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goldenstring6123 · 4 months ago

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Lnds: Them as human-dog hybrids!

Author's notes: A bit more of a niche HC~

Sylus as human-dog:

General Personality:

Aggressive and territorial both in human form and in animal form.

Usually prefers to be directly beside you at all times, sometimes positioning himself in between your legs if you're doing something that requires you to be idle.

Almost always in guard dog mode.

Comfortably switches from human form to animal form any time, anywhere.

In animal form, there's always a leash attached to his collar, in human form, he removes the leash but keeps the collar on. He likes it.

Wards of any other dogs that come in your way with a simple stare and a snarl. Other dogs shiver at the sight of him—even the more bigger ones.

if you get mad at him or scold him for being naughty, he'll ignore you which you will always let him get away with— but if he goes too far, he sleeps on the balcony.

You like grabbing his tail and muse yourself at seeing his super quick and funny reactions.

Dislikes

Dislikes play time with other dogs. When he's at the park, he sits under a tree and inspects the place as if he's a watchdog. If other animals pester him, he will bully them.

Dislikes being touched by other people even stepping a tad bit close will turn him aggressive.

Absolutely hates the vet; he's a menace to everyone except you; No vet would accept him; he likes only two specific doctors in Linkon city and both of them were old veteran women.

Likes

Likes bath time but likes giving you a hard time as well, when he's wet and lathered with soap, you will be too.

like's agressive play and you coddling him with belly rubs, back ear scratches. In the midst of play time he'll suddenly turn human and want your affection in another way.

Habits

At midnight, he leaves his very expensive and comfortable dog bed and sneaks into yours, come morning, you're face to face with his bare chest.

He doesn't let you off easily in the morning and even if he did, you still have to deal with his groggy ness.

He makes a mess when he sees that you cleaned your side of the bed when you wake up earlier than him and he just likes watching you clean it for the second time, ignoring your yapping and scolding.

A Major incident:

You once got mauled by another guard dog, unfortunately he wasn't there to protect you because you left him at home—stating it will just be a quick errand. when too long of a time has passed and you entered the house, the putrid scent of another dog had him barking loud. He sees you covered in scratches and bandages with blotches of red. He looses it and you can't calm him down no matter what kind of coaxing you do.

He turns human and catches you in your exhausted state, seeing the needle marks on your arm (from the vaccination), he was a bit relieved to see you got yourself patched up; He was still angry though. He helped you with the things you need to do and he puts you to bed, resting on the foot of your bed until he could hear you snooze.

At night, he hunts for that awful scent, searching high and low. The scent lead him to an abandoned shed in the forest where a stray and formerly detained human-dog hybrid resided. Needless to say there were trails of blood leading to the toilet and he was there trying to get the blood off by the time you wake up.

Zayne as human-dog:

General Personality:

A Medical service dog who is also the former chief cardio surgeon.

Often alert and active on duty when you are in your work mode.

A very intelligent dog, even if you aren't in any trouble, he'll bring your stuff like a pillow, a bottle of water, a bag of chips and so on.

He's very particular to the scent you give; although he can't describe it, he can smell your emotions and your physical condition.

He rarely barks at anything random and has a designated spot for doing his business. he is a low maintenance, well trained and polite dog.

Dislikes:

He dislikes any special cooked meals for him that has carrots in its ingredients. You can sneak in some when he eats in human form but when he's in his dog form, he can smell it no matter how well it's blended in the meat.

Also hates fast food, but likes the sugary sweet confections.

Likes:

In human form he likes reading, and rather than go to the dog park or the pet supply store, you bring him to a cafe or a bookstore.

From time to time, he likes being in human form for longer periods. and while he does, he likes to service you, helping you clean around the house, and perform check ups. If not doing anything, he's reading a book or watching a classic film.

He likes to keeps his bed in the same spot and only has specific areas in the house where he stays. Preferably in elevated areas like on the table or on the couch.

He likes to visit the park, but never really plays around. Small puppies are attracted to him but he only paws their heads before tending to his own business.

He takes it upon himself to go to the doggy parlor and the vet; sometimes he doesn't need you to accompany him. He takes pride in being well groomed; he takes it a step further by also taking good care of his human form. the downside is: it gets really really expensive.

A Major incident/s:

Rarely do you ever get mad at him except for times when you order fast food on your nights off. Before managing to take a bite of that double cheeseburger, he snatches it from you and lunges it around. Stepping on it. He hates fast food and he knows its not good for you.

As punishment you didn't let him join you for work for the next three days and he's left all alone in the house waiting for you to get home. He eagerly waits for you at the door and all you do is pet him before falling asleep on the couch.

Despite knowing you were mad at him and he was under punishment, he still drapes a blanket over you making sure you weren't cold. He sleeps at the foot of your couch and when he comes to, you were sleeping on the floor with him, cuddling and sharing the same blanket he draped over you during the night.

Xavier as human-dog:

General Personality:

An immortal police dog working with the Hunter's association.

Has a keen sense of smell and hearing as well as agility and speed.

In office down-times he naps— a lot, yet he never fails to perfect physical test. Somehow always in great shape both in dog form and human form.

When he has nothing to do, or there's too many dogs in the vicinity, escapes and sleeps in the flowerbed of the rooftop garden or ontop of a slate rock. In human form, he sleeps in a hammock behind the storage room which was conveniently placed by a former staff. (or so he says)

He will play dead on the floor if he's too lazy to walk so you have to carry him in his.

In your home, he's mostly in his human form. He still likes snacks but mostly likes to stick to you wherever you are. In the sofa? Sitting and resting on your lap. in the bedroom? At the foot of your bed. Toilet? He's outside the door. There's no alone time with him. Dislikes

He hates baths but likes being groomed. He's a very patient boy in the doggy parlor especially if they offer treats. Doesn't bite but will push himself into a corner or face the wall as if he's being punished.

People pet him a lot and he avoids it like a cat, sometimes play biting to tell people to go away. If people still manage to pet him, He'll make loud, whining noises and hide under your table.

Likes

He like's winning plushies in the arcade yet coats them in saliva so you can't exactly have that plushie to yourself. 3 days in and that plushie would turn into shreds because of his aggressive playing habits.

He loves treats, be it dog treats or pastries. Can hear a crinkle of treats inside your bag from 5 feet away. He'll be raising his paw at you once he manages to get your attention.

A Major incident:

You once got mad at him for slobbering and chewing up all over the paperwork on your table because you weren't able to pay attention to him during the busy office hours.

As punishment, you had to work overtime to accomplish and remake those files; all while ignoring him. Afterwards, when he thought you were done, you asked Nero to exchange patrol dogs for the time being.

Xavier was devastated and suddenly turned human, apologizing and saying that it wont happen again.

You ignored him and went home— him trailing after you just a few meters away. He doesn't enter your house when you get there and just guards your front door. When morning comes, he realizes that there was a blanket on him an a brand new plushie. Your door was purposely left ajar for him to enter.

Rafayel as human-dog:

General Personality:

A high maintenance fashion dog.

He's a runway pet, often working alongside clothing companies.

Though he is a human-dog hybrid, he's frequently in his human form to sign contracts and make negotiations.

He models both as a dog and as a human. He's very picky though, he only chooses the best of the best companies, ones that you would wear.

He has his own penthouse near the beach but people complain about him because he barks a lot, seemingly out of boredom. As a solution, he moves in with you!

He chooses your outfit for you, and digs out of your wardrobe every now and then, especially when he needs you to accompany him to a show or a party. Dislikes

He is more dramatic than you anticipated. If he dislikes the film or show he's watching and you were ignoring him, he would bark annoyingly, or whine a lot most likely rolling around and jumping on the bed to relieve his boredom.

He has problems with cats and can sense if one steps in within the perimeter of his residence.

In his dog form, he dislikes being in places or rooms with extreme temperature. be it super cold or too hot. Although he likes the summer, sometimes the heat is unbearable so he needs to cool off as soon as he goes out. Likes

He likes to make sure you look the best because you are a reflection of him; But he knows he looks better than you.

He keeps a few toys around and particularly likes the plushies, but above all he likes the to play around with the scrunchies you wear.

From time to time, he likes play dates with other dogs— his breed in particular is very quick to get along with other dogs regardless of species. He's quite fond of frolicking in the indoor dog parks of Linkon city.

Habits

He has his own bedroom in your apartment but you always wake up with him next to you either in his dog form or in his naked human form.

He needs full maintenance every few days, these involve brushing, nail grooming, ear cleaning and so on; It gets very expensive but he always pays for it. In human form he likes to pamper you as well by giving you massages, treating you to spas and salons.

He is a nightmare to deal with as a dog mainly because he sheds so fast; even if you cleaned the kitchen before cooking there will always be fur in your cutlery.

A Major incident:

You were always scolding him for his childishness but once in a while, it gets endearing except for that one specific day where he decides to chew on all your heels and shoes because you were going to meet up with the manager of that Chihuahua model.

Needless to say, yours shoes, including slippers, which you had to pay money for, were all ruined. Barefoot and all, you drove him over to his penthouse and left him there for a solid few days. No one complained of any noise because his neighbors were out of town.

He was angry at you for leaving him alone so he wanted to give you a piece of his mind, but when he arrive at your apartment, the first thing he sees were those chewed up shoes.

Feeling apologetic at the sight of your broken shoes in the trash bin, he gathered his connections and used some IOUs to be given some of the best and beautiful shoes in the industry. Needless to say you were quite surprised when there are a bunch of pr boxes blocking your door. That and Rafayel patiently waiting at the foyer of your apartment.

Author footnotes: Some of the text won't adhere to the format— Sorry about that! I'm still getting used to tumblr. Also, I wanna make a part two out of this. hehe~ Layout by me, using Canva premium | Do not repost | Dividers by @/cafekitsune

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dreamescapeswriting · 3 months ago

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Side Effects ~ BC

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

GENRE: established relationships, hanahaki disease, Unrequited Love, non idol au, chan being the one with hanahaki

PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - August 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

"Chan, you're spacing out again." Felix laughs as he notices his friend spacing out in the middle of class. Something he'd been doing a lot lately as well which hadn't gone unnoticed by you and all of his other friends but none of you could get a simple answer out of him.

Chan would do his usual task of telling you everything was fine, that it was just the stress of classes piling up on top of him but it seemed like so much more than that and it worried you that he didn't come to you about it.

"Sorry," He laughed nervously before turning his attention back to the professor, talking about Hanahaki disease and how often it tended to affect people but it was everything Chan already knew and was experiencing himself.

It was something that was happening a lot lately in the news, a lot of people were experiencing unrequited love and a lot of people were dying or doing experimental drugs to try and rid themselves of the disease but in the end, nothing would work. Most cases end in death or if they were lucky a prison sentence for taking uncontrolled substances.

"Professor, I heard there were new surgeries for people," A girl at the front of the class called out and Chan's ears picked up, it was something he'd been looking into lately and he wanted to know if it was true. Glancing over at the professor Chan could see he seemed unsure of how to approach the subject matter and he took off his glasses and began rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"In very rare cases the surgeries do work," He explained, looking out at everyone before walking to the center of the room.

For months now Chan had been putting off the fact that he was suffering alone through it. Ignoring it and praying it would go away all on its own but as the months went by it was getting harder to hide from you and his friends.

When the first petal had come from his throat he thought if he ignored it long enough the whole thing would go away on its own but it was becoming blatantly apparent that wasn't going to happen. Whenever he was around you the petals only came out faster so he did everything he could to limit his time around you.

"What surgery is it?" Chan called out and you glanced over at him, you'd never seen him so interested in this class before but you said nothing, letting him ask whatever he wanted as you watched him.

You'd noticed how withdrawn he'd been lately and it was starting to get to you a little bit. It had started last month, he'd stopped wanting to hang out with you...alone at least. If the others were there he didn't seem to mind that much but he put major distance between the two of you.

The two of you used to be inseparable, you'd spend every waking moment together but he'd stopped. You figured he'd just gotten busy with finals but it seemed like something deeper than that. He stopped speaking to you, moving to sit beside his friends rather than sitting beside you.

"Chan," You whispered, as he started writing down notes. Your eyes scanned over the chicken scratches on his page but you couldn't understand any of it. Felix glanced at you sadly and you looked down at your notebook, wondering what you could have done to make Chan hate you so much he couldn't even look at you anymore.

"It's still experimental but the flowers are surgically removed...along with the victim's feelings of love, meaning that you'll no longer love that person anymore." The class sighed as he listed the side effects of the surgery but Chan just wrote and wrote, scribbling anything the professor was saying back to him, only stopping when the next words came from his lips.

"Sometimes, it will also remove all memories of the former beloved...leaving the victim to never love again," The room turned silent and people stared at the professor with saddening expressions, no one dared to speak. The risk of never being able to love again lingered in the air as you felt your heart breaking.

"Why would anyone do that?" You whisper, mostly to yourself rather than anyone else but Chan heard you and it seemed to irritate him as he gripped his pen so tight you were almost worried it was going to burst.

"Some people can't stand the thought of never being loved by the one person they hold dear." Chan finally grumbled in your direction, wasting no time in gathering his stuff and rushing out of the room seconds before the bell even ran to dismiss you all.

"What was that about?" You mumble to Felix who flicked you a shrug and you frown staring down at the table where Chan had just been sitting to see a drop of blood there. Chan was prone to nosebleeds but you were almost sure you hadn't seen any when he stared at you.

Weeks continued to pass by and Chan only became more and more withdrawn from you and everything that involved you. He stopped coming to the weekly study sessions you did with all of your friends and he stopped replying to your texts. You were starting to freak out and you'd enlisted Felix - Chan's roommate - to help you figure out what was going on. Felix shot you one last look and you urged him to go to the door once again,

It was supposed to be movie night and you'd hoped Chan would come out of his room to join you but he hadn't. So you'd practically shoved Felix toward the door to get him to come out or at least give you answers. He'd made no promises to get to the bottom of everything but told you that he'd do the best he could which was what had led him to waking up Chan by pounding on his door.

"Lix, I'm tired. What is it?" Chan grumbled looking at his friend who had just woken him up, it wasn't even late. It was barely three in the afternoon which only worried Felix more. It wasn't like Chan to sleep like this, if at all. Everyone knew how much he struggled sleeping so to find him asleep in the middle of the day seemed so much worse.

"What's going on with you? You're pushing all of us away." Lix shoved his way into Chan's dorm room, looking around for any sign that he was hiding something but everything was as it usually was. The laptop was open on his desk, working hard as he forced himself to do, but there was something on the screen.

Searching for a hospital that cured Hanahki's disease, along with success rates, Felix stepped closer to get a better look but Chan quickly stepped in front of him and shut the laptop screen down.

"I'm just sick and tired," Chan growls at him, coughing into his hands and freezing in place as he feels his breathing becoming harder and harder to draw in. Felix's eyes wandered to his friend's hands and he saw the blood before anything else,

"Chris-" The words were cut off as Chan dropped to the floor, his lungs so tight he couldn't bring any new air, his gasps coming out frantically.

"YN! CALL AN AMBUALANCE!" Felix screams into the other room, moving Chan onto his side and doing his best to open his airway a little more, to give his friend a little time. Rushing into the room you stared down at your friend who was gasping and struggling to breathe.

"Hang on, Chan. We've got you, I promise we've got you!" You promised as you frantically called for an ambulance.

It had taken everything inside of you not to go with him in the ambulance but Felix had told you to come later, to pack everything Chan was going to need and meet them at the hospital so that's what you were doing. Raiding through his drawers in search of some underwear, you ragged open the next one only to find hundreds and hundreds of bloodied petals lying there.

"W-What the fuck?" You whispered as you pulled them up, it was clear how long Chan had been struggling with this by the sheer amount of petals that were sitting here. Your heart began to race as you rushed to his laptop, pushing it open and looking through his search history. All of it is coinciding with someone looking for a way to rid themselves of the disease,

"Chan, no." You grumbled, moving to go through the drawers until you found exactly what you were looking for. The bottle of pills that were sold as a "quick fix" was the one thing that wasn't a fix at all. It was a glorified painkiller that people claimed fixed them, but it only numbed them to the pain of the growing of the plant inside of them.

"Mr Bang, I can't stress this enough, the side effects-"

"I know," Chan cut the doctor off as he signed the final waiver that he was having to sign in order for them to remove the damn flowers from him. Doing anything so he could breathe again without the pain of unrequited love weighing down on him.

"Have you tried discussing your feelings with the person who you hold them for?" The doctor asked. It was all any of them had asked him since he was able to breathe on his own again and it was starting to get to him.

"She won't love me back. I-I won't put that stress on our friendship," Chan mumbled a little as he took in a deep breath, there was no way he was going to risk ruining things between you because of some stupid flower inside of his lungs.

"There's a chance you won't even remember her...That you'll never be able to love anybody ever again," The doctor explained right as you got to the door, panting and sweating heavily as you stared at them both,

"You didn't go in yet?" Your voice cracked as you rushed to the side of the bed, looking at Chan who shook his head. The doctor walked away, sensing the need to give you both some space and you tried to catch your breath as Chan stared at you,

"Yn, what are you doing-"

"I love you." You cut him off, staring at him as you confessed your own feelings for him. The sight of his petals back in the dorm room killed you inside as you realised he'd been hiding everything you'd been hiding along with him.

"Yn." He grumbled, not wanting to hear you lie just to save his life but you grabbed his hand, placing it over his chest and letting him feel your heart racing for him.

"No, listen to me, Christopher. You've been ignoring me long enough and I swear if you do anymore I'm going to go insane." You rush the words out and he looks at you,

"This isn't a quick fix, I love you...T-This isn't...This isn't something you can lie to fix me through," He cried, tears running down his cheek as you slowly reached out and wiped away the tears. The sight of him crying tearing you apart,

"It's not a lie, Channie." Your voice was softer this time as you reached into your bag, bringing out your own petals and showing him the blood-soaked petals that were staining your hands,

"But-"

"I never said anything because I didn't want to ruin our friendship." You admit as you slowly sit on the side of the bed, your breathing becoming slightly easier as you sit beside him.

"How could you stand being around me?" He frowned, it had been so hard for him to even be near you whenever he felt his feelings inside of him.

"I wanted to spend as much time as I could with you, until...U-Until the flowers did their job," You admitted before Chan brought you into a deep kiss.

As soon as your lips touched everything outside of you both ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, Chan's arms moving to bring you closer to him as your lips brushed against each other in a tender and hesitant kiss.

A shiver ran down your spine as you whimpered a little, carefully sitting on his lap and kissing him deeper than before, your hands cupping his face as you finally gave into the feelings you'd had for months.

"I bought-" Felix stops himself as he sees the two of you, smirking to himself as you sheepishly pull back and stare over at him and pout at being interrupted.

"I'll go and cancel the surgery," Is all Felix says before sneaking off and making you giggle a little, looking down at Chan who was already staring at you with sparkles in his eyes.

"You're not going anywhere anytime soon, I hope you know that," He whispers before kissing you deeply once again.

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ajortga · 3 months ago

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sequence of events

pairing: jenna ortega x crutched?! fem reader

word count: 1.6k+

authors note: thank you so much for 800 followers, i appreciate each and every one of you. <3. my writing did not clearly match the image i wanted but i love making your requests come to life.

based off request!

Hi, I just recently started reading your blog but I really like the way you describe feelings, it’s simply amazing and since requests are open, I would like to ask if you could make a fem! reader who is disabled and walks on crutches, but one day Jenna accidentally pushes her and the reader almost falls into the pool and after fluff I know it’s stupid, but if you don’t want to, don’t write, it’s just my request, if you write, thank you so much! Best wishes!

It was not a rare sighting whenever you would be the person to catch the sympathetic stares that people shot at you whenever you walked around just perfectly.

Well, perfectly fine with crutches.

It was like almost every single day that you walked, people would slightly move to the side and give you a small nod. Or maybe they would apologize a bit too much. You think it’s happened too many times for you to count anymore.

Ever since you were little, your left foot was physically paralyzed. You couldn’t go anywhere without having people staring at you a bit too long for your comfort. You’ve just gotten used to it.

The worst part about it was not being able to kick your feet in the air happily whenever you read a rom com. God it stunk because you would smile widely and only your right foot would be swinging, which would cause you to accidentally knock something down on your bedside table.

With the sun of summer beginning to make its grand departure, Liz, one of your best friends, planned the whole day for you two to experience the “actual hot girl summer day.”

The months before summer, every year you’d make a whole list, preferably 6 pages long of all the summer-y things you’d spend the summer doing. But every year you’d only cross out less than a fifth of your bucket list.

You glide your sunscreen against your skin and to the slope of your nose and tuck your hair behind your ears while watching a show displayed on your laptop.

Once you’re finished, you slowly balance yourself on your crutches and make a call to Liz.

She picks up on the first ring as you squeak out a, “I’m ready!”

Liz 💐: i’m here under the tree

You slowly crutch your way out of your house and to the spot Liz’s car was at. God, there was one time that you were walking to look for her and she jumped from the damn bushes, it made you scream so loudly and almost fall on your ass.

Of course you bring out your phone, zooming into her location from the Find My Iphone app, letting out a sigh of relief when you see that her phone was where she indicated. You stand still, elbowing your crutches before sliding your phone back in your pocket.

Your steps escalate a little quicker, your crutches picking up the pace as you glance at the bush you fell in almost 6 months ago. You hate that your driveway was always parked with random cars. Basically all your friends had to resort to another location. She was still pretty far, out of sight for now.

You bring out your phone when you feel it ring again, glancing down at what it said.

Liz 💐: you look like a monster on roblox that’s just bouncing in the same spot.

Okay, what? – You narrow your eyes, not understanding how she could’ve possibly seen-

Something emerges from the pushes as your friend pops out and screams, making you scream so loudly, then start cussing her out, threatening her with one of your crutches. How the hell did she manage to do it again?

“LIZ, I’M GOING TO FUCKING-”

Jenna was sitting against the chairs you would see at any community pool, reading her book about tips in life, sunglasses on.

Yes, it had taken you an hour later, with Liz having to frantically push you into her car and paying for the food you wanted, for you to be somewhat sane.

After a little bit of shopping and buying new books to make you relive a rom com story, Liz holds the door for you as you walk out to the pool. Jenna’s eyes raise to the noise, looking at the door and she swears you’re the most beautiful girl she’s ever seen. Her eyes would be cursed every time she closed her eyes, your face popping up every time she dreamt. It takes her a moment but she flares up in realization, because she’s seen you before!

She met you once when she had bumped into you from one of the coffee shops. You both had talked for an hour straight. The freckled cheeked girl remembered how alive humanity felt for her the next couple of days because of that. You both were just talking about how the seasons were so intriguing.

People being people made her feel good whenever she thought about life for the week following.

Her eyes trail over yours, then the pattern of your nose, the way the sun kisses your cheeks in just the right way. Your hair glows in the sun as soon as you step in the light, the breeze perfectly blowing against it. You were ethereal.

Wow, was all the brunette could think as she put down her book, losing all of her interest in it because you had taken all of it. That book was stinky dinky if it meant being able to say hi to you once again and somehow impress you.

She got up and put the book into her bag, standing up and walking behind you. As she walked beside the pool, right in front of her, she took off her sunglasses. It would be awkward if you didn’t recognize her because she had them on.

Once she took them off, she fiddled with the lens, her fingertips lightly brushing over it to get a speck of dust off.

Next thing she knew, her shoe had got caught against bumpy brick floors and she was falling face flat into you.

She squeals, trying to catch herself so she won’t fall straight against you, especially since you were unaware, your crutches holding you steady.

You’re a bit too focused on your friend’s deep conversation to notice what was going on, until something slams right behind your back and straight up sends you flying into the pool with a scream.

“Oh my god!” Liz yells as you bend, crutches landing on the ground nicely. Unfortunately, it was the opposite case for you as you splash into the water, the coldness making you yell. You couldn’t move. You can’t swim, how the hell does someone swim if one leg doesn’t work, you cry out for help, spluttering out water as your working leg flaps uselessly up and down the water.

“Liz! I can’t-”

What the fuck had Jenna just done? Immediately she used the stairs right where you were and crawled down, the life guard was way too busy talking to someone to even notice the commotion. God she couldn’t let you drown-

You were coughing, choking on water that did not feel good at all. Your chest felt tight and hurt like shit every time you breathed in deeply. Liz and the pretty girl you recognized from when you met her at the bookstore were yelling in your face, asking you questions that just sounded like gibberish.

“Are you bouquet?”

“Ho mice god!”

“How the bell bid chu mop sea urchin?”

What. The. Hell.

“I am so sorry!” The brunette says, wrapping you in a towel and setting your crutches to your sides. You were a little too busy admiring her freckles to be mad. “I just remembered you from the other day and wanted to say hi and I fucking tripped and-”

You blink, slapping your chest over and over again as you slowly grin, that probably looked a little foolish and silly. “ ‘Ts okay, it was an accident,” you mumble, voice a little croaky as the warmth from the sun soaks up your damp clothes.

It was definitely not okay to Jenna, she thinks you might have dived head first, because now you were looking at her and grinning. Shouldn’t you be upset? God you were all toothy and everything, oh god! Did she make you crack your brain?

She should not be thinking you looked like you just came out of a movie when she accidentally pushed you into the pool!

Jenna did not know what to do, just rubbing the towel that was marshmallowed over your body. Your friend looked like she was about to explode.

Jenna, in fact, did make it up to you. Because an hour later three of you guys were getting Jamba Juice smoothies and tacos.

“God, I swear I wasn’t trying to kill you,” She rambled, mouth a little full, you noticed the way that she always used her hands as an illustrator while talking. “I just wanted to see if it was you and ask how you were and-”

“Jenna, I swear it’s fine,” you brush off, sitting on the chair while Jenna was standing up, pacing back and forth.

“It wouldn’t have been fine if you had died, Y/N!” Jenna and Liz speak at the same time, making you sip your smoothie. Seriously, you were fine. Your clothes were for the most part, dry, and it just was a struggle to take a deep breath at some moments.

“But.. If you want and are willing..” You trail off, squirming to grab your phone as you swipe it to your contacts and place it in Jenna’s hands with one of your eyebrows raised.

“Deal!” She said, grinning as she booped her fingers into your phone.

It was a little late at night when you crawled into bed, your right foot taking lead as you hide under the covers. You and Jenna had texted for a while, and you just got another message.

Yay! You just got a Jamba Juice gift card from your friend, Jenna!

jenna the head cracker: juice

You almost cackle, immediately scrolling through gift cards and tapping on one that was just right.

Hooray! You just sent your friend Jenna the Head Cracker a non-trip shoe deal!

you: shoes

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega imagine #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell x reader #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #vada cavell x y/n #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you

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daryltwdixon · 10 days ago

Text

Daryl Dixon x Reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: smut!! not much plot!! kind of emoshie too tho MDNI

notes: fem!reader, no use of y/n. inspired by a scene from part III of ruins of us, so don't come for me when you see this scene in there too lol

I also barely proofread this sorry

In the quiet of Alexandria, the first real quiet you’ve had in what feels like forever, the two of you sit side by side on the porch steps, sharing a silence that says everything and nothing at all. Daryl’s thumb idly brushes the edge of your hand, a rare gesture, but you notice it. He’s tense, uneasy in the stillness of this place where people laugh and gather like the world outside doesn’t still burn.

You take a breath, finally standing, and hold out your hand. “Come on.”

He stares at your hand for a second, something unreadable flickering in his gaze, then he reaches for it. His grip is strong, his skin rough, and as he lets you lead him inside, he’s silent but attentive, like he’s half waiting for the rug to be pulled from under him.

In the bathroom, you glance back at him, feeling something tight and warm in your chest. He’s watching you with that familiar intensity, one that can only be found in the private moments away from everyone, just you two in your own space. You step closer, your fingers reaching up to the collar of his shirt, carefully peeling away the fabric stained with dust, grime, and sweat. His breathing is almost inaudible, but you feel it, each steady exhale brushing against your skin as he watches you work, layer by layer, his guard slipping with every piece.

When you pull off your own clothes, you don’t shy from his eyes. They’re guarded as always, but there’s something else there too, an almost reverent way he lets his gaze roam over you, taking in every part of you that’s been hidden under layers and dirt. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time in weeks—maybe months. The sound of the water brings you back, its steady, warm rush filling the room with steam, curling around you like an invitation.

You step in first, shivering as the hot water cascades down your back. Daryl follows, closing the glass door behind him. As he moves under the spray, the water runs down his face, through his hair, carrying with it the weight of miles, fights, sleepless nights. You take the bar of soap and lather a small rag, moving close to him, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He closes his eyes, letting you guide him, trusting you in a way he rarely allows himself to trust anyone.

Your hands work over his shoulders, firm yet gentle, tracing the muscles that have carried him through every hard road and long night. There’s a small tremble as your fingers brush over a scar, a reminder of another life. You let your hand linger there, pausing, pressing just a little, showing him in silence that you remember every bit of what brought you both here. Daryl swallows, and you catch the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes as they open, catching yours with a gravity that makes the breath catch in your throat.

You move lower, your fingers sliding down his arms, washing away the grime in gentle strokes, lingering, memorizing the feel of him beneath your touch. When you reach his hands, you lace your fingers with his, feeling the strength there, the familiar roughness that’s so uniquely his. You smile, just a hint, and for a moment, a soft, almost shy smile ghosts over his lips.

As you pull the soap away to wash yourself, his hand stops you. He holds your wrist, his touch firm yet delicate. “My turn,” he says quietly, his voice low, a rasp that holds a world of unsaid things.

His hand moves carefully as he takes the soapy cloth and begins to trace slow, steady circles on your shoulders. The warm cloth glides over your skin, and you feel his fingers linger just a little longer than necessary, like he’s savoring this rare chance to touch you after weeks of only thoughts of survival. His hands move down your arms, so gentle it feels like he’s memorizing you all over again, learning every curve, every line. The heat of the water and his touch seem to blur together, wrapping around you, grounding you in the present.

He moves lower, the cloth brushing over your stomach, his fingers firm yet tender. His eyes flicker up to meet yours, holding you there in his gaze, and it feels like the world has shrunk down to just this moment, just the two of you. There’s a weight to his touch, like he’s saying everything he’s never found the words for.

He softly, slowly, turns you around and you think he’s going to begin scrubbing your back, but he reaches for your waist, and the cloth slows, his hand lingering as he continues making small circles. You exhale, your breath coming shallow as he closes the space between you, pulling you against his chest. You feel his fingers press gently, a question, an offer. The feel his heart, steady and strong against your back, calms you as he feels you with the cloth moving up your stomach, moving in slow, deliberate strokes over your breasts, his breath warm against the side of your neck.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, the warmth of the water, the gentleness of his hands, the way he’s holding you like you’re something fragile and precious. You lean your head back against him, eyes fluttering shut and letting the water hit your face from the shower head. You feel his grip tighten, his breath hitch as his hand moves lower, gliding down your stomach, his fingers trembling slightly as they reach your hips.

And in that moment, you feel him against you, hard and unyielding against your back. Your breath catches, and you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, his face inches from yours. There’s a fire there, barely contained, a want that matches your own. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you closer, his mouth brushing over your neck, his lips ghosting over your skin.

As his hands travel lower, your skin prickles with anticipation, every inch of you attuned to his touch. The air between you is thick with unspoken need, weeks of restrained desire spilling over, saturating the space around you with a quiet intensity. You can feel the tension building as he reaches down, his hand moving carefully, deliberately. The soapy cloth brushes over your thighs, lingering, teasing, before he lets it drop to the floor, forgotten, freeing his fingers to explore you without the barrier.

He leans you back against his chest even closer, solid and warm, his other arm wrapping around your waist to hold you close. You close your eyes, losing yourself in the feeling of him, your senses sharpening as his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers sliding down to find you already wet, warm, and aching for his touch. His breath is a low, throaty murmur against your ear as he feels how ready you are, and you can hear the satisfied growl that rumbles in his chest as he presses his fingers against you, gliding over your softness with a deliberate slowness that makes your knees weak.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, each word sending a thrill down your spine. His fingers begin to move in slow, steady circles, each stroke purposeful, as though he’s savoring the way your body responds to his touch. The sensation builds with each movement, his hand creating a rhythm that matches the pulse thrumming through you, leaving you clinging to him, one of your hands gripping his neck for support as he works you closer to the edge. The other rests against your chest, slow and tantalizing against your breasts.

You let out a soft moan, tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder, your breaths coming faster as his fingers explore you, slipping deeper, curling just right, making your whole body tremble. He tightens his hold on you, pressing his mouth to your neck, kissing, nipping, his hot breath delicious against your skin. The friction of his fingers sends waves of pleasure radiating through you, and you arch into him, pressing yourself closer, feeling the solid strength of his body holding you steady, silently begging for more.

“Like that?” he murmurs against your skin, his voice low and thick with satisfaction as he feels you respond to his touch, your breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. His fingers press deeper, finding that perfect spot that makes you gasp, a soft cry spilling from your lips as he intensifies his rhythm, each movement drawing you closer, building the tension until it’s almost too much.

He doesn’t let up, his hand steady, fingers curling, his thumb tracing gentle circles that make your body tighten, the pressure coiling in your belly. His other arm holds you firm, keeping you steady as he works you over, his mouth moving to your ear, whispering words you can barely make out, each rough syllable sending a fresh shiver through you. The combination of his voice, his touch, the way he’s holding you like he can’t bear to let go—it all drives you higher, until you’re teetering on the edge, every nerve alive, every inch of you aching to fall.

“So fuckin’ perfect for me,” he murmurs in your ear, “pussy always so needy, so ready for me–it’s been too long, baby,”

“Daryl…” His name slips from your lips in a desperate, breathless moan, and he growls in response, his fingers moving faster, more insistent, until finally, the tension shatters, and you’re left clinging to him as waves of pleasure roll over you, your body shuddering against his as he holds you close, his hands never leaving you.

As you come down, your breaths still uneven, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hand gently stroking over your skin, grounding you, bringing you back from the high. You lean back against him, your head resting against his shoulder, feeling his heart beating steady and strong, a quiet reminder of the connection between you, of the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and there’s a gleam in his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you with a satisfaction that leaves your heart racing all over again. He brushes a hand over your cheek, tucking a damp strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning forward, his lips find yours, tentative at first, then deeper, more fervent as his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. You melt into him, losing yourself in the taste of his mouth, the familiar scent of him mixing with the steam that’s blanketing the two of you. His kisses grow hungrier, more insistent, the warmth between you intensifying as his hands reach down further, gripping your ass with roughness that makes you squeal. His grip on you tightens, his hands rough and possessive as they knead your skin, pulling you against him with a desperation that makes your heart race. The low growl that escapes him as his hands continue their palming of your cheeks sends a thrill through you, and without thinking, you wrap a leg around his waist, bringing him flush against you.

You both shudder as his hardness presses perfectly between your legs, a friction that ignites every inch of you. His breath catches, mingling with the steam and your own hitched sighs. You feel him slide against your wet, gushing lips, and you press down further, chasing the friction he offers between your legs.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, voice low and thick as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips and teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His grip on you tightens, pulling you against him with a roughness that makes you gasp, your hands clinging to his shoulders, nails pressing into his skin as he holds you close.

“Daryl, wait,” you whisper into his skin, feeling his breath hot and ragged against your neck as you pull away just slightly. The look in his eyes, dark with blown pupils, makes you hesitate, a storm of longing and vulnerability held there as he tries to read your intentions, unsure if you truly mean to pull away from his warmth, his need, his fervor. A flicker of uncertainty crosses his features, a silent question in the tight set of his jaw, and before he can think anything of it, you slip away, dropping slowly down to your knees before him.

From this vantage, he’s breathtaking. Standing tall above you, his damp hair falls around his face, shadowing his gaze, droplets tracing lines down his jaw and dripping onto your skin, adding to the heat already burning between you. His body glistens with drops of water, the slopes of his chest and stomach mesmerizing as the shower’s spray falls around you both. His broad frame blocks the full force of the water, sheltering you in this intimate space.

“What’re ya—” he starts, but his words cut off with a harsh intake of breath as your hand wraps firmly around the base of him, your fingers barely meeting around his girth. The sound he makes—a strangled, low whimper—reverberates through the steam-filled space, and his hands fly forward to brace himself. One hand anchors in your hair, steadying his weight with a gentle hold, while the other presses against your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin as he watches, chest heaving.

“Baby… you don’t have to…” he rasps, his voice thick and trembling as he struggles to speak. But the low groans he lets slip with every slow, deliberate movement of your hand make it clear he doesn’t want you to stop. You meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eye as you flatten your tongue against him, trailing slow, languid strokes along his length, savoring every shudder, every soft moan that slips from his lips.

When you take him fully into your mouth, cheeks hollowed with a fierce, focused hunger, his control shatters. His hand tightens in your hair, a mix of gentle guidance and barely-contained restraint, his hips instinctively pressing forward as he lets his head fall back into the cascade of the shower, his breath a rough gasp against the tiled walls.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice ragged, almost reverent, as his other hand finds its place on the back of your head, steady and protective, losing himself in the feel of you. You can sense his restraint, how carefully he holds back, letting you set the pace, his muscles taut as if he’s fighting against every instinct telling him to give in.

You move with a steady rhythm, taking your time, mouth and hands working together to bring him closer and closer to the edge. Every gasp, every groan that spills from his lips fuels the fire between you, each sound a delicious reward as he lets himself unravel in your hands. His moans vibrate through you, making you feel every ounce of his need and raw desire as he allows himself to fall apart under your touch.

But then, suddenly, as if remembering himself, his grip in your hair tightens, and he pulls you away, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, nearly busting from the sight of you—kneeling, head tilted back, cheeks flushed, lips wet and swollen, parted and ready. From his perspective, you’re utterly captivating, the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on. Your wet hair sticks to your skin, strands of it catching on the dampness of your face, your neck and the rest down and flowing behind you, soaked and clean. The water beads on your skin, tracing delicate trails down your neck, glistening along the curve of your collarbone and catching on the subtle lines of your muscles, and he’s completely mesmerized.

You catch the intensity in his gaze as he absorbs the sight, his restraint wavering in the face of his raw, undeniable want. He swallows hard, then leans down, his other hand coming to your cheek again, cupping you with a gentleness that feels like a promise, and kisses you deeply, thoroughly, his tongue sweeping inside your mouth to taste himself on you, each movement as consuming as the last.

A soft moan slips from your lips as he kisses you, and he lets out a sound—a low, growling sigh—as he pulls you to stand, holding you close. His hand drops to your waist, fingers sliding down to find your hip and then lower to your thigh, hitching your leg up around him again in one smooth movement. He presses you firmly against the warm tile wall of the shower, his body a solid weight against yours, grounding you in the moment as he leans in close.

The sensation of him, rock-hard and twitching against you, has you quivering, and you can feel the urgency in his touch as he pushes agonizingly slow into your walls, letting you adjust to his girth for a long moment as you suck in deep breaths, holding him close with your hands over his shoulders. “Jesus,” he mutters against your skin, voice low and thick, his breath coming fast as he slowly begins to grind into you, as he feels you pulsing around his cock, the tightness electric as he begins to move in a tantalizing rhythm. You gasp, clinging to him as his hand slides down your thigh, holding you steady as he presses harder, opening you up for him further. His other hand slides between you, fingers teasing over your slick skin, each slow, deliberate circle overstimulating to already your sensitive clit. His thumb grazes over it, and a tremor runs through you, your hips bucking into his hand, uncertain if you want more or if its too much, but you crave the way he pushes you closer to that brink with each stroke.

He lifts his head, his eyes dark and intense as he holds your gaze. “You feel so damn good,” he growls, his eyes flickering from watching himself buried in you to your lips, and he finally pushes his mouth into you for another deep, searing kiss as his hips dig harder against you, the friction a delicious, toe-curling pressure that makes your body tighten with need. His mouth moves over your jaw, down your neck, teeth grazing your skin with a hunger that sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

Without warning, he adjusts his angle, snapping his hips forward with brutal force, finding that perfect spot that makes your head fall back, your eyes fluttering shut again as you gasp his name, the word spilling from your lips in a breathless moan. His hand on your thigh tightens, keeping you open for him, holding you steady as he moves, each thrust deliberate, intense, sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through you. The rhythm he sets is deep and powerful, every stroke designed to make you feel every inch of him.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice a low rasp, and when you open your eyes, his gaze is filled with something dark, possessive. There’s a smirk playing at his lips, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches you, every moan, every gasp, feeding that hunger in him. The pleasure builds, a coiling tension in your belly that threatens to spill over, and you bite your lip, trying to hold back the cries that rise up in your throat as his pace quickens, the intensity between you burning hotter. His hands grip you harder, pulling you against him as his mouth finds your neck again, nipping and biting, leaving little marks of possession on your skin. He snaps his hips into you with irrevocable need and your breaths come in short, wanting gasps as he presses into you, his thumb still against your clit, while the other stays locked on your thigh, his bruising hold keeping you from falling. His mouth finds yours again, devouring you as if he can’t get enough.

You try to kiss him back, you really do, but its all you can do to not gasp and moan against his lips, the pressure building too recklessly inside of you. The feeling of power in him as he moves, the strength in his body, the way he holds you as if you’re something he can’t bear to let go of, only makes your skin shiver even more.

“Daryl…” you moan again, the sound barely a whisper as you feel yourself hovering on the edge, the pressure coiling tight, ready to explode. It’s like it’s the only thing you can think, only thing that coherently comes out of your mouth. His grip on you tightens, his voice low and hoarse in your ear.

“Just like that,” he murmurs, his words sending a fresh wave of heat through you as his pace intensifies, each thrust more relentless, pushing you closer, until finally, you shudder, your body clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash over you, leaving you breathless, your moans filling the shower as you unravel.

Moments later, he lets out a strangled groan, his grip on you fierce as he follows, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his body tense and shuddering as he holds you close, as if he’s letting himself go completely, surrendering to the pleasure that has overtaken you both.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl one shot #daryl dixion imagine #Daryl Dixon smut

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mingi-s-dimples · 22 days ago

Text

Unscripted - San

KINKTOBER DAY 17 , REQ BY. 🤧 anon

~"okay so its me 🤧 but anyways so maybe a reader x streamer bf. It was a drunk stream like where like he would drink maybe invite friends over to drink and stream it this time he did but he included reader which is a rare occasion because he prefers to keep things more private because of his fans Reader was on his lap while like streaming and the camera was on 2 of his other friends yunho and woo were there too chatting with san and reader but because reader got a little drunk and bcs ofc reader doesnt get drunk normally but she was clingy asf a thing leading to another she slowly started grinding and like yes , but like no one to notice not this friends and the people watching it was pretty late at night so the friends went to sleep in another room because driving and drunk doesnt fit well together so reader took the opportunity even tho the stream was on she pretended to leave to fool the people watching and got under the desk and yes."

pairing: bf streamer!san x gf fem!reader

genre: 18+, filthish

summary: you get one hand too touchy with your boyfriend while he's streaming, which ends up being one of your best decisions.

wc: 2.3k

warnings: harsh dom!san, bratty!reader, oral (m receiving), oral while flaccid (yes reader was needy af), ingestion of alcohol, mentions of alcohol, slight exhibitionism (yunho and woo being in another room sleeping and the livestream going on in the bg on mute), degradation + praise (good slut and otjer similar to this), quickie on the desk ^^, helping from under the desk ifykwim, completely consensual, unprotected (boo use protection irl!!!), unedited, for sure forgot something.

Author's Note: Tell me why tf did I just catch a cold 😞😞😞 Anyways this was hot hello... going insane as we speak? Exhibitionism will always be one of my faves (upsi). Enjoy. my love ! ❤️

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

The flickering glow from San’s PC screen filled the room as he glanced over his setup one more time, making sure every angle was perfect, every light calibrated. Tonight was special. Usually, his streams consisted of just him, the screen, and thousands of viewers, who tuned in to watch him crack jokes, crush game after game, and occasionally just sit back and chat with everyone in that effortless, laid-back way he had. But tonight was a little different. Tonight, he wasn’t just inviting his fans into his space; he was bringing over his friends, Yunho and Wooyoung, for a spontaneous stream that had been brewing in the group chat for weeks.

You’d been excited the moment you heard the plan—finally, a stream that felt like a mix of San’s world and yours. You could almost hear the buzz of excitement from his fans as San tweeted a teaser about the night. He hadn’t told them yet that you’d be there, though. Usually, San liked to keep your relationship private. He was protective that way; he liked that what you two had felt like something separate from the stream, from the fans, something he could keep just for himself. But tonight, after some gentle coaxing and a lot of puppy eyes, he agreed to let you in on this rare, shared glimpse into his world.

As the clock ticked toward the start time, Yunho and Wooyoung arrived, their energy filling the room as they greeted you with easy laughter and hugs. Yunho brought along his usual playful banter, and Wooyoung had already started teasing San about having to “babysit” him through the stream. You couldn’t help but laugh; the whole setup felt like a group of friends just hanging out—only with the whole world watching.

San threw you a grin as he sat down, the screen lighting up with his chatroom. Thousands of fans flooded in, messages rolling in faster than the eye could track. You settled off to the side, sipping on a drink, watching San as he fell into his element, one hand on the controller, the other waving as he greeted his viewers. He was captivating, totally immersed, and you found yourself smiling at how natural he was at it all.

“Alright, alright! Everyone, say hi to Yunho and Wooyoung!” San said, pulling his friends into view. The chat exploded with excitement at the sight of the two familiar faces. Yunho waved, effortlessly charming, while Wooyoung leaned close to San, playfully invading his space until they were half-laughing, half-wrestling on camera.

You enjoyed watching them banter, the energy high and easygoing, the camaraderie between them infectious. San glanced over at you with a mischievous smile, and, feeling a surge of confidence, you edged closer to the camera’s view. You didn’t have to say anything; just being there was enough to set off a wave of messages in the chat, a blend of shock, excitement, and curiosity.

“Who’s that?” someone typed, followed by dozens of similar comments as people pieced together the implication of you being there.

San reached for his drink, laughing at the chat’s reaction, as if he’d just let everyone in on a private joke. He leaned closer to you, brushing his shoulder against yours, and in that brief touch, there was a warmth that reassured you. Maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was just the thrill of finally being part of his stream, but you felt yourself relax into the moment.

As the night wore on, laughter filled the room. The three of them were a perfect mix: Yunho’s easygoing wit, Wooyoung’s playful sarcasm, and San’s effortless charisma made the stream a blend of nonstop jokes, a few failed games, and moments of genuine connection with the fans. You joined in here and there, your own laughter mingling with theirs, and with each passing hour, the line between the screen and reality seemed to blur a little more.

You, a few drinks in, became noticeably more affectionate, your usual playful self replaced by something softer, gentler. Your hand found yours under the table at one point, a silent gesture that was both grounding and intimate. He shot you a look, one that seemed to carry a thousand words in it, his gaze lingering longer than usual. The camera still rolled, and the chat was oblivious, but you knew he was letting you in on a rare moment—this was the part of him he usually kept away from the camera, the side of him that was just yours.

After he gave you the slightest, softest, reassuring look, you unconsciously started to slowly grind on his thigh, as you were sitting on his lap.

"B-babe what are you doing?" he whispered in your ear, stuttering from surprise.

"N-nothing..?" you whispered back, smiling innocently at him. He knew exactly what you were doing but.. it was even more thrilling, as thousands of people could catch glimpses of what was happening.

As the night pushed into the early hours, Yunho and Wooyoung started to look like they were ready to crash, their laughter slower, their words slurred from the drinks. It didn’t take much convincing for them to decide to stay the night. After all, nobody wanted to drive home at this hour. So they threw their jackets in the living room, claimed the couches, and left you and San in his dorm alone to wrap up the stream.

As San turned back to the camera, you noticed he seemed even more relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hand lazily finding its way around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. His fans kept chatting, mostly commenting on how unusual it was to see him this open and unguarded, and San smirked at their remarks.

And that’s when you felt it—a sudden, irresistible need to be closer to him. You shifted in your seat, inching toward him until your body pressed against his, your head leaning onto his shoulder. San glanced down at you, his smile softening, his hand moving to trace small circles on your back. The chat was still buzzing, but he seemed only half-aware of it now, his attention slowly focusing more on you than the screen.

The camera captured only part of the scene—the laughter, the playfulness, but missed the soft intensity in San’s eyes as he glanced your way, the way his hand gently tugged at your waist, urging you closer. You were barely aware of the camera now, your focus on him, on this shared warmth, the world beyond the screen fading into the background.

He looked your way, whispering something, “what are you trying to do!? I’m live, darling” he softly said, not letting the viewers hear any of his words. You leaned towards his ear and said, “I’m so fucking horny right now.. maybe it’s the drinks but, how I’d love to suck you off in this instant..”. His eyes widened at your words and he wasn’t able to say anything, as you instinctively got off his thigh and got on your knees under the desk, eyes looking sheepishly at him. He looked down in horror as you rode your hands up his thighs, finding your way to his pants. You hovered your hand over the slight bulge of his sweatpants, feeling his cock twitch at your touch. He was slowly getting hard, but you just couldn’t wait anymore. You slid them off to his ankles to which San gasped, looking surprised at the camera, not knowing what to do. He was still live, after all.

As you took his cock in your hand, still soft, only slightly hard, mainly at the base, you started stroking it. Slowly but surely, looking up at him. You spit one, two times in your hand to lube his cock up and pumped his length, getting is hard pump bt pump. You just couldn’t wait anymore and took his cock in your mouth, San's eyes widening and his mouth left agape. He was truly trying hard not to mimic anything, but was slowly losing control.

His leg was lightly bouncing near you, trying to get a hold of himself. He looked down for a moment at you, then at the camera and at the comments. No one realised yet.

“Guys, I-uh” he stopped for a moment, your mouth wrapping on the tip of his cock, sucking it harshly. You pressed your tongue to it, San's hand going for your hair as soon as you did that. He pulled you back for a second, then continued, “my network is not that good, should we take a break for a minute? I'll try to refresh everything and maybe ask Yunho to help me with the router.” his eyes then flew to the chat, everyone agreeing with him. He muted himself and moved the camera up a bit, only a small part of his forehead could be seen. Though, as soon as he slowly laid back into his gaming chair, his forehead disappeared from the view and the stream viewers could only see the curtains in the back and the dozens of plants you and him had together. He looked down at you, a smirk rising on his face.

“You're damn impatient, aren't you, my love?” he said and the hand in your hair tangled in it and pulled you to his cock. His cock was now half erected, but he absolutely didn't care. He started to softly thrust in your mouth, he threw his head back in pleasure. You could feel his length growing in your mouth, which turned you on even more. What could've been better than feeling your man getting hard because of you? and with that thought in mind, you took a deep breath and took his growing length down your throat, slightly choking on it.

“What a good girl… the heads you always give are fucking unreal…” he whined out, mouth-fucking you. “But.. what if the viewers find out, hm? Or is it your own little plan.. to let people know… just how much of a filthy, obedient little slut you really are?” he taunted, thrusting into your mouth deeper, his grip tightening as he kept you firmly in place. His low, rough voice sent shivers down your spine, each word designed to push you closer to that edge. “Or maybe... that’s what you want, isn’t it? To have them see how good you are for me?”

Your cheeks burned, but the thrill of his words ignited something fierce within you. His gaze darkened as he continued, voice dripping with desire, “Tell me, sweetheart. Do you want them to see? To know that this is exactly where you belong… right here, giving me exactly what I want?”

The intensity of his words and his rhythm brought you to a breaking point, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body, until you could barely think of anything else.

He kept his gaze locked on you, enjoying the way your eyes glazed over with pure need. His voice softened, almost taunting, as he leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear. “That’s right… no hiding, no pretending. You want this as much as I do, don’t you?”

You nodded, your mind hazy, completely overtaken by him. Every touch, every word was calculated, designed to make you lose yourself in the moment. His hand found the back of your neck, guiding you as he continued, his rhythm relentless, making you feel as if every fiber of your being belonged to him.

"Say it," he demanded, his tone low and possessive. "Tell me you want them to see just how good you are for me."

As you pulled back, your lips parted, a breathless moan escaping before you whispered, "Yes… I want them to see.”

“Oh, is that so? Are you really… that eager?” he said and moved the camera away, facing the wardrobe. He got up and continued, “Well, it’s a shame, sweetie. I don't like sharing and you just made a serious mistake, turning me on like that when you knew I couldn't do anything. What are you gonna do now, huh?” he teasingly said.

“San, I-” but you didn't have time to answer as he pulled you up and pushed you on the desk, forcefully throwing away anything he had on it.. Some books, stickers, decorations, too. “Let's see how you're gonna handle this, my love” he said and pulled your pants down, squeezing your ass. He spread you out, two of his fingers slipping in your cunt, a grin appearing on his face. “You're so wet already.. you've been expecting this? What a little slut..” he said and pulled the fingers out, hand going for your mouth and covered it, then with his other hand he guided his cock to your entrance, fully thrusting in. “This is what you get for getting me hard while I was live…”

You gripped the table in pleasure and pain, head dizzy from the drinks you had and all the movement. “S-San-!”you moaned in his hand, tears forming in your eyes. It was either the drinks or the fact that you haven't been fucked by him this angry and powerful in so long, but as he hit all your sweet spots you came undone surprisingly fast, all over his cock. Your walls clenched onto him, his veiny, slightly curved cock switched inches deep inside you before he finished into you. He pounded into you through his orgasm. He slowly came down to a stop and pulled out, spreading your ass out and looking at his work, bodily fluids seeping out of your cunt.

He stepped back and pulled you up, turning you around to make you sit on the table. “See? this what happens when you act up. Go to the bathroom, I'm not done with you, yet.” I'll be there in 5, saying by to my viewers.”

“Hm? why, babe? why the bathroom?” you asked, confused but slightly anticipating.

“We're gonna shower together and no, you don't have any way out of this” he said and kissed your forehead, squeezing your ass and urging you to the door.

The night was just about to get started.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium @peachy-bell26 @memorabxlia

#ateez fanfic #illusionnet #blossomnet #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez x y/n #fanfic #smut fic #ateez #ateez smut #mingi s dimples masterlist #smut #san ateez #ateez san #san x y/n #san fic #san x reader #san smut #choi san

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ferritins · 3 months ago

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THIS TORNADO LOVES YOU | S. RILEY

SUMMARY: Simon takes a step you never thought he would, in a way you’d never imagine.

NOTES: the endearment ‘pet’ is used once, in an “author grew up in The Midlands City God Forgot AKA Leicester” way, not the kink way. credit for the idea for this piece goes to @bleuu-moon, who’s post about Simon letting you take off the mask has been living in my head rent free bills and utilities included for ages.

disclaimer; whilst I’m down bad for fictional men who are taller than me, I also an anti-militarism pro disarmament pacifist. COD and other military games a recruitment tool for the armed forces, and PMCs are just a way for governments to outsource war crimes to avoid The Hague. do not enlist; big oil and genocidaires are not worth dying for and armed service will chew you up and shit you out to die as soon as you are physically or psychologically incapable of dying for the sake of capital.

You come home to Simon illuminated by your television, scant blood splotches blackish on his fatigue sleeves.

“Um. Is any of that yours?” You venture, dropping your keys in their designated dish, casting a careful eye over your lover. “I thought we had come to an agreement about you actively bleeding all over my sofa cushions after last time.”

Simon grunts.

You roll your eyes.

“Words, love.”

“Just got back from Santo Domingo.” You hiss a quiet breath through your teeth, wincing as you turn to hang your coat; the boys had been following an organisation of information brokers trading in NATO military intelligence, the kind of people with whom contact was both rare and in its eventuality, incredibly bloody.

Nevertheless, Simon has never been someone who is particularly receptive to sympathy; by the time you turn back around to face him, your face is carefully neutral.

“Did you achieve your mission objective? Wait, more importantly, you didn’t answer my question; are you bleeding?”

There’s a bitter little chuckle. “Affirmative to the first, negative to the second.”

The air sits heavy as you and Simon watch one another, flashes of colour and light bouncing off the skull of his mask like a nightmare in Technicolor.

Just when the tension reaches the point of being unbearable, Simon speaks.

“They knew your name.” He says, voice basso profundo with his gathering fury.

A frisson of fear runs down your spine — not at Simon, not after all this time, but at the information — before dissipating like cigarette smoke in a hurricane.

It’s a target on your back, sure, but it is one of dozens. Your career has made you many enemies.

“They trade in military intelligence, Simon, which is pretty much my entire area of specialty.”

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“Do you think I’m a shrinking violet? What, should I give up my Lance Corporal’s stripe and my job? You met me when I was working signal intercept radio intelligence on RAF Ascension Island, for God’s sake.”

“You’d be safer.” Simon’s voice has taken on as much of a pleading tone as he’s capable of.

“I’d be miserable.” You retort.

“Fuck.” Simon snarls, a savage sigh of breath leaving him. “You know I’m not gonna leave your side after today, pet? Gonna get sick of my face.”

“If this is supposed to irritate me into obscurity, it’s not going to work. I like the mask, and having six foot eight of perfectly built spec ops soldier at my back isn’t exactly a hardship.” You snarl.

“Simon’s head tilts, predatory.

I”I said my face, lovie.”

Your heart starts hammering.

“”Simon, you’ve not been barefaced in front of someone in nigh on a decade. Your personnel file doesn’t have a photograph of you, and the only one that exists of you is redacted so far only His Maj can see it. For fuck’s sake, you’ve torn men’s throats out for so much as touching your mask.”

“Simon hums an affirmative, a mocking note under the tone of it.

“So now you’re scared of what intelligence gathering can lead to? Scared I’ll tear your throat out, hm?”

“Fuck you.” You snarl. “I’m not scared of you. I’m not going to let you violate your own autonomy and boundaries to prove a point, you supercilious son of a—“

“You’re the one taking it off.” Simon interrupts.

“You’re insane.”

“If you’re not going underground to wait this out, I’m gonna be living in your fucking shadow, sweetheart, breathing in your every exhale, and I can’t do that when all they know me for is the mask. The next person to so much as look at you sideways is going to die, slow and bloody, and my face is going to be the last thing they see.”

Your next inhale is shaky. Simon, sensing blood in the water, goes for the kill.

“Either you can look me in the face, acknowledge what you’re dooming anyone who hurts you to, or you back down.”

Even as you’re swinging a leg over both of Simon’s to situate yourself in his lap, you’re aware of how hideously stupid what you’re doing is.

Bolstered my nothing but bravado and an inkling of curiosity, and with your pulse rabbiting, you slowly pull up his balaclava, revealing his face to you piecemeal; a strong jaw, a bottom-heavy mouth, a patrician nose broken thrice and healed right only twice, whispers of long blonde eyelashes, and brown eyes, dark as bitumen.

On anybody else, the features would be discordant, too much dissonance to be cohesive; on Simon, they work.

His face is arresting, more than handsome; you can’t help but look at him.

His top lip is pulled up into a perpetual snarl on the left by a long deep furrow of scar tissue that starts just under his eye.

There’s a silvery scar about a half-inch long from his hair line, and his cheeks are dotted with faint demarcations; nicks from shrapnel and knifepoint, you assume.

All flat eyes and scarring, this is perhaps this most dangerous Simon has looked to you in a while.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, referring to both your job and Simon’s unmasking. “I’m not backing down.”

Simon is a big man, and has a surprising amount of heft to him, even when he's not trying.

His hands are large enough that even the love tap to your rump has you tipping into him. Your front is pressed to his, and you're looking up, up, up into his eyes, bearing witness to the way hunger floods them, a hungry kind of dark pouring into his gaze like an oil slick in the Mediterranean Sea.

“And I’m not backing off. Hell or high water, death or desertion; we’re in this together for good now, you and I.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this has been in the development hell folder of my Google docs for like two months so if it’s shite that’s no longer my problem I’m afraid 😭🙏🏽 thank you for reading! please do not recommend/repost on TikTok.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fanfic #ghost x gender neutral reader #‘how many times did you listen to it will come back by hozier when writing this?’ yes.#i am not above masked ficktional men unfortunately 🙏🏽#marley.txt

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jeridandridge · 7 months ago

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For Lovers At Night pt 1

Melissa meets someone that makes her reevaluate her marriage and life choices. Pre-doc crew at Abbott. Part 1

Melissa Schemmenti is miserable. Sitting at her kitchen table mindlessly flipping through a book her eyes catch the gold band on her finger. Joe had promised her when they first got married he would get her a diamond as soon as they got money. That was twenty years ago. She thinks back to before she got married, how carefree and happy she was. She spent her free time in clubs, bars, and artists dens, meeting whoever she wanted and most importantly being a mysterious woman that did whatever she wanted.

Sitting at the table she closes the book and stands up knowing Joe won’t be home for dinner anyway. Heading through the house she goes to their rarely shared bedroom and opens the closet door. Pushed to the side of the closet sits an old leather jacket she hasn’t worn since… god she can’t remember. Most likely since she and Joe got back together the last time.

Running her hand along the tough leather a small smile spreads across her lips as memories are brought back to her. The last time she wore it she opted on the back of a gorgeous woman’s motorcycle and flipped Joe off as they rode off into the night together.

That feels like a life time ago now.

Pulling the jacket out she slips it on and fluffs her hair looking in the mirror. She notes the crows feet by her eyes, the way her freckles are more prominent now in her forties. Looking at her hand she flexes her fingers for a moment. Taking a breath she slowly slides her wedding ring off setting it on the dresser.

When Melissa gets in her car she’s not sure where she’s going, but she knows she’s going into the city. Somewhere alive and lit up. Sticking her hand out the window as she drives she moves her fingers along the chilly night air, her ring finger bare for the first time in many years feels weightless against the wind. She can’t help but smile to herself, something she realizes is happening at random.

Driving through the busy streets she goes to an old haunt of hers not even knowing if it’s still open or not. In an old building on one of the bustling streets of Philly sits an old bookshop, The looking Glass, one that she went to many times in her college days and even after. Pulling up she beams seeing the store still there and the open sign on. She could go for a fireball hot toddy and a new book tonight.

Going up to the door a whiff of fresh books and coffee hit her, throwing her right back to her college days. Walking inside everything’s the same. The hot drink section with its bar behind it, the small counter on the opposite side holding the register and other little items for purchase, multiple seating areas, and of course the shelves and shelves of books so cramped together that if it were any other place it would be a problem. Melissa feels at home.

Walking past people she glides through the rows of books looking around and getting lost in her little chunk of paradise she hasn’t had in so long. Across the establishment behind the bar, you nudge your friend nodding towards the row of books the gorgeous redhead is standing near.

“Just your type. Good luck with that one.” He pats your shoulder as he goes to the back room. Looking across the room with a smirk on your lips you watch the redheaded stranger reach up for a book, her hair cascading down her back in waves. She was beautiful.

Across the room Melissa turns around book in hand, flipping through the pages as she walks up to the bar not bothering to look up until she’s standing right in front of you. “Hi, what can I get for ya?”

Melissa looks up with a friendly smile playing with the spine of the book she found. “Can I get a fireball hot toddy, hon?”

“Name for the order?” You ask moving around the work area, black warm cup in hand.

“Melissa.”

“Melissa, I’ve never seen you in here before.” You smile writing her name on the cup in gold flowy letters.

Setting the book down on the counter so she can open her purse, Melissa shrugs. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“I figured. I’d remember someone like you.” You smile making the drink and sliding it on the counter.

Melissa catches the comment and the way you’re looking at her, and feels a warmth spread through her. “I doubt it, hon.” She chuckles handing the money over for her drink.

“If you need another or just wanna have a riveting conversation, I’ll be here.” You gesture to the counter with a laugh.

Melissa looks at your name tag with a smile.

“Thanks, hon. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Moving across the room with her drink and book in hand Melissa sits on a sofa near a dim lamp, just far enough to glance up every so often to the woman behind the bar. Sipping her drink the warmth from the alcohol spreads through her chest giving her a comforting feeling she hasn’t felt in a long while. The woman behind the counter is stunning, and something about her eyes made Melissa feel something deep within her that she can’t place just yet.

Eventually, she gets lost in her book and before she knows it she’s more than halfway through it and the woman from the bar is gently tapping her arm.

“Melissa, we’re closing up.” You hum with a soft smile.

The bar is quieter now, people are heading out and the main lights are on. Melissa looks around the bar and begins to gather her things. “Sorry, I got lost there.” She chuckles.

“Don’t apologize, I would too if I were reading Jane Rules greatest love story,” you smile.

“You’ve read it?” She asks curiously.

“I have, it was a big deal for me in high school.”

“So when, last year?” Melissa teases making you laugh in return.

“No, more like fifteen or so years ago.” You hum. “Something about an older woman breaking free of a metaphorical cage and finding herself with the help of a wild younger woman always intrigued me.” You admit with a smile. “Let me buy it for you.” You offer.

“I can’t let you do that, hon.” Melissa shakes her head.

“Sure you can. I own the place, I can do what I want.”

Melissa looks at you in awe. You looked so young yet here you were with a business and a personality wise beyond your years. Before she can say anything else you’re already wiping down the coffee table with a rag.

“Wow. It really has been a long time since I’ve been here.” Melissa sighs. “Thank you, for the book and the environment.”

“You don’t need to thank me, just come in more often.” You smile.

And that’s what she does.

The next night Melissa makes sure her hair and makeup are to the nines, her jeans are tight, her nails are painted, and she may or may not spray on an extra shot of perfume. Standing in front of the mirror she fluffs her hair once more and takes a breath.

“Where are you going all dressed up?” Joes voice sounds from the bathroom, a rare thing now.

“Barb talked me into a book club.” She offers with ease. He still hadn’t noticed her wedding ring was off and he didn’t ask any questions- just how she liked it.

“That sounds nice. Have a good time.” He says closing the door.

It doesn’t take long for Melissa to grab her keys and make her way to The Looking Glass. Walking through the door there are more people than the night before given the fact it’s a Saturday night. The redhead can’t help but frown, a pang of sadness hitting her as she makes her way in and doesn’t see the woman from the night before.

Slipping through the crowd she gets to the bar looking up at the menu despite being ready to order her wine.

“Melissa!”

Across the floor near the back doorway the mysterious woman from last night appears.

“Hi, hon.” She lets out with a giddy grin, her heart leaping in her chest as you beckon her over with the wave of your hand. “I didn’t think you were here.”

“I’m always here.” You chuckle. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.” You admit with a smile as you lean against the side of the bar.

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “I overthink too much I guess.”

“Yeah, I know the feelin.”

“Come with me, I want your opinion on something.” You hold your hand out to the redhead.

Gently taking the younger woman’s hand Melissa feels her cheeks heat up at the simple touch. Walking to the back hand in hand she can’t help but feel butterflies in her chest.

“So it’s dark and cold now,” you start flicking a single hanging lightbulb on, “but I’m planning on expanding the sitting area to here. Less storage, but more room for pretty girls to browse through the books.” You smirk.

Melissa tips her chin up with a matching smirk meeting your eyes. “Do you flirt with all your customers this way?”

“No, I can’t say I do. Just the one I find incredibly beautiful.”

Smile not faltering, Melissa ducks her head realizing your hands are still entwined together.

“Careful, I might think you’re interested in me.” She chuckles lightly.

“And if I am?” You smile.

“I think,” Melissa whispers, her ringless hand still in the woman’s, “I’d like that.”

Everything Melissa knows goes out the window when she sees the look in your eyes. She thinks of all the shit Joe has put her through the last twenty years and how she can be happy if she allows that for herself. It’s what she desperately wants.

“I can’t stay long tonight, but I’d really like to talk to ya while I’m here.” She offers with a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you can that is.”

“I can,” you smile. “Come with me.”

As Melissa is lead through the back room once again she gently squeezes the woman’s hand as they get to the office in the back of the building. It’s simple, a desk, a large couch, and of course a couple bookshelves.

“Make yourself at home,” you offer letting your hand slip away from the redheads, fingers brushing as you go to the small fridge in the corner. “Do you like wine?”

“It’s usually my go to. I bet you have the really good stuff.”

“I do, but this is regular stuff.” You chuckle taking out the chilled bottle. “I’ll have to break the good stuff out another night.”

“Already thinking about seeing me again?” Melissa grins watching her hands move. The lust she felt for the woman was something she’d not felt in her marriage in over ten years and she forgot how much she missed the warm feeling.

“Not to scare you off, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you since last night.” You admit handing her a glass of wine.

“Trust me, hon it takes a lot to scare me off.” Melissa was terrified of what she was doing, but she didn’t need to share that.

“Interesting.” You grin into your own glass. “You seem really mysterious, Melissa.”

“Private mostly,” the redhead shrugs. She’d always been private. Her family and connections were usually all she needed in her life, it even took a full year at Abbott Elementary before she let her best friend, Barb, into her life and that was ten years ago.

“So if I gave you my phone number could I expect a call from a restricted number?” You joke.

“No,” Melissa smiles fishing the device out of her purse, unlocking it before she hands it over. “It’ll be just a number.”

Taking the phone in your palm you type your number in followed by your name handing it back after you hit save.

“I haven’t done this in a long time.” Melissa chuckles nervously, so uncharacteristic of the hard exterior she presents.

Sipping your wine you lick your lips setting the glass down. “Someone hurt you pretty good didn’t they?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Melissa offers thinking of Joes cheating and lack of presence. “I’m kinda gettin over it though.”

“Well, whoever they are, I feel sorry for them.” You smile as the redhead finishes her wine.

Melissa can’t help but duck her head a bit at that. “Thanks, hon.”

“Tell me about them,” you prompt leaning back in your seat.

Melissa sobers up immediately at the question. How could she tell a practical stranger, one she was incredibly attracted to, but still a stranger none the less, that she hated her husbands guts and wanted out before she got any older?

“If I answer you have to tell me something important about you.” She shoots back.

“Deal,” you nod with a smile.

“I-“ Melissa breathes out unsure of where to start, “My ex husband made me miserable. He cheated, rarely came home, expected all the cliche housewife cliche things.” She shrugs through the lie. Yes it was a lie, but not entirely.

“What an idiot.” You shake your head unable to break eye contact with the woman. There was something behind her eyes that you couldn’t yet place, but would soon find out.

“How did you buy this place?” Melissa asks breaking the tension.

“It was left to me. I started working here when I turned eighteen and I’ve been here ever since.” You smile. “The original owner helped me out a lot in college and when she retired, she sold ir to me cheap.”

“That’s amazing,” Melissa smiles. “I always loved it here and I’m happy to see it’s the same.”

“I do my best to keep it up and get more people in here. As much as I love talking about my job, what do you do?”

“I teach second grade.” She offers. During your back and forth, Melissa keeps that same look in her eyes and it only changes when she says she has to leave. It changes from whatever it was before to sadness.

“Let me walk you to your car?” You ask hopefully.

“Yeah, hon. I’d like that.”

Getting up you rest your hand on her lower back as you two walk out to the main part of the building and out the front door.

“That’s it there?” You ask with a laugh spotting a black two door truck.

“That’s me.”

“You get more and more interesting.” You grin as Melissa unlocks the truck. “I hope I hear from you soon.”

“You will, hon.” Melissa smiles while she climbs in.

“Drive safe.” You offer with a nod, settling your hands in your back pockets as you watch the truck drive off into the busy night. Turning around you go back into the bar with a smile knowing you met someone special.

Part 2

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #melissa Schemmenti #melissa Schemmenti x reader #Melissa Schemmenti x you #Melissa Schemmenti imagine

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watchtowerindistress · 8 months ago

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for the love of ... bob? - jake seresin x reader (1/2)

Summary: Being Jake's (best) friend - sorry, Javy - proved to have its ups and downs but there was something about having him in your corner you couldn't resist. Jake and you just clicked on a deeper level. That's why you didn't get it when the Southern boy was acting so weird.-

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: Language, Jake being an idiot (what else is new?), Jealous! + Soft!Jake, fluff

Author’s note: Just something fun I wanted to write. I kinda hate myself for not writing for Bradley first, since I love the guy. You know, Jake's fics I love to read, yet I couldn't stand him while watching Maverick. Go figure.

I haven't watched the film enough to distinguish the traits of the characters, so I can't guarantee for accuracy for the side characters. I can only include a handful of people - that's why I don't have people like Reuben in there since their character traits aren't included in the fandom page.

Tagging: @mellowstatesmanhandsempath @ravenmoore14 @blackmagicwoman @silenthappyplace @mrsevans90 @dempy @yourgirlypop (blank blogs can't be tagged)

Read me on AO3 | Series masterlist

“So, tell us all the details. Preferably, the humiliating kind,” Natasha asked with a curious air.

You smiled. “What about?”

“Hangman, of course.”

The Dagger Squad was the perfect company to be around, you decided. Jake, your childhood best friend, who you haven’t seen in years, offered The Hard Deck as the place for you to wait until he arrived. Video calls didn’t hold up to the real thing. Especially, with you two being very busy people and you finally getting out of New York to spend some quality time together.

“I need to get the embarrassing goods, at least before Hangman shows up. I mean, we have the perfect person to interrogate. In the rare instances, when he talks about something other than himself, Hangman keeps mentioning you,” she mused.

“Nat-” Bob interjected, who was sitting next to her in a booth while the rest of their squad were scattered in the bar.

Natasha turned her head. “Aren’t you a little bit curious about the depraved mind of Jake Seresin?”

“Not really.”

You snorted at their torn convictions when Mickey and Javy arrived at their table with bottles of beer.

“What did we miss?” Javy asked.

Natasha’s stubborn gaze didn’t stray from yours for many seconds. “I’m trying to crack Y/N.” Her eyes met Javy’s over her shoulder. “Tell Rooster he needs to stall him until I get to the good bits.”

You looked around speculatively. “Is this some sort of initiation or baptism by fire Jake should’ve warned me about?”

Javy offered a small reprieve. “Don’t mind her. She just wants to pick your brain. How long are you going to stay?”

“About a week. Enough time for Jake to show me around San Diego.”

Mickey took a gulp from his drink. “Good luck with that.”

Warm breath against your neck sent shivers down your spine when someone whispered into your ear, “Did I just hear my name?”

Your body jolted at hearing the unexpected voice. “Oh my God.” You turned and found a cheeky Jake standing behind you. “You little f- Don’t startle me like that!” Clambering out of the booth, you jumped into his arms, while giggling from the shock. “Hey, you,” you said, holding on tightly.

“Hey, yourself. Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, darlin’.”

“You’re such a jerk,” you whispered into his neck.

Jake swayed you lightly. “You love when I’m a jerk.”

Leaning back, you pressed your fingers an inch apart. “Just a tad.” You hesitated. “Like about 10%.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Talk about 75%. It’s part of my charm,” he murmured, stroking your lower back.

“Is this what you tell everyone here?” You teased, pointing to his colleagues behind you.

Javy’s scoff was joined by the others.

You looked back to see their reactions. “You know, I’m starting to really like your group of friends.” While turning back, you narrowed your eyes when you saw Jake glowering at the Dagger Squad before his expression turned into an innocent one.

“I’m starting to question your taste in people,” he said.

Someone snickered next to him. “That’s funny, … Hangman.”

Realizing that another person joined their company, you turned towards the man who looked vaguely familiar from the pictures Jake had sent you. Not to mention, you remembered Natasha’s remark from earlier that Jake would show up with someone else.

“Rooster, right?” You stepped away from Jake’s embrace and shook Bradley’s hand in greeting. Jake merely sighed and crossed his arms.

“Bradley’s fine.” He faced the rest of the group. “By the way, am I the only one that felt really awkward just standing here, watching those two?”

Mumbles echoed all around. “No, you’re not.” Still slightly by the display of the too-long-hug.

A sigh left Jake, who placed an arm around your shoulder. “Don’t listen to the others. And the words of the chicken shouldn’t be trusted. I hope those knuckleheads treated you right.”

You shrugged. “It was fun. I was this close to reveal your darkest secrets for a slice of a good ol’ fashioned apple pie made by … Phoenix, was it?”

“There’ll be no revealing. And no pie,” Jake interjected before pointing at Natasha. “You’ve already been in the company of Phoenix and the goon squad for less than an hour and Nat already found out your weakness for sweets,” he whispered against your neck. “At least you didn’t have to be subjected to the likes of Rooster here.” A shiver coursed through his body. “I shudder at the thought of you having to listen to him at first. He’ll probably want to talk about his caterpillar of a moustache.”

A languid smirk drew on Bradley’s lips as he stroked his mentioned facial hair. “Very funny. You jealous?”

You tilted your head at their teasing. “You have some weird fixation on Bradley’s facial hair. Didn’t you talk on the phone about-”

Abruptly, Jake took you by the hand and dragged you to the bar counter. “Let’s get some food into you. Your blood sugar’s getting awfully low. Someone’s getting tired already.”

“You’re being such a grump, Jake.”

Jake leaned against the counter. “I’m not. I’m just making sure you’re getting some nachos into you, darlin’.”

“You need to be nicer. We both know you’re more of a sweetheart than this.”

He rolled his eyes. “I have a reputation to uphold. And don’t let yourself be bribed by the others.” Jake turned to Penny. “A basket of nachos for this one, Penny?” You rolled your eyes at seeing Jake point at the top of your head.

There was something about Penny’s playful glance that warmed you upon first meeting. The woman nudged her head at Jake. “Be careful with this one.”

With mischief in your eyes, you stole a glance at him. “I know. This one … has been trouble for as long as I can remember.”

“Hey!” Jake uttered in mock outrage before he did introductions. “Penny, that’s Y/N. She’s my friend,” he said, placing his hand on your back.

“And here I thought I was your best friend.”

Jake hushed any further confessions, whispering, “But don’t tell Javy.”

You turned to Penny with a smile. “See? He’s such a big softie.”

Penny smirked. “I’m starting to. Where are you from?”

“Moved around a lot as a kid. Dad’s an Air Force pilot.” You waved towards him. “We grew up together in Texas. But I live in New York.”

Penny’s eyes lit up at the mention. “I’ll get you some cheese dip.”

“Thanks.”

Jake watched Penny wander off with a speculative gaze. “Someone’s making friends quickly.”

“It’s okay. I’ll teach you my ways,” you said only half-teasingly and stroked Jake’s arm. Your hand lingered on his muscles. Wait, were they flexing? “Woah, what happened to your arm, dude?”

Jake’s voice turned concerned. “Why? What’s wrong?”

There was something akin to awe in your voice. “Your bicep feels like it’s going to rip through your shirt.”

His shoulders were shaking when he chuckled. There was something about Jake turning his head to hide his blushing cheeks that stunned you even to this day. “You’re such a smartass.”

“I’m serious. Someone’s really working out, huh?” You mumbled to yourself, “This could make a girl feel weak in the knees.”

“Okay, you need food,” Jake said with a resolute mindset, before calling over your shoulder, “Thanks, Penny.”

He pushed the basket towards your elbow. “Get some chips into you.” Jake just watched you munch on your crispy snack. “Speaking of food, you want to join me and the group to some Barbecue this weekend?”

You barely lifted your head. “Barbecue? Special occasion?”

“Rooster’s uncle Maverick is celebrating his birthday-”

“Woah, hold your horses, Jake.”

You raised your hands. Either to stop Jake from continuing or to restart your own brain. “Come again? Maverick?” Your hands hovered over your mouth, as you mumbled, “You’re inviting me to Maverick’s birthday barbecue party? I don’t feel prepared for this.”

Jake groaned. “Oh great, I forgot your dad is such a Maverick fanboy. Of course.” He closed his eyes in a mixture of misery and defeat.

“Jake,” you breathed in deeply and covered his shoulders with your hands, mindful of not dropping nacho dust on his shirt. “Jake,” you began again, “I’ve never told you this, but this is the first time when I realized how absolutely invaluable you are to me as a best friend.”

“I’m seriously regretting telling you this.”

You nibbled on your lip. “I think I scared Jake off with my … how do I say it … domineering admiration for Maverick. I’m getting the feeling he’s embarrassed of me. You have no idea how quickly he dashed the moment we arrived here.”

Natasha appeared nonchalant at your worries while she took a bite from her noodle salad on her paper plate. “Not possible. I’ve only met you yesterday and can affirm that man couldn’t be closer to you. Hangman was probably held up by something. Or he’s just elevating his testosterone level with Rooster again. You met the birthday kid already?”

“Nope.” At the mention, your hands tightened around the food container.

A soothing smile tugged on Natasha’s lips. “Deep breaths. You can’t miss him.” She pointed outside to the backyard. “He’s the guy at the grill, in the sunglasses and Hawaiian shirt. If he has a mustache, you’ve gone too far.”

“Got it.” You exhaled quietly and reminded yourself under your breath, “No mustache, Hawaiian shirt.”

“You’ll survive, don’t worry.” Natasha looked behind her. “Rooster, take her with you. She wants to meet the birthday man in question.”

“Sure.” Bradley stepped forward and offered his arm.

Your body acted on pure instinct.

“Holding my hand, alright, that’s fine.”

You only mouthed in gratitude, “Thank you.”

They walked a few steps onto the lawn when Bradley looked around. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Nat told me he was probably wrestling in the mud with you to assert his dominance.” You cleared your throat when you realized something. “And not my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say. Just making sure where you two stand if he sees us standing together, holding hands.”

“Jake Seresin is not my dad,” you said absentmindedly when a dark-haired man caught your eye. Your throat felt dry. “Is that him?”

“As everyone keeps telling me.” Bradley approached the man standing behind the grill. “I found someone who wants to send their birthday wishes, Mav.”

Maverick revealed a crooked smirk. “Is that so?” You could feel his curious gaze through his sunglasses. “You’re a new face.”

“Um, yeah. I’m Jake’s friend.”

“Hangman has friends?”

“I know it’s a first for everybody,” you admitted. Knowing that Bradley and Jake were at least on speaking terms, and with Jake inviting you to Maverick’s barbecue party, you elaborated, “He needs some time to let people get close.”

Bradley gasped. “You don’t say.”

You focused on Maverick. “A few days ago, Jake invited me to your birthday. Hope that’s okay. I brought you peach cobbler as a present.”

At the mention, Bradley’s head whipped around. “Jesus, why didn’t you just go with that?”

Maverick moved his glasses until they laid atop his head and his eyes were uncovered. “You had me at cobbler.” He rubbed his hands against his jeans. “Bradley, you mind taking over the grill for a bit?”

“Fine. Get me a beer along the way?”

“Sure.” Maverick faced you again when he led you towards the table filled with food. “I didn’t catch your name?”

Just being in Maverick’s company felt surreal. You tried to restrain yourself from appearing too much like a crazy person.

“Um, Y/N … L/N. You’re Maverick?” Nervously, you stroked a curl of hair behind your ear. Even saying that name while standing right in front of him felt out of this world.

“Pete’s just fine.” His expression turned inquisitive. “Did Hangman tell you stories or did I miss something?”

You swallowed thickly. “My dad’s a big fan of yours. He’s a pilot in the Air Force. Told me stories ever since I was a kid. Your flight maneuvers have been legendary.”

He smiled at the devotion in your voice. “Still are.” You adored that playful glint in his eyes still shining through.

“Definitely. You probably get this all the time.”

“Want a beer?” After seeing you nod, he gave you a bottle. “Sometimes. Although, that kind of reverie I’m not used to.”

To calm your nerves, you downed some alcohol. “Really? Okay, I’ll try to control myself. However, Iceman’s skills were far-” Your eyes widened at your blabbing mouth before you covered it. “I’m sorry, too much liquid courage.”

Pete—even thinking that name felt strange—released guffaws of laughter at your gaffe. “Hey, it’s still my birthday!”

“I know, I’m sorry. Happy birthday, Ma-Pete.”

~ Jake POV ~

“Hey, Hangboy, I need to have a word with you,” Jake heard Natasha’s hard voice a few feet away from them as he hung out with the boys. Despite that, the concept of strength in numbers didn’t make him feel safe, judging by her vehemence.

He swallowed at the dark glare in Nat’s eyes. “Vernacular?”

Natasha didn’t appreciate the humor and crossed her arms, letting uncomfortable silence fester around them.

Jake pressed his lips together. “Bad timing?”

“Someone ever say you’re a bad friend?”

Without hesitation, he replied dryly, “You. Every morning when I show up to work.”

“I had to send Bradley in Y/N’s direction because she was nervous about meeting Maverick.”

He groaned at the thought, throwing his head back. “Oh, poor Y/N. Being forced onto the company of that dull-stache? Sounds horrible.” Jake checked his surroundings, hoping to pick them up.

There was something about Natasha’s innocent eyes, with murder in her eyes, that unsettled him deeply.

“You make me want to punch you in the gut. And you know I grew up with brothers. I know how to make it look like an accident.”

Jake dropped the drink he was holding on a nearby table. “I have a plan.”

Natasha tilted her head in fascination. “Wow, your brain can actually do that? Could’ve fooled me. What does that even look like?”

He drew nearer at the sound of her challenge. “It’s called giving each other space. Did I miss something or why are you so gung-ho when it comes to Y/N? Do we need to have a talk?”

“Five minutes in her company and I already know how she’s too good for you.”

Something bitter settled in his stomach at the mere mention. As if he didn’t already know. He smiled tensely. “Thanks for the reminder, Phoenix. Do I need to save her from Rooster?”

Natasha waved a hand. “Not to worry. Y/N is having fun with Bob.”

His mind went blank, trying to process her words. Jake pursed his lips, feeling confused. “Wait—w—why—what are you saying? Bob? Bob with the glasses? Or is there another Bob I should know?”

Natasha hummed, analyzing his reaction. She chose to unnerve him further by chuckling maniacally. “Cake stand. Have fun.” And with that she left.

Jake whipped his head around and narrowed his eyes. The food area instantly caught his eye. Y/N stood with Bob and was laughing uproariously. It felt X-Files-strange to watch that anomaly. Y/N arched her back and patted Bob’s shoulder, with a plate of cake slice in her hand.

Feeling perturbed by the macabre reality, Jake imagined Y/N being into Bob of all people. He frowned at that scenario, whispering, “Bob?”

~ Y/N POV ~

You held your stomach. Your cheeks were hurting from uncontrollable laughter, as you were trying to breathe. “Oh my God, Bob, that’s so-”

Jake inched closer with a small smile on his face. “What’s so funny?” He draped his arm over Y/N’s shoulder and reached for her dessert plate, either so she wouldn’t drop it or to have a taste himself. Without looking at him, you placed it into his hands.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. “Why didn’t you tell me that Bob is so funny?”

Jake swallowed before coughing. “You learn something new every day. Still waters, huh?”

Bob smiled awkwardly.

Upon seeing his reaction, you spoke up, “I always hated that saying. Bob’s an absolute sweetheart.” To reinforce your point to him, you rubbed Bob’s shoulder.

Bob adjusted his glasses while blushing. “I try my best, ma’am.”

“Bob!” You chuckled in mock outrage, swatting lightly against his chest.

He nodded with a small smile. “Yes, Y/N, affirmative.”

“We’re getting to know each other. I just found out that Bob’s from Montana and his momma used to be a Grizzlies mascot. Personally, I’m more of a Saints girl, but to each their own.”

Jake groaned, with his mouth full. “I’m eating here,” he muttered indignantly. Jake swallowed his food. “What did I ever do to you? The last time we did this, we had the Cowboys/Saints-gate.”

You leaned your head back against Jake’s chest, patting his cheek consolingly. “He’s such a big baby.”

Bob pressed his lips together. “Uh, I think I hear my name. I need to say hello to Maverick real quick.”

You reached out with your arm. “Oh, do put your feelers out if the birthday guy is still fine with me after I was blabbing my mouth about g-loc and Iceman’s record stats.”

“He’s probably fine.”

“But still!” You called out against his back as he left.

It was turning out to be a quiet evening, you realized, rubbing your feet.

Jake stepped into the living room, drying his moist hair with a towel. He leaned his shoulder against the doorway, watching you. “Would you look at that.”

You were transfixed on the film playing on Jake’s TV while you snuggled deeper under the towel on the couch. “What’s up?”

Jake decided to join you on the couch and put your feet on his lap. He spread his legs comfortably. Unconsciously, warming your heels. “You know, feels like old times. You sitting on my couch, taking all the blankets.”

You covered your eyes, with a groan, and leaned your head back. “You make me sound like a mooch. I offered to go to a hotel.”

“Hey, that’s not what I meant.” Jake chuckled. You felt the warmth of his hand when he reached for yours. Before you could blink, Jake stared deeply into your eyes and interlaced your fingers together. With a smile, he whispered, “I missed this. Feels like old times.”

With blushing cheeks, you felt your skin tingling at sitting so close to him. It was moments like these that made you question the nature of your friendship. You swallowed at seeing Jake’s sage-green eyes sparkle. His soft smile was making it hard to breathe.

You whispered, “Me too.”

“You know what else I miss? And what I can’t stop thinking about?”

You swallowed thickly, licking your lips. Feeling uncertain by his thought process, you slowly asked, “Which is what?”

Jake inched closer. “How I used to do this.” He tilted his head, rubbing his wet hair into the crook of your neck.

“You jerk!” You giggled from his attack. It made him seem more like a dog than a human when he was content in brushing his wet hair against your skin.

He grumbled lowly, as his warm breath puffed against your skin. “But this feels really nice. I could stay like this forever,” he said with a hum.

Your phone emitted a notification sound. “You’re an idiot.” Slapping against his forehead to push him away, deep chuckles followed you while your focus switched to your phone.

“You hungry? I could whip up some chicken teriyaki for us? I think I got some sauce in the cabinet. I know how much you love your teriyaki.” He groaned while standing up.

Giggles left your mouth when you read the incoming messages.

Jake turned his head. “Your girlfriends miss you already?”

You bit your lip. “No, it’s Bob just being sweet.”

Blinking slowly, Jake tried to process the words you just uttered. He cleared his throat. Jake’s voice turned slightly high-pitched. “Come again?” He coughed, placing his hands on his waist. “Are we talking about the same Bob? Bob Bob?”

You hummed in agreement without looking up.

He mumbled, “Didn’t know you guys already exchanged numbers. That’s quick, … right?”

With a curious gaze, you looked up. “What do you mean?”

Jake paused. “What do you mean?” He licked his lips, backtracking a bit. “With, you know, Bob … being a total sweetheart.”

You smiled fondly at the memory of the barbecue. “Well, he is. I really loved talking to him.”

With grumbling breaths, Jake puffed his chest. “Really?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yep, it was fun.”

“As you keep mentioning,” Jake murmured.

“I did some thinking,” you spoke, “and I was wondering, how would you feel about doing karaoke night with your squad?”

At first, Jake had a look of appreciation which took a turn to disappointment. “But karaoke night is our thing,” he said, pointing between them.

“I know, but this could be like a bonding thing. You’d get to know them, I’d get to know them and we could have fun together. Win-win!”

He sighed deeply, letting his shoulders drop. “You’re far too invested in this.”

“I don’t want them to remember me as the friend who didn’t want to bother with them.”

Jake’s voice turned into a soothing murmur. “They wouldn’t dare think that.”

With a whisper, you enunciated, “Not if we do karaoke night. It’s going to be fun, I promise.”

#watchtowerindistress #steph writes #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #for the love of bob #jake seresin x fem!reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick fic #hangman x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 10 months ago

Text

Dirty Work 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I need this week to end.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The rest of your personal day is spent in the confines of your room. You hear your father below in a tantrum, working himself up as he blusters and stomps. Soon, the smell of cigarette smoke pervades the house. He's found his fix somehow.

You don't dare emerge. You hide behind a book you can't focus on as your eyes stray to the phone, over and over. You keep it off as you fear another miscue. You can already imagine Mr. Laufeyson isn't impressed by the disturbance.

Your sleep comes in shallow morsels. You awake to each creak and crack of the old house, the neighbours arguing through the wall, and the rustling of leaves outside the window. You surrender to your consciousness just as the sun comes up. You'll need to see what damage has been done before Leslie arrives.

The puzzle is overturned on the floor, the coffee table on its side. The wooden chair reserved for the nurse has a leg broken and the TV beams its blue screen around the room. You tidy up as best you can, putting the chair by the back door until you can figure out how to fix it.

The kitchen is more of a mess, cupboards open and a few dishes shattered across the tile. A jar of jam is smeared over the laminate counter top along with what you had left of the peanut butter reserved for your lunch. You sigh and toss the empty jars, wiping up the puddles of wasted food.

You brew a tea and sit on the front porch, paranoid that your father might rouse and come to taunt you some more. He's done it before, as if to spite your efforts. He trashes the place only to accuse you of being negligent. What did you ever do to make him hate you? Why does it seem like everyone you meet feels the same?

You finish the black breakfast blend and wash the cup. You creep upstairs to get dressed and wait on your bed until your bus is due. You flee with your work bag and a deep yawn you can't repress.

The commute is your rare chance at peace. You don't have to think as you look out the window and watch the amber headlights pass and the storefronts slowly flicker to life. The nicer houses rise as the streets turn suburban and fervent long swells in your chest. Why couldn't you live like this?

Why couldn't you be like those children running to get in the van with their schoolbags bouncing, their parents laughing at their excitement, or like the mother with her carriage, enjoying a lazy walk as the neighbourhood awakens?

Those things aren't for you. You shouldn't complain, someone always has it worse. You shouldn't pity yourself. Your mother died well before she was ever your age and your father is sick. You are healthy and you have a job. That's something, better than nothing.

You break the threshold of the Laufeyson estate, the gate whining and clanging shut. You hunch down and wind along the path, looking ahead of your feet and no further. You rub your eyes as you come to the back door and check the time. A bit ahead of schedule but he can hardly be unhappy about that.

You are careful in the low din of the house. It's deathly quiet as you leave your shoes on the mat and surpass the closet. As you near the kitchen, you hear a clink from within. You slow, padding quietly in an effort not to betray your presence. You keep against the wall as you resist the urge to peek inside.

"You like tea, no?" The voice wafts through, rippling through the still silence.

You cringe and clutch the straps of your bag. You lower your head and wet your lips. You inch towards the archway.

"Mr. Laufeyson, I don't mind tea," you answer.

"Very well," he takes down a second cup as the kettle boils softly.

"I've already had mine, but thank you, Mr. Laufeyson. I should get to work, the carpenter will be in today."

"You're welcome," he replies as he plucks out tea bags from a hexagonal tin and drops one in each mug. "You can stomach a second. I bought this tea in Tokyo a while back. I need to finish it before it goes stale."

You linger in the door. Is this some trick? Maybe it's pity? Had he really heard that pocket call? You hoped maybe he hadn't been able to hear past the fabric. You watch him as he puts the lid back on the tin. As usual, you can't read him.

What would he even think if he did hear? That you're even more pathetic than he believed?

"Come," he puts his hands on the counter with the undeniable demand.

You obey and cross to the other side of the counter. You teeter and look around awkwardly, not certain what to say or do. He drags his fingertips over the granite and leans weight onto them.

"Thank you for the t--"

"How was your day off--"

You both speak at the same time. You snap your mouth shut and give an apologetic flutter of your fingers. He seals his lips and hesitates, clearing his throat.

"You said the carpenter is due," he redirects, "no doubt you'll have a busy day. Tomorrow, I want you to clear the schedule."

"Tomorrow? Yes, Mr. Laufeyson."

"Don't ask me why, you will know in due time."

"Understood," you take out the phone and make a note, your should hanging heavy on your elbow.

He waits. You don't say a word. The kettle pops and he turns to take it and pours the tea. He sets it back on the base and slides a mug closer.

"You're not curious?" He wonders.

"Like you said, I'll find out," you say, "thank you again."

"Five minutes for a good steep," he girds, "you will want the flavour to set."

"Yes, Mr. Laufeyson," you step closer as you pinch the handle and draw the cup closer.

"Mmm," he hums, rolling his shoulders back. "I had a question for you then." You look up and wait patiently, your eyelashes clinging with your fatigue, "was there some emergency yesterday?"

"Pardon?" You gulp.

"I saw that you called but couldn't make anything out," his cheek twitches, "but I wasn't sure if it was some mistake--"

"It was. Sorry--" you cover your mouth at your own abruptness, "it was an accident. I'm sorry."

"Ah," he nods as he considers you. Can he see through the lie? Does he even care?

"It won't happen again. I'm sorry to have bothered."

"Not bothered," he assures and takes the string of the tea bag, bobbing it up and down in the water, "I have other things to be bothered with, that's certain."

You cross your arms and sway, turning this way and that as you peer around. He didn't hear but you're still uneasy. He startles you as he moves smoothly around the counter. He approaches you and reaches to grasp the strap of your bag.

“Stay a while,” he insists as he tugs and you unfold your arms.

As he slides the strap down your arm, his other hand gently brushes your sleeve, just where the bruise smarts. The tender spot thrums and you wince, letting out a hiss. He hestitates as he places your bag on the counter.

His mouth opens and closes as if he can't think of what to say. You put your hand over the bruise and grimace.

“Did I–”

“No,” you interject, “ Thanks, that was heavy.”

“Ah, yes, well… it will take some time for the tea to cool.”

You shift, just a few inches away to face the counter again. He must be lying. He had to have heard everything yesterday, it's the only way to explain his behaviour. Somehow, you've managed to sink even lower, he must feel on top of the world.

🧹

Ronan arrives just after nine. You rush out to meet him, your tea only half-finished. As he shows you his plans for the repair, you do your best to answer his questions, telling him that some details will need to be approved by Mr. Laufeyson.

You turn towards the house and see the curtain in one of the front windows ripple. You offer to show the carpenter to the gazebo but he insists he can find his own way. Before he can, the front door swings inward and Laufeyson emerges.

“Ah, you must be the builder,” he struts down the steps, “welcome.”

You're taken aback by Laufeyson’s demeanour. For his own family, he was never more than perturbed, but here he is, playing it up. You know for sure that he is, he's never sounded so… nice.

“Hi,” Ronan faces him, his bag in one hand as his other goes to his hip. He stands nonplussed as the host nears.

“Loki,” Laufeyson introduces himself as he offers his hand.

“Ronan,” the other man eyes his fingers before he accepts the gesture. There's tension in his tendons as he squeezes and shakes. “Fine house, you got.”

“A bit big for just me,” Laufeyson sighs as he's released and waves his hand at the facade behind him, “but I won't complain for it.”

“And you've got a wonderful house manager to deal with it all,” Ronan muses.

“Yes, I suppose,” he shrugs, “did you need a tour–”

“Got it,” Ronan interrupts, “I should start. Got a lot to do.”

“Of course, of course,” Laufeyson steps out of his way, “oh but there is this,’ he reaches into his jacket pocket, “the deposit.”

Ronan nods and takes the check with a swipe, “thanks.”

“I always pay for fine work,” Laufeyson intones with a certain lilt. You sense heat roiling between them but why, you can't guess.

“And I never deliver less,” Ronan folds the check with one hand and shoves it in a denim pocket, “I'll try not to make too much of a ruckus.”

They stare at each other as if in a wordless conversation. As the carpenter slowly steps past the resident, you find your voice.

“Thank you, Ronan,” you squeak after the man and he dips his hand, waving over his shoulder as he disappears down the path.

“Where did you find that man?” Laufeyson asks.

“Online? He had good reviews.”

“Mmm, you should've searched out a proper company, not some independent contractor.’

“Oh?” You frown.

“It's only… I've heard stories of swindlers,” he crosses his arms as he faces you completely.

“Sorry, I…”

“It is what it is. We shall see,” he dismisses your apology.

“Right, uh, I'll just… get back to work,” you turn towards the same path and Laufeyson's step echoes yours as he follows you swiftly.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Inside,” you utter dumbly.

“The door is that way,” he argues.

“Well, uh…” you stop and pivot around as he stumbles to a halt, “sure, I guess… it's a habit.”

“You may go through the front, you do much more than clean now, don't you, maid?”

You're not sure how to take the epithet. Is he reminding you of what you were or telling you what you'll always be? You don't reply. You'll just sound stupid. Your father taught you sometimes it's better to just bite your tongue.

You redirect to the front door as he stays on your tail. His shadow makes you want to shrink down to nothing as he looms close. You enter and he nearly collides with you as you remove your shoes.

You press on to the kitchen as he follows. As he resumes his place before his tea cup you go to the cupboard and search out the pitcher you saw the other day and a tall glass. While you fill the jug, he clucks.

“What are you doing?”

“I'll put some water on the patio in case he gets thirsty,” you pull away from the lever, “sorry, I… should've asked. I was just thinking–”

“No, no, you're right. We should be hospitable,”

You nod and push against the lever so the water pours out of the nozzle. When it's full, you find a tray and set it beside the single glass and add ice. Laufeyson taps his porcelain cup.

“Aren't you going to finish your tea?” He asks.

“Um,” you blink and peek back at the mug as you lift the tray, “sure, when I come back.”

You turn to leave, trying not to falter as his gaze tugs at you. You go to the patio door and stop balancing the tray against the side table. Before you can even try the door, Laufeyson sidles past to slide it back himself.

“There, wouldn't want a spill.”

“Er, thanks,” you don't look at him as you pass. He's being helpful. Too helpful.

You place the tray on the glass table and go back inside. You sweep through to the entryway and grab your shoes. Laufeyson once more tails you.

“Your tea,” he reminds you.

“I know, I'm just going to let Ronan know about the water…” you murmur.

You go outside before he can catch up. You descend the front stairs and follow the curve towards the rear path. Mr. Laufeyson’s silhouette disappears behind the hedges as you round the corner of the house and head down towards the gazebo.

Ronan is at the top of the stairs, he paces around, eyeing the railings and testing the stability of the columns with a firm grip. He tilts his head as you approach unnoticed. You stand just on the bottom step sheepishly.

“Um, excuse me, sir,” you pipe up.

“Yes,” he spins to face you, “miss, what can I do for you?”

“Oh, nothing, I just… I left some water on the patio,” you point over towards the house, “if you follow the path around, the stairs are just by the rose bushes.”

“Thanks,” he says, “that's very… sweet of you.”

“Uh, well, it's pretty hot out.”

“Used to it,” he says as he grabs a thick metal clipboard and scribbles with short pencil, “but it's appreciated. Always nice to work with someone competent.”

“I…” your cheeks ache to smile, you think it's a compliment, “thank you.”

“I'd hate to keep you,” he says as he sets the clipboard back on his bag, “your boss seems to be very… straight laced. I wouldn't want to tangle him up.”

“It's… um, yeah, if you need anything, I'll be around,” you offer, bobbing on your heels, “I'll have my phone, you could message me or ring the bell.”

“I think I'll be okay,” he chuckles, not mockingly but kindly, “go on, you're right, it's too hot to be out here in polyester.”

You look down at yourself, sweat beading along your hairline as if to confirm his warning, “yeah… erm, okay. Thanks.”

You shuffle off the step, balling your fists as you walk away with straight arms, fighting not to look back. That was awkward and strange. You can only think he'll be laughing again, this time at your expense.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #marvel #mcu #avengers #thor

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corinthianism · 2 years ago

Text

labyrinth | peter parker

pairing: peter parker (andrew garfield)/gn!reader additional tags: fluff, meet cute warnings: referenced character death (gwen), angst

summary: peter finds love again nearly a decade since gwen's death. note: this is like. a brain fart. i barely proofread this so like i'm just gonna HOPE it's not complete ass. happy reading!

The air was already biting cold in November. Peter had been sitting on the same bench for about an hour now, orange leaves clinging to his coat. Every so often, he would break out of his trance to brush them off. Gwen had gotten it for him on their first Valentine’s Day together after she saw him wearing one of his uncle’s old ones. She joked about how it made him look like he was hiding little packets of crack in his pocket. His lips twitched into a smile before he inhaled deeply, trying to remember the sound of her laugh. The real sound of her laugh, not the one that crackles through the speakers of his old laptop whenever he missed her. It’s been that long. He was always terrified he’d forget her: how her eyes twinkled when she learned something new, how her hair always seemed to be perfectly in place, or how her scent took over his room after every visit.

There were days when he couldn’t even get out of bed, too consumed by his grief to move a muscle. On the flip side, there were days when he could feel like himself again. Days where he allowed himself to smile and just be the nerd he’d always been. He knew it was what Gwen would’ve wanted. By some miracle, it was what she fell in love with. She loved Peter Parker and that was the only reason he had to not lose himself as Spider-Man. Despite it all, he found it got easier with time. It was easier to live with himself now. It was easier to accept that it wasn’t his fault. Four years has passed since her death and he was just barely accepting it still, but it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

It was rare for him to have the time to just go out and enjoy what the city had to offer. New York could be a real piece of work: that was evident from just how much Spider-Man had to deal with in the past few months, but it was home. Central Park was a place he hadn’t visited in a while, so he tried to not dwell in his thoughts too much and enjoy the rare opportunity. Admittedly, there wasn’t much to do but people-watch, but it was a nice change of pace for Peter. With how hectic things were at work on top of his responsibilities as a vigilante, he was exhausted. He was tired of being Peter Parker. It was nice to just be invisible for once.

He snorted. If middle-school Peter heard that, he would’ve been firmly smacked on the head by his younger self. He always wanted to fit in with the cool kids back then. He achieved that to some degree. Sure, he was more well-known as a dweeb rather than a cool guy, but he was still well-known. Even now, he realized his desires didn’t change all that much. It’s just that this time, he wished he could have a house and a dog and a proper job and be friends with normal people. Instead, he was still renting an apartment in a less-than-ideal part of town that he could barely keep. Before he could slip further into his self-deprecation, he was pulled away from his thoughts by something sitting next to him. On his right was a puppy, no more than a year old, slobbering all over the bench with a bright green ball in its mouth. Peter could only stare at it before the puppy carefully placed the wet ball on his lap, urging him to throw it. Before he could do anything, you jogged up to them and picked up both the dog and the ball.

“I’m so sorry, sir! I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately!” your eyes wandered down to the wet patch on Peter’s thigh where the ball used to be. “God, you don’t have somewhere to be, do you? I’m really, really sorry!”

You were really jittery. That was the only word Peter could think of to describe you. You didn’t know where to put your hands: between holding the happy pup, the ball with said pup’s drool all over it, or trying to introduce yourself to the man your dog decided was “the chosen one”, Peter was pretty entertained. Then he felt bad.

“It’s no problem really,” he reassured you before pointing to the troublemaker in your arms fondly. “You’ve got a cute puppy. Too bad I didn’t get to throw the ball though.”

The sigh of relief you let out must’ve been cartoony because you swore you saw him smile, then he stood up and handed you a handkerchief. You looked at it for a few moments before accepting it with your one wet free hand gratefully. He remembered thinking at the time that you looked so welcoming. Like a friend you can always talk to even if you haven’t seen each other in a while. It might’ve been his senses messing with him, but the air felt clearer then. Your arrival cleared a fog in his mind, and he didn’t even know your name. So he told you his instead, his gloved hand touching yours for the first time in what seemed to be just a polite handshake. Looking back on it now, perhaps that was the first sign.

You told him your name, trying not to stare at the man in front of you. His eyes were so… kind. They were big and round and full of wonder, maybe a little dampened by age. Kind but tired. They should’ve been just as average as any other set of eyes you’ve seen, but when the sunlight hit them just right, it reminded you of swirls of honey. The rest of him surely didn’t disappoint. Maybe a few seconds in, you realized you must’ve been gawking at him, so you said your goodbyes and tried to forget about it on the way home.

Not that you could, but he couldn’t either.

A couple of weeks had passed. His patrols happened less often now with him working so much during the day. Between the bills and the pressure of being a functioning adult, Peter found it difficult to keep his head above water. He stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror he got from May’s old stuff. He was older. He was sadder. The suit still fit as well as it could, but squeezing into it was more of a chore now than an exciting flipping-of-the-switch into his alter-ego. His hands shook, if only for a moment, before he pulled down the mask over his head. The fire escape creaked under his weight before bouncing back into place as Spider-Man finally leaped off and swung into the night.

“It’s just another patrol,” he reminded himself. “You get this done and you can get some sleep.”

It must’ve been two hours into his patrol when he heard you. His ears perked up at the sound of your voice. Before he could even register what was happening, his body was already swinging its way to you.

“Sherlock!” you called out. “Sherlock! Where are you?”

This was impossible. You loved your dog to bits but you’d think he’d think twice before dashing away from you at the slightest rustle of a bush.

“You need some help?” a voice came from behind you.

You jumped and swung your fist at whoever it was. Peter managed to narrowly avoid your sucker punch so he stepped back and held up his hands, in fear of freaking you out even more.

“WOAH! Woah, woah, hey…” he tried to calm you down, his actions about as frantic as your own. “I’m Spider-Man! I’m here to help!”

Red and blue spandex. Wide white lenses. Your mind finally processed what was going on in front of you. Spider-Man was here.

Holy shit, Spider-Man was here.

Once again, you were apologizing to him. Not that you would ever know that it was the same person. You explained that you were trying to find your dog, and he listened. He clung to your every word, whether he meant to or not. That same fog in his head cleared up and soon he found himself engaging in easy conversation with you as you both searched the neighborhood for your dog. He felt light, like this was the simplest thing ever. Why was it so easy to be with you?

How long has it been since he was in the company of someone other than May? Someone who wasn’t from Midtown High who would awkwardly comment on how different he looked. Someone who wasn’t from the Bugle who would sneer at him every time he messed up because he was exhausted. How long has it been since he spent time with somebody who could get to know him the way normal people did?

He tried to shake off these thoughts. Who said anything about the two of you getting to know each other anyway? Peter looked back at you from the dark alleyway. You were on the opposite side of the street from him, hellbent on finding Sherlock. A happy bark echoed from his side of the street. The puppy he once could’ve scooped up with one arm was now thrice the size of what it used to be. Sherlock stopped to smell Peter. The dog barked once again, as if to say “Hi, I remember you!”, and then ran back to you before you could burst into tears of frustration.

For a minute or two, Peter stayed just to watch. You were so gentle with your pup, so genuinely concerned for its wellbeing that it struck something inside of him. With how long he’s been Spider-Man and how much he lost as a consequence of it, he often forgot that people like you still existed. He forgot that there were still good people in this world, people who would do the same thing he did if they were the ones bitten by a radioactive spider. People that would help a tourist get to their hotel safely, reunite a mother with their child or, like you, spend the rest of the night looking for their dog in the freezing cold.

Peter tried to leave as soon as he could because there was something about you he couldn’t quite figure out and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like not knowing what it was about you that rekindled a flame in him he thought he’d lost. You didn’t even get a chance to thank him properly. He shot one web after another and then it was back to work.

Your voice and Sherlock’s cheerful barks echoed after him, “Thank you, Spider-Man!”

He felt himself smiling underneath the mask. Even if it was just for that night, he felt like the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man again. For you, the walk home was peaceful, even with the ever-present noise of the city in the background, but you felt safe. Since that first meeting with the masked hero, you’d feel that someone was watching you every now and then… and you knew exactly who it was. It was always a blip of red and blue in your peripheral, but it was more than enough.

In February, you got laid off from your job. You’d seen it coming but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t a complete pain in the ass. You just turned up to work, got handed your box of stuff, and sent on your way. It all happened so fast. Next thing you knew, you were sitting in some dingy old bar, your box of stuff forgotten in the trunk of your car while you nursed your drink. Some guy took a seat a couple of stools away from you, huffing as he rested his head on the counter.

It took you a while to recognize him.

“Hey! We’ve met before… Peter, right?”

Peter sat upright then, an awkward smile adorning his face as he turned to you. He stopped himself from speaking right away. After all, you met him once. He met you twice, both as himself and Spider-Man. He had to keep that in mind.

“Oh, uh, yeah! From Central Park?”

You laughed, “Yeah. From Central Park.”

There it was again. The ease of the conversation. The natural flow of your back and forth banter. He couldn’t tell if it was just you or his heart finally giving in after years of self-isolation that brought about this sense of calm, but he was grateful for it all the same. You told him about what just happened earlier that day and… something pushed Peter to just take one more step into the deep end.

“You could come work at the Bugle,” he blurted out. Fuck. You’re so stupid, Peter.

“What? The Daily Bugle? The newspaper?” you repeated in disbelief, all of your attention now on him as you shifted in your seat. It was overwhelming. Why was it so overwhelming? This was only the third time he’s talked to you!

Maybe it was liquid courage, but he found himself nodding and just going down the rabbit hole of trying to convince you to apply, “I mean, you’ve been at that company for how many years? And I heard they don’t just hire anyone, too. If anyone could land a spot at the Bugle, it’s you,”—he grinned and put on an accent—”mi amigo.”

You stared at him, perplexed. Then, a smile. You were his friend.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he smiled back, trying to hold back the hope blooming in his chest. “I guess… I’ll be seeing you again soon?”

You wasted no time writing down your number on a piece of tissue and sliding it over to him, “You bet, Parker.”

In the safety of his one-bedroom apartment, Peter smiled at the messy line of numbers you scrawled on the two-ply tissue. He called you the day after, eagerly telling you abut what life at the Bugle was like. In true Spidey fashion, he was honest about it. His horror stories of his boss didn’t seem to faze you at all. In fact, it only made you more determined to apply and prove yourself. He admired that.

One call became two, and two became three. And one after that… and another after that. That wasn’t counting the daily texting that ensued in between. Peter found himself looking forward to your texts in the morning, when he finally fixed his sleep schedule just enough to wake up before his alarm started blaring. By the time you were officially an employee of the Daily Bugle, he couldn’t contain his excitement.

It was exhilirating to not be alone anymore. It was even better when he realized your cubicle was just right next to his. Peter made it his mission to ensure your work experience was a fun and pleasant one. It was so unequivocally him to do something like that. Each gesture started out small: he decorated your desk with two succulents when you started out. After a while, he would leave candy on top of your paperwork while you went to the bathroom. He always denied this. Then there were the sticky notes.

Peter didn’t come to work regularly, he was juggling two other freelance jobs most of the time but he always, without fail, managed to leave a sticky note on your computer if he wasn’t going to be around the next day. Like his other acts of kindness, these started small too. Imagining him hunched over a desk and writing these notes just for you made you more flustered than you could even begin to admit.

“Don’t forget to eat!”

“You’re doing such a good job :)”

“YOU’RE SO AWESOME!!! >:D”

But your favorite, favorite one, the one you kept safe in your phone case, was the note he left when you finished some of his paperwork for him. The two of you never spoke about the notes he left, both too scared to ruin the comfortable dynamic you’ve created. The very next morning, that familiar bright yellow poked out from in between the stacks of paper on your desk. You remembered the warmth you felt as you read his words. Something about his handwriting only intensified that.

“My hero :D Tell me how to make it up to you, you beautiful human being,” followed by a doodle of you in a Spider-Man costume.

One day, when he’s ready, maybe Peter would tell you how you saved a life just because you finished his work for him. In your own act of kindness, you allowed him to start his patrol earlier and save a teenage girl from getting mugged, or worse. When you invited him over to your house that weekend and saw the angry bruise on on his cheekbone, he let you tend to the cuts that were littered all over his body. He let himself bask in your gentleness and care and sweetness and everything that made you, you. You asked him if he got attacked. He shook his head and ignored the sting of the hydrogen peroxide.

“I fell into some bushes while hiking. Turns out it had thorns,” he lied. Lying to you didn’t feel great.

Instead of prying any further, you laughed and told him to be more careful. He could’ve sworn the room felt brighter then.

In June, May came over to his apartment to drop off some good homemade food; something she was sure he had gone far too long without, since his culinary taste consisted solely of instant noodles and microwaveable meals. The TV hummed in the background as the older woman made some small talk with her nephew. The realization that he was no longer a little boy dawned on her. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, but it was a hard pill to swallow. May saw how tired and beaten down he was, especially after Gwen’s death, and it wasn’t until recently that she noticed a change in the young man. The stubble he always forgot to shave was nowhere to be seen, his unkempt hair finally trimmed into a manageable shape, and his eyes were brighter. He was still tired, but he was happy. For a brief moment, she saw the little boy she used to bathe and sing to before bed.

Peter was too busy munching on the chicken casserole she prepared to see his aunt smiling at him. Finally, she decided to speak up.

“Who is it, Peter?”

He looked up, not expecting the question, “Who’s what?”

“Who’s making you happy?”

Peter thought about it for a while, not sure if the answer he’ll give was actually the right one to describe what had transpired these last few months, “I made a friend, I guess. They’re really nice and uh… they just started working for the Bugle. So. I see them more often.”

May nodded, a content smile on her face as she processed the information. A coworker. A friend.

“Tell me about them, they seem nice.”

Peter hesitated for a second, only to be reminded of your face and your bad jokes and your dog. Nice was an understatement. You were amazing.

“They are. Nice, I mean. We just sort of ran into each other at Central Park and then I saw them again a couple of months later and I recognized them. They’re… they make me feel comfortable. Appreciated, you know? I haven’t had somebody to talk to like this since—” he stopped.

Since.

Since Gwen.

In the time Peter’s known you, not once did he think about her. Then that horrible sinking feeling in his gut came. Years of falling and learning how to get back up went down the drain because he was reminded once again of what he lost. His thoughts were running a thousand miles a minute, all of them connecting back to that one fact that he was sure would haunt him forever: Gwen Stacy was dead and she would stay dead and Peter couldn’t do anything about that, no matter how much he wished he could. Somewhere, deep down, a part of him never really grew up. How could he? What gave him the right to live the life he wanted when she couldn’t live hers because he couldn’t catch her?

Then you came into his life and pulled him out of his self-imposed exile. All at once, it was you flooding his senses and you weren’t even there. This was wrong. This was all wrong.

May could only watch her nephew go through a whole lifetime’s worth of pain all over again. In a flash, he was gone. May Parker was alone.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to leave his apartment. He couldn’t bear to let May see him like that again. He couldn’t… It felt too much like the first time. It felt too much like losing his uncle and his girlfriend. He didn’t want to relive it. New York’s skies were painted pink and orange as the sun began to set, but all he could think about was getting away. His feet simply walked and walked and walked, his mind in a haze until finally, finally, he stopped at the headstone that haunted him for so long.

Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy

Beloved daughter and friend

March 2, 1996 - July 2014

A breath he didn’t know he was holding in escaped him. It had been nearly a decade since she died. She would’ve been twenty-seven. The air felt colder somehow, but Peter, even with his scientific mind, wanted to believe that she was there with him in that moment. He wanted to believe that Gwen Stacy never truly left. It was true, in a way. It was Peter that kept her alive, even if it was only in memory.

“Gwen, help me out,” he whispered. “Help me out, please. I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”

He struggled to keep his composure.

“I met someone, Gwen. It was an accident. Their dog was all over the place and for some reason, he chose me. Gave me his ball to throw. And then they came along and GOD! They’re just— They’ve been nothing but kind to me, but I just can’t… I can’t do that to you. Never to you. And I know what you would say and how I’m an idiot but,” his voice wavered. “How can I ever look at anybody else the way I looked at you?”

Soft footsteps came from behind him.

“You can’t, sweetheart,” May placed her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t look at anybody that way you did Gwen. What you had with her was special. It was you and her, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start something new. Something entirely different and just as special. You know this is what she would’ve wanted for you, why would you deny her that, Peter?”

The dam broke.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

May held him tight. She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the cold with Peter, but the moment that little boy was left on her doorstep, she knew she would do anything for him. No longer was he little, but he was her boy, and he always will be. If she had to rub circles on his back for as long as he needed to pour his heart out to the world, she would do it. So she did.

You didn’t hear from Peter for the next few days. He always managed to evade you at work and when you did see him, he avoided your gaze and left as soon as he could instead of hanging around to chat about random stuff like he always did. You would be lying if you said it didn’t hurt. Peter was probably your first true friend in this city. He looked out for you in ways nobody ever bothered to, even people you’ve known your whole life. Peter Parker was your friend and you were determined to get to the heart of the problem and fix it.

Miraculously, you caught him just as he was about to leave the lobby. Hearing his name from your lips stopped him in his tracks, so he turned around to face you. You knew what he was going to say. It was going to be another excuse to leave and not talk to you.

“Oh, hey!” he greeted lamely. “Look, I can’t stay around for too long, I have to—”

“Cut the shit, Parker,” you hissed. If it came out harsher than you intended, you didn’t care. You deserved to know whatever it was that made him start avoiding you like the plague. “What’s going on with you? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because it’s definitely something!”

He was caught. With nothing else up his sleeves, he pleaded quietly, “Not here. I’ll tell you, I promise, I just… Not here.”

A couple of hours later, you were face to face with his door. You hesitated to knock and as if on cue, Peter opened the door with a tired smile. His hair was damp and he was dressed in a shirt much too large for him and plaid sweatpants. He smelled of cheap bar soap and mint toothpaste. For a moment, all you could feel was him. It took all of your strength to push that thought to the back of your mind. There was a more important matter at hand, and that was figuring out what was bothering your friend.

He ushered you inside and you both awkwardly next to each other on his worn out couch. The broken leather pricked your legs every now and then through the old bedsheet Peter covered the couch with. All the confidence you mustered up throughout the day to confront him was lost now. You fiddled anxiously with the strings of a throw pillow, avoiding Peter’s gaze.

He broke the silence, “I’m sorry. I haven’t been myself recently but… what I did to you this week was wrong. Sorry. Again.”

You sighed. This wasn’t easy at all. The words came out before you could think, “I know. I just wish you would tell me. I think I deserve to at least know why you’ve been acting this way.”

Your heart thrummed in both anticipation and fear. Peter, with his enhanced everything, could hear it. That’s when he took in the sight before him. You were so gorgeous; an angel on Earth in his eyes. You, so beautiful in ways he didn’t think was possible, sat in his living room because you were concerned. May’s words of wisdom echoed in his mind. She was right. What he had with Gwen was special, she was his first love, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t form something new. It took all this time to realize he wanted to build that with you. Your eyes told him everything you didn’t say out loud. You cared. You cared, you cared, you cared. He loved you.

Peter Parker loved you. He just had to figure out a way to say it.

He was sure he looked weird in that moment. You stared at him so intensely, trying to figure out the enigma that was his emotions. His hands found yours and the first thing you could think was how warm they were. He squeezed, as if trying to reassure himself that you were real and that this was happening.

“I lost someone. She… she was my girlfriend,” he began shakily, trying to find the right words to describe the massive lump of something in his chest. “Her name was Gwen. We met in high school. All these years, I’ve tried to hold on to her. You know, to keep her alive in some way. It wasn’t until recently that I realized that maybe I was doing more harm than good.”

There it was. It was all out in the open now, bits and pieces of his heart sprawled out across the floor as he waited for your reaction. Thousands of scenarios ran through his head, all of them ending in you leaving him alone. Each version of you in his mind reflected the guilt he bottled up for nearly a decade, screaming at him and cursing him for the things he’s done and the things he couldn’t do. Then he felt your arms wrap around him. He didn’t even realize he was already crying.

“Peter Parker, you are a good person. I might not know the full story, but if she loved you as much as you loved her, then I know for a fact that she would want you to be happy. You deserve that. She deserves that.”

You prepared yourself for his protest; for him to rebut everything you just said. You hoped you said the right thing but nothing could’ve prepared you for what he said next.

“If you keep saying things like that, I’ll fall in love with you even more.”

It was so quiet, just a little above a hushed whisper that you could almost fool yourself into thinking he didn’t say it if it wasn’t for that fact that his hold on you got tighter. He must’ve seen the confusion on your face because he spoke again, “I hated myself for falling in love with you because I thought it was a disrespect to Gwen’s memory. I wish I couId say I didn’t see it coming. I always knew I would love you. I just didn’t want to see it.”

For a few moments, the two of you just stayed there, his confession lingering in the air you breathed. It might be a trick of the mind, but you knew it was sweet. Peter pulled away; too kind, too selfless, too afraid to consider the possibility that you might just feel the same.

“Peter—”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Peter—”

“—ruin everything we had, I just couldn’t—”

“Peter!”

He gulped, clearly not expecting you to stop him from rambling. In his mind, you deserved an apology. In yours, you deserved a chance to speak.

“Peter,” you spoke softly, trying to reassure him that you weren’t offended in any way. “Have you ever once considered that maybe I like you too?”

Ever since he got bitten by that spider, Peter learned to tune out the stimuli in his environment. It used to bother him so much; hearing and smelling and feeling everything all at once got overwhelming. Now, when all his senses pointed back to you, he finds he doesn’t mind at all. In that moment, he was so sure he’d die a happy man if your face was the last thing he ever saw. It took him a while to respond to your own confession, too wrapped in all of you to think clearly.

He asked you if you were sure. You said yes. He asked you again. You kissed him.

The feeling of your lips on his both grounded him and blew him away. Somewhere in between that make-out session, his hands found yours. He decided this felt right. Maybe Peter will never fully overcome his own insecurities, and there was a lot of them. He was worried he was too tired, too beaten-down for you… and that didn’t even begin to describe the fear he felt knowing that you would have to find out about Spider-Man at some point. Again, he was reminded of your friendship and your kindness. You had given it to him so freely. He just needed to take another leap of faith and learn to trust himself as much as you did.

When November came, Peter didn’t find the air so chilly anymore. Not with you around.

#tasm!peter one shot #tasm!peter x reader #tasm spiderman #tasm!peter x you #andrew garfield #peter parker x reader #andrew! peter parker #marvel fanfic

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yescking · 6 months ago

Text

little avenhill drabble under the cut. about strong drinks and strange feelings. you were warned

The pub they're in is still loud despite the late hour.

They should've left a hot minute ago, but that robot realised the house is still serving the drinks he thought were out of market forever, so they stayed for a few shots more. It's a pretty small and cramped place with live (not that good) music and suspicious contingent. Aventurine has been in places far worse, but he's not very used to them nowadays. Usually he goes to expensive restaurants and bars with slot machines where rich men wait to spend their money and their honor — and he lets them. He rarely goes to these places to actually spend time with a good drink.

Boothill offers a nice opportunity to do so.

They sit beside one of the few private tables with music blasting and folk yelling somewhere far to the center of the place. The hot air swims through and stays on the back of their throats. The bottles of the strongest whiskey Aventurine has ever tasted lay on and under the table, filling his nose with notes of oak and peat. Maybe he indeed did more shots that he should've.

The guy beside him seems just a bit tipsy - maybe it's his years of experience or just a metal heart inside a metal chest. He's babbling something about the drinks, and the guns, and the shit vocalist on the stage, and Aventurine can't really strain his brain into sorting his usual unique speech and figuring out the swears hidden under that damn beacon. He just looks at him, blinking slowly. Both of their hats sit beside eachother, hanged on the empty bottles.

It's already dark out, and the place doesn't really provide much light either, so they sit in soft darkness, hinted with orangy illumination from the stylised neon lamps. Maybe it's the humidity, maybe it's the strangely intimate atmosphere the two share, maybe it's the alcohol softening his brain and his body, but he feels a sting of deja vu on the back of his head. It almost makes him go on autopilot.

He watches the beauty marks move under Boothill's left eye. A strange yet familiar thought rolls in his mouth. It blurts itself out before he has the time to chew on it.

"Kiss me," falls from his lazy tongue, spattering across the table. Silence.

He doesn't really process what he just said until he hears a deafening laughter by his side.

"Who, you!? Naw, brother, you gotta be kiddin'! Yer fancy lil' face is too soft for me mouth of steel! Who in the right mind would get close to that poisonous sharp tongue of yers anyway, amiright? Hahaha, ye sweet talkin' snake... Hey, what's with da face? Hey!?"

The world around Aventurine moves and blurs until he feels wetness on his cheeks and a teardrop on his glove. Boothill shifts closer to him while he tries to rub his eyes back into normal state, ruining his little makeup alongside the movement.

It's weird. He didn't even mean that request and it's not like he's afraid of rejection. Well, maybe he's used to being wanted like that — physically — but surely he didn't expect Boothill the Galaxy Ranger of all people to like him. He didn't even want the kiss!

The sharp pain in his chest somehow signals the opposite. He gets tangled in his own tray of conflicted feelings, unable to think and act fast as always.

"Hey, are ye actually cryin'!? Fudge, were ye honest about that? Calm down, man!" He moves his hand in front of Aventurine's eyes which makes him feel even dizzier. "I didn't mean that last part, y'now lil old me! Gah... Do ye really want it, ye crazy scoundrel?" Aventurine doesn't have the time to answer.

Boothill moves his ice cold metal hand to brush off Aventurine's bangs and pecks him right in the middle of his forehead. His lips are thin, rough and a bit sticky from the whiskey. Its more of a slap than a kiss. Aventurine somehow feels content from that.

"Now ye drunk sweetie satisfied? Makin' me do crazy stuff for a prank, unbelievable..." He moves away, ruffling Aventurine's hair at the last second.

The treacherous tears stop. He sees a hint of a blush on Boothill's face — its not red, rather darker and colder shade of his skin tone instead. Not surprising with the blue blood running his wires. Aventurine giggles and downs his last shot for the evening.

#me writing #avenhill #hsr aventurine #aventurine #boothill #im insane btw if u couldn't tell #hsr #honkai star rail

41 notes · View notes

nessinborderland · 2 years ago

Text

V-E-N-U-S (03)

Pairing: Rafe x plus size!Reader

Genre: smut, dark-ish fic

Word Count: 6 ,2k

Warnings ⚠️ Mildly Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, more like Enemies to Enemies That Fuck tbh, Rafe Cameron Being an Asshole, mentions of bullying, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Rough Sex, Mentions of death of a parent, Drinking, Drug Use, Rafe needs therapy asap, fatphobia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: The nickname he had given you in 8th grade was supposed to be ironic. In Rafe’s defense, he used to be a pretty stupid and cruel fourteen-year-old, as most kids that age are. So yeah, nicknaming the fat and nerdy chick Venus – like the goddess of sex and beauty – had been pretty hilarious in young Rafe's opinion.

What he would've never guessed was how much that name would fit you now as a grown woman.

Notes: Here is part 3! Enjoy 💖

AO3 | Masterlist | Part 1

You felt like you could finally breathe when you set foot inside your house, the familiar scent of beef strogonoff making your stomach grumble as you realized you were starving. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you rarely got hungry while working, doing a shift without much more than a granola bar and yogurt in your stomach.

But you were home now, and your body knew it, muscles relaxing and mouth salivating at the prospect of finally sitting down and having a nice meal. Maybe then you would forget about your shitty day – in particular your last conversation with Rafe. That had really soured your mood, a tension in your shoulders and neck that was starting to give you headaches.

Locking the door behind you, you dropped your backpack on a chair and sat on the floor with a tired exhale, taking off your shoes before fully laying down on the wooden surface, dust and dog fur in your hair be damned. Your whole body needed a break, your feet in particular; they always hurt like a bitch after a long shift of standing up and walking around.

The noise of loud indie rock came somewhere from the back of the house, and you could hear kid music and cartoons coming from the living room, just to your right. A tip-tapping sound from the hallway made you look up, and a smile stretched your lips as you were approached by the only family member to always greet you at the front door.

“Hey old man, how was your day?” you cooed as you sat up to pet K-Nine behind the ears, just how he liked it.

The old German Shepard mix wagged his tail from side to side as he excitedly tip-tapped his nails on the floor, trying to welcome you with a lick to the face that you promptly dodged with a chuckle. Your dad had let you pick K-Nine on your 10th birthday, and, in a way, this dog was like a part of your father that was still with you. It hurt watching him get older and start to prefer naps instead of long walks outside.

After a quick cuddle and a pet to his graying muzzle, you stood up and walked into the living room together, where your younger brother sat on the couch with his full attention on the TV.

“Hello, Kev,” you greeted when you passed by the couch, being completely ignored even when you ruffled his hair as you walked towards the open kitchen. “Bluey is that good huh?...” you muttered under your breath before smiling at your mother. “Hey, Mom, smells good!”

“Hey, sweets, you got home just in time,” greeted your mother, sending you a tired smile as she set the table. You hurried to help her, knowing that – no matter how tired you were – your mother would be ten times worse. “How was work today?”

“Work was okay, got some good tips,” you said as you took out the orange juice from the fridge and set it on the table. “How was your day?”

“Exhausting,” She said as she sat at the table with a tired sigh, a smile still on her lips. “But cleaning rich people’s houses does have its perks – Mrs. Lockwood gave me some good clothes her son doesn’t use anymore, so that’s one less thing I have to worry about – I swear that your brothers are growing like weeds.”

“That’s nice of her,” you said with a forced smile; your mom was always thankful for the things her employers at Figure 8 gave her, didn’t matter if they were second-hand or not – but you still remembered how kids used to bully you over it. You just hoped your brothers didn’t go through the same. “Have you been taking your new medication? Doctor Marsh said you weren’t supposed to feel this tired after a few weeks of taking it, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s working,” she muttered with a shake of her head, eyes down on the napkin she was folding. “They help a bit with the pain, but I still feel so drained…”

“Maybe you should do some more exams?” you asked as you grabbed the plates and started serving the still piping hot food, the smell making your stomach grumble again. “We can go early tomorrow if you want, I only start work at five.”

“And mess even more with your college savings?” she asked in what you knew was a rhetorical tone. “I’m not doing that.” Then she turned to your younger brother, still watching his cartoons like they were the only thing in the room. “Kev, honey, go call your brother for dinner, please – Kevin, now.” Then she turned to you again. “Fibromyalgia won’t kill me, I can manage. Let’s just focus on getting you into college for now, I’m not having you stuck on this island waiting tables for the rest of your life.”

You gave her a resigned nod, setting the plates on the table before sitting down at your usual place in front of her, noticing the bags under her eyes and the silver in her hair – she had aged so much since being diagnosed two years ago. You didn’t like the fact that your mother refused to get all the help she needed; yes, there was no cure for her condition, but there were treatments to alleviate the symptoms, which she just refused to do if it involved touching your savings.

At times, it frustrated you more than just a little. You would rather your mother enjoyed her life comfortably with no pain than go to college; it was not like your major of choice was going anywhere, anyway.

The arrival of your brothers stopped you from pressing on the matter again, and dinner went by as it always went, with silly conversations that made you laugh and your worries disappear, allowing you to enjoy these little moments when everything was fine.

No work, no stress, no drama.

It was now almost ten-thirty in the evening, and your mother and Kevin were already long asleep while you relaxed on the couch with K-Nine sprawled belly up between you and David. Mom had only recently allowed him to watch scary movies, and the kid was obsessed, to say the least. So, it had become tradition, for the past few months, to watch a horror movie every Friday and Saturday night after dinner, which you were happy to oblige.

David was very noticeably going through puberty right now, and sometimes the only way to get him out of his room was to convince him to either go to the movies or watch something on the TV. Netflix was a luxury you were willing to pay for if it allowed you these special moments with him.

“Do you believe in demons?” David murmured as you watched the final shot of Annabelle in a glass enclosure fade to black before the credits rolled.

“Sure do,” you snorted as you stretched your stiff muscles with a yawn. “See them all the time at my job.”

The boy tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing.

“Uh, do you mean Kooks?”

“Kooks. Demons. They’re pretty much the same thing,” you replied with a specific person in mind. “Why? You scared?”

“I’m thirteen, of course I’m not scared,” he said with an eye roll that could match your own, helping you fold the blanket you had used before adding with a small shrug, “Just wondering…”

“Well, I don’t think we have to worry about demons, so you’re good.”

“Hmm…” He looked lost in thought as he hesitantly asked, “And what about ghosts? Do you think they’re real?”

“Not really.” Something sounded off, you could see it in his faraway gaze, the way he chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders sagged. “Why do you ask, Davie?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he uttered, his bottom lip trembling, “I- I can’t remember Dad’s voice anymore… I think I’m forgetting Dad.”

“Aw, Davie.”

You pulled him against you, arms going around him as you held him in a tight embrace, kissing the top of his head when he hugged you back just as tight, his shoulders lightly shaking as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. He was growing up so fast; another year and he would be taller than you.

You said nothing as you let him cry, hugging him while rubbing his back, trying to ignore the lump in your throat. Even though you could cry, you wouldn’t do it now; he had seen you cry so much in the past, seen you sob and lose yourself as you grieved, not old enough to quite process everything that had happened, but old enough to hold you like you were holding him now.

It was your turn to support him through this.

He had been eight years old when your father died, just a little boy – which, in a way, made it so much worse for him. You had been fifteen and had almost died yourself, too deep in your own despair at the time to notice anyone else’s misery. But now you felt his pain as if it was your own. You were sure that if there were no pictures of your father around the house, his face would also start to blur from your memories.

“I think Mom might have some videos of Dad in a hard drive somewhere,” you said after some time in silence. “Why don’t we look for them tomorrow and watch them together?”

You heard him sniffle as he nodded, and you broke the embrace before gently guiding him out of the living room and saying goodnight to each other.

You watched as your brother opened the door of the room he shared with Kevin before getting inside, leaving it slightly ajar as he did every night, the shine of the night light (he still had nightmares sometimes) giving you some visual aid as you walked the dark hallway towards your own bedroom.

A sudden knock at the front door made you jump in place.

“Shh, boy, it’s okay,” you hushed your dog as he let out a bark from the living room, rushing after you as you hurried to check the peephole. Your brows furrowed, lips pursing as you noticed who was on the other side of the door.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door to face none other than your cousin.

“Hey,” he said in a hushed tone before you could utter a word, looking at you with his hands in his pockets and a nervous expression on his face. “I know it’s late, but can we talk?”

You hesitated before giving him a nod and stepping outside, leaving the door unlocked behind you as you walked towards the front steps. You had a good guess as to why he was at your doorstep at this hour, and your shoulders tensed at the prospect of having this specific discussion right now.

“Fine,” you muttered as you moved to sit on the front step. “What do you wanna talk about?”

John B followed your lead and sat beside you, absently petting K-Nine behind the ears as the old dog lay down on the porch with a huff.

“JJ told me about you and Rafe.”

He was going straight to the subject. Good. The sooner you finished this, the sooner you could go to bed and pretend it never happened.

“What about me and Rafe?”

John B stopped petting the dog, fingers fidgeting as he started picking the old scraps of paint from the wooden step beneath him.

“Please don’t lie to me, V. Not about this.” You didn’t think you had ever heard John B say anything in such a serious tone, jaw clenched and mouth set in a straight line as his gaze locked on yours, eyes shining in the moonlight with something akin to concern. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you would never have something with him even if he was the last man on earth, but I heard the rumors, so what the hell happened between you two?”

Your brows furrowed, his tone not lost to you as you tried to understand exactly the meaning behind his words.

“Wait, what- what are you talking about?” you asked after a moment of only staring at him, unsure of what to say. “What the hell did JJ tell you?”

“Last Saturday, at that Kook party, Rafe did something to you.” You looked at him in total confusion as he took your hands in his, his grip a little tighter than you would find comfortable. “He forced you, didn’t he? I saw the bruises, I saw the marks but I just thought…” he shook his head, tone turning frantic as you let out a nervous chuckle, at a complete loss for words as you realized what he was implying. He couldn’t be serious. “Did he drug you? Whatever he did, you have to tell me, tell the police. We can get him arrested. If- If you don’t want to do that maybe we can try to- to, I don’t know, but we can make him pay somehow.”

This was madness. This whole situation was ridiculous. Absolute insanity.

“John B, no, please stop–”

“No, no, no, you don’t have to be scared of him–”

“Johnathan, stop!” you snapped, tears stinging your eyes as you finally managed to pull your hands from his grip. “Whatever JJ told you, it’s not true. Rafe didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do, so stop whatever this is!”

He stared at you, eyes wide and mouth agape as understanding finally settled.

“What?”

“Rafe didn’t hurt me.”

His eyes flashed with anger, and an intrusive thought crossed your mind; it was almost like he preferred you had been assaulted.

“You actually willingly slept with him?”

The disgust was as clear in his voice as it was in his face, and you couldn’t stop yourself from recoiling in a sudden burst of shame. You were quick to push that emotion aside; you had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Even if I did, whatever my deal is with Rafe is between me and him. Not you and not JJ, so you can just stop getting in my business like I’m your responsibility. I’ve been dealing with Cameron for years now, he’s not your problem.”

“That’s the thing though, he is my problem!” he shouted, and you looked back at your house, afraid your family would be alerted by the ruckus. This was not a subject they needed to get involved in. “He’s always picking fights with us and treats Sarah like shit! Have you seen what he and Topper did to Pope the other day? He’s not a good guy and you know that so why the hell would you willingly spread your legs for him?”

“Hey, watch it!” your tone raised to match his own, index finger pointed at his chest as you pinned him down in a glare. K-Nine barked, sensing the rise in emotions. “You don’t get to talk to me like that!”

“What, am I lying?” his tone quieted, but the expression of anger on his face didn’t falter, hand raising to roughly push your own away. “Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next? Like a–”

You felt the heat in your palm before you could even register what you had done. Tears stung in your eyes as you stared down at John B, who was cradling his cheek and looking at you with a mixture of shock, anger, and sadness in his hazel eyes.

“Get. Out. Of my house,” you commanded in between shaking breaths.

You stared down at each other for what felt like hours, neither of your saying a thing. You forced yourself to stop your lower lip from trembling, hiding your shaking hands behind your back as you finally broke eye contact, sure that you would erupt into tears if you stared at the disappointment in his eyes for one more second.

“Just leave,” you whispered as you made your way to the front door, not caring anymore if he left or not.

“He’ll hurt you.”

You halted, hand on the doorknob, glancing at him over his shoulder. Waiting.

“He’ll hurt you,” John B repeated, firmly this time, avoiding your eyes. Then he added, his tone so soft you barely understood the words “And when he does, you can count on me. Until then…”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but he was already walking away before you could utter a single sound.

«»«»«»«»«»

You rolled in bed for the hundredth time that night, your cousin’s words repeating themselves in your mind over and over and over, like a broken record that never stopped.

Didn’t you go from hating him one minute to letting him fuck you the next?

You had… hadn’t you? Against your better judgment, against your own principles, you had let Rafe touch you and kiss you in ways you never even thought he would want to. Rafe Cameron was an awful person, and that wasn’t a matter of opinion. He was entitled, cruel, temperamental, and prone to violence. You knew that. He had terrorized you for years and made your life a living hell; laughed at you, hurt you, made you cry more times than you could count, and still…that hadn’t stopped you from riding him and moaning for him as if your life depended on it, had it?

And now here you were, unable to sleep, with a tightness in your chest and a churning stomach that was starting to make you nauseous. You were exhausted from all the muffled crying you had done as soon as you got to your bedroom, your pillow stained with tears.

John B’s words hurt, making you feel even worse than you already felt. Part of you hated him a little, insulted and beyond upset by everything he had said. He had no right to act like that. Still, the other side of you cried in shame, wondering if he was right and if you really were being the stupid and undeniably wrong person in all of this mess.

I slapped him, for God’s sake!

That alone was enough reason to at least text him an apology, but you quickly stopped yourself from doing it. You were still too furious, wounds too fresh.

Your thoughts started spiraling out of control, and that tightness in your chest grew worse.

What if your mom found out?

What if your boss found out?

What if you lost your job and your family because of it?

What if you and John B’s relationship never recovered?

What if this stupid fucking mistake stopped you from going to college and making a better life for yourself and your family so you would be forced to work as a waitress for the rest of your life until you died alone on this island with no family and friends, only the police to discover your cat-eaten corpse?

What if, what if, what if?

You buried your face in your pillow with a grunt of frustration, wishing you could go back in time and murder Rafe Cameron in his sleep, just for good measure. Then none of this would’ve happened, and you could continue living your life without this particular storm hanging over your head.

Groaning at how stuffy your room felt, you kicked your sheets off of you before getting out of bed and walking straight to the chair in the corner of your room. Grabbing the pair of shorts and the hoodie laying on it, you hurriedly got dressed before making your way out of the house, phone and keys safely stored in your hoodie’s pocket.

You hesitated as you walked down the stairs of your front porch, unsure of where to go.

It was at times like this that you wished you had more friends; Nina had been abroad for two years (It would be four in the morning in Portugal, so it was not like you could call her now) and you doubted that JJ, Kie, Pope, or Sarah would want to hear anything you had to say, after what happened. A couple of other people came to mind, but you never contacted them unless sex was involved, and that was not what you wanted right now.

Sex was what got me into this mess in the first place.

The sounds of waves in the distance crashing against the shoreline caught your attention. You listened for a moment, taking a deep breath of the salty breeze, mind going blank for a blessed moment. Living this close to the ocean could be a curse some days, unwanted memories rushing to your mind if you let them take over; right now, however, you would like to think of it as a blessing.

You were strolling towards the Boneyard before you could give it much thought, hands stuffed in your pockets and hoodie over your head as the chilly coastline wind made you shiver despite the warm island weather.

Your ears perked as the sound of loud music and voices alerted you to a party nearby, right on the other side of the dunes. You could smell burning wood the closer you got, and it didn’t take you long to catch the sight of a bonfire, people laughing and dancing and drinking without a care in the world.

Exactly what you needed.

You approached the gathering with your eyes on the crackling fire, enjoying the way the dancing flames cast a glow over the sand, making it look the color of melted caramel under the moonlit sky. The sand under your naked feet was cool to the touch, and the seawater was thankfully far enough away for you to be able to relax.

Most people around you were familiar in one way or another, a fair mix of Kooks, Pogues, and Tourons that just wanted to enjoy their Friday night as much as you did. You walked through the party crowd, being mostly ignored besides the occasional wave or nod of recognition that you made sure to retribute.

Fortunately, you saw no unwanted faces that would make you instantly turn around and leave.

That made you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding; no one seemed to be talking about you or looking at you weirdly, and there was no one to ruin your night more than John B already had. Perfect.

Coming here was a good decision, you thought as you approached the kegs of beer, smiling as you recognized one of the guys handing out drinks.

“Hey, V.” Eli, a tall young man with short curly hair smiled at you as he handed you a full cup of beer before you even had to ask. “Haven’t seen you in a while. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” you shrugged as you took the cup from his hand, sipping the bitter drink, “just working and binge-watching shows on my days off. All very thrilling. You?”

“Same,” he chuckled, warm brown eyes looking almost golden in the light of the fire. “Just helping out at the cafe and surfing when I can. By the way, when are you passing by? My Mama keeps telling me to bring you over again, says she has some new books you might like.”

“Aw, she misses me?”

“C’mon, V, you know we all do,” he said, sending you a wink that made the corners of your lips twitch and a familiar heat take over your cheeks, the suggestion in his tone not being lost on you.

You really liked Eli, with his pretty smile and easy-going nature.

He had graduated two years before you, and you had gotten closer when you started spending your free time at his family’s cafe, staying whole afternoons reading or writing in their quaint little book corner. It didn’t take you long to develop a friendship, and before you knew it you were having your first kiss and experiencing your first time in his bed, in the apartment right above his shop. He had been kind and patient, and you really couldn’t have imagined a better way to lose your virginity.

But – even though you were aware that he liked you – you had never let your relationship evolve into something more than friends with benefits. Why ruin something that worked just fine?

“Maybe I’ll pass by on my next day off,” you said, and his eyes glinted. “Are you working on Monday?”

“I’m not, but I’ll be waiting there for you. Wanna go out and have lunch too? This new place just opened and–”

Your smile faltered, and he was quick to notice.

“No, no, I mean, just as friends,” Eli quickly clarified with an awkward chuckle. “I know you don’t want to change what we have and that’s fine by me. But, you know… we can hang out if you want and have a good time. We’re chill, right?”

Sometimes you wondered what was stopping you from getting into a relationship with a guy that was handsome, kind, shared so many of your interests, and knew how to please you in the best way. The problem wasn’t him, you were well aware of that. The problem was you and your fear of commitment.

Fuck that. You deserved something good in your life. And, right now, you really needed it.

“We are,” you answered, and you noticed relief softening his brow. “You know what, yeah, let’s plan something fun for Monday. How about–”

A heavy hand on your shoulder made you jump, and you stopped mid-sentence to look behind you, heart almost jolting out of your chest as you faced the last person you wanted to see at that moment.

“Rafe,” you muttered, glaring at his blue eyes before looking down at his hand, still on your shoulder. “Take your hand off me.”

“You’re in the way,” he simply said while dropping his hand to his side, nodding past you at the kegs of beer.

You said nothing, moving to stand next to Eli as Rafe passed by you and refilled his own cup. With a strange look at you and a glare sent in your friend’s direction, the blond left, and you followed him with your eyes as he walked away to the other side of the crowd, where he stood with his little gang of friends.

Of course he would be here, you thought as your hand reflexively squeezed the plastic cup in your hand. Luck was rarely on your side.

Maybe coming to this party hadn’t been a good idea, after all.

“That was weird,” uttered Eli, also looking in Rafe’s direction. “He could’ve gotten more beer right there.” He nodded in the direction of the other kegs, where no one stood in the way.

“Yeah, he just wanted to piss me off.”

“You’re still at each other’s throats then?”

“Yup.”

He hummed in response, and a weird moment passed where neither of you said a thing. You, for once, were too preoccupied with weighing the pros and cons of staying at a party with Rafe Cameron in your vicinity. The smart move right now would be to leave; you had no idea what would happen if both of you stayed. Then Eli spoke again, words coming out deliberately and slowly like he was thinking them carefully.

“You know that he’s not a good guy, right?”

You scoffed.

“You’re telling me that, of all people?”

“Just making sure…”

You let out a sigh, hand raising to brush over your face with a tired grunt.

“So, you heard about it too, huh?” you asked, hoping the irritation in your voice scared Eli enough so he wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’, eyes down as he kicked a tiny hill of sand. “Don’t know if it’s true and I don’t understand you if it is, but it’s none of my business so… just be careful, okay? He hangs around the wrong crowd sometimes, and, well,” he shrugged, “you know how he is.”

You glanced at Eli, taking in the way he rubbed the back of his neck, thinking his words through. Whatever he was implying, was said out of concern for your well-being, nothing more.

“Okay…” you started, unsure of what else to say. “Thanks for letting me know, but there’s no reason to worry. I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” He nodded once, and a pretty smile graced his lips again as he looked at you. “Now, about Monday…”

«»«»«»«»«»

You were more than just a little tipsy.

You stumbled over your own feet as you walked past the dunes, giggling to yourself as you remembered a joke you had said early in the evening, already so plastered that you had struggled to get the words out without laughing. You hadn’t really meant to get as drunk as you were, but before you knew it you were six cups past sobriety, dancing and singing at the top of your lungs with Eli and his friend group.

You felt amazing in your intoxicated high, barely remembering what had soured your mood in the first place. Eli had helped you forget, with his easy conversation and sense of humor, and his friends had welcomed you into their group without unwanted questions or weird looks sent your way.

Was exactly what you had been needing; and a long time overdue if you were being honest with yourself.

Not even Rafe had been able to smother your euphoria, despite the very noticeable glares sent your way throughout the night. After some time, you had even forgotten he was there, completely focused on enjoying the party to its fullest.

And damn you if you hadn’t succeeded.

It was now somewhere past two in the morning, and the exhaustion of your workday had gotten to you despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and your high spirits. So, you had said goodbye to Eli – with the promise to meet on Monday – and were currently making your way out of the Boneyard. A tiny voice in your brain warned you about the massive hangover that you would without a doubt suffer in the morning, but you lazily brushed it off; now was not the time to think about tomorrow.

Now all you wanted to do was lay down.

Lay down…

You fell to the sand with the grace of a newborn foal, giggling as you laid face up, eyes wandering lazily on the clear sky. It was spotted with shiny stars, one constellation more beautiful than another, and your eyes watered; looking at the night sky had always made you feel emotional.

I’ll sleep here tonight, you thought as you curled in on yourself, face towards the stars, fingers tapping on the sand out of rhythm with the music still playing from the party just on the other side of the dunes.

“‘Cause everytime we touch, I get this feeling,” you drunkenly sang off-key as Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch’ played loudly. “And every time we kiss I swear I could fly.” You could still hear people sing and laugh from your spot in the middle of the sandbanks, and it almost made you want to go back there and stay until the sun rose.

But you really had to go to bed; or sleep right there, one of the two. Your head spun as you tried to sit up, so you let yourself lay down again with a huff.

That’s when you noticed someone approaching.

“You’re so fucking drunk.”

“Oh, pardon me, your Royal Highness,” you mocked with a snort, turning towards the voice to see Rafe Cameron standing just a few feet from you, hands in his pockets, “but this peasant doesn’t give a shit about what you think.” You couldn’t see his face well in the darkness – only the moon as a light source – but he was most likely looking down at you with a frown, as per usual. “Leave me alone, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Here?”

“I’m homeless, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Venus.”

“Rafe,” you laughed as you tried to imitate his baritone. “Oh, Venus, you’re so fucking drunk. Oh Venus, let me fuck you again.”

“You’re fucking annoying, that’s what you are.”

You didn’t even notice Rafe approaching you, letting out a yelp of surprise as you felt him pull you up before stumbling against his chest as dizziness took over you. You made a whiny noise as he started to half-push you, half-drag you away, a strong arm around your waist while the other grabbed you by the elbow.

“No, I don’t wanna leave!” you cried out as you tried to turn away from him and back to your spot on the sand.

“I’m not leaving you to sleep on the fucking beach, you moron.”

Now you were close enough to see the annoyed glare that he pinned you under, giggling at his pinched expression as you slapped his chest in a weak attempt to have him release you.

“Ugh, you’re so boring,” you whined, letting yourself fall in his arms when you realized he was not letting you go. “Okay okay, I know, let’s tell each other secrets!” You clapped your palms against his chest, pulling his shirt when he groaned. “C’mon I’ll go first: I hate you. Like really hate you. But-” you lowered your tone to a conspiratorial whisper, “having sex with you was really good – I still hate you, though.”

“Venus–”

“Shh, it’s a secret,” you giggled, putting a finger against his lips. “Now you.”

“I–”

“You have really pretty eyes, you know that?” you mumbled as you looked into his blue eyes, forgetting the game you had been one-sided playing. “It’s so unfair…”

Rafe let out a long sigh.

“Anything more you want to tell me?” he asked, hands steadying by your shoulders as you swayed in place.

“Hmm… nope.”

“Good, then let’s get you home.”

“Wait!” you exclaimed, pulling at his hand as you let yourself fall to the sand again, laughing as he fell on his knees beside you. “Let’s watch the stars.”

He sighed again.

“I’m so close to just leaving you here.”

“Good, then go, goodbye,” you said as you frowned at him, slapping his hand away when he tried to lift you again.

You heard him sigh a third time, followed by a sound of resignation before you watched him sit down beside you. With a grunt, you used his arm to pull yourself into a sitting position, leaning against his shoulder for support as you turned your neck to look up.

“Aren’t the stars so pretty?” you whispered, shaking his arm when a moment passed without an answer.

“Yeah, guess they are.”

You kept staring up, feeling your lids drop the more you looked at the mess of gold, red, and silver dots that painted the dark blue sky. It was all so beautiful. You felt… content, even with Rafe beside you. He was still an asshole and you still couldn’t stand him, but he wasn’t being himself right now, for some weird reason your intoxicated brain couldn’t even wonder about.

Rafe cleared his throat beside you, snapping you out of your stupor.

“Can we go now?”

“Wait…” you murmured, closing your eyes for a moment as you took a deep breath of the clean ocean breeze. “Okay, we can go now.”

“Finally.”

He pulled you up and you yelped as you tripped over your own feet, allowing him to hold you straight against his chest. You looked up at his face, and a sudden thought made you bite your bottom lip.

No, don’t do it, warned a voice in the back of your mind that you promptly ignored.

Kissing Rafe felt… nice. Better than nice. You had thought so too when you had been naked under him just a week prior, moaning against his soft lips as he fucked you in a way you had never been fucked before.

Now felt no different.

You moaned into the kiss, intertwining your arms behind his neck as you pulled him closer, fingers tangling in his soft blond locks. One of his arms went around your waist, pulling you flat against his body as a hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to deepen the kiss. You did so gladly, enjoying the feel of his tongue against yours, shivering as his teeth swiftly pulled at your bottom lip.

You let yourself enjoy it, the possible outcome of it all pushed to the back of your mind. All you wanted right now was to kiss him, consequences be damned. You would deal with those when you were sober.

Rafe was the one breaking the kiss, and you almost cried as he lightly pushed you away. You wanted more than just one kiss, at this point, an insisting heat making you squeeze your thighs together.

“C’mon, you little tease,” he said, chuckling as you whined and tried to chase after his mouth. “Let’s get you home.”

«»«»«»«»«»

Part 4 ->

#outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #obx #obx fanfiction #rafe x you

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wordingg · 2 months ago

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The Ghost of Wayne Manor

Summary: Even death can't stop Alfred from watching over Bruce Wayne.

Note: This fic was previously called 'Monsters Need Family Too'. I sort of abandoned this fic a while ago, but it's been stuck in my head. So, I reworked a bunch of stuff and have decided to post it as a series instead of a chaptered fic. So, this is now just the first chapter as a one shot. I've edited it a little, but if you've read it before, you don't need to reread it. I hope to do a whole series of oneshots exploring various Bat-people as cryptids and monsters for spooky season, so stay tuned if you're interested in seeing more!

Gotham is one of the worst cities in the world. Everyone in the city knows it. Everyone in the state knows it. Everyone in the country knows it. Even the low level consciousness that thrums beneath the city streets knows it. It basks in its well earned reputation and preens every time Gotham lands at the top of lists like "Worst Places In The World to Live".

Not only is Gotham one of the most violent and crime ridden cities in the world, it is also home to more strange and supernatural occurrences than anywhere on the globe. If people weren't so afraid of being shot or stabbed, it would probably be the paranormal capital of the world and a hub for paranormal investigators.

There are a lot of places in Gotham that purport to be haunted. Most of them are even legitimate. After all, murders and grisly deaths are common place, which makes the creation of ghosts pretty commonplace. But, nowhere in Gotham is more feared or haunted than Wayne Manor.

Wayne Manor sits in the middle of historic downtown Gotham. It's a huge gothic structure made out of sandstone bricks and arched stained glass windows and huge heavy wooden doors with slate roofs topped with parapets. It looks like someone dropped Dracula's castle smack into Philadelphia's oldest street. Despite being in the middle of downtown and surrounded by the ancient courthouse with huge columns and wide sweeping steps and a historic market building just down the street made of ancient red brick, Wayne Manor manages to have a small measure of green yard on all four sides. The small pop of green in the maze of concrete that is Gotham grows riotous with green vines and gnarled oak trees all fenced in with high rock walls topped with wickedly sharp black iron fencing to make climbing over them nearly impossible.

Officially, the extremely wealthy and extremely reclusive Bruce Wayne is the only person who lives inside. The only son of Thomas and Martha Wayne and their only surviving kin, Bruce is rumored to be strange, eccentric and terrified of the world outside his parent's mansion. He very rarely ventures outside and is treated like a ghost story already by the young people who live in the city.

He’s part of what makes Wayne Manor so terrifying. The other part is the rumors of the ghosts that can sometimes be seen from the windows that face the street.

People say they see an old man in old fashioned clothing in the yard or on the front porch or looking out the front facing windows. They say that he has a thin mustache and a fading hairline and that he is usually dressed in a bow tie and tailcoat. People only ever see him for a second before he disappears. But, it’s impossible for him to really be there. The only person who lives in the Manor is Bruce Wayne and he’s nowhere near that old.

The other bigger rumor is of a strange creature sometimes seen haunting the parapets and slanted roof of the Manor. Its huge hulking form merges well with the shadows, but sometimes photographs catch its supernaturally glowing red eyes or the hunch of huge wings extending from its back. They call it the Mothman of Gotham City and it's often seen gliding over the dark cloudy skies to and from the Manor. No one knows what it is or what it wants, but the rumor is that if it ever comes for you that death or madness are soon to follow it.

Nobody knows why it’s so often seen on or near Wayne Manor, but it’s more than enough to keep the natives of the city far away from the old crumbling building.

That’s what the people outside the Manor know of it. But, that’s not the whole story of Wayne Manor or its master, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne was never a normal boy. There was no chance that he would ever be one even from the start.

After a wedding that was so huge and magnificent that people still talk about it to this day, Thomas and Martha Wayne left on a year long tour of the world. When they returned at the end of that year it was with a tiny squealing baby wrapped in their arms. Alfred had been surprised by the little addition, as neither of them had mentioned anything during their weekly phone calls. When Alfred had asked if the baby was hers, Martha had smiled and only said that he was now. Everyone in Gotham assumed that Martha must have gotten pregnant and gave birth while on their world tour and that Bruce was their child together. Neither Martha nor Thomas ever said anything to the contrary.

Alfred never asked either of the Wayne's where the baby had come from and they never volunteered any information. It wasn't his place to pry into his employers' private affairs. Alfred was always very aware of his place and how to mind it.

Bruce was a strange baby who only grew to be a stranger with each passing day. He barely ate and had little interest in any food that was placed before him. Sweets and chicken and crackers were barely picked at, dinners were often left largely untouched and yet the boy was always on track with his growth. Thomas especially fussed and worried over Bruce, but every time he was weighed and measured he was on track for his age.

He was a quiet baby that never cried and barely babbled and grew into a quiet boy who didn't run or play or get into trouble. He was always watching and listening, absorbing and remembering everything that anyone ever said in front of him. Alfred was shocked many times by the boy's sudden appearance in a dark corner or behind a cracked door. Alfred considered himself very aware of his surroundings, but little Bruce seemed to be able to appear anywhere that a shadow was cast. More than that, sometimes it seemed like the shadows enveloped the boy and blurred his edges in a way that Alfred could not always blame on his old and fading eyesight.

Despite how unnerving Bruce could be, it was hard for Alfred not to fall in love with him. Whenever his parents were away at a gala or dinner party, Bruce would trail after Alfred with big pale blue eyes and curious looks until Alfred explained to him what he was doing and why. Bruce would listen quietly and ask thoughtful questions and continue to trot along after him quietly, always watching, always listening.

School was a disaster. Bruce was incredibly intelligent and his parents were part of one of the founding families of Gotham, so getting Bruce registered with Gotham Academy was not a problem. But, as soon as he began attending, things went downhill quickly.

Both Bruce's classmates and teachers found him unnerving. It didn't matter how gentle or quiet he was, by the end of the month they were all terrified of him. The administration, frustrated with the teachers who couldn't explain exactly what it was about Bruce that was so upsetting, moved him to their only other kindergarten class. Before the next month was out, the new teachers and students were also terrified of Bruce.

Before Bruce could be expelled from the most prestigious school in Gotham, his parents took him out. Unfortunately, it was too late to contain the fallout.

The teachers might have signed contracts agreeing to never discuss their students with the press, but the students and their parents signed no such documents. They went to the local newspapers with their tales of how Bruce could sit completely still and not move and not speak for hours. The students talked about how they were hounded nightly by awful nightmares with little Bruce always haunting the edges of their dreams. The parents told of how their children would cry and beg not to go to school, how they stopped eating, stopped sleeping.

The press went wild with stories of the creepy child of Gotham's royal family. It was the beginning of Bruce Wayne’s urban legend, but it certainly wouldn't be the end. To protect Bruce, his parents squirreled him away in the manor, paying exorbitant prices for the best teachers from around the world to come to the Manor and teach him there.

And then, Thomas and Martha Wayne were gunned down after leaving a late night movie (a special treat for their reclusive child) just a few blocks away from their home. Bruce was eight years old.

They left the care of Bruce to Alfred in their will, likely because he was the only person other than themselves who obviously loved the boy. The other staff were all terrified of him. Thomas and Martha's family members had barely shown any interest in him at all. Though, they sure kicked up a fuss when they realized they weren't getting a dime from Thomas and Martha's estate. It was all Bruce's, or rather it belonged to Alfred until Bruce was old enough to take ownership of the home and the bank accounts. It was the social scandal of the year, all the Wayne wealth left in the hands of a butler of all things.

Alfred paid all the press and interviews with Bruce’s distant relatives with very little mind. He suspected they wouldn’t be kicking up such a fuss about being the boy’s real family if they saw how Bruce had been changed by his parents' death. He would have been no easy child to care for.

He was wild, broken in a way that Alfred didn't know how to deal with. He was still quiet and reclusive, but now that silence simmered with barely controlled anger. He stopped eating completely. Alfred even inventoried the pantry and refrigerator to see if Bruce was sneaking food when he wasn't looking, but if Bruce was eating he wasn't getting food from the Manor kitchen. Bruce should have starved many times over, but he seemed unaffected by his own self imposed fast.

He barely spoke and when he did it was by screaming and railing. Bruce could go days without moving or speaking, no matter how gently Alfred spoke to him or begged him to. Then, as suddenly as lightning striking, he would explode in a frenzy of screaming and destruction, ripping curtains off the walls, smashing tables to bits, shattering any glassware within reach. And then, like a storm passing, he would collapse back into passivity.

Alfred would patch up Bruce's little cut and bruised hands, splint his broken fingers, and carry him to bed. Then, he would clean up the mess and order replacements for the things that Bruce had destroyed.

And, he would worry. It seemed all he could do.

One night, almost a month after Thomas and Martha Wayne had died, Alfred caught Bruce sneaking out of an upstairs window. The fight they had when Alfred stopped him was one for the history books.

"You don't understand!" a tiny Bruce Wayne screamed at Alfred, his voice ringing through the dark wood paneled halls. "I have to do something!" he shouted before choking off a sob.

Alfred knelt down on his aching knees and pressed his hands to Bruce's little trembling shoulders. His bones were sharp and the pale skin around his eyes looked bruised and red. "I can't imagine what you're going through, dear boy," Alfred said as gently as he could.

"You don't understand!" Bruce wailed again, his pale eyes welling with big heavy tears that overflowed and ran down his sallow hollowed cheeks. "I could have done something. I should have done something!"

"Dear child, there was nothing you could have done," Alfred soothed, attempting to pull Bruce into an embrace that he rejected forcefully.

"I mean it!" he shouted. "I'm not normal! I could have stopped it! I could have saved them," Bruce said before collapsing into tears and Alfred's arms at the same time.

Alfred did his best to comfort Bruce as he screamed and cried and railed against the world. His small fists beat against his chest and his teeth dug into his coat. The tears ran and ran and Bruce gasped and cried and sobbed for almost an hour before finally going limp and drained in Alfred's arms.

It was the first time Bruce had cried since his parent's death. Alfred hoped it would be a breakthrough, that maybe Bruce would soon be able to get back to what passed for normal life for him.

He carried the boy as gently as he could back to bed and tucked him in. He always looked so small in the huge four poster bed.

"I could tell something was wrong," Bruce murmured as Alfred tucked the blankets against him tighter. "I could feel something coming for weeks. I tried to tell Mom, but I didn't know how to explain it. I've never felt something like that before."

Alfred stopped with a hand pressed over Bruce's chest and felt the steady rise and fall of his rib cage under his palm. Bruce’s eyelids were drooping and he looked like he would pass out any moment.

"I should have known it meant something bad would happen. I should have known to look harder and find the bad thing before it could happen. I'm a bad son," Bruce whispered with a wet wobble of his lower lip. But, there were no more tears to cry.

"Oh, Bruce," Alfred sighed. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

"You know I'm not a real boy, right, Alfred?" little Bruce turned big tortured eyes up at the old butler. "I'm strange. I’m not normal. Sometimes, I think I'm probably not human," he whispered.

Alfred pressed the hand not on Bruce's chest to his cheek. He stared into his charge's haunted eyes. Eyes so pale blue they were almost white, ringed in red skin and thick dark eyelashes.

"I know that you are a kind and gentle boy. I know that you loved your parents and were loved by them in turn. I know that I loved you hardly before I even knew it. You are smart and strong and even if you could have prevented the death of your parents, that was not your responsibility. It is the responsibility of parents to protect their children, not the other way around, certainly not while those children are still young," Alfred said all this very sternly. "Whatever you are or are not, these things will always be true."

Despite what must be a good bit of dehydration, a final silent tear slipped from Bruce's eye to land in the crevice between Alfred's wrinkled hand and Bruce's soft cheek.

"I love you too Alfred," Bruce choked out, lunging up to throw his arms around Alfred's neck in a brutal hug.

Alfred was startled for a moment before warming and wrapping his arms around the small precious boy in his arms. They embraced for a long time and when they finally disentangled Bruce dropped off to sleep within seconds.

Alfred stayed for a long time, long after Bruce finally fell asleep.

Alfred felt very old just then.

He was perfectly aware that he was old, of course. He had served the Wayne family for years, ever since he was a young man just out of MI5. When he first started working for the Wayne's, he had worked for Thomas' father and Thomas was just a boy himself still in short pants. Now Thomas was dead, a fact that still felt untrue while everything else about the Manor felt normal and familiar. Now, Alfred was in control of a huge manor and held a controlling stake in an even bigger company as well as being the only family and guardian of a strange heartbroken little boy.

At that moment, Alfred felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and sagged beneath it.

But, he only let his grief overwhelm him for a short while. There was nothing for it, really. Things needed to be done and Alfred had to be the one to do it. That was all there was to it.

So, after allowing himself a quiet little crisis in Bruce's dark silent bedroom, Alfred struggled to his feet and made his slow ponderous way out into the hall. The bedroom door clicked shut quietly behind him.

Though his worn body called for bed, Alfred didn't think his mind would be able to rest just yet. Not after all of little Bruce's talk of his own inhumanity. No, maybe a cup of tea would calm him down enough to finally rest.

Bruce's room was on the third floor, two sets of curving staircases led down to the open atrium at the bottom floor. There was also a narrow hidden staircase at the opposite end of the hall that led up into the small claustrophobic rooms of the servant quarters located in the attic and also down into the kitchen. When he was a younger man, Alfred had used the servant stairs in the back of the house most of the time. Though narrow, the steps were worn and uneven and unusually high. They were more direct than the the beautifully curving staircases in the front of the house, but in his old age the servant steps were too treacherous and Alfred rarely used them.

Alfred made his cautious way toward the tall carpeted steps which would lead down to the bottom floor. He was only a few steps down toward the first staircase when his knee gave out. It was an old war injury, one that usually only bothered him when he had been on his feet too long. But, it had never chosen such an inopportune time to make itself known.

Tumbling down the steps, Alfred did his best to tuck himself into a ball. Unfortunately, that meant that when he hit the first landing where the steps turned, he kept rolling into the banister which cracked and gave way under the force of the hit.

And then Alfred was falling.

And then, he was standing looking down at his own broken body crumpled in the middle of the atrium.

He looked incredibly frail, limbs tossed all akimbo on the polished parquet floors. A tiny trickle of blood made its way between his pale lips, probably from biting his tongue or maybe from a few loose teeth. His head was bent the wrong way, a snapped neck that would have been quick and painless.

Remembering his young charge slumbering above, Alfred quickly looked up but there was no movement from the floors above. It was only he and Bruce in the manor at night, the other servants much too terrified of the boy to sleep in the attic right above him. Alfred knew his tumble must have been very loud indeed, but Bruce was likely also very tired from his breakdown. He must have slept through it all.

Alfred thought of how devastated Bruce still was from the death of his parents. He thought of how he was the only person who knew and loved the strange boy sleeping one floor above him. He thought of how much it would destroy him to wake on his own and come downstairs to find Alfred's crumpled corpse. He wished that there was something he could do.

Well, maybe there was something he could do? There certainly was no harm in trying.

So, Alfred reached down and tried to pick up his body. He found that he could. Easily, in fact. He felt strong and young and the weight of his own corpse felt like hardly more than an unwieldy rug. He gathered the body up and carried it down into the basement and dropped it on the cracked cement in front of the furnace. Something to deal with later.

He returned to the atrium with a mop and bucket, though there was really very little to clean. Still it felt better to be sure there was no evidence on the floor for the observant little boy to find in the morning.

After the floor was clean, he briefly washed out the mop and bucket and stored them in their appropriate cleaning closet. He gathered up the bits of broken railing and frowned when he had them gathered in a heap. He was no carpenter and wouldn't be able to fix the banister himself. Shrugging, he gathered up the splintered bits of polished wood and tossed them into the small garden by the kitchen door. Something else to deal with later.

He made himself a cup of tea and drank it. No adverse effects there either.

Then, he went upstairs and got changed for bed. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling of his small room and wondered what was happening to him. It didn't seem possible that he could die and then clean up his own death as easily as he might chuck a German soldier into a hotel basement incinerator. If his body was in the basement, then how was he upstairs lying in bed? Or was the whole thing some kind of traumatic episode? It really just defied explanation from every angle.

The next morning, Alfred woke to his alarm going off. He couldn't say he really slept, per se. More like he blinked and it was morning.

He went through his normal routine of preparing breakfast and greeting the staff as they came in and making sure they had what they needed. He took a small detour to check the basement and yes there was his body just where he left it propped up against the old furnace. No time to panic, though, it was nearly breakfast. He roused Bruce at his normal time and tried to prepare himself for the real test.

Alfred wanted to say he believed with 100% certainty that Bruce was a normal human boy. But, there were just too many strange things to account for. The way he survived without eating or drinking, the way he seemed to appear suddenly in rooms that he couldn't possibly have snuck into, the strange wavering of his image when he was cast in shadow. It was too much to dismiss as mere eccentricity.

If Bruce really was something more than human, then there was a chance that he would take one look at Alfred and know what happened. If anything had happened. Alfred still wasn't sure if it wasn't just a strange hallucination.

But, Bruce was just quiet and exhausted the next day. If something was different about Alfred, Bruce didn't seem to notice.

Death was certainly a bit over exaggerated in the old butler’s estimation. If Bruce was fine with him the way he was and he could do his job just as easily as before, he saw no reason not to just continue with things as they were. After all, Bruce needed him. And, so long as he did, Alfred would endeavor to be of service.

#gotham monsters #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #fanfiction #dc comics #batman #alternate universe #tw: character death #tw: temporary character death #wordinggwrites

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amoromniaodium · 1 month ago

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Chapter 1: Unexpected Games

River Cartwright x Irina Agapov

There have always been whispers about what her father and grandfather did for the country—living as infiltrators, getting close to individuals, and ultimately betraying them by relaying sensitive information. They created a persona that didn’t truly exist. Many believe that when you enter the world of espionage, you lose a part of yourself that you can never recover. Like members of a cult, they mold you to fit the role, even if it doesn’t suit you. And we Russians have mastered that process.

They say spies must appear as ordinary as possible. They should be able to sit on a bench next to you, and you’d never remember they were there. The brilliance of espionage lies in its simplicity: if people know who you are, you’ve failed. That’s why the true legends—the myths—are only uncovered years later, and even then, no one fully knows what they had to do to survive, especially in places like Berlin.

The fall of the Berlin Wall led to an unprecedented level of poverty, so severe that many doubted survival was even possible. But those conditions were perfect for spies to thrive and do their best work.

As Jackson Lamb knew, the best time to kill a legend from the other side is when they least expect it. That’s why, on a cold November night, he killed Agapov in the most unremarkable way—lying in his own bed, betrayed by his wife, with his little girl asleep just a room away. Agapov never saw it coming, a good death for a spy of his caliber, the kind many only dream of.

What Jackson didn’t anticipate was what awaited him when the job was done. As he prepared to leave, he was met by the darkest shade of green—watching him from the doorway. It was Agapov’s daughter, a beautiful child, no surprise given her mother’s looks. But it was the understanding in her eyes, something far too intelligent for a three-year-old, that startled him—a look she’d inherited from her deceased father.

She spoke, her voice slightly slurred, probably from a missing tooth: “Почему вы были в комнате моего отца? Мой отец не любит, когда его тревожат во время сна, только я могу это делать.” (Why were you in my father’s room? He doesn’t like to be disturbed while sleeping. Only I’m allowed to do that.)

Jackson wasn’t sure how to respond. He simply told her that her father wasn’t sleeping, and that they were discussing an important task. He took her small hand, led her to the kitchen, and sat her down. He warmed some milk on the stove, then sat beside her as they drank together. It was a rare peaceful moment, one of the few he had left in his life.

Lamb didn’t know then that years later, a similar scene would unfold in his own kitchen, with the grown version of this little girl and the grandson of the old bastard. After the milk was finished, Jackson carried her back to bed. At the same moment, her mother returned home and understood that it was done. Jackson left that night, wondering if any of it was truly worth it. But he had one more task to complete before he could leave for good.

However, that wasn’t the last time Jackson was in that house. For the next couple of years Lamb would visit them for information. However, after her father’s death, little Irina never let him touch her again, always suspicious, already too clever for her age. They sat together, read books together—he never commented when the book he was reading found its way into her hands, though she couldn’t yet understand the words. He also never said anything about her spying on his and her mother’s conversations, or about the little notebook she kept, filled with notes about him.

It was a simple exchange: her mother fed him the information he needed to shut down the remaining Russians for good. Before he left them for the last time, he took her little notebook.

A few years later, Irina ended up in England, where she was mocked for her accent, bullied for her appearance, and even worse, hated for her intelligence. It was no surprise that by 16, she fled to America, where she learned a new kind of self-defense—one that will lead her into become one of the most feared assassins.

——-

Jackson Lamb has let himself go, not because he ever cared about what people thought of him, but because it makes things easier. People see his disgusting, smelly appearance and either avoid him or, even better, underestimate him. It gives him the freedom to do whatever the hell he wants without anyone paying too much attention. His team of Slow Horses might beg him for a shower, or at the very least, to hang one of those air-freshener trees around his neck permanently—but nothing ever comes of it. Lamb does things on his own terms.

All of this is to say that nothing really shocked him. Plenty of things annoyed him—see every single person who works for him—but true shock was rare. The closest he came was dealing with River Cartwright and his stupidity, but even that never moved him enough to show it. That was until he dragged himself up the stairs, nearly giving himself a heart attack, only to walk into his office and see a stunning brown-haired woman sitting on his desk, dressed in clothes that probably cost as much as the building they are standing in.

“What do you think you are, the fucking villain in a James Bond movie? Please, don’t embarrass yourself like this.”

——

1 week ago

She knew from the moment she arrived in London that she was going to hate it. The city was rainy, grey, and full of people who seemed to loathe both themselves and everyone around them—that’s what London does best. She also knew that, officially, she was no longer Russian or American, but British. The only thing that made being in London remotely tolerable was her demand to be included as a consultant for MI5. That, and the pleasure of annoying Diana—her second-favorite pastime.

Irina quickly realized just how incompetent and dull the so-called “dogs” of MI5 were, especially that ferret-like one who seemed to have developed an unhealthy obsession with her. It didn’t surprise her much—obsessive men and women had always followed her. Her mother had warned her when she was young: beauty and brains don’t attract normal people. And she wasn’t wrong. But Irina’s real reason for being here was Jackson Lamb. If she wanted to truly shock him, she needed to dig deep into that group of failed spies who worked under him.

She dreaded finding out just how bad they really were, especially after seeing the “dogs.” Two still scurried under Diana’s stilettos; there was a nerdy pervert who knew everything about computers, someone she could easily manipulate with her looks (low self-esteem, big ego, and a weakness for pretty girls). Then there was an incompetent fool, and finally, Luisa—the only one remotely capable. Luisa wasn’t exceptional, but she was competent enough to have simply ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But what really enraged Irina was River Cartwright. The name “Cartwright” sparked a particular hatred in her, one that started with her father’s death and that old bastard’s involvement in incidents that never should have happened. Discovering that Cartwright’s grandson had failed so spectacularly brought her a twisted sense of joy, a feeling she hadn’t experienced since the first time she plunged two knives into her enemies in perfect synchronization.

She followed River and came to a simple conclusion: he was lonely, deeply insecure, constantly overcompensating for what he wasn’t. He would have been an excellent agent—if they were living in a TV show. Cartwright had remarkable analytic skills, could handle himself physically, and could gather the information he needed. But he lacked common sense, and most importantly, the ability to think before he acted. His grandfather’s towering legacy overshadowed his own potential. If he could ever stop and think before rushing in, he might become the agent he believed himself to be. But that would either never happen or take far too long.

Such raw talent, wasted on such a flawed mindset. If Irina had gotten her hands on him, she could have molded him into the perfect spy. But her hatred for his grandfather ensured that she could never bring herself to like him, no matter how tragically beautiful his failures were.

She also knew many secrets about the elder Cartwright—secrets that could get her killed, especially concerning River’s mother and father. But that would come in time.

Her target was Jackson Lamb, and after quickly figuring out that his only real weakness—if you could even call it that—was Standish, the terribly sweet woman who could make a damn good cup of tea, Irina knew the best way to get under his skin was to attack what he valued most: his filthy, disheveled existence.

First, she had his office and the entire building thoroughly cleaned. She tossed out all his cigarettes and bottles of Scotch. All his paperwork was completed and sent off to inventory. His favorite Chinese restaurant was mysteriously closed for the next three weeks due to “health concerns.” Even his little yellow car had been cleaned and checked, with two small trackers discreetly placed alongside one Roddy already had on him. Every small detail was handled in a way that would set off alarms in Lamb’s head, sending him into a paranoid scramble to assess potential threats.

But the most crucial part was meeting Standish. After a lovely conversation, Irina realized Standish was unaware of what Lamb had done to her beloved boss—another death, another secret, and now another potential blackmail. Yet her true focus remained on River Cartwright. She needed to cross paths with him before fully setting her revenge plan into motion.

A disguise was necessary—blonde curls, casual clothes typical of a woman in her twenties. The setup was simple: a slight bump into River as he was going in for coffee, just as she was coming out. Irina had already seen him slip his keys into his jacket’s left pocket, so her timing was perfect. She “accidentally” collided with him at the doorway and played the part flawlessly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Please, you go first,” she said, taking a step back with her hand on the door to let him pass. River was immediately thrown off by how stunning she was, his mind short-circuiting at her voice and smile. He stood there, frozen for almost a minute, unsure of how to respond.

When he finally realized she was waiting for him, he awkwardly stepped forward, only to back into the door, causing her to twist into his chest. Their near-miss had her lips brushing his cheek and her hands landing on his chest to steady herself. River, for what felt like the thousandth time that day, felt like a complete fool, and it wasn’t until later that he realized his keys were gone, taken by that same graceful hand.

He stammered, “I’m terribly sorry! I could buy you a coffee or something…”

Irina found it amusing—how could this man be related to the old Cartwright she despised? “It’s okay, really,” she replied with a warm smile, squeezing his arm. “I have to meet an old friend.” She left, knowing River would be staring after her until she disappeared.

With that, one more “horse” was down. Now, only one remained.

—-

She arrived at the office before anyone else, had the place scrubbed from top to bottom, and then settled herself into the now pristine chair in Jackson Lamb’s office. The door was shut, the lights were off, and she waited. She knew that the moment Lamb woke up this morning, he’d sense something was off. What she also knew was that he’d never expect it to be her.

River when he talked to Irina

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