle went down your spine as his fingers caressed the back of your neck, lightly grazing your skin.

This wasn’t good. No. Not since your feelings were on overdrive.

“Then why aren’t you going over to Fishnets? Come on, I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to warm your bed.”

Tony made a face at your words, one that had you frowning because it was unusual. He never answered though.

“What about you, Y/L/N? No guy worthy enough for your attention here? I thought one of those suited up, boring businessmen would be up your alley. What do you think?”

You looked over to where Tony was pointing, the guys were certainly handsome and by the looks of it seemed quite well to do. Maybe you could go up to them, strike up a conversation and eventually go home with one, in hopes of forgetting about your crush. Yeah, you certainly needed to get laid, it had been a while.

“Alright then. I will if you will.” you finished your drink and slammed it a little hard on the table than you normally would.

“What?” Tony frowned.

“You and Fishnets. Me and Mr. Suity-man over there. We’ll see which one of us hits the jackpot.” you winked, steadying yourself before giving Tony a little shove. It was a distraction you needed. Maybe watching Tony work his charm on another woman would work in helping you get over him finally.

.

Tony felt his blood boil at the sight of the fancy-ass suited guy wrap an arm around your waist while you giggled. The woman next to him was practically throwing herself at him, not the least bit interesting when it came to conversations and was pretty much laughing at everything he said, even if it wasn’t funny. Normally he would have her back at the penthouse already, be done with before heading down to his lab and have her sent off before he had his first cup of coffee in the morning. But it was different, he had no intentions of sleeping with that woman. Or any other woman that wasn’t Y/N.

These days, he only had eyes for her. Y/N made him feel things he didn’t think he was capable of feeling. Being with her made him feel like he was worth something, like he was finally being seen for who he really was. Her laugh made his heavy heart a little lighter, her presence felt like warm sunshine on a cold day.

And now he felt like he was blowing his chance with you by agreeing to this stupid bet. Catching her eye, he raised his eyebrows to ask how it was going, chuckling to himself when she made a disgusted face. That sent relief flooding through his system for some reason, at least she wasn’t going home with that stupid, tall guy.

A few moments later you both caught up at the bar for more drinks, letting out collective defeated sighs and shaking your heads.

“This pub is dull. I’m going home alone, aren’t I?” you huffed, feeling dejected and placing your head against your hand as you looked at the woman Tony was supposed to talk to, she had a sour expression on her face before she stormed off to where your potential date was. Maybe they would hit it off, you thought with a laugh.

“You and I both, Y/L/N. So? What was wrong with him?” Tony mirrored your position, eyes curious.

“Ugh. The guy wouldn’t stop yapping about football, he hates all animals and he thinks you’re just a big show-off.” You rolled your eyes, downing a glass of water in between to keep yourself hydrated.

“I mean, he’s not completely wrong,Y/N.” Tony shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s called him that, hell, he had been called worse.

“Shut up. He couldn’t be more wrong.”

Something about your tone amused him though, the way you got so defensive about him kinda made him feel proud. And intrigued him to know more.

“I mean he had the balls to say you are a pompous, arrogant jerk who does things for nobody but yourself.” You scoffed.

“It’s not like he’s ever spent months in some cave in Afghanistan and escaped, turned his whole business around and bloody well succeeded, invented a frickin 'element, saved I don’t know thousands of lives? Formed the avengers? Been the most generous man I’ve ever come across and—”

Your sentence was cut short as Tony’s lips cut you off abruptly. Was it really happening? Utterly shocked at first, you didn’t respond for a few seconds which made him stop.

“Is that why you rejected him?” He murmured, now cupping your face tenderly with his hands.

“That and the fact that he wasn’t you.” You answered honestly, your heart thudding beyond control at this point as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks, turning them warm.

“You’re the only one I want too, Y/N. Always have.”

His confession turned your insides into mush, a grin forming on your face that you couldn’t control. It was just a little hard to believe that the man you wanted also wanted you in return. The kind of stuff only dreams and romantic novels are made of.

“You’re coming with me.”

Grabbing your hand Tony guided you out of the pub. And of all the people you could go home with, you were finally going with the one person you wanted the most.

.

There was a flurry of activity once you were back at Tony’s penthouse. Clothes strewn about, giggles echoing in the empty hallway along with fervent kisses.

Once you were down to your underwear, Tony stepped back to admire your body, his gaze darkening as he saw the lacy, red lingerie you wore. It was a happy coincidence but for him, it was enough to want you in every way.

“Is this my birthday present?” He pulled you flush against his chest, turning you around so your ass grazed against his growing erection. Lips pressed against your warm skin, his hands slid lower and lower until he cupped your clothed sex to find it damp with desire.

“Maybe this is? Hmm?” His breath was hot against your ear, fingers teasing your folds over your panties before sliding them aside to feel you.

Gently tugging on his hair, you turned around in his arms and pushed him on his back until he flopped on the bed, smirking up at you as you straddled his legs.

“Eager much?”

“Very much.”

Placing a hand on his chest, you lowered yourself on top and kissed him, smiling into it when it responded with equal if not more enthusiasm. Your tongue slipped past his mouth, earning a needy grunt from the man as you moved your hips deliberately over his, teasing his clothed cock as it eagerly twitched underneath you.

“How come it took you so long to kiss me, Stark?” your tone was light but accusatory as you nipped at his ear. The way he was kissing you first made you realize you weren’t the only one longing for this to happen.

“How come it took you so long to act upon your feelings, Y/L/N?” he inquired instead, holding your hips and sitting up with you, caressing your sides gently with a faint smile playing on his lips.

You knew he’d ask you this question, you took a deep breath and decided on going with honesty, he deserved to know the truth if this was ever going to work out. Whatever ‘this’ was.

“I didn’t know if you felt the same way, Tony. I was afraid of losing you. You’re a royal pain in my ass but you’re my friend, Anthony Stark. So whatever we’re doing here, or about to do, I don’t want it to affect our friendship, okay? I’m completely fine with the whole friends with benefits situation–”

Yet again, your little ramble was cut off by Tony’s soft lips, kissing your insecurities away delicately, allowing your heart to flutter a little.

“That’s the thing, Y/N. I don’t want to be your friend anymore–, you felt like your stomach dropped, for a second you couldn’t believe what was going on before he continued, “I want to be your boyfriend, the best and only one you’ll have. You’re my ray of sunshine and I want you all to myself. That is if you’ll have me.” he blinked up at you in all sincerity, fingers fidgeting against your skin nervously as he waited.

His confession sent a thousand butterflies fluttering in your belly.

“You need to stop cutting me off like that, Stark.” you murmured with a smile as you tugged on his hair, inching your face closer to him.

“Or what?”

You hummed, pushing him back down once more and letting your hair drape around his face as you slid a hand down his torso, down past his boxers to find his length eager for you. Your touch elicited a needy moan from the man as your fingers gripped him, giving him slow, lazy strokes.

“You’re bossy, I like it.” his mouth fell open at your ministrations, his breath coming in shallow.

You didn’t take long to undress then, kissing along his chest which was littered with scars the closer look you had. Tony hadn’t felt so vulnerable and yet safe at the same time, then again he’d never been with you.

You lined yourself up against him, watching him as you sank down on his cock, letting out a content sigh as he stretched you out completely. Slow at first, you began rolling your hips against him, feeling every last inch of him as you continued to kiss, swallowing his grunts.

“You feel so good, Y/N.” Tony sighed, digging his fingers into your hips, thrusting up into you for more.

“So do you, Tony. Fuck me, please.” your needy whisper was all he needed to flip you over so you were under him, still connected. Once he had your arms pinned above your head, he didn’t stop, didn’t stop until you were a writhing mess, crying out his name as he impaled you with his cock. His brutal pace had you clenching around him in desperation, wanting release as you clung to him.

“Come for me, Y/N. Let me hear you.”

Tony’s words undid you, making your pussy spasm around his length as you gushed, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. You were in a haze as his end approached, pulling out in time to come all over your thighs, spurts of his cum painting your skin white as he groaned in pleasure.

“I think that was the best sex I’ve ever had.” he panted, helping you clean up before cuddling you close, frowning when all you did was hum.

“I’ve had better.” you teased, his reactions always made the joke worth it. He tickled you until you begged for mercy, out of breath as you laughed with the man, feeling a sense of contentment being with him like this. His relaxed features and demeanor suggested he felt the same.

“Oh! I completely forgot!”

“What?”

“Happy birthday, Tony.”

💛Happy Birthday to our favourite ray of sunshine, Anthony Edward Stark💛

[sempersirens]

my love, mine all mine

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

content/warnings: 18+ mdni. no outbreak!au. hurt/comfort. infertility. hospitals. alcohol.

author's note: hello my lovelies. i am so happy to be back posting - i missed you all a great deal. please forgive that this is a bit of a self-indulgent personal one, and i just want to take the time to say that womanhood is not intrinsically linked to the ability to have a child. we are so much more than that.

You'd always hated hospitals. Hated waiting. Hated the sterility lingering in the air. Everything was so unsettlingly white. The fluorescent lighting should expose at least a speck of dust somewhere, on some forgotten surface. But somehow, it never did.

The names called forth never seemed to be yours. Joel would've been in agony if he were here. Confined to the little plastic chair, time rolling on, on, on with no end in sight. You were almost thankful he had to be on-site today, leaving you to fend off the passing of time alone.

But you'd grown tired of being strong.

Strong for yourself, strong for you both. You craved the warmth of his rough palm, desperate to intertwine your fingers in his and replace the fluorescence with the nothingness of your eyelids.

You wanted to take. Take, take, take. Take every ounce of strength he could give you. But he wasn't here, and that had to be okay because Joel was hurting too.

You'd been lucky enough to have never known grief. Never felt its empty sting in the middle of the day, in the queue for lunch or on the drive home from work. But can you grieve something your fingers never touched? Something that had only ever been a far-off thought, that had maybe never even existed inside of you.

Was it a reflection on you?

On your capability as a mother, a woman?

Had nature deemed you unworthy since birth?

Were the worms and the flies laughing at you each time you'd uttered the words when I have children one day?

After the seemingly psychological torture of waiting, the appointment was over in minutes. It's not the news we were hoping for. The doctor had said. If you and your partner need support going forward...

The brochures she had slid across the table fell to your feet as you mindlessly drove yourself home, relying solely on muscle memory to bring you to the embrace of your front door.

There were no tears left. Everything inside of you was empty; barren. You threw your keys into the dish and softly closed the door behind you. The stillness of the house was suffocating.

Your shoulders dropped and muscles relaxed at the sight of the photograph of you, Sarah, and Ellie hanging on the wall opposite the front door. Sarah had lovingly adorned the picture with the words Joel's girls glued on in cut-out letters from your old Vogue magazines.

You loved Sarah and Ellie as your own; it would've killed you should Joel think otherwise. They were as much your baby girls as they were his, despite having not been babies for the better part of five years.

But you saw the depravity in Joel's eyes each time he edged further inside of you. The need, the want, for a creation of your own. And there was something almost feral inside of you, too. A part of you that only Joel had managed to tease out and bring into the ugly light of day. You wanted to watch yourself swell and grow with the proof of his love. You craved the shrill of a new beginning illuminated under fluorescent lights that you would gratefully embrace if it meant you could fall in love at first sight with a life you had created with Joel.

Even though Joel could hardly bend down to tie his shoes without hissing through his teeth these days, you knew none of that would matter if it was a product of your adoration for one another he was one day scooping up in his arms.

Although the two of you had been trying your hand at a sober October, you haphazardly fished around the kitchen drawer for a corkscrew, plunging it into a cheap bottle of red.

As you took your first sip, the sound of a key turning in the door made your stomach flip.

"Sweetheart?"

"In here." You called, tapping your nails on the body of the glass.

He filled the doorframe effortlessly. After all this time, he still managed to give you butterflies, leaving you squirming against the counter like you hadn't been victim of those brown eyes for almost a decade.

"Take it we're not celebrating?" He said, nodding toward the glass in your hand.

"Define celebrating. At least I won't need a fucking IUD anymore." You tipped your glass in the air and took a gulp. "An inhospitable environment."

"What's that?" His eyebrows furrowed together as he made his way closer to you.

"That's what the leaflet the doctor gave me says. I've got all the right pieces, my body just won't fucking do the one thing it's meant to do."

"Don't say that, sweetheart. You know it ain't like that..."

"Well, what is it like, Joel? What's left of me to love? How can you look at me and be satisfied that I'm the one you love? Everything about me is so fucking difficult. I want to be perfect for you. I want to give you everything you deserve, and it kills me that I can't. Because you've given me more than I deserve."

And then all at once, the tears came. He caught you in his arms before you buckled under the weight of your pain, holding you upright as you soaked his work t-shirt with your sobs. He smelt of asphalt and fresh October air.

"That what you really think?" He asked, murmuring into your hair while his fingers traced circles on your back. "Think you're difficult to love? Loving you has been the easiest damn decision I ever made."

"Then why weren't you there today? I needed you."

Smoothing down your hair, he pulled himself back so that you were facing one another. His eyes were red and glassy.

"I'm a coward, sweetheart." You scrunched your face in response, watching as a sad smile spread across his face. "I ain't as strong as you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You couldn't help the bite in your tone.

"Was scared to hear the truth. Would've felt so final comin' from the doctor."

Blood rushed to your head.

"So what, because my womb's the issue you let me go alone? Is this my penance or something?" You scoffed, pushing him away from you.

Joel called your name as you stormed up the stairs, wiping away your tears with your sleeve.

"You have children, Joel. There will be biological remnants of you living on in this world after you're worm food. I love those girls, and in every possible way, they are mine as much as they are yours. But I'm never going to have what you do; the privilege of looking into someone's eyes and seeing everyone who came before me. So don't give me that self-pitying bullshit disguised as admiration for my bravery." You sniffed, wanting to sound stronger but crumbling with each word.

Turning to lock yourself in the bathroom, his large hand wrapped around your arm. An old man may he be, Joel always managed to chase you down in moments you wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Any attempt to shrug him off was pointless, and the warmth of his skin that you had craved all day radiating through your sleeve could've melted you there and then. You knew you were both scared and showing it in stupid, different ways, but you were adamant on holding your own for just a while longer.

"We're gonna get through this, baby. I ain't got the answers right now, and you know I sure as hell don't know what to say at the best of times. All I know is that I love you, and I'm so sorry for letting my fear get the better of me."

Your head found refuge in the crook of his shoulder once more, and you let the warmth of his body engulf you.

Truly, there was nothing he could say. You weren't even sure what you needed him to say.

That night, you could feel the fear dancing with grief between your bodies as you held one another in the dark. Joel may have been a father before, but neither of you had experienced this. And you knew it would be okay.

As long as you could feel his arm draped across your chest in the darkness of the night, you knew it would be okay.

[zahmaddog]

Closure: I. Nightmares of Eriadu

Warnings: SFW Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, nightmares, family drama/trauma mentions

Characters involved: Crosshair x fem!reader x Omega x Hunter x Phee

Word count: 3743

Authors Note: This is a sequel (read the first installment here) using the same fem!reader character and pre-existing relationship with Crosshair. But you don't need to read the first fanfic. This one might be better anyway. This story satisfies my personal needs for closure after The Bad Batch animated series ended. I don't want to give anything away, but this resolves my need for closure around Tech, Hunter's need of an arc, and more character building for Crosshair.

I've been writing it for the past several weeks and am multiple chapters ahead. I just wanted to begin posting it. :) I have some moody watercolors painted for some chapters too. I'll maybe retrofit some art too. I'll probably post it separate so nobody misses it. :) Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list. I mainly wrote this for my own entertainment, but who doesn't love it when others are around.<3 I hope you enjoy.

---------------------------------------------------------

Omega threw the ship’s thruster forward and jumped into hyperspace, narrowly escaping the blaster fire of a few short-range fighters.

“Well, that was fun,” she gasped in slight laughter.

Phee smiled and kicked back into her chair, “Fun indeed.”

Omega spun around in her chair to find you still lying on your back in the middle of the ship. You were exhausted and hadn’t even made it to the bunks before collapsing onto the floor. 

“Are you okay?” She called over to you. 

You lifted your head enough to make eye contact, smiled a little, and lifted your arm enough to signal a “thumbs-up” sign. 

She flashes her white teeth at you and returns a thumbs-up enthusiastically. Her hair had grown long over the years and swept across her face. She kept it tied up with a bright red tie, which was suspected to match Hunter’s bandana on purpose. Physically, Omega looked more and more like Hunter over the years, but had Wrecker’s enthusiasm for abrupt adventure, Echo’s drive for serving others, Crosshair’s tactical abilities, and Tech’s piloting skills and calculating mind.

Omega turned back to the ship’s pilot console and felt Phee’s eyes study her. 

“What is it?” Omega pleasantly inquires.

“You fly like Tech,” Phee shrugs.

“Well, he did teach me,” Omega banters back. 

“I know, but… There are a lot of little moments where I see him in you,” Phee continues. 

“Well, we do share the same genetic material—,” Omega starts.

“See, that’s something Tech would have said.”

Omega smiles back, “I wish he could see me fly now.”

“You have become an exceptional pilot,” Phee nods. “He would have been so proud of you.”

Listening in on their conversation, you smile as you remember young Omega’s piloting skills compared to her current set of skills. She was fast, smooth, calculated, and innovative. Deciding you had enough rest, you stood up in Phee’s ship and made your way to the front. 

“Well, look who decided to be with the living!” Phee prods at you.

You sit down and lean back into the chair behind Omega’s seat.

“Next time you two invite me for a ‘girl’s night out,’ you better tell me it’s actually a four day treasure hunt, nine star systems over, with limited rations and pre-existing enemies,” you relay.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Phee chuckles. Omega laughs with her. 

“You two are ridiculous,” you grunt as you pull your hat over your eyes. You hear Phee chuckle to herself, then turn from facing you to the lights of hyperspace.

“You and Crosshair were made for each other,” Phee comments after a small pause in conversation.

“You take that back,” you monotone sarcastically without moving from under your hat, but you felt your lips creep into a small smile at the thought of Crosshair.

“It must be nice,” she suggests happily and threads her fingers around the back of her neck and leans back placing her feet on the dashboard.

You stay silent as you knew Phee still had lingering feelings for the long-lost brother of Clone Force 99: Tech. From what you had heard between Omega, Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair, Phee was a great partner. You both equally wished you had known Tech and that you could tell him that he was not easily forgotten. 

“We’re coming up on Pabu,” Omega broke the silence as the ship was gently thrown out of hyperspace. 

Entering the atmosphere and pushing through the clouds, you lift the brim of your hat to spy the small island in the distance. You sigh a breath of relief as the island grows larger in view.

The spaceport had its usual morning-Pabu hustle with imported goods flying in and individuals leaving Pabu for jobs, vacation, and more. Phee’s ship touches down and the door unseals. Omega picks up her bag and dashes down the stairs in excitement to tell Hunter and Liana about the adventure away and the treasures found.

Phee continues to sit back in the chair lost in thought and unmoved. You rise from your chair and slink into Omega’s piloting seat.

“You okay?” You asked.

“I’ll be okay,” Phee sighed. “There are some treasures in life that you lose, but never forget.”

You knew her mind was still stuck on Tech. She gazed into the oceans of Pabu from the spaceport and let her eyes pool with tears.

“Listen, I’m going to step out of my bounds for a moment, but,” you breathe in deeply and close your eyes for a moment, “I know my way around Eriadu. I don’t think Hunter ever returned to search for Tech.”

“His remains won’t do anyone any good,” Phee looks over to you.

“I know,” you backpedaled. “But if he were– alive,”

“He never contacted us. He couldn’t be alive,” Phee interrupts. You could feel her frustration, so you held your silence.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize for bringing up the topic. 

Phee exhales and wipes her eyes. “I don’t know what’s worse, if he’s alive and didn’t want to contact us, or if he’s gone for good.”

You stood and placed your hand on her shoulder to offer support and to also stage your conversational exit. “Phee,” you began, “You need answers for closure. And you’re good at finding answers. It’s one thing to be afraid of what you’ll find… But if there’s one person to discover what happened, it’s you.”

“I know,” she taps your hand with hers and began to stand. 

“Why didn’t Hunter go back to look for him?” Phee asks.

You shrug, “He’s a soldier; they move on differently than you and I. And you and Hunter are probably right: Tech would have found a way to make contact.”

Phee nods with sadness in her eyes.

You and Phee exit the ship together and walk down the stairs to meet Clone Force 99.

Your pace quickened as Crosshair comes into view. His unshaven face, silver bedhead, and black attire led you to chuckle a little under your breath.

“Well, that was longer than a single rotation,” Crosshair jabs as you greet him with an embrace.

“I should have known better with the present company,” you roll your eyes a little remembering how Omega and Phee talked you into the trip.

“Mmhmm,” Crosshair grunts and as he holds you tighter before softly releasing you. 

“What did you do while I was gone?” You ask.

“I stayed in bed and shot holes in the ceiling,” he deadpans.

You could hear Hunter sigh at Crosshair’s comment. Looking over, you see him bury his head in his hands a little and rub his eyes. You turn back to Crosshair, smile, then stand on your toes to kiss his narrow lips. His hand slides up your back to cradle your head as he kisses you back.

“I missed you,” you smile. 

“And someone’s going to fix those holes in the roof,” Hunter invites himself into your conversation and takes a step towards you and Crosshair. He was so serious. 

Crosshair just stares at him; hardly blinking. He, too, was overly serious. He slides his hand to your back again and you lay your ear against his chest to look at Hunter.

“I’ll fix the roof,” you offer.

“No.” Crosshair rejects your offer and just stares at Hunter.

“I am not going to fix the roof, Crosshair,” Hunter continues to glare. “Not again.”

“Your relationship is so confusing,” you sigh and step back from Crosshair. You wink at him, “I’ll see you at the house, okay?”

Crosshair and Hunter continue to stare each other down.

“��� Okay?” You repeat.

“Fine,” Crosshair growls without taking his eyes off Hunter.

“What’s their problem?” Omega asks you.

“I’m not sure,” you scan the crowd, “Where’s Wrecker? Maybe he didn’t feed them while we were gone.”

Omega laughs at your joke, “That’s probably it.”

—----

Dropping your bag into Crosshair’s room, you look up at the ceiling. He shot more than just holes. At some point, the blaster holes turned into bigger holes and the entire roof was practically missing. You felt Crosshair approach behind you. 

“So that’s what four rotations of shooting the ceiling will get you?” You chuckle.

‘Uh-huh,” he looks up at his handy work. 

You narrow your eyebrows a little bit as you inspect the ceiling further.

“Problem?” Crosshair asks.

“I don’t want to be that girlfriend, but—,” you stop yourself as you never asked much of Crosshair. You wanted him to find a more productive hobby, but after all he’s been through, he did deserve to blow off some steam. It was just a ceiling anyway.

“What?” He prods.

“Why’d you stop at the ceiling?” you grin.

“I learned my lesson the last time I tried to shoot a live round into Wrecker’s bunk,” he says as he tosses himself into the bed.

“Where is Wrecker?” You ask.

“Off-world with Shep. Some kind of supply run,” Crosshair shrugs.

“What have you and Hunter been eating then?” You chuckle.

“Oh, you know… Soldier food,” he points to the end of his bed to the pile of ration bar wrappers. You pick up one of the wrappers and inspect it.

“Cross, these expired over three years ago,” you mutter.

“That would explain things,” Crosshair exhales.

“Are you okay?” You sit down at the end of the bed.

“Clearly,” he enthuses. The ceiling gave an audible crack and pieces fell onto Crosshair’s head and shoulders; his expression unchanging. You didn’t buy his answer, but knowing him, he wouldn’t talk much more, especially under pressure. You stood enough just to shuffle to his end of the bed and relax against the headboard, sitting on pieces from the ceiling. You took his hand and brought it to your lips.

“How was your trip with Phee and Omega?” Crosshair asks to change the subject.

“Confusing. It was nice of them to include me, but I don’t want to get into trouble like I used to,” you shrug. “They didn’t exactly tell me what was going on and when we arrived, we were already in a few gun fights with other pirates.”

“Did they get what they were after?” Crosshair narrows his eyes.

“I think so. They picked up a package, we fought over it, lost Phee’s ship, got it back, then flew home,” you close your eyes and rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m exhausted.”

“Hmm,” he faintly grunts in response. “I didn’t think you’d get tired of pirating missions.”

“And I didn’t think I’d come home to you shooting holes in the ceiling,” you reply, staring up into the gaping holes. You earned a soft smile from him as he peers up to inspect his work once more.

“True,” he chuckles. 

You and Crosshair stayed in bed watching the stars appear as the sun began to set, painting the sky pink and orange. Letting your hand trace up his hand, arm, chest, and to his face, you felt his scratchy, unshaven face. 

“Sorry, I haven’t shaved,” he apologizes and slips a toothpick between his lips.

“It’s not a bad look,” you comment. 

His silver hair, straight and unkempt, had grown a bit past a typical soldier’s cut everywhere but the scar on the right side of his skull. The sides and back were tapered and faded into the length, framing his jaw. Around his neck he wore a thin chain with engraved plates hanging just above his chest. 

He suddenly sighs sharply. 

“I —,” he starts. You don’t prod at him to continue, but instead start to run your fingers through his hair. “Stop,” he takes his hand to stop yours and he sits up taller, but still doesn’t look at you. 

“Sorry,” you apologize. He takes your hand and holds it in his lap. The silence washes over the moment.

“What’s wrong?” You re-engage with him.

“It’s nothing,” he shakes his head a little and looks back up into the stars. You knew something was up with him due to his lack of un-soldier-like appearance and the state of his ceiling, but now you felt concern trickle into your heart.

“Is it nothing?” You ask.

“I can’t sleep when you’re not here,” he admits through a wince.

“You’re not weak for that,” you assure him.

He sighs again and turns towards you. You pull on his shoulder, motioning him to lay down. He rests his head on your arm and the pillow beneath then closes his eyes. 

“The nightmares are back?” You whisper.

“They never left,” he sighs quietly. 

________

Crosshair had fallen asleep quickly. You took the toothpick from his lips and flicked it to the floor. Your eyes grew heavy too as the night sky had settled in. 

________

Eriadu’s summers were warm, temperate, and pleasant. The famous Tarkin compound was familiar as you had spent holidays there with your immediate and distant family. Your mother, Governor Tarkin’s sister, had married outside of the family to a lowly Imperial loyalist. While she was left out intentionally from her parent’s fortune, she was still included in familial gatherings. 

“Are you coming?” You looked up to see your older brother, Crix. His hand extended to you as you realized you may have fallen to the ground. Your clothes, hands, and knees were dirty. Looking into his eyes, you see they’re full of worry. You nod your head and reach for his hand. His hand feels cold. Inspecting it, you turn his hand over in your palm. Looking back up to his face, he vanishes.

“Crix?” You look around, but he’s gone. The silence of the forest overwhelms you as you sense something is wrong. The feeling of doom pools into your stomach, weighing you down. Each step further into the forest weighs heavier and heavier. The sky grows dark and the ground is black. The subtle asphyxiation quells your movement; you fall to your knees.

An old, brittle hand reaches out and grabs your shoulder. It’s nails, cut into your skin. You let out a scream, but no sound left your lips.

You wake, sitting up quickly as your heart races. You breathe in deeply like you hadn’t in some time. When was the last time I dreamt of Eriadu? You ask yourself. Crosshair snores and shuffles slightly in the bed. Your nightmare didn’t bother him in the slightest. You sigh a breath of relief. He was usually such a light sleeper.

The floor felt cold beneath your toes as you slipped out of the bed. The fresh air was a nice touch; maybe you wouldn’t fix the roof after all. Or at least not right away. You tip-toed to the back patio to watch the ocean waves curl into the shoreline. Opening the patio door, you were surprised to find Phee leaned against the railing looking out into the sky.

“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks you without turning.

“Not really,” you responded. You sit down into the chair and put your feet up on the railing. 

“Nightmares?” She asks kindly.

“Of home, I guess,” you shrug. 

“Where’s home?” Phee sits down into the chair next to you.

“Here,” you realize out loud, “But no, I dreamt of a place my family would visit for holidays when I was a child,” you admit.

“And where’s that?” She continued to pull your teeth.

You bit your lip and shifted your jaw to the side, remembering your last conversation with her about Eriadu. You supposed that was why Eriadu was fresh on your mind.

“Eriadu,” you sigh. 

Phee’s eyebrow raises in response, “Oh.”

“I dreamt my brother Crix was in the forest there. I reached out to him, but he disappeared. I haven’t seen him in a few years. But he was the closest brother I had,” you explain. 

“Does he still live on Eriadu?” Phee asks.

“No,” you lament. “He hated it there; more than I did.” You chuckle a little remembering old conversations and shared expressions at the dinner table with your brother. 

“Where is he now?” Phee continues to lay on the questions.

“I don’t know,” you look to exchange your sorrowful expression. “He started chasing spice dreams to escape reality and then I defected from the Empire and my family; I lost track of him a bit after that.”

“Well, I like to believe that all dreams have meaning,” Phee marveled upwards to the sky again.

“You would,” you nod.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, sis,” Phee hesitated. “Since it’s fresh on your mind, would you want to come to Eriadu with me?”

Your heart jumped a little in your chest at the thought of seriously returning. It had been a few years since your last run in with your uncle, Governor Tarkin, but the Empire didn’t seem to care about your existence anymore. Surely someone would recognize you there. But, perhaps your soul had some unfinished business to attend to as you reflected on your dream once more.

“I’ll think about it,” you assure.

A small ship took off from the cave and accelerated into the atmosphere with a soft boom. 

“Was that Omega?” You asked Phee.

Phee nodded, “I figured she’d sneak off here soon.”

“She’s more of a soldier than Hunter wants to admit, isn’t she?” You sigh.

Phee stands and leans against the railing once again. She pulls her binoculars to study the entrance of the cave. “Batcher and Hunter saw her off.” “This house will turn into a mess without her here,” you chuckle. “Mmhmm,” Phee agreed, continuing to watch Hunter and Batcher walk home.

“Well, I’m going to turn in,” you announce as you stand from your chair.

“Think about what I said,” Phee turns to you. 

You give her a silent nod of acknowledgement and head back inside. Walking down the hallway, you pause just outside of Omega’s room. Of course she’d slip out while Wrecker was off-world, you think to yourself. 

Arriving at Crosshair’s door, you slowly enter the room. Feeling relief that he’s still asleep, you slide into the bed with him quietly. 

__________________________

The morning sun warmed Crosshair’s room quickly without the roof to shield. Moving your hands to block out the sun, you squinted around the room to find yourself alone. You shift and swing your legs off the bed to sit upright. You hear the door open.

“I decided I’ll fix the roof,” Crosshair mutters as he walks into the room slowly with his and your morning cups in hand. He was clean shaven again, but continued to leave his hair longer. 

“Did you sleep well?” You smile.

“Yes,” he sits down on the bed next to you and hands you your cup. “Did you?” He asks in return.

“Honestly, no. I got up a few hours into the night and–” You pause.

“I know Omega left,” Crosshair mutters.

“I’m sorry she didn’t say goodbye,” you mention.

“She did, in her own way,” Crosshair reaches into his pocket and pulls out his small money sac that usually had a few credits in it. “It’s empty,” he sighs. “She left a note saying she owes me.”

“You wouldn’t have let her go, would you have?” You ask.

Crosshair sighs, “She’s a better shot than I am these days. She’ll be fine. I’m surprised she didn’t wait until I was also off-world to sneak off.” Crosshair softly smiles as he puts his credit bag away. “But I suppose confrontation isn’t a strong suit of mine either.”

You nod and think back on Phee’s conversation last night. Your vanishing smile catches Crosshair’s attention.

“What else happened last night?” Crosshair furrows his eyebrows together.

“Phee asked me to go to Eriadu with her,” you say into your mug.

“Eriadu?” Crosshair lifts an eyebrow and leans forward into your space. “Why Eriadu?” 

“Well, my family. Some unanswered questions. And—” you pause, not sure how to explain your intentions.

“What?” Crosshair presses.

“Tech,” you lightly shrug and take a long drink from the mug. “She wants to…”

Crosshair moved your mug down from your lips. “What?” He insists.

“Phee is curious if Tech’s remains are there… Or if Tech is… There,” you manage to say hesitantly. 

Crosshair stays silent and drinks his caf alongside you. He turns to face the door and crosses his arms. 

“If he were alive, Tech would have sent us a message,” Crosshair informs you.

“I know,” you nod. “It doesn’t make sense that he’d be alive. I don’t know what we’ll find, but Phee needs closure.” 

Crosshair sighs and stares into his black, undoctored caf, “We probably all do.” 

You and Crosshair continue to sip in silence for a few minutes. You could feel him mull his thoughts over. Even with you, he wasn’t the best talker, but you knew his internal dialog plagued him.

“Will you go with her?” Crosshair breaks the silence and studies your eyes.

“I don’t know,” you slowly elaborate, “It’s been years since I’ve been there, but I’d still be recognized. The only advantage I bring is that I know the planet well.”

“Hmm,” Crosshair takes another sip.

“Would you come with me?” You ask.

Crosshair sharply exhales and rolls his eyes, “You know how I just love unplanned adventures with pirates.”

“So you will?” You squint your eyes at him.

“I can hardly wait,” he sarcastically agrees and finishes his morning drink.

Chapter II: Going Home

++++++++++++++++++++++ taglist ++++++++ @heidnspeak @cloneflo99 @megmegalodondon @tentakelspektakel

[criminalamnesia]

This is me trying

summary: the last time you saw Nikolai, he told you he never wanted to see you again. now, you’re standing outside his door.

warnings: angst, brief mentions of torture (not explicit), reader is manipulated by the darkling, tidemaker!reader, not proofread, gender neutral reader

author’s note: me? writing more Nikolai while listening to Taylor swift? it’s more likely than you think. this one was inspired by “this is me trying.” listen to it while reading for the full experience :))

The last time you had seen Nikolai, he had told you he never wanted to see you again.

Now, here you are, standing in front of the door to his quarters. You would laugh if you weren’t so terrified of how he was going to react.

Would he still be mad? Would he scream at you, tell at you to get out? No, you thought. He wouldn’t do that.

But maybe time had changed him. He had still been a wild prince when you had last seen him– taking careless risks and throwing himself to the front of every battle. He had inspired you to be better– and you had been, for a time, but you weren’t Nikolai.

You did not have his heart. You did not have his resilience or kindness or grace. You were a burnt-out grisha who had abandoned her post. You were an outcast, a deserter, a failure.

Would he see that?

You inhaled deeply, your fist raised to knock. It hovered above the white wood of the door, shaking slightly. You shut your eyes tightly, willing yourself to knock. Your fist did not move.

“What are you doing?”

The sound of Nikolai’s voice had startled you, causing the bubble of water you’d been manipulating to pop. You groaned as it fell in droplets back into the lake.

“Saints, Nikolai, when did you get so quiet?” You huffed, lowering your outstretched hands and turning around to face him.

He was still in his First Army attire. He must’ve just gotten back from whatever front he’d been at this time– probably the northern. The Fjerdans had been causing problems lately.

“I was quite loud, actually. Maybe you were just too focused on your bubble.” He grinned, opening his arms to you. You rolled your eyes, stepping forward and into his embrace.

He wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. You gave a breathless laugh at his strength.

“I’m happy to see you too, Nik. But you’re going to squeeze me to death–” you said, earning a laugh from him before he mercifully dropped his arms.

You stepped back, giving him a wide smile. He smiled in return, looking you up and down. “New Kefta?” He questioned.

You nodded, subconsciously tugging at one of your sleeves. “The Fabrikators have been trying to incorporate stronger material into the Keftas to make them more protective. Guess I’m lucky they’re doing it now,” you gave a small laugh, but it wasn’t joyful.

Nikolai frowned, his eyebrows raising in confusion. “What do you mean?”

You inhaled, glancing at his face before looking down to your hands. Your hands, which held so much power. Your hands, that would soon be stained with blood.

“The General is sending some of the Second Army up to the northern front. The Fjerdan witch hunters have been abducting the grisha stationed there. He wants us to go put an end to it.”

Nikolai slowly shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. I was just up there– we didn’t hear about any of that.”

“This is a grisha matter, Nik. The General thought it best for it to stay within the Little Palace. I shouldn’t even be telling you.”

“So he’s sending you up there?” Nikolai scoffed. “To what, be abducted like the rest? He should be sending his heartrenders–”

“Nikolai, this may be hard for you to hear, but I’m not who I was when you left. You’ve been gone for months. My abilities have grown– the General is impressed with my skills. This is a chance to show him he wasn’t wrong in showing me favor.”

“So, what, you’re one of his henchmen now? You know what happens to the grisha he ‘favors’–”

“I don’t want to talk about this any more, Nikolai.” You interrupted, holding up a hand. You knew he was right. You knew about Genya. About Zoya. About all the other grisha the Darkling took a shining too. But the Darkling’s favor came with better training, higher status. It made you stronger.

You knew you had to tread carefully, but you were tired of watching Nikolai ride off to battle and doing nothing about it. Now, you could help your prince and your country with your powers, and if Nikolai didn’t understand that, then so be it.

Before he could speak again, you continued. “I’m supposed to be at the stables now, anyway. We’re leaving soon. I don’t know when I’ll be back,” you admitted, meeting Nikolai’s gaze. “We can talk about it when I return.”

He swallowed his protests and nodded. “Good luck, then.”

You could hear movement behind the heavy wooden doors. Even at this late hour, Nikolai was still awake. It didn’t surprise you– he had always been a night owl, even when you were children.

You used to sneak away from the Little Palace in the middle of the night and meet Nikolai wherever you could. The gardens, the kitchens, the lake. The pair of you would always make it a challenge to see who could stay up longer, wanting to spend as much time together as you could before sleep took you. Nikolai always won.

You took another deep breath. You had foolishly hoped that he would be asleep– even though you knew he wouldn’t be– so you could have an excuse as to why you didn’t come to see him.

You knew he had to know you were here. Someone had to have told him– probably one of the heartrender twins. They had been keeping a watchful eye on you since you had arrived, and you couldn’t quite blame them.

Perhaps Alina had told him. Even though there was no way she could know your past with Nikolai, maybe she had mentioned who she was traveling with to him. You knew he couldn’t forget you, wouldn’t forget you– just like you with him.

You returned from the northern border a month later, and Nikolai barely recognized you.

You were different– and that, he understood. Battle changed even the best of people. But what happened to you, whatever it was, had made you someone different. Someone colder, darker.

He had heard whispers of what had happened to you up there. You refused to talk to him about it– when you talked to him at all. It was hard to get a word in with you seeing as you were constantly training, or right under the Darkling’s nose.

What you had done, what you had seen, Nikolai couldn’t imagine. The servants that went between the Little and Grand Palaces whispered. They said only about half of the grisha sent to the front came back, you amongst them. They said unspeakable things had happened there– the witch hunters had tortured your fellow grisha– even you.

They said you had drained the life from the men that did that to you and the other grisha, leaving them a deflated heap on the snowy ground– and even when they begged for mercy, you did not stop.

You continued to be sent out after that. The Darkling sent you wherever he could– the border of Shu-Han, on an expedition to Ketterdam, right into Fjerda to rescue taken grisha. Each time you returned, you lost more of yourself. You spoke less to Nikolai.

He was worried, and who wouldn’t be? His best friend had become someone– something unrecognizable. He finally cornered you one day before he was to leave on a journey to Kerch. Little did his family know that he was actually going to begin another escapade as Sturmhond.

“You need to come with me,” he had told you, one of his hands reaching forward to grasp yours. The pair of you were hidden away in the cluster of trees by the lake. You were supposed to be leaving soon for another assignment. Nikolai should’ve already been gone, but he couldn’t leave without seeing you.

You glanced down at his hands on yours. You looked back up at him, his expression pleading as his eyes all but begged you. You only shook your head.

“The General needs me. I’m leaving for Ketterdam in the morning.” You said, and Nikolai shook his head.

“Please, listen to me. The General is destroying you– I’ve heard the stories. You’re someone your younger self would’ve been terrified of,” he frowned, squeezing your hands.

“I’m stronger,” you replied. “And i’m fulfilling my purpose– just as you did. You went off with the First Army, and now I’m doing the same with the Second. I’m fighting for Ravka– for grisha– and I’m someone the General trusts. He isn’t destroying me, Nikolai. I won’t let him.”

“He has blinded you. He has made you powerful, yes, but he’s made you cold. Dark. Remember when we used to meet in the garden at night? When we talked about everything. When it was just us.” He said, and you nodded. “You told me once that you didn’t want to be another one of his pawns. That you would never let yourself fall for his honeyed words.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you pulled your hands from Nikolai’s grasp. “And I’ve kept my word. I haven’t,” you said through your teeth, almost as if you were fighting to convince yourself you were right.

“You have. He’s put you on a pedestal, made you someone you never should’ve become. He’s a monster, and he’s making–”

You gave a humorless laugh, cutting him off. “He’s making me a monster? Is he?” You said, crossing your arms. “He’s given me what I need to do what I need to do. If that makes me a monster, so be it.”

“And those witch hunters you killed, what you did to them– that wasn’t monstrous?”

“That was deserved,” you said. Nikolai took a step back.

“You know that it wasn’t. You’re not that kind of person.”

“You don’t know what they do,” you spat, arms falling to your sides, fists clenched in anger. “You didn’t see what I saw. You played Prince in the first army, when the worst thing that happens is a shot to the shoulder. I watched them,” your voice wavered slightly. “I watched them burn my friends alive. Feed them to their wolves. All of my friends– their screams are etched into my memory. Those Fjerdans deserved worse than what I did,” you spat. “And I’d do it over and over again. And if you can’t understand that, then you need to leave, Nikolai.”

“I’ve seen horrors, too. It’s not a contest,” he spoke, his brows furrowed. “But I didn’t let it do to me what it’s done to you.”

“No, of course not.” You said. “The second son, forever trying to prove he’s not just a bastard.”

You instantly regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth, but it was too late to take them back. Nikolai gave a short nod, his hands moving to straighten his shirt.

“This time, when you leave,” he said, his gaze boring into you. “Don’t let me see you again if you come back.”

More movement could be heard behind the door. You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you dropped your fist. You couldn’t face him. It had been a few years, but you were sure he remembered your last conversation all to well. He wouldn’t want to see you.

Even though you had spent every day since deserting the Second Army regretting your last words to him, regretting what you had become, wishing you could see Nikolai again, you were still scared to knock.

You had been awful, and he had been right. The Darkling had manipulated you, just like he had with Genya. With Zoya. With Alina. You just another girl who fell for his manipulation and his lies– who allowed him to make you into something you hated. He had turned a blind eye at your suffering. He used your powers for his own agenda. He had lied, had abused you– and you had ruined the best thing you had had because of his influence.

You didn’t know if Nikolai was aware that when you left for Ketterdam, you never came back to Ravka. You had deserted the Second Army after that assignment, after seeing things you would never be able to wipe from your memory.

And while you were running from place to place, hiding from Kerch slavers or Shu-Han experimenters or Fjerdan witch hunters, you realized that Nikolai was right. Your powers had gone from a comfort to a reminder of the terrible things you had done. You were no longer the General’s star pupil, no longer that naive little tidemaker that snuck away in the middle of the night to watch the stars with the Prince.

You were tired, and in the midst of trying to piece yourself back together from everything you had suffered over the years, you had been roped into helping the Sun Summoner. Perhaps you had agreed to help her to atone– to try and forgive yourself. To begin righting your wrongs.

And now you were standing in the Grand Palace, a place you’d never thought you’d see again– standing outside of your once-friend’s quarters.

“Saints,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head to try and disperse the anxious thoughts crowding it. “Why is this harder than battle?”

You raised your hand again, and finally, you knocked.

Nothing. You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Nikolai must’ve gone to sleep–

The doors creaked opened to reveal the prince, his blond hair tousled– probably from running his hands through it as he thought (it was a nervous tick of his)– and his eyes tired.

You dropped your hand to your side as Nikolai looked you up and down.

“You’re alive,” he breathed, his eyes meeting yours. You gave a small nod.

Maybe no one told him of your arrival, after all.

“Saints,” he gave a small chuckle, stepping into the hallway. “You’re alive!”

He engulfed you in a hug, his arms squeezing you like they had so many times in the past.

“Hey, Nik,” you breathed, a small smile creeping onto your lips.

“I missed you, too.”

And those words held more weight than he would ever know.

[yoongihan]

*crawls into your inbox* hello there friend, I am here to graciously request from your beautiful mind a drabble with the 'near death experience' prompt and the 'I think I'm in love with you' prompt. Pairing entirely up to you. I'm already excited. ♡

Him

pairing: minho x fem character

genre: fluff & humor (hopefully)

rating: T

word count: 1300 methinks

warnings: recreational drug use, a very possible inaccurate portrayal of someone under the influence, shenanigans, repetition (on part of the mc, I promise it is intentional by this author), I don't think there's anything else - let me know if there is. i don't think I even used cursing in this.

a/n hey @jl-micasea-fics, thank you for requesting. i might have had a little too much fun with this. i have no idea if you expected anything with those prompts, but here we are. :D

if you'd like to request a drabble, the post is here

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

When he sees you, he doesn’t take in all of you. He merely thinks ‘oh there she is’ and that maybe that your eyes seem a little too bright, even from across the room. 

“Lee!”

If challenged, Minho knows he can be the loudest in any crowd, but right at this moment, you would win. 

He lifts up his hands in a simple ‘what?’ gesture and then processes that you are running toward him. He looks behind to see if a coffee or fish & chips truck has manifested in the living room of Jisung’s ridiculous penthouse loft (the guy buys one lottery ticket and wins one time but it’s for the jackpot) because he’s never seen you run for anything less than food or coffee. 

There isn’t, by the way. 

As he looks back, he realizes that you’ve navigated decently through the groupings of people at this get-together (he refuses to call it a party, parties give him a complex) and are still running.

To him.

In fact, you look like you might just…oh my god, do you expect him to catch you? 

You do, actually. You expect him to catch you and when he takes a step back, eyes wide like he’s scared, you sort of jump up and land in front of him. 

Your reflexes are a lot better than you thought.

Or maybe it’s because he has his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. 

Gosh his hands feel great.

He says your name as you’re thinking about his hands (that is a path that you’ve mentally gone down way too many times) and you just say it.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Everything is a little hazy right now, but you can see him pretty well as he’s maybe half a meter in front of you. His eyes get even bigger and his ears go pink (you might not think about his ears as much as you have his hands, but you like his ears too) and his hands, still on your shoulders, squeeze and release nervously.

“You what?”

What did you say? 

“You’re so pretty.”

He shakes his head, hands sliding down your arms to tug you by your elbow away from where you’ve planted yourself. You follow because why would you not. He weaves through friends and acquaintances as you admire the back of his head (honestly the long hair on him is such a look). He enters what you think might be a guest room (it can’t be Jisung’s because that boy is a mess even with a cleaning service) and though he lets go of you to shut the door behind you both, you stand in the middle of the room and stare at the frames on the wall.

“They’re prints of Howl’s Moving Castle,” Minho answers the question you didn’t even know to ask.

“Oh. Wow.” 

You hear a sound and look to see that he has sat down on the end of the bed. 

So you plop down next to him.

“Hi.”

His answering laugh seems high in pitch, but who cares. Minho’s laugh is the best.

“You said something out there.”

“I did?”

He nods, turning toward you so you can see more than just his profile. 

He has such a nice profile. You’d sketch it if you had any ability beyond stick figures. 

“You did. You said…” he trails off, swallowing hard. 

“What’d I say?”

He looks back at you, eyes all squinty. “Are you drunk?”

“Nope.”

“You look…”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

His lips part and he just gapes. You smile. 

“I think I am. I figured it out um…well, I don’t know when it was. Maybe a few seconds ago. I was not in this room. I was…where was I?” You shrug. “Whatever. I nearly died.”

He starts coughing and you pat his back.

Jeez, his back feels good too. Even through the black, zip-up henley he’s wearing. 

“You nearly died?”

“I did.” You confirm and rub his back. “I couldn’t breathe for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?”

You nod. “Yeah. So your friend…the one you went to primary school with, who even keeps up with people from back then, offered me a bong, right? And I’ve never tried a hit from a bong before, so I did my best, and Minho…” you lean in closer to him. He smells good. “I stopped breathing.”

“For twenty minutes.”

“Maybe it was more like fifteen. I didn’t time it. But it went on forever.” You realize that you’re playing with his hair now. It’s silky, which makes sense because it looks like silk. “I like your hair.”

“Thanks, go back for a second…You took a hit from a bong, couldn’t breathe–”

“For ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes, okay. So you’re high right now?”

You tuck his hair behind one ear. “Am I? I’ve never been high before. I’ve never tried to get high before. Is this what it feels like? Oh, your ears are cute. And warm. I think they’re a bit red too or is that the light in here?”

There’s a sigh and then he says your name again.

“I don’t think you nearly died.”

“You weren’t there. Actually, that was what I thought while those seven minutes of not breathing happened. Where’s Lee? My life is over and I want Lee. I could just see your face and that look–” Your eyes move from his cute ear to his face. “That look right there. The one that seems both amused and exasperated. I saw that look in my head. So when I didn’t die, I wanted you.”

“Me?”

“You. Lee Minho, with your snarky remarks and beautiful hands, excellent cooking skills, and weirdest sense of humor. I love you.” You sigh now and brush a finger along his cheek. “Just had to tell you.”

“I see.”

“So, this is being high? Huh. I thought I’d want to eat junk food or something.” You start to get up off the bed now that you finally told him, so maybe you should go back and join the party.

But you’re stuck. You look down to see his hand (damn, it really is a beautiful hand) around your wrist.

“What’s up, Lee?”

“Would you have told me if you hadn’t nearly died?” 

“Why are you doing the finger quotations thing? I didn’t breathe for five minutes!”

He presses his lips together and you think maybe he’s trying not to laugh. Which is a shame. His laugh is absolutely the best sound on planet earth. 

“Okay. You almost died. If you hadn’t, would you have told me?”

“Told you what?”

He closes his eyes even as he looks up at the ceiling. Which makes no sense. How can he see the ceiling if his eyes are closed? 

Oh, but his lashes are really lovely. 

His nose, too. Very sharp and pretty. 

Mouth also. Like sculpted by one of those shoujo anime artists that make male characters beyond pretty. 

He makes a sound but you’re too pleased to feel his lips against yours. When you pull back, his eyes are open again and on you.

The ceiling must not be that interesting. 

“You just kissed me.”

“I did? I did. Well, your lips. They’re really nice.”

He’s patting your hand. “Maybe we should talk about this tomorrow. You know…when you’re not high.”

“Sure. We can talk about whatever you want, Lee.”

His hand is around yours and you’re now leaving the bedroom. You smile because he’s laughing.

You love his laugh.

–

The next day, you’re having some much-needed coffee and eggs and bacon when he recounts the previous night to you.

“I did what?”

God, you hate his laugh. 

You also hate his ears and hands and hair, but they all feel really good to your fingers as he kisses you, so you guess you’ll get over it eventually.

He’s a really good kisser. 

--

a/n #2 - if mc's high experience is not accurate, I apologize. I've been high exactly one time in my life and it was horrible. hopefully any inaccuracies will be forgiven in the name of story. thank you.

--

© yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[oh-saints]

sunshine becomes you (pt. 3)

Martin truly lives up to the expectation, like a dream come true, except this is reality.

Grumpy!Martin Ødegaard x Sunshine!OC

Word Count: 4.0k

Note: as promised (re: post them as soon as i'm feeling better)! the gifs are actually a clue LOL but please please please don't hate me after this :( but as usual, i happen to write this at dawn so this is ofc not proof-read. feedbacks are also always welcome! hope you like them as much as i like writing them!

tw: some suggestive languages

tags: @julianalvarez9 @formula1tina @okayline @mrswhitethornbelikov (lemme know if you want to be added too!)

sunshine becomes you masterlist here

However, after an hour playing the dutiful, supportive girlfriend—both towards her beloved boyfriend and the cause of the gala itself—around the charade full of everyone deemed important for the club, Eve decided she needed a bathroom break.

So much for answering the endless probing, especially from the women, on how long they’d been dating—to which Martin would save her by saying, “only recently, Ma’am. We decided to take it slow after what happened to Eve.”—or how they’d ended up together—“it was snowing heavily that day so he offered me a lift home, and the rest is history,” Eve would tell them while stealing a pre-planned glance to Martin.

If only the women were easier on her like the men.

Martin had it rather easy and smooth when they clapped back on him for “finally sucked his balls and tell Eve how you feel.” The captain laughed along the joke, and she did too to make their story believable in the eyes of the public.

Yet, it seemed that even bathroom wasn’t a safe place to take a breather.

As Eve sat on one of the loo, she heard a bunch of ladies walking in while laughing. They were grumbling at first, muffled by the background music of the ballroom that was slowly turned into a dance floor. But once it became clearer, she wished to take back her hearing ability.

Do you see how much Eve is so out of place in Martin’s arms?

It’s like she forced herself onto him, no?

She doesn’t even deserve to be here! Look at her cheap dress!

Hush! It can be expensive, you know? It only falls on the wrong person.

Or maybe Martin really bought her that dress so she could look the part? I mean, she’s given her pussy for all we know!

That was it. That was the final straw for Eve.

She and Martin had slapped Bob in the face, played their lovey-dovey part tonight. She was more than ready to smack these girls before calling it a night.

She burst the flimsy excuse of a plastic they called a door, electrocuting the fucking mean girls to the point their jaws dropped on the floor. It felt good to give them what they sow in the first place—and don’t get Eve talk about one of these pathetic bitches was Bob’s wench.

Despite her initial rejection to the exquisite evening gown, it was what Martin had chosen for her. Martin had outmost confidence on her pulling all the stunts from the beginning and—boyfriend or not—she wasn’t going to let it goes to waste.

By wearing that, too, she’d promised the man a favour, and she intended to keep it the way he kept his. She’d wear them with squared shoulders and immense proudness, as had Martin been doing to her and for her.

“Better pick up your jaws, ladies,” Eve reapplied her lipstick without a flying fuck to the girls, albeit seeing them with stunned faces from the corner of her eyes did the trick. “You don’t want to look like a bunch of pathetic, jealous bitches.”

She’d like to pardon her French but why not utilise the fact she was resigning by next week?

Although, if the girls had taken a closer look at her fingers as Eve passed them by, they’d find the digits shaking from the acute adrenaline rush.

However, as soon as she opened the door, it was Eve’s turn to be surprised. Martin was leaning his body against the wall, both hands kept inside the pockets, a leg was crossed over the other—had Eve not controlled her expression, the Norsk wouldn’t miss the way she swooned, especially with his black tie and all. Eve could swear she was one of the girls at that moment and she cursed at Mikel for building a team surrounded by models.

But Martin caught on the bad words muttered under her breath. How he did it when everyone and everything was practically too loud in this part of the building was certainly a question for another day.

“That’s my girl,” He stood up straight at her meek voice, with a cheerful voice that truly sounded like he welcomed her, like he was truly waiting for her proudly, and her chest eloped in ways she didn’t want to think of because with the way he looked so damn good it should be a sin. “I was worried about you. You’re taking too long for my liking…”

“Aw, you’re getting lonelier without me?”

She was actually teasing him, as they’d discovered the kind of fun they let to dictate how far their impromptu scenario could take place. So many touches—hidden or not, subtle or not—and glances between them passed by and they now fell into their own rhythm of bantering this evening.

But Martin took the glint gleaming in her eyes as something else. He didn’t know whether he could describe them in words.

So he didn’t, and chose violence instead.

He pulled out his hands in a flash that could put ninja to shame, cupping the side of Eve’s face that felt so small under his fingers, and brought her lips to his. It was gentle, compared to the fireworks show earlier that must’ve been relocated down to between him and Eve. Like alpha and omega blending into one in the sky beautifully.

It was gentle, very much in contrast to the rough and patchy hallway like those you see on Americans shows, which made this all supposedly a wrong thing to do. In the wrong place, in the wrong setting. It was everything but what Eve deserved to have. It should be wrong… but why was something so wrong felt so right?

“What was that?”

Martin himself found it funny how her little whisper tickled his ears in all the right way, as if they were meant only for Martin to pick up the sounds, like it tingled his spidey senses even against the blaring music that was starting to take over the bar down hall. Yet, he knew he’d choose her melodic tune over any other music in this world.

And there was the smile she’d come to love. The one she knew only reserved for her—because there was only 3 instances when it happened and every single one of them occurred around Eve—with the edges tipped slightly slanted in all the right ways as it deepened the dimples that rarely existed anywhere else.

“I promised you I won’t let anybody disrespect you, didn’t I?”

It all fell down on her like a fucking nuclear bomb.

He’d heard those horrible ladies. He’d heard, and he’d come to the rescue. He kept his end of the promise he first gave her.

He fulfilled the promise she herself even forget.

Nobody had ever done that to her. Perhaps, none to all what Martin had been doing tonight. Frankly, Eve didn’t think she’d find somebody else that could do what Martin just did.

As much as the green monster lurking on the back of her head for the possibility of him kissing her only for the show, the gratefulness that blossomed from the very bottom of her heart succeeded in taking over. And before she could swallow the bitter pill of reality that they were only faking it till they make it, Martin kissed the top of her head, the side of her head, the shell of her ears.

“Let’s go,” He whispered against the soft bone, and she swore the shivers didn’t come from the cold winter air that seeped in through the open backdoor. “There’s still the real party we’ve got to attend.”

No matter she liked the feeling of his fingers sliding down her arms until they were finally clasped together with hers, Eve tugged Martin’s to a halt. “Can we go home instead?”

Eve really wished it wasn’t the constant flow of champagne she chugged to ease her nerves that resulted her vision seeing Martin confused and… hurt. “Why? Did you not enjoy yourself?”

The disgraceful bunch of ladies earlier slipped past behind Martin’s back and Eve felt like throwing up again, all adrenaline from earlier washed away by now. Martin, however, being alert as he always was on the pitch, noticed how her hands freeze slightly in his grasp as soon as he sniffed the reeking smell of cheap perfume.

“Angel, baby, look at me,” Martin stepped closer, hindering her eyes from direct exposure of fluorescent lights coming from the dance floor behind him so he could meet her eyes. “You’ve gotten so far, beyond what everyone expects of you, so brilliantly at that and I’m so proud of you,”

Martin giving her pep talk was the last thing in Eve’s mind. The first one was how his clear blue orbs were searing into her soul, as if begging her to stay with him instead, and she had to ask herself silently if her vision was seeing right with the help of her contact lens. If not, then she’d surely have to buy a pair of new ones.

“For that alone, we should celebrate you.”

“You mean, us.”

“That can be arranged,” and there was the playful Martin again. This one she could handle easily by now—trust me, spending almost 4 hours around him did wonders to you. “So do me one last favour, Eve.”

She snickered at his response. “You seem to like this whole favouring thing a bit too much.”

“Only for you, solskinn,” Martin tucked away the unkempt strands that went astray from her bun that exposed her flawless neck. The man swore he had to remind himself not to run his fingers against the length of her neck right here, right then, for he was a gentleman and he was raised better than to treat her in public less than what she deserved. “Enjoy the rest of the night like you’re not pretending, will you?”

But in all honesty, how could she deny him when he made her crave his touch like that?

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

So enjoy yourself was what all Eve did for the rest of the evening. She’d danced, she’d laughed, she’d drunk, she’d laughed some more.

True to his words, like the gentleman he was since the beginning of the night, Martin never strayed too far from Eve. He’d be lurking somewhere while watching Eve having fun for those who knew her—Louisa, especially, for it’d be the last time attending this kind of event with you!—and Eve knew his eyes lingered on her because he made it hard for her to miss it.

There was always a burning feeling on the back of Eve’s head or back, surely unmissable whenever she looked for the source of the warmth, it always directed back to Martin. No matter what he was doing or whom he was speaking with, his eyes always managed to meet hers from across the room without missing a beat. Like he knew she’d be searching for him, for the stolen glances he’d always snuck on between flowing conversations with his teammates and staffs and other guests alike.

Maybe because he intended it to be, so she could find him anywhere, everywhere. If she was to encounter another nasty bunch of women, if she was to be graced by Bob’s disgusting breath, if she was to be disturbed by a stranger she didn’t wish to be around with…

Wherever she wanted him, he’d be there.

He’d asked her to enjoy the night, and he’d also promised her that no one would disrespect her while he was around. But with the way she swayed her hips left and right in tune with the blaring music, Martin started to question his initial noble motive.

It was straining him to be honest, down to the particular parts of his pants, to see her enjoying the night so free, her hair dangling loosely down her spine left and right in opposite direction to her hips, hands in the air with a smile so widely stretched unconstrained, like she didn’t go through the worst period of her life just weeks ago.

To see her so unrestricted, after weeks of toning down her chirpiness in the training ground, was like watching a caterpillar transforming into a beautiful butterfly, ready to fly away from the cocoon that was protecting her all this while.

The metaphor surmised what Martin was actually feeling, ironically.

Martin couldn’t—and didn’t—want to acknowledge she was leaving the premises he’d call home these days but he had to. It was a decision she made before he was involved in her life, and it was a decision he had to respect. At least, it gave him an insane amount of proud to see her leaving a huge footprint in the facility before she left, just the way she wanted it and just the way she deserved.

At least, Martin would like to proudly think he’d given her back the life that was identical to the facility just before their sunshine left. Just before Eve left.

And proud was becoming something he’d like to wear on his exterior, he found out tonight, especially whenever Eve was striding towards him with a full-watt smile that was directed to none other than him. She might be smiling to everyone but he discovered that those smiles strained the edges of her eyes a little too forceful for his liking, while this—no matter how cute her eyes turned into crescent moons as she grinned, every contour of her face was relaxed and clearly glowing.

And proud was becoming something he’d like to wear on his arms as well, as he scooped Eve by the waist before the woman could even reach his sides. He was proud of the woman she’d become tonight—acting or not, after her earlier stint in the bathroom—and he was proud of the woman every men and women alike would like to get hands on her.

No can do was something Martin didn’t know could be so exhilarating when saying. Or maybe in his case, showing, as his hand settled well on top of her hip while his lips nestled well on the back of her ears or somewhere between her hairs. The action startled his conversation opponents, for they’d never seen Martin so openly affectionate and possessive, but that was the last thing on his mind as he felt Eve sinking back against his front, her hands covering his own in their respective places.

Eve didn’t let the guests continue to be fluster, though. Being an excellent conversationalist, she steered the chat between them seamlessly like nothing happened. Not even when Martin joining Eve in moving his body left and right slightly, following the music in the background.

Granit, somewhere at the other end of the ballroom, was shaking his head with a smile on his face as he noticed the young captain only smiled whenever Eve was around him. Every time someone interrupted his time with Eve, Martin’s smile would vanish into thin air as fast as Eve could strike them back in seconds. Well, he’d call the dibs from the start, to be honest.

“I’m thirsty,” She turned her head slightly to reach up Martin’s ears and he swore he had to hold back an audible gasp when her lips grazed his jawline. “I’m getting something, you coming?”

Like an insolent pair of teenagers, Martin had to quickly disengaged themselves from the conversation before her tug on his hands got stronger. Before her hands slipped of his. Before he couldn’t get a hold of her anymore.

And Martin thanked God he was following her. He could definitely pull off a head from its place if he’d caught the stare thrown by the bartender a second too late to Eve’s lowering cleavage, a result from dancing too many hours too count. Involuntarily, he stepped in between Eve and the oakwood bar, hands already reaching for her waist before he could help himself. And as soon as the drinks were served, he navigated the both of them to their table, although only to find the chairs were all occupied.

“I want to sit,” and Martin didn’t hesitate to pull a chair from the table beside theirs before sitting down himself. Eve was left bewildered at Martin’s action, so much for being a gentleman. “Can we switch places?”

“Sit,” Martin tapped his thighs, and Eve had to blink out the alcohol that was slowly coming down her system. “Come here, Angel.”

She didn’t see anything wrong, of course, for Martin had been sporting that challenging look with him since he told her to have the fun of her life earlier. But maybe that subtle smirk was something else… is that another challenge?

Bring it on.

The crystal glass on Martin’s hands almost slipped off his grip when Eve welcomed his daring challenge, sitting sideways across his lap and slithering her arms on the back of his neck. They’d been bantering each other, verbally and physically, throughout the night but still, Martin didn’t think Eve would answer this one so brutally like this.

He wasn’t complaining, though.

How could he if it meant him getting access to nuzzle his nose right on the crook of her neck, like two pieces of puzzle meeting each other as a match? How could he if it meant he could wrap his arms around her so easily, like a kid with their favourite bolster? How could he if it meant he could whisper all these things to her ear that lit up her entire features, like the electricity to a light bulb?

She might be drunk in alcohol but Martin might be drunk in life, for he didn’t want this to end.

Sue him.

Sue him for stealing her away from the crowd for the rest of the night, until the dance floor was being cleaned away slowly but surely. They didn’t do anything more than cradling one another in each other’s embrace and talking each other’s ears off—and somewhere in the back of the room, Rob Holding could be heard bawling his eyes out for losing the bet to his best friend.

But Martin couldn’t care less. He was picking up all sorts of endearing little anecdotes of Eve, one he’d never gotten to know of and one she’d never revealed to anyone in the building, for how precious it was for her. Like the fact she likes it so much to go to the flower market for a fresh bouquet on the weekends, no matter how tired she was or how early the clock might be striking.

Martin was proven right once more of his own hypotheses; Eve was more than the bright persona she let on.

So sue him when he refused to let her go from his clutch when she stood up, agreeing to join the rest of the staffs one last time for one last dance. It was his one last time, too, in a way. Put some regards to his name.

“Then dance with me.”

How could he deny her when she made him crave her touch like that?

The rest of the staffs didn’t expect Martin, the club’s current captain, to graze his presence to the dance floor. The staffs usually had fun amongst themselves, not even the physios or doctors joining them, more over the players. What started as murmurs between the staffs that Martin and Eve weren’t possible was starting to become true in their eyes.

They couldn’t refute whatever it was displayed in front of them, as Eve jumped to the music in Martin’s arms, both laughing at God-knows-what as her arms circled the back of his neck, so comfortably like they’d done this on a daily basis and not like someone who’d been hating each other’s guts until today.

The way they kissed each other certainly didn’t give anything away, not even the slightest clue, that they weren’t an exclusive item initially. Martin’s gentle brush over her lips and the little pecks she gave in return, just to capture Martin’s lips between hers and teased them in the way she only could—in the way Martin definitely would never get tired of getting kissed, the smile stretched over his face was an absolute giveaway to what he was feeling inside.

“Stop laughing, Martin.”

Eve was another level of irresistible when she pouted deeply like a child not granted sweets, and Martin had to succumb to the temptation. He kissed her deeply this time and he could feel her melting underneath his skin that was supporting her exposed back as he tilted her head to gain a full access to the cavern of her mouth that tasted exactly like how he imagined her to be. Sweet, sour, fun, and addicting.

Once, twice, thrice—they could go on to the fourth if Eve didn’t catch the glimpses of reality happening around them. Nobody was remaining on the dance floor and everyone was already deserting the venue. It was the two of them now, and it dawned on her that this was it.

She was dreading the moment the bell pounded its 12th ring.

But it never came. Instead, Martin landed another well-placed smack on her lips, like nothing bothered him at all. Maybe he didn’t, being used to playing a full stadium every week and out.

But it bothered Eve, so much. Was the last kiss one last show to the cleaners and everyone that was waiting for their transportation modes? Was the last kiss meant to be for them, now that they were alone?

“What’s wrong?”

“Martin,” By the way her lips quivered against his, letting out a huff of breath as shaky as her lips, and eyes not meeting his, the Norwegian immediately wished to not hear anything else she had to say. Because he knew—he knew—that it wasn’t going to be something he liked to hear. “Martin, I—what are we?”

It was the question he didn’t even dare to ask himself, let alone imposing her with such heavy baggage. Yet it was the question they had been dancing around tonight, as it was impossible to deny the shift in their chemistry. Somewhere along the night, the lines between reality and acting had blurred.

Living up to her reputation, Eve made time and space, a well-known complicated concept, shrink into something as magical as a tinkerbell dust. Before long, Martin was trapped into something he didn’t want to return to. Something he didn’t want to grow up on and smell the fucking coffee.

Yet, if this was a reality, they’d skipped out the conventional way of getting to know each other that it threw them off the axis. If there was something Martin was sure of at that moment, it was that he was as confused as Eve was.

“I—” Martin was rendered speechless and helpless against the blinking of Eve’s beautiful eyes sparkling under the chandelier. The soft yellow hue suited her entire being, and he knew, despite starting on the wrong foot with Eve, the moniker he’d given her was nothing close to a mistake. “I don’t know.”

But he had to face it.

They had to face it.

The least he could do to her was to talk the truth, and only the truth. In the midst of this chaotic, Cinderella-like parade, Martin didn’t want Eve to have anything less than what she deserved. Even if it costed him the heart he was wearing on the sleeve as he watched her withering in his arms after hearing his answer, and shrinking Eve didn’t fit anywhere in this world.

For God’s sake, she was solskinn—sunshine; his sunshine—and yet she wasn’t shining anymore in his arms. As if he was the moon only bound to eclipse her into something unseen, insignificant. A force like her shouldn’t be hidden, and certainly shouldn’t stray away from the centre of his universe.

“Do me one last favour, Martin.”

But now it was too late, wasn’t it? She was slowly setting down and Martin already didn’t know what to do if he didn’t see sunrise anymore.

You said you want to see her having any other emotion? Well, congratulations, asshole, his inner-self emerged in anger. You did it, just like Bob did to her.

And Martin had never hated himself more than now, for doing the one thing he promised not to do.

“Angel, you know I’ll do anything—”

“Don’t kiss me again if you don’t mean it.”

*solskinn means "sunshine" in norwegian.