#spiral high speed door | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarawritestories · 4 months

Text

Umbrella

Rhysand x Fem Reader

A/N I got splashed twice; First by a truck driving through a puddle and then a car did it later on my walk to the train a few days ago, so I needed to put my feelings somewhere.

Summary: You didn't want to leave the comfort of your bed. But the shop needed to be opened. You didn't expect the rain or a speeding cart to run through a large puddle drenching you. Your High Lord finds you on the verge of tears he makes sure to brighten your gloomy day.

Content warning: mild cursing, slight feelings of failure and insecurity

One drop became two, then in a blink of an eye, the sky opened and unleashed a downpour that had you not had your umbrella would have had you drenched in seconds. You knew you shouldn't have left the warmth of your bed or your mate this morning. But the bookshop wasn't going to open itself.

Cassian had offered to fly you to work, but you insisted on walking. Something you enjoyed doing for centuries. He had insisted you bring the umbrella despite the sun rising and a few clouds in view. To appease him, you did, and you were thankful for listening to the general, though you would deny if anyone asked.

The wind whipping against your face made it difficult to walk, this being a more violent storm than Velaris had seen in a while. You stood at the corner of the city about to cross when a cart at full speed barreled down the road. You saw the wheel collide with the deep puddle, watched the water become airborne over your head, and the cold water colliding violently against your body. Your mouth fell open, umbrella still upright as you kept moving, not fully comprehending the events that took place.

By the time you reached your shop, the cold water had seeped through your clothes and provided you with a chill you couldn't escape from. This was not how you wanted to start your day. You swallowed down the tears that kept threatening to fall as you opened the door to your bookstore. Making a beeline to the hearth to start a fire. In hopes you could at least dry the sweater you wore. You held on to hope that the rain would bring in customers who want to cozy up with a book on the gloomy day.

☂️☂️☂️

The hours ticked by as the rain continued to pattern against the windows behind you. The store was quiet, not one person wandered in, either for shelter or to shop. You leaned your head on the counter. The feeling that had been bubbling to the surface for months beginning to consume you:

Failure

Rhysand insisted he buy you this store. "Darling, let me help you make your dreams a reality," he had said as he handed the keys to you and closed your fingers around them. "Go on, my Little Dreamer. Let's go see your new store."

Guilt creeps up to your throat. Your grand opening consisted of the Inner Circle. Azriel bought a few books for himself and one he thought Nesta would enjoy. You hadn't had the heart to tell him that she had that book already.

Rhys was beaming as he looked at the tomes amongst Aisles. His fingers grazing amongst the titles. You could see pride as he wandered every aisle.

A look you now dreaded every time you walked into a family dinner and someone asked you about your shop. You always danced around the answer.

Ding

Your head perked up as the bell from the door chimed, pulling you from your spiraling thoughts. Familiar black hair and and tan skin was shaking off his umbrella before leaning it against the side of the wall. Rhysand's smile bloomed on his face causing butterflies to flutter in your stomach. Even after all these years his beauty still took your breath away. "Hello, Darling." He smiled walked around the counter and pulling you close. His brows furrowed as he noticed your damp clothes. "You're drenched, Love." He turned and noticed the clothes in front of the fireplace, facing you once more his thumb began to idly swipe against your hip.

You sighed, and averted his gaze, "I was splashed by a cart on the way here." You shifted under his touch, "I didn't have enough time to react."

Rhysand hummed, and you glanced over at him and noticed him staring out the window. He smirked, "Close the shop." It wasn't a question.

"Excuse me?" You tilted your head as his violet eyes met yours stars twinkling in his eyes and something, playful.

"Close the shop. Your mate wants to spend the day with you." You opened your mouth and he kissed the corner of your mouth, "No one is right now and all the stores around are closing early today."

You tugged the bottom of your lip behind your teeth. Debating whether or not you could afford to have the store closed. Rhys' eyes turned pleading and he even jutted out his bottom lip that sealed that swayed you. "Okay."

Rhys smiled and slid his hands, to yours. "Great!" And he pulled you away from your counter and headed out side leaving behind his umbrella. You were quick to grab opening it as Rhys ran to the middle of the street releasing your hands. His arms spread out against "Rhysand, what are you doing?" You shrieked as he began to laugh. "You're getting soaked!"

"I can't let you be alone in being soaked to the bone can I?" He lifted his head to the sky and smiled as the water coated the male's skin. You watched him in awe and wondered how often he did this when you didn't noticed, especially after returning from being with Amarantha. His violet eyes bright and twinkling, "Come dance with me." He held out his hand and slightly bowed.

You shook your head, "I should get back inside."

Darling, Rhysand spoke in your mind, Are you really going to deny your High Lord a dance with his Lady? He quirked a brow and you rolled your eyes.

You're insufferable. You thought to him as you closed the Umbrella and ran to him. The minute you were within his reach he lifted you up off the ground and you began to laugh. Once he put you down he gripped your waist, his hands lacing with yours the two of you began to sway. No words needed to be said he just held you and began to dance in the middle of the street. The two of you began to laugh and he spun you out, and when he spun you back, his chest pressing against your back, he kissed your cheek. He held you close and your eyes closed leaning your head against your shoulder. You didn't mind as the rain trickled against your skin.

You're a vision, My Love. Rhysand spoke in your mind. You hummed and Rhys continued to lead into more dances until exhaustion befell on both of you.

☂️☂️☂️

Rhys had brought you some dry clothes as if he suspected you needed them. You smiled as you found he packed his sweater that was your favorite to wear with some shorts. Rhys was sitting by the fire in the book store when you walked in with dry clothes, clean thanks to Rhys' magic. "Feel better?" he asked as you crawled into his lap.

"Always with you, My Love." You paused and threaded your fingers through his hair. He purred at the touch closing his eyes as you continued. "I thought you and Cassian were heading to Windhaven for meetings."

"Devlon cancelled, he didn't want the rain and the wind to mess up his hair." Rhysand joked as he creaked his eyes open.

I frowned and straightened my posture, "Rhysand."

Rhysand opened his eyes and his hand rubbing your back in a soothing manner. "You are more important, Darling."

You shook your head, pushing away as far as his arms would let you, which was not far at all. "Rhysand, you shouldn't have. I got wet. You're High Lord you have responsibilities. I'm-

"My mate," he finished, leaning up to kiss your nose. "You come first. You will always come first." He gripped your hand, placing it over your heart, "Especially when she opened up the bond, and her sadness was so palpable I fell to my knees in agonizing pain. Then Azriel told me that his shadows witnessed what happened. You needed me. I'm here." And that was the end of it. He wasn't willing to budge his priorities, not when it came to you.

You leaned back into his embrace head on his shoulder as he leaned his own on top of yours. The two of you sat in silence. "It wasn't just about the rain today, was it?" His voice was soft and gentle."

"No, it wasn't." Your voice laced with exhaustion.

He kissed your head. "We'll talk about it more in the morning. Right now, I want you to sleep. I'll be here when you wake." He kissed the side of your head as your eyes drooped closed. "I love you, Darling."

You yawned, "And I you, Rhys."

A few weeks later ☂️

The sun illuminated the store, and you were grateful as swarms of people were scouring for books, looking for new adventures to take. You and Rhysand talked for hours on what was needed to turn business around and turned out his frequent visits helped. Everyone wanted to shop where the High Lord did.You took a minute from helping a customer to smile, down one of the Aisles Rhysand stood an apron around his hips helping a customer find a book. His eyes glittered, and his smile brought her customers at ease. He insisted that if he was coming to the shop, he would be on the floor assisting but never missed a chance to glance your way with a playful wink.

You were a lucky female to have a caring, loving, and passionate Mate. Your best friend. Your High Lord.

And he loved his wonderful, beautiful, brilliant Book Shop owner.

Fin.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand #rhysand fanfic #rhysand fluff #rhysand x you #rhysand is the most handsome high lord #high lord of the night court #Spotify #rhysand acotar #rhys acotar #rhys x reader #rhys darby #Rhys fluff

222 notes · View notes

starrvsn · 1 year

Text

` ִ ꔫ ۫ ⊹ W.CLARK ˖ TIL DEATH DO US PART.

pairing: wally clark x fem!reader.

what to know | 80% angst with 20% of fluff, comfort. fic, a pretty sappy ending. i do not own these characters and this is all fiction! — lowercase is intended.

word count: 5,280 (oops)

spoilers: death and characters (also assumptions about characters back story).

☆ on rotation: hate to be lame by lizzie mcapline. lover sung by taylor swift. she was mine by aj rafael. better for you by siaopaolo.

star left a message! my first fic! hope you enjoy and let me know how you felt about it :)

ab. you and wally were inseparable. bared souls to each other but still dancing around the fact of feelings for each other but one night he gathers the courage to tell you how he feels, things don’t go the way he plans and spirals out of control.

1984.

the soft ringing of a phone rouses you awake, your room dark and cool from the gentle breeze coming through the crack in your window. you rub the drowsiness from your eyes before sitting up. glancing at your clock, beside it is the soft yellow landline that rings, a light but repetitive tone. the red glowing numbers reading 11:51 almost made you regret waking up to pick up the phone but the constant ringing means the caller must be persistent to get ahold of you. clearing your throat you pick up the phone, a soft hello emitting from your lips.

“hey sweetheart” you recognize the voice almost immediately, wally clark your best friend since middle school. you two are inseparable, always attached to the hip and despite his reputation, how popular he was. he never let it hinder your relationship. he always joked that you two were high school sweethearts minus the dating part which also always confused people when you had told them you were just friends but your heart hopes, yearns for more.

“hey, did something happen?” there must’ve been a reason why he called you in the first place but he quickly denies:

“oh-oh no, everything is going well… sorry did i wake you?” his voice comes out rushed, as if he’s trying to speed up the conversation. the tone confuses you but you continue.

“not really, i was just trying to fall asleep.” you softly respond. fiddling with the cord, telling him a small white lie but if there was something about wally was that you never wanted him to feel bad at your expense, always saving him the tinge of guilt that affects him more than you thought. he was a soft soul, sensitive but resilient. one of the things that make you more drawn to him. he was someone who made you feel like you had a purpose in life.

“i, i uhm was wondering if you wanted to go for a drive. i-if not thats totally okay!” you can practically hear himself rubbing his neck. a constant habit he had when he was emmbarrased or unsure. you agree almost immediately. hearing the smile plastered on his face, he boasts about having the car for the night so it was the perfect time to make use of it. he promises he’ll come to get you in a few minutes so you rush to get dressed in warmer clothing compared to your sleep wear. as you wait for him, you couldn’t help but feel curious as to why he wanted to take you out at such a late hour. sure he didn’t get the car to himself often but from his tone you couldn’t help but feel something off. ultimately your mind settles on the fact that he just felt spontaneous and just wanted to spend time with your, knowing how the school year just began and he has been busy with the football team and his parents breathing down his neck, so maybe he needed an escape.

minutes pass and you hear the closing of a car door, then rounds of rubble as if someones walking down the side walk. you don’t know how but every time wally comes around, no matter what the sounds are- you always know it’s him and when you confessed this little sense of yours when he let out a boisterous laugh and told you “you have a little part of me then sweetheart.” that made your heart melt. excited, you softly pad down your steps and open the door before he can even let himself in. you had unlocked the door minutes prior to ensure a silent arrival. wally stands still for a few moments. his gaze focusing on your face, your cheeks blush as moments pass and his movement doesn’t change

“uh, earth to wally?” snapping your fingers in front of him, the taller boy jumps back in surprised wondering how you got there so fast, and how you look so effortlessly beautiful at midnight “done gawking yet clark?” laughing, sounding beautiful to his ears he looks away smiling shyly his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck, a repeating his habit. “so where are we going?”becoming the most talkative already, in return there is no response. which is odd coming from you usually commentary filled best friend.

“no hi, how are you? do you not miss me?” lightly shoving his shoulder. you divert the subject to where he could be taking you, the cold air making you shiver as you wait for his response. but instead of giving you one he just leads you to his car across the street, no words exchanged. huffing at the lack of communication you follow him across the street (looking both ways before you cross of course)

the drive to the park is quiet— comfortable silence with the silent play of music fill the air as he drives, you look out the window to stare at the beautiful landscape of the city since wally gives no other form of entertainment to pass time. trying so hard not to stare at him as he drives, you don’t notice obviously since you’re not looking his way but there’s a line of sweat collecting on wally’s hairline but even if you saw you would shrug it off blaming it on his hoodie but no, wally was sweating for a completely different reason. he’s about to change your relationship forever. well, not forever but the outcome can go of two ways, good or bad; with no in-between.

wally clark is going to confess his undying love for you and he feels like he’s gonna throw up from how nervous he is. he didn’t even greet you, that’s how tense he’s feeling he couldn’t even form any coherent word when he saw you, hair ruffled laying in bed with sleepy eyes. it was an image that he wants tattooed on his forehead, dead serious. luckily you didn’t notice how nervous he is because you usually can read him very well additionally, you haven’t asked him anything so he’s relieved to see that nothing he’s done has gotten on your radar yet. well, he didn’t greet you when he picked you up but you just shrugged it off, not thinking to much of it. passing it as oncoming sleepiness from staying up. the ride was filled mostly silence and was also accompanied by mark or your occasion humming, soon you arrive at the park which you immediately recognize as the one where you first met wally, on the swing set late at night when his parent became overbearing. you follow wally out of the car and up a path to a grassy hill out looking the neighborhood and beautiful night sky. he takes a seat and you follow after him, sitting next to him with little space between the two of you.

the scene is quite picturesque, wally wishes he brought his polaroid as he looks up at the stars hoping they’ll talk back to him, talk him out of it or something— maybe some encouragement because he’s been hyping himself up for this moment for so long, okay just for three hours but leading up to this moment he felt like time was moving so slow. the two of you just sit in silence for a while looking at the beautiful night sky until wally speaks up.

“i have something to tell you.” he starts, his voice slightly wavering. you turn immediately to look at him as this is the first thing he’s said to you since he picked you up, a sour feeling rests in your stomach as you process what he said, in fear of hearing what he actually he has to say, you try to figure it out yourself. which you’ll find out yourself was not the greatest idea. sitting up straight you look directly at him with a hand on his shoulder.

“wait don’t tell me, you’re moving? you got early acceptance to ohio state? if so and you’re only telling me now i’m going to murd— or no have you gotten yourself a girlfriend because god knows you nee—“wally shakes his head barely scoffing a laugh.

“no, that is not what i’m gonna tell you! now can you please stop talking? i practiced in front of my mirror for this.” practicing in-front the mirror for what? you tilt your head confused, but turn it upright immediately when another thought comes to mind.

“are you going to show me that stupid dances you’ve been learning because—“

“no! y/n let me say what i need to say before i vomit on your shoes.”

“hold on wha—“

“oh my god y/n! i like you! okay! i like you. god i asked you to not talk and yet you did.”

your heart drops and the sour feeling only heightens. wally on the other hand is frustrated and embarrassed because of your interruptions and his sudden outburst to you. it was uncalled for, he knows. high on his emotions the quarterback stands up from his spot and starts walking down the hill, ruffling his hair in frustration. cheeks red from both embarrassment and the cold. can’t believe you just confessed to her like that! horrible wally clark. now she’s not gonna even want to accept your confession. ‘vomit on your shoes’ what kind of line is that? seriously.

he groans, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he continues down the path. not even bothered to see if you’re following him, he probably just ruined your friendship for life. he’s never going to let himself live this down.

wally is mad at himself, not even you, he’s only a tad bit mad at you for you cutting him off but he’s more mad at himself— he shouldn’t have beaten around the bush, should’ve just told you there and then not have any cheesy climax to it; would’ve gotten it over with quickly. you watch wally walk off while you stay planted in your seat. still processing what happened. wait, wally clark just confessed to you, the man you’ve unknowingly devoted yourself for just confessed and you were interrupting him! what are you doing go after him! y/n go! you scramble from your spot. feeling guilty for cutting him off, you probably sent his confidence down the hill with him. god you felt horrible. “wally! wait!” you call from behind him almost tripping from the decline of the hill but with sportsmen instincts he catches you by your arm. “wally, oh my god. i’m sorry for cutting you off— i’m such a jerk for that.”you say as you pant for breath, your heart racing. you look at his side profile and he’s avoiding your gaze completely, moving his head to look to the side you’re not on. “it’s alright, let me just take you home.” a breath leaves you, take you home? that was the last thing you wanted right now “wally i—“ he cuts you off like you did to him earlier “y/n really, i accept your apology. let me— let me just take you home please.” he is dying from embarrassment at this point, might as well put him out of his misery. “but–“ you start while wally let’s out a hefty sigh and inhales harshly from his nose, rubbing the side of it with his thumb. “y/n can we just forget this all happened? it’s really late i’ll just get you home before anyone realizes your gone.” his tone is distant and really pulls at your heart strings, you didn’t want to forget about this, well some parts of it you wanted to remember like him confessing to you! but you didn’t mean to make him upset; he probably is thinking the worse right now and it’s all because of you, it’s all your fault.

you don’t say another word as you nod when wally briefly glances at you, his light touch on your arm leaves as he continues his walk to the car park. you follow behind quietly, guilt eating you up as you look at wally posture slump as he walks, he’s head hung low. looking small— all because of you.

the drive back to your house was even worse, it was quiet. no music no humming, nothing. just silence— you wanted to say something make it right again but you were afraid to worsen his mood more than you’ve already done. no farewells are exchanged when wally arrives in front of your home, he wanted to say something, anything but he just let the opportunity pass. although, just as you’re about to close the door, he murmurs a soft good night that you wish he could tell you looking in your eyes but instead his eyes stay downcast on the steering wheel. he doesn’t leave right away, he waits until you’re safely inside your house and then some more. he throws his head back wallowing in his emotions, he wished the earth would just swallow him up. when you get into your room, you peak through your blinds and see that wally is still there, you watch as he sits there, eyes closed and head back then he hits the wheel of his car a few times eliciting a gasp from you, feeling more guilty. eventually watching him depart from your street.

wally clark was avoiding you, you knew that much. after what happened that night wally began acting like you didn’t exist– as if you weren’t his best friend; as if he didn’t confess his feelings for you— which you’ve been thinking about for the last few days. it hurts, that wally’s acting so distant. he’s been hanging out with his jock friends— but you can tell his mood isn’t the same. usually preppy and extraverted, practices consuming his time and plans that pop out of thin air that keeps him busy so he doesn’t have to think about what happened with you, to distract him. you’ve tried calling him but it’s all been sent to voicemail or his mother ends up answering the phone, you could tell but it hasn’t been to easy for wally either. he feels like a dick for being this way after what happened but he’s just not ready to face you— face you’re rejection, face the embarrassment, face the spot in his heart for you that he now has to make disappear. he’s just not ready.

this whole wally avoiding you thing has gone longer than you both had expected— you, you were counting the days until wally spoke to you again and honestly you are becoming more concerned with how this is dragging out. you miss your best friend for goddess sake! you miss his corny jokes, his contagious laughter, his habit of running his hands through his had, how excited he gets when he see’s dogs on the street. you just miss him... you miss everything about him, your constant now gone. unfortunately you never end up getting the time to talk to him and by now its been months, now the homecoming game you plan on talking to him after the game. no excuses, no if, ands or buts can interfere with the dire need of bringing him back to you.

the chilly air nips at your cheeks as you stand in the bleachers watching the game. you were never a sports fan especially for football but when your best friend’s whole personality is devoting himself to the sport— not even for him but for his family, you had no choice but getting yourself used to the sport. you went to every game, however far it was you went. distance didn’t hinder your support for him. the game feels aching long and the constant cheering from both schools make it hard for you to focus, you just wanted things to be okay with him. you didn’t want to keep this cold war between the two of you.

now in the second half, you watch from the stands as wally takes a seat onto the metal bench. his mother right behind him. the conversation must be tense because as soon as the finish speaking. he’s up on his feet again. your chest tightening at the thought of how much pressure he’s under right now. you hold your breath as you watch wally catch the ball, running towards the the five yard line when a linebacker runs straight into him, tackling him— wally breaking his fall. you let out a shuttering breath as you watch him, your best friend lie there on the field and it feels as if time stops; you stand on the bleachers in disbelief. praying to some higher up that he’s okay and just being dramatic before getting up like he always does… but that never happens. all air is taken from your chest as you dreadfully walk down the bleachers, hoping this was some sick dream you were bound to wake up from. clamors of terror and commotion fill the stadium as the beloved football player is declared dead on the field. tears are streaming down your face, watching his body being carried in a black body bag that he would’ve joked about it being a tacky way of being taken out.. but theres no room for that you’ve never felt so empty, so helpless as you do in this moment. now never being able to accept is confession, apologize, make a amends. there was no future for you without him.

all wally can see is black, a dark abyss that consumes his vision as he feels weightless, as if he isn’t in his body. an out of body experience that he hopes to recover from. that he’s just in a coma and he’ll be reunited with you and tell you all the things he didn’t get to tell you sooner. his mind is consumed by the thought of you, even before the accident he wanted to see you, talk to you, hold you in his arms but when he opens his eyes he’s greeted by the bright lights of the football field. being completely alone in the stadium. still in his uniform. he sits up dazed and confused. he feels fine, if anything he feels like a whole new person as if he’s been given a second chance in living but what he’ll soon to find out, its not in the way he thinks. he feels a bit light headed as he stands and his eyes immediately landing on a figure when he had thought he was alone. he shouts to get their attention to no avail, confused; he continues to shout walking closer to them. as he gets closer he realizes it’s you with your head in your hands and yours shoulders shaking as you wail to your hearts content. he calls out to you, at first soft but then more desperate as you don’t hear him. he feels frustrated as tears of his own stream down his face.

he cries “yn, sweetheart please, please.” his chest tightening at the sounds of your crying. pleading, begging. a mantra repeating under his breath. he doesn’t want this to be it, to be over for him, for you. he can’t lose you. he doesn’t know where he is, how he got here and he especially doesn’t understand why you can’t hear or see him. if this what death is like he thinks he landed in hell.

wally doesn’t notice the man standing by the entrance. the man that he’ll soon find out is a guide into understanding what exactly is happening and coming to terms with the fact that he’s dead and will never be able to live the life he wanted with you. instead he’ll watch you grow without him as he’ll stay forever eighteen.

‘wallowing wally’ is the nickname rhonda had come up for him. jason chides rhonda for picking on the mourning boy but she insists it was to lighten the mood, the outcome being the complete opposite. when he was first introduced to the group he was quiet, timid, distant. the others understood the feelings and recent thoughts about the afterlife at split river and had assumed he would grow out of it. but no, it continues and rhonda’s continuous jokes about his behavior being the complete opposite to the boisterous quarterback he once was— but that guy since died along with his corpse. he’s now just a shell of who he was.

it was hard for him to watch you at first, he didn’t see you for weeks after his death but when you finally came back to school. you were an entirely different person; you looked paler, bags under your eyes, lifeless as you walked down the halls with soft murmurs about your appearance as you walk by. his heart shatters into pieces watching you, sitting alone during breaks. staring into space during class completely dissociative during class. you distanced yourself from your peers and never responded when someone gave you condolences about your best friend, just nodding then walking away. your were mourning the death of him and he couldn’t handle watching it. you’re hurting at his expense and it’s breaking his already shattered heart that can’t be mended.

so he distanced himself from you. like he did at the end of his life, he couldn’t bare to see you hurt so he spent most of his days on the rooftop. only coming down for snacks or to catch up with the others but then back at his spot. never going to group because he didn’t want to talk about it. how a little of guilt sits in him everyday watching you mourn for him. days blur by and eventually wally extends to the stadium— he’s bitter, yes that he died during a game, without a fight but it was easier for him to get over compared to you. he will never get over you. he takes his time walking onto the field, closer he sees the memorial left for him. his picture surrounded by candles, flowers, notes and other things left by other students. he’s consumed by the notes and messages his peers left him that he doesn’t realize jason joining him.

“wally” he calls, the boy turns with his hands shoved in his varsity jacket. looking over at the latter with a questioning look. watching the male with his hand over his face shielding him from the sun.

“there’s something i think you wanna see.” as much as he doesn’t want to follow jason or be lead into his trap of being forced into group he couldn’t help the feeling of interest that fills him. as expected they’re towards the gym and as wally is about to protest jason interjects with strong statements about something being there for him. for the first time wally feels hopeful, that something happened— miraculously. he follows jason into the gym. the sight of the circle of chairs in the corner of the gym prominent in his vision but now he sees an extra person taking up another seat. he wasn’t aware that another death had happened at the school and if there was he would’ve been there. heard the sounds of death within the walls. he gets closer and closer, expectant of what jason kept hyping him up about. he’s about to inquire what it is when his eyes land on you. sitting in his seat, he stares at you in disbelief. you dont notice him at first and he takes is as a time to take up you appearance. one that he hasn’t seen in a while.

you look healthier, definitely healing from the homecoming game. you’re wearing a stripped sweater he had lent you, slightly oversized and a pair of dark wash jeans and your beat up converse. the only piece sticking out from your ensamble was the beige apron, stained with clay. it’s quiet around the group before mr. martian walks inside greeting the others.

“wally finally joining us i see.” that name catches your attention. you look up from the gym floor to your recently deceased best friend. your breath hitched, blood running cold, were your eyes deceiving you? you had just seen him died moths ago, the vision still etched in your mind and now suddenly he’s standing in front of you like he’s fine. you think your gonna throw up. wally never expected for his to happen, he didn’t expect for you to react by running out of the gym with your hand over your mouth… it was all to much but the feeling in his heart makes him run after you. he doesn't know where you went at first but the rounds of retching in the girls bathroom makes him suspect that you’re in there.

“sweetheart, i know you’re in there and i’m not gonna go in there… for obvious reasons but i-i just want to talk.” wally runs his hand over his face, feeling stupid for what he just said. he had such a habit for blabbering even if it was a serious situation. still he just can’t believe you can see him, as much as he wanted to know how you dies; he pushes that thought to the back of his mind, his main focus was making things right with you. he stands by the door waiting for you to finish. he can hear the toilet flushing, then the stall door and the faucet running. his nerves are through the roof as he hears you footsteps come closer. he calls out your name softly as you walk out, ready to be on his knees begging you to forgive him, for what he did, ignoring you for so long, not giving you the time of day. he’s ready for you to yell and shout at him, slap him if you wanted to. he was ready for it. instead, the second you walk out you pull him into a tight hug. noticing the absence of your apron, shoving that thought behind. he bends over a bit to accommodate the height difference. he immediately wraps his arms around you, relishing in your body heat. he’d missed you so much that he almost forgot what it felt like to be in your presence but now that you’re here, there’s no need to worry for that anymore. the hug lasts for a while and soon the wet feeling of tears coat wally’s neck and varsity jacket as you silently cry into his shoulder. he soothingly rubs your back and gently rocking you back and forth, trying his best to comfort you while not trying to cry himself. your knees buckle and he easily catches you, whispering soft nothings to you. it takes you sometime to calm down. nevertheless he waits. listening to your cries become softer, hiccuping for breath as you slowly depart from him.

"i missed you." you tremble in a whisper. he gives you a sad smile cupping your cheek in his hand, gently swiping your tears away.

"i missed you too, sweetheart. fresh tears form on your waterline, eyebrows scrunched you grasp his face, pulling him into a kiss. he's astounded, the feeling of your lips on his was one he dreamt about for years, now here it is and he's standing there like an idiot not kissing you back. his grasps at your waist, the kiss is different from any he's never experienced. it's slow and passionate. you've been yearning for each other for years, dancing around the potential of where your relationship can go. you're tired of waiting even after death. you relish in the way you lips feel on his after feeling so lost without him with all that emotion you’ve bottled up when you realize that you're in love with him. words cannot express how much he has an affect of you and he can say the same thing about you. you both pull away a little breathless. you've been waiting to do that for years and wally is a bit envious that you beat him to it. your foreheads are pressed softly together, just standing in each others presence. it's a soft, intimate moment.

"i thought i was never going to see you again." you begin looking into wally's eyes. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, urging you to continue. “i thought i would've never be able to tell you how i feel. i-i was going to tell you after the football game but... you know.” wally stiffens, he can only assume what you'll say next but whether you break his heart of make his dreams come true. his feelings for you won't change.

“wally, you mean so much to me. you're my rock, always there for me when i need you. no matter what is it— if it was helping me pick out outfits when you hate to shop or picking me up from a disastrous date. i didn't know what it would be like to live without you until it actually happened. i felt lost, i felt like i didn't have a purpose without you. like a part of me died when you did. you give me direction, a purpose. wally clark, i love you. i love everything about you. you're little habits, the things you hate about yourself i love it all." tears are free falling again when you finish and wally's eyes are blurred with tears as he looks at you with all the love and adoration in the world. he lets out a laugh and your face almost twists into hurt when he immediately brings you close by the waist, standing at full height. he reassures you almost immediately.

"stealing my thunder again huh sweetheart?" he jokes, a smile on his face. it's hard to stay mad at him, especially with that face— trying your best to keep a stoic face while he speaks. "i was supposed to say it first." he pouts. and you shake your head, a smile peeking from your lips but you remain. he brings his hand to cup your cheek and the other on the small of your back. "but i couldn't have said it better than you. you're the only one i think understands me the best, you see right through me and can tell if i'm having a bad day or hiding something. you supported me through my football career especially when my parents seemed like they cared more about the sport than their own son. you defend me, protect me— even though i feel like i should be doing that with you. you make me feel special. i love you and i always wanted to tell you that. no matter what you do, make me sad or mad. i'll always love you."

you flush at his words, feeling small in his embrace. your feelings have never felt so strong and it honestly felt a little overwhelming, but seeing the smile on his face eases you. you lean into his touch, your throat tightening at the new thoughts looming your mind.

"what if i'm not good enough for you.” your voice comes out strained, strong with emotion. he interjects immediately. insisting that there was no one else out that that could change his mind. you were it for him. he pours his heart out to you and you the same. a smile graces you face and wally swears his heart melts. he'll do anything to protect that smile on your face til the day he dies... again.

"it's me and you against the world, sweetheart." he kisses the crown of your head, taking your hand and pulling you down the hall. maybe death isn’t so bad after all.

ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.

#wally clark #wally clark imagines #wally clark fanfiction #school spirits #school spirits wally clark #wally clark x reader #school spirits fanfiction #milo manheim #milo manheim fanfiction #star's galaxy !

1K notes · View notes

skywalker1dream · 4 months

Text

Title: web of obsession

part one | part two Note: my Carlos obsession is back and it seems I can't stop writing about him.:3 hope you are having good day or night, drink water, eat healthy, if you have any requests I'm all ears <3

Summary:When you move into a charming new neighborhood, you catch the eye of Carlos Sainz, your next-door neighbor. What starts as friendly attention quickly spirals into a dark, possessive obsession. As Carlos’s behavior becomes increasingly intense and controlling, you realize you are trapped in the web of his dangerous love. Can you escape his clutches, or will his obsession consume you both?

Warnings: Dark themes, Possessive/obsessive behavior, Stalking, Manipulation, Emotional distress, Implied non-consensual control,Dubious consent, Stockholm syndrome

You had just moved into your new apartment, excited to start a new chapter in your life. The neighborhood was charming, with cobblestone streets and blooming flowers adorning the windowsills. It was a refreshing change from the bustling city you had left behind. As you unpacked the last of your boxes, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and optimism about your future here.

Little did you know, someone had been watching you closely ever since you arrived. Carlos Sainz, your next-door neighbor, had noticed you the moment you stepped foot in the building. From his window, he observed you carrying boxes, arranging furniture, and finally, the way you smiled with satisfaction once everything was in place. He found himself drawn to you, your innocence and naivety awakening something dark and possessive within him.

Carlos had always been a private person, his life revolving around the high-speed world of Formula 1 racing. But there was something about you that captivated him. Your purity and unawareness of his growing obsession made you irresistible. He had to have you. He needed to protect you, to make sure no one else could ever come close to you.

One evening, as you were settling in with a cup of tea and a good book, you heard a knock on your door. Surprised, you opened it to find Carlos standing there, a charming smile on his face.

"Hi, I'm Carlos, your neighbor. I thought I'd come by and introduce myself," he said, his voice smooth and inviting.

"Hi, it's nice to meet you, Carlos. I'm [your name]," you replied, offering a shy smile.

"I noticed you moved in recently. If you need anything or have any questions about the area, feel free to ask," he offered, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your innocent expression.

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," you said, genuinely appreciative of his offer.

_________

Over the next few days, Carlos made a habit of stopping by, offering to help with small tasks, bringing you groceries, and even inviting you out for coffee. You found his attention flattering and appreciated his kindness, unaware of the storm brewing within him.

_________

One night, as you were walking back to your apartment after a late shift at work, you felt a presence behind you. Turning around, you saw Carlos, his eyes intense and focused on you.

"Carlos, you scared me!" you exclaimed, your heart racing.

"I’m sorry, (Y/N). I was just making sure you got home safely. It's not safe for someone like you to be out alone at this hour," he said, his voice laced with a possessive edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

_________

As the weeks passed, Carlos's behavior grew increasingly intense. He would show up unannounced, his eyes filled with a dark hunger that made you uneasy. He would call you constantly, checking up on you, demanding to know where you were and who you were with.

One evening, you decided to confront him. "Carlos, I appreciate your concern, but I feel like you're becoming too... controlling. I need some space," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

His eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to you, his presence overwhelming. "You don’t understand, Mi amor. I’m doing this for you. I need to protect you. You’re mine," he growled, his voice dangerously low.

Fear gripped you as you realized the depth of his obsession. "Carlos, please, I need you to leave," you said, backing away.

But Carlos didn’t budge. Instead, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you close to him. "You don’t get it, do you? I can't let you go. I won't let anyone else have you," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to break free from his grasp. "Carlos, this isn't right. You’re scaring me," you cried out, hoping to reach the man you once thought was kind and gentle.

But Carlos was beyond reason. His obsession had consumed him entirely, and he was determined to make you his, no matter the cost. "You belong to me, cariño. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means locking you away where no one else can touch you," he declared, his eyes gleaming with a manic intensity.

You realized then that you were trapped, caught in the web of Carlos's dark and possessive love. And as he pulled you closer, you knew that your life would never be the same again.

_________

The next day, you woke up to find your phone missing. Frantically, you searched your apartment, but it was nowhere to be found. You decided to ask Carlos if he had seen it, even though you had your suspicions.

When you knocked on his door, he answered almost immediately, as if he had been waiting for you. "Carlos, have you seen my phone? I can't find it anywhere," you asked, trying to keep your voice calm.

He smiled, a chilling smile that sent a wave of dread through you. "No, I haven't seen it. Maybe you misplaced it," he said, but there was something in his eyes that told you he was lying.

You knew you needed to get away, to find help. But without your phone, you felt isolated and vulnerable. The next few days were a blur of Carlos's increasingly invasive presence and your mounting fear. He seemed to be everywhere, watching you, controlling your every move.

_________

One evening, as you were cooking dinner, Carlos let himself into your apartment with a spare key you didn’t know he had. He stood in the doorway, watching you with a dark intensity.

"Carlos, you can't just come in here uninvited," you said, trying to muster the courage to stand up to him.

"I told you, Mi amor, I'm doing this for you. I need to protect you," he replied, his voice eerily calm.

You felt a chill run down your spine. "Protect me from what? You're the one scaring me," you said, your voice trembling.

Carlos stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don't understand, cariño. You need me. Without me, you're vulnerable. Anyone could hurt you," he said, his voice taking on a desperate edge.

"You're the one hurting me, Carlos. This isn't love, this is obsession," you cried out, tears streaming down your face.

Carlos's expression hardened, and he grabbed your arm, pulling you close. "You don't get to decide what's best for you. I do. And I will keep you safe, even if it means keeping you here with me forever," he said, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Desperation surged through you, and you struggled against his grip. "Carlos, please, let me go," you begged, but his hold only tightened.

In a moment of sheer panic, you managed to break free and ran for the door. But Carlos was faster. He caught you, pinning you against the wall, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"Don't you see, cariño? You're mine. And I'll never let you go," he whispered, his voice filled with a terrifying mix of love and madness.

_________

Days turned into weeks, and Carlos's hold on you only tightened. He controlled every aspect of your life. You were not allowed to leave the apartment without him. He provided everything you needed, but it came at the cost of your freedom.

At first, you resisted, your spirit unbroken despite his oppressive behavior. But Carlos was relentless. He showered you with affection in his twisted way, blurring the lines between love and captivity. His touches became more intimate, more demanding, yet he always framed them as acts of love and protection.

One night, after a particularly intense confrontation, you found yourself in his arms, the weight of your fear and isolation bearing down on you. His hand gently stroked your hair as you lay against his chest, and for a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear.

"Cariño? you know I only do this because I love you," he murmured, his voice soft and soothing.

"Love shouldn't feel like this," you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Carlos tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "It’s the only way to keep you safe. You have to trust me," he insisted, his eyes dark and intense.

You wanted to scream, to push him away, but a part of you, worn down by the constant pressure, began to waver. His touch, once a source of fear, started to feel comforting in your desperate state. The line between captor and protector blurred further with each passing day.

________

One evening, Carlos returned home to find you sitting on the couch, your expression distant. He knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "What's on your mind, mi amor?" he asked, his voice tender.

"I don't know what's real anymore," you confessed, your voice shaking. "I feel like I'm losing myself."

Carlos's grip tightened. "You're not losing yourself. You're finding your true place, with me. I’ll take care of you."

"I’ll take care of you, and you'll see that this is where you belong," Carlos whispered, his voice soothing yet laced with an unsettling authority.

You tried to pull your hands away, but his grip was firm. He moved closer, his eyes locked onto yours. There was an intensity there, a burning need that frightened you, yet you couldn’t tear yourself away from his gaze.

"Carlos, this isn't right," you said weakly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Shh, mi amor. You just need to relax and let me take care of everything," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

His lips lingered, trailing down your face, planting kisses on your cheeks and finally your lips. You froze, the mixture of fear and a strange sense of comfort paralyzing you. Carlos deepened the kiss, his hands moving to cradle your face, his touch both possessive and gentle.

You knew you should resist, that you should push him away, but his words and actions had begun to wear down your resolve. You felt a strange, unsettling warmth spreading through you, a part of your mind beginning to believe his twisted version of love.

Carlos sensed your hesitation and took advantage, his kisses becoming more urgent, his hands moving to your shoulders and down your arms, pulling you closer. Your heart pounded in your chest as he guided you to lie back on the couch, his body pressing against yours.

"Just let go, cariño. Let me love you," he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and intoxicating.

You whimpered softly, torn between the instinct to flee and the growing sense of submission. Carlos's hands roamed your body, his touch igniting a confusing mix of fear and desire. He was relentless, his need for control evident in every movement.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. You gasped, the sensation both foreign and electrifying. Carlos's kisses trailed down your neck, his lips leaving a burning path as he whispered sweet yet possessive words against your skin.

"I've dreamed of this, of having you all to myself," he murmured, his hands exploring your body with a fervent possessiveness. "You're mine, cariño, mine. No one else can ever have you."

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to fight back, but your body betrayed you, responding to his touch in ways you couldn't control. His hands found their way to your waistband, and he deftly unbuttoned your jeans, sliding them down with a practiced ease. He kissed your stomach, his lips moving lower, and you shivered, torn between fear and a perverse sense of anticipation.

"Carlos, please," you whimpered, unsure whether you were begging him to stop or to continue.

He paused, looking up at you with a dark, intense gaze. "Please what, mi amor? Tell me what you want."

"I... I don't know," you admitted, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Carlos's expression softened, and he climbed back up to kiss away your tears. "It's okay, cariño. I'll make you understand. I'll show you how much I love you," he promised, his voice a dangerous mix of tenderness and possessiveness.

He captured your lips in another searing kiss, his hands resuming their exploration of your body. Your resistance crumbled further with each passing second, the lines between right and wrong blurring in the haze of his relentless attention.

Carlos was methodical, his actions deliberate and consuming. He undressed you with a slow, practiced ease, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal more of your vulnerable form. His kisses trailed down your body, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

You felt helpless, trapped in his web of obsession, yet a part of you craved his touch, his approval. He made you feel wanted, cherished in his own twisted way, and that was a feeling you hadn't experienced in so long.

Carlos's hands found their way to your most intimate places, and you gasped, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. He watched your every expression, his eyes dark and hungry.

"See, cariño ? This is how it should be. Just you and me, together," he murmured, his voice hypnotic.

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the inevitable, your mind and body betraying you in the most intimate of ways. Carlos took you with a possessive passion, his love both a prison and a twisted form of salvation.

As the night wore on, you found yourself clinging to him, your emotions a chaotic whirlwind of fear, desire, and a growing sense of dependence. Carlos's obsession had consumed you both, binding you to him in a dark and inescapable embrace.

In the depths of your mind, a small voice screamed for freedom, but it was drowned out by the overwhelming force of Carlos's love. You were his, and he would never let you go.

___________

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz x female reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz f1 #f1 fic #fanfic

104 notes · View notes

planete777 · 1 year

Text

WHAT YOU HEARD・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. y/n senselessly drags lando for a swim at midnight, high and all. she just forgets to mention they'll do it naked.

WARNINGS. 16+, smoking and getting high (don't do drugs yall, this is just for entertainment purposes!), make outs, night skinny dipping, mentions of sexual activities, once again high hotness

NOTE. back again with the high!lando agenda. something about it just gets my brain all scrambled. anyways, as i said, don't do drugs, listen to 'what you heard' by sonder, and enjoy luvs <3 (wondering if i should make this a series.....)

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc about high!lando, or other tropes if u want. 🤍

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

even when he can't piece two cents of his thoughts to construct a legible sequence, lando is sure that, no matter the state he's in, y/n can persuade him to do whatever, as if her words were a siren's call. in his mind, she has this way of curling her tongue around every sentence she says, as if they're something so sweet, so good, and it beckons him closer, pathetically. yet, lando indulges in it like a fucking mad man, and every time he has to leave y/n, he finds himself itching for everything she makes him feel.

but, right here, right now, he'd rather lose himself in the swirling puffs of smoke that have him feeling he's levitating with it. sprawled on the girl's couch, legs and arms weightless and completely non existent, in a room that's so unsuspecting to delinquent dallying.

that's what makes him love her even more.

they're the same. from the wisp of their hairs to the tip of their toes, they both crave an escape from everything and everyone, and don't care how they get it. live a dual life of forced smiles to the world and adrenaline rushes from a drug that drains every feeling possible from their flesh, but could tip their lives on their heads without warning.

it's like their own little secret, and knows that if he were to tell anyone, they'd instantaneously talk him out of it. beg him that he could get hooked and spiral, yet he'll be damned if he allows himself to lose the only sanity he has with the girl that he's addicted to.

the breeze whispers on his skin, soothes it somewhat as the forecast had been cooler the whole day, and the spliff between his fingers remains an inch-long bud, incinerated away in mere hours. his eyes are ajar, just the tiniest bit, and remain trained on the open back sliding doors. watches as ripples glimmer and twinkle beneath the moon's shine upon the pool's surface and his mind undulates with the tentative viscosity of thick honey.

speakers drone whatever playlist y/n has chosen for the night, and he finds himself subconsciously tapping his fingers to the beat. nothing else but music needs to fill the room, each other's presence speaks for itself, and lando loves this unspoken normality between them.

he's on the brink of unconsciouness, rocking between the borders of sleep and awareness, but he's slowly justled awake as y/n walks up to him.

she gently grabs his arm, pulling him upright, "come."

his movements are slow and hesitant, "where we going?"

"swimming."

for a second his mind agrees, so he relents, but realising that he's wearing a tank top with jogging bottoms, and y/n the same but with leggings instead, he grows confused again.

he doesn't get time to question, mind too slow and sticky to even get further words out, as y/n lets go of his hand and turns to him.

then with speed that aches with tease, she tugs her top off, flinging it off to the side and lando stops breathing. he sees everything, how they curve and smooth back into the inward slope of her waist and he trembles so much that he has to clench his fist to urge it away. she's so beautiful drenched in blue, easing its way down her legs as she shrugs them off, and lando's eyes burn as they weld into every dip of her body.

"join me."

that's all she says, with that pretty smile on her face, before she swivels on her feet and dives into the water with much precision she barely marks a discrepancy upon the surface of the water. lando is hypnotised, barely moves from his place as she watches her glide and twirl in the water as if that's where she's meant to be, and then his body cries to join her.

it doesn't take long for him to hover next to y/n, right in the centre of the pool. the cool water washes some highness away, but they're both inebriated enough to retain the red glaze in their eyes and slow movements. lando's sick, seeing y/n so etheral in nothing, looking at him as if she wants him flowing through his veins, and he no longer fights the impulse to get closer and gather her in his arms. she smiles, wide and white, circling her arms around his neck before jumping on his waist. he fumbles slightly, with a huffed out laugh, then her thighs are tight around his hips and he can feel everything.

"you're hard already?" she asked, amused. her hand plays with the curls on his neck and he feels like he's dissolving.

"do you blame me? look at you."

"well," her finger traces his chest, light and completely burning, "we're not fucking in my pool."

he chuckles, figures cum is a hard thing to clean out of water, "at least let me eat you out?"

she pretends to think, "maybe later, but right now, i want you to fucking kiss me."

lando doesn't waste time doing so, lips pushing into hers with great urgency as if it's his last kiss on earth. y/n's mouth is wet, warm, sweet and so inherently y/n that lando moans, deep and loud, sliding his tongue deeper. it's not enough, not the kiss, nor the way her body radiates immense heat directly into his, and lando craves to be one with her. absorb into y/n, like a water to a sponge, and remain there forever.

air runs out, way too quickly for lando's liking, and y/n moves her head back, half closed eyes staring back at him. he's hot, bothered, hungry for so much more, and squeezes the flesh of her thighs to suppress just how much his flesh aches for her.

"i want to have you so bad," y/n sighs out, a splayed hand flush against lando's chest, and oh does he want her to completely take him. do whatever she wants, however she wants. he craves to say so much but his mind can only come up with so little.

"then fucking have me, y/n."

#lando norris #lando norris romance #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris fic #f1 fic #f1 smut #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula one #formula one x y/n #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic

638 notes · View notes

alwaysonf1 · 5 months

Text

leak?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 740

Warning: N/A

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: Dates and times don't matter.

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down. Do you see what’s trending right now?”

There’s a sigh over the phone and Iman feels bad, but not enough that her anxiety is subsiding or that she can apologize in the moment.

“Mon ange, it’s not even a good picture of us. Plus, would it be so bad?”

Yes, is on the tip of her tongue, but it wasn’t the truth. Iman had just hoped there would be more time before the world knew. She’s adept at handling the media frenzy because of how it was when the world found out she existed. But this was something so fresh and new. She didn’t want to have to share it with anyone.

“No, I just…”

There are no words that come to mind. Logic is returning to her brain and she knows she’s being dramatic. Next to K-Pop stans, Formula 1 fans are creepy good at detective work. And one is always going to be around no matter where they are.

Also, she wasn’t completely bothered. There was a part of her that took joy in speculating that they were together. That he was her’s. It just isn’t strong enough to make the biggest impact in her head.

Iman sighs.

“Let them speculate. We don’t have to confirm anything.”

Another sigh.

She knows that he’s right, but she’d deluded herself into thinking that things could be chill. For at least a month. Or a week. But she’d found herself attached to Charles’ hip no matter how in public they were. There was some hope that if anything were to leak it would be her getting her ass handed to her in volleyball by Logan. It was ego bruising because she’s the one who played it through high school, but it was better than this.

“I know.”

“Then why all of this? You knew it would come eventually.”

“Not this quickly,” she mumbles.

There is a sound on the other end that sounds like a scoff. Iman has picked up when Charles is calling her out on her bullshit.

“I mean I could post that video of you falling on your face on the beach. That would get everyone’s attention,” Logan chimes in.

Iman’s eyes narrow as she turns to look at him leaning against her door frame snacking on popcorn. Lewis stands behind him with the bowl of popcorn that he’s been eating from.

Both idiots think her reaction is funny and have been watching her as she fights not to go into a spiral. Lewis has made comments about how she wasn’t even this bad when things got intense with the media after their episode.

The urge to cuss them out presents itself, but Iman simply raises her hand with only one finger extended. Both of them react in faux shock and offense before falling into a giggling fit.

What she’d done to have this life she wasn’t sure, but goodness did it sometimes test her.

“Mon ange…”

“Huh?”

Charles laughs. “I asked what you wanted to do. I want what makes you happy.”

For a second, she sits with her lips pursed as she thinks about it. They could get it out of the way, but it is much too soon to be making those kinds of announcements. Even if they’re both sure about this, it feels much too fast. Though Iman has to be honest in admitting that sometimes things move at a different pace when you’ve had years of friendship. And there are a few recent thoughts she’s had that are much faster than admitting to dating Charles Leclerc.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“For now, at least. If they catch something else and it goes crazy, we’ll just admit it. Or after like a month.”

“Okay, but mon ange, I’m not going to change my mind about you.”

Breathing becomes hard and Iman is barely able to tell him bye as they hang up the phone. Her phone drops from her hand and she falls back to fully lay on her bed. Butterflies are how she’d describe what she feels.

Laughter starts. At a speed that could give whiplash she turns her head and glares at the two pains in her ass.

“Get out!”

A pillow sails through the air and hits Lewis square in the face. Logan is gone before the other one can leave her hand and Lewis isn’t far behind him.

“Lord help me,” she says, sighing.

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon, and 45,628 others

logansargeant 2x national champ my ass.

comments on this post have been turned off

#charles leclerc x black reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x black!reader #formula one x black reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 imagine #formula one x oc #formula 1 x oc #charles leclerc x oc

119 notes · View notes

cuckoo-on-a-string · 4 days

Text

Object of Desire (1/3)

Price x female!reader

Self-indulgent hurt/comfort three-part story soaked in angst leading to one of the longest smut scenes I've written in my long-ass life.

Fic warnings: Smut, Alcohol use, major depression, anxiety, self-harm, potential body dysmorphia, non-consentual drug use, attempted kidnapping/assault, brief violence, mention of hospital

Chapter warnings: Alcohol use, major depression, anxiety, self-harm, potential body dysmorphia, non-consentual drug use, attempted kidnapping/assault, brief violence, mention of hospital

This isn’t your speed.

The bar rides the line between dive and club, lacking a DJ, good lights, or a decent sound system. But it’s loud in a way that drowns out conversation and inhibitions. The cheap speakers hooked up to the foggy-glassed juke box crackle on the high notes and buzz on the low. The floor is so sticky you just want to go outside and jump in some dingy puddles to get your shoes clean.

The little half booth you’ve commandeered isn’t much better, but this is as close as you’ll get to hiding behind a door tonight, so you balance your notebook against the edge of the table and pray the cover isn’t smeared with last week’s margaritas.

On a better night, this could be an adventure. A chance to crack through more of the to-do’s on your therapy list. But it isn’t a good night. You’re tired, possibly hormonal, and Elaine is too drunk and happy to notice as you tumble around the opening wheel of a spiral.

You’re miserable, and acknowledging that just makes it worse, because you objectively shouldn’t be. Nothing bad has happened. Nothing good, either, but it’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Your eyes go misty, and you clench your jaw. You’re wearing too much makeup to cry without everyone knowing how fucking pathetic you are. Literally crying in the club.

A patch of chipped paint on the wall gives you an outlet, and you press your knuckle to the rough surface, rubbing the thin skin back and forth like you’re trying to start a fire. When it starts to hurt, you press harder. It’s a mission, a punishment, and something you can control all in one fell swoop.

You’ll pay for being a shitty waste of space and then you can move on because you’ve paid your pound of flesh.

When your knuckle’s gone numb and a dark crescent shows your effort on the wall, you take a deep breath and chase the endorphins of your contrived penance. It doesn’t make everything better. There are too many reminders of reality tonight, but it helps level you out, and you pluck your wandering thoughts like flowers in a field, tying them up and dropping them on the page.

Every writer should carry a notebook. Thoughts are fleeting, and impressions fade fast. You swallow your angst and slowly explore the physical scene through words. You notice how little bass the music has. It’s the one part of loud music that makes you smile, and you miss it. You like when something as intangible as music physically rattles in your body, dances in ripples over your drink.

Well. Even if there were a bass, it wouldn’t go all t-rex on you, because the cup is empty. As the night’s designated adult, you had one cocktail before switching to Diet Coke. The caffeine might be making your anxiety worse, but it’s also helping you stay awake while Elaine dances like a woman determined to watch the sunrise.

You’re overdue a refill, but the bar has a massive mirror behind the bottles, and you just don’t have the spoons. One fucked up knuckle will make typing tomorrow hard enough, and you don’t need to grease the wheels on your rollercoaster of ennui.

Notes grow like vines, awkward in the dim lighting but legible, following your ideas and questions as you study the space. One couple keeps grinding in the dimmest corner of the room – more and more aggressively – like no one will notice. You wonder how far they’ll go before the bar’s one bouncer sends them away to find a room. A few people sit at the bar, chatting with the bartender as he pours drinks, and you’d be willing to bet they’re the regulars.

One of them already tried to make friends after dancing with Elaine. He failed to make it sound like he wasn’t trying to buy your silence with a drink so he could “give her a ride home.” The first creep of the night. You should keep a running tally and demand emotional compensation when Elaine’s sobers up, but that’s not what friends do.

She bounces back from the patch of bare concrete – sorry, dance floor – and plucks up the shot of Jameson you’ve been guarding for her. Neither of you really like to shoot your drinks, and she enjoys a breather, sipping as you lean back and watch the heaving mass of dancers flash purple and green under cheap party lights.

“You should dance with me,” she says.

It’s so genuine it hurts, and you shake your head, burying your shit deep so the rot doesn’t infect her mood. She deserves to be happy, and she doesn’t always get to be.

Next time you go out, you get to choose, and you’ll pick some obnoxiously kitsch “Irish” tavern and continue your long tradition of judging every Irish coffee in town while sharing irreverent takes on your favorite shows.

“My knee’s bothering me.” It isn’t a lie, so you don’t feel bad.

Elaine pouts on your behalf. “Stupid knee.”

You nod. “Stupid knee.”

She leans over to give you a drunken squeeze, stuffing her face in your shoulder and squeezing you almost to the point of pain. When she pulls back, she’s smiling again, and she gestures to your notebook. “You working on the story?”

“Just taking notes.”

“Well, if you change your mind about dancing, you know where to find me, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, and be careful, alright?”

“Yup!”

And she’s off again.

It’s only when she’s back among the throng you realize you could’ve asked her to refill your drink.

Too late. Oh well. Back to the notebook.

About fifteen minutes later, four men walk into the bar. They hesitate just past the door, leaning in to grumble-shout at each other, waving at the “dance floor” and general chaos. But it must be slim pickings this time of night, because they eventually surrender and clear the welcome mat. Two split off to claim a recently emptied corner table while the others beeline for drinks.

They’re very interesting to look at. Clearly not part of the party crowd, they wear heavy jackets and henleys. Work boots stomp over the sticky floors. Only one looks normal by any stretch of the imagination, and he’s one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. His buddy, who accompanies him to the bar, has a buzzcut mohawk. The two across the room claim the shadows far better than the grinding couple managed. One wears a skull print balaclava, and the last has mutton chops, like he’s an off-duty constable stopping for a pint before returning to his hunt for Jack the Ripper.

His eyes flick your way, and you drop your gaze where it belongs. On the page.

You hate when people stare at you. Time to remember your manners and return the favor. The men clearly want privacy, and you have your hands full with Drunk Elaine, anyway. She’s her own beast, and you have the trip home and an extended rehydration session to look forward to.

As if summoned, Elaine comes back, panting and out of breath. She collapses next to you, giggling and fanning herself, and opportunity knocks.

“Stay here,” you shout in her ear over the ambitiously club-like screech of music. “I’ll get us some water.”

She instantly agrees and thanks you as you stretch your legs for the first time in an hour. You’re feeling a little more charitable about everyone and everything as you approach the bar, but you’re careful not to glance up from the black laminate as you ask for two waters and another Diet Coke. The bartender judges you with his eyes through every step of grabbing three glasses, filling two with tap water, and filling the third with his little soda hose.

He hasn’t put ice in any.

You’ll leave a good tip when you close out the tab, anyway. Just to make him feel like the dick he is.

Carefully holding all three drinks, you work your way back to the table, dodging a forest of elbows and unbalanced heels. You aren’t graceful, but you’re better at getting out of the way than Elaine is, and you get all three glasses back to the half booth without spilling a drop.

Elaine takes two sips and starts swaying to the beat of the newest song. She’ll dance her way right out of her seat in a minute, and you tap her arm, indicating her water.

“Drink the whole thing.”

“But it’s warm!”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

Drunk Elaine is bombastic and far too excitable, but she also knows when to listen to you. Even though she rolls her eyes like a teenager, she obediently chugs down the whole glass.

You pat her shoulder. “Good job.”

“Back soon!” And the pit stop is over. She speeds back to being the life of the party.

People drift into her sphere like moths following a light as you watch, letting a sip of soda slowly go bubble itself flat on your tongue. She’s one of those magical, annoying assholes who has no idea how attractive she is. From interpersonal skills to looks, she’s just astonishingly great to talk to, look at, dance with.

It’s exhausting.

But you love her.

And when she isn’t accidentally becoming a dozen strangers’ muse, she screams over horror movies while you cackle and talks about life on her apartment balcony until the sky warms.

This is all a you problem.

But you have your coping mechanisms, and you’ve already spilled blood for the night’s failures.

Inside the notebook, you find your balance. The paper grows around your mind like a garden wall. A healthy(ish) boundary between you and the rest of the world. Besides glancing up once or twice per song to check on your friend, you let the notes spin out into questions. Into ideas. Some have twisted edges that fit your developing narrative, and you brainstorm how they may fit into the plot, hunting for a character who might grow such angled barbs.

The men are barely more than an item on a bullet list of people you’ve seen – shapes that may never grow into stories – and you’ve filled several more pages before you look up and see mohawk dancing close with Elaine.

The bright edge around your thoughts snuffs out, and your belly turns hard as you watch. They’re chatting. Enjoying each other’s company. Mohawk is athletic and conventionally attractive in a way that doesn’t scream Ken doll. He’s confident.

He’s going to be your next problem.

You pretend not to notice as Elaine points you out, as he smiles and she laughs at something he says. You straight-up ignore him as he approaches the table blockading your squeaky vinyl haven from this kind of drama.

But then he sits in a free chair across from you, clears his throat, and shoves an open hand waiting for a shake into your line of sight.

“Hey!” And he’s Scottish. That makes it worse. It’s a fucking charming accent. You’d listen to endless YouTube videos of that voice, and it’s annoying how your brain tries to stuff him into a friend-shaped mold despite the reality of your situation. “Met your friend over there. Name’s Johnny.”

You don’t want to do this again. You’re tired of playing Cerberus. But duty calls, and maybe you can nip this bud.

Heaving a very obvious sigh, you set aside your notebook – still leery of sticky spots – and limply shake the waiting hand by its fingertips.

“She’s engaged.”

He blinks. “What?”

Jerking your head towards Elaine, you clarify, “She’s gorgeous, she’s fun, and she giggles a lot. That doesn’t mean shit. She’s engaged. And drunk. She’s not going home with you.”

He blinks some more, dark eyelashes all a-flutter. Then he sits back and laughs.

“Ah, no, bonnie. ‘M sorry, but I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.”

You don’t relax. If anything, you get stiffer as you wait for the other shoe to drop. At least when someone’s trying to be a creep you know how to deal. This is something else. This is worse.

His attention’s fixed on you, and you know what people see, no matter how much you coach yourself to ignore it. Where Elaine is one of Tolkien’s elves come to life, you’re a background extra in Bree who’s always a little out of focus because no one paid a ticket to see them.

Because you’ll never be naturally elegant, you’ve worked hard on your aesthetic. Every brush of makeup, fold of cloth, and glinting accessory is an attempt to turn yourself inside out. If friends like Elaine can love who you are inside, maybe you just have to give people enough hints to see past… well, everything else. The actual effect can be off-putting. Demure is in your vocabulary but not your wardrobe. But that’s something you genuinely don’t care about. If they don’t like the parts you celebrate, they weren’t worth it in the first place.

Confident, handsome, charming men do not notice you unless they want something.

He must read how cold you’re turning, clock the precious inch you lean away. You’re stuffing your notebook in your bag and preparing to break the bad news that the night is over to Elaine when Johnny waves his hands and tries again.

“Honestly, I’m a shite wingman, but one of my mates –”

“Bet you couldn’t get my number?” You say it in the flattest voice you can, because you’re slipping down the spiral again and you don’t want your voice to shake. “Dared you to get the wallflower to dance? Have a phone prepped to film and everything?”

“No, no! Listen, I might’ve come on-”

You pull the strap of your oversized saddlebag of a purse over your head. It rattles with mechanical pencils and bottles of Aleve.

“Dude, this isn’t my first time out. Do I look like a kid? I know what I am, what I’m not, and what pretty guys like you do.”

He’s stuck, like a computer rebooting to infinity. Several thoughts seem to catch him at once, but the one that wins the race out of his mouth is, “Pretty?”

It comes out amused and a little flustered. You’d enjoy it, take pride in catching him flat-footed if you weren’t rolling at full speed towards a breakdown.

“No harm, no foul. See ya.”

Then you stop to look for Elaine. And you don’t see her.

She stands out by sheer force of personality, and while the bodies on the dance floor are packed close, there aren’t more than a dozen.

“Shit.”

Your uninvited guest follows your line of sight, reaching towards his waist, but he obviously doesn’t understand what’s flipped you from escape artist to hunter. He doesn’t know you aren’t hunting. You’re in Great Pyrenees mode. You smell a predator, and you march away as the Scotsman asks what’s wrong.

You couldn’t give less of a fuck about him and his friends’ games anymore. Ice chills your blood and fear pricks up the hair along your arms.

Be calm. Be rational. Don’t panic, because you’re the only one who knows she’s here, who’s looking out for her.

You head to the women’s bathroom first, reasoning she could be dealing with the water you made her chug.

“Ellie?”

Five girls crowd around the bathroom mirrors, and both stalls are closed. When you do the creeper squat to peek at the occupant’s shoes, you don’t spy your Cinderella’s glass slipper. You may be the ugly stepsister, but you know who her prince charming is, and it’s none of the cocksure dicks outside.

Another woman pushes through the door just as you turn to the Greek Chorus of drunk girls who’ve turned from their preening to note your search.

“I’m looking for my friend,” you say. “Long hair, bubbly as fuck…”

“She just went out back.” The one in the doorway steps back, points towards the backdoor. “She was leaning on some guy.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Thanks.” You practically sprint across the bar, ducking around the other patrons, and beeline out the door.

It crashes open against the alley’s brick wall as you burst through.

Your breath puffs white in the cool air, and you spot your friend. She looks much drunker than she should, especially after the water you just forced on her. And you recognize the guy. He’s the fucker who tried to get you to smile and nod along with his plan earlier. The dick from the bar. He’s clearly in a hurry, trying to move faster than Elaine can, all but dragging her forward one step at a time.

“Hey!”

Swooping in like an avenging fury, you catch Elaine’s scattered attention, and the creep is forced to halt as she wriggles around to smile at you. She calls your name. oblivious to what’s going on.

“We just stepped out for some fresh air,” the asshole laughs as you approach. “Stop being such a clingy bitch. I mean damn.”

You prioritize Elaine. Supporting her elbow, encouraging her to lean into you and away from the stranger, you feel how wobbly she’s become. This is not Drunk Elaine.

The stranger only lets go of his target to shove you, and you barely help Elaine sit on the filthy alley floor instead of fall before you lose your balance and stumble back. She’s helpless, and this guy isn’t cutting and running when he should.

“Back off,” he says, crowding into your space.

He’s breathing as heavily as you are, and the clouds look like smoke. Well, where’s there’s smoke there’s fire. If he isn’t willing to pretend he’s not the predator you know he is, then you won’t either.

He seizes your collar and pulls you in. You use the momentum to throw your elbow into his diaphragm. The flash of surprise over his face gives you a frigid sense of satisfaction.

Girls are supposed to shy away when big guys grab them. Pull back and protect themselves. Assholes never expect you to charge into the fight, but once they put hands on you, they essentially grapple themselves for the first round.

But the element of surprise is fleeting, and the first few hits matter.

As he wheezes, your foot slides between his, planting just behind his heel. You crack your palm up into his nose, and he instinctively tries to step back from the pain. He trips back, landing flat on his as with blood on his face.

You turn to grab Elaine, confident the bastard won’t follow you back inside if you move fast enough. She’s heavy, and her eyes won’t focus. By the time you’ve gotten her upright, the dick has climbed to his feet, too.

“You fucking bitch!” he screams. “I’m gonna -!”

“You aren’t gonna do shit, mate.”

A newcomer stands at the mouth of the alley, feet spread and arms crossed. It’s the pretty one from the Scotsman’s group. He’s glowering dangerously at the attempted kidnapper, and he isn’t alone. Like a shadow grown solid, skull-face steps into the yellow pool of light from the dim streetlamp.

“How about you fuck off,” the attacker sneers.

Behind you, the bar’s backdoor bangs open again, and you glance back to see the Scot and his remaining friend join the standoff.

The one with the muttonchops you made awkward eye contact with earlier calls, “You alright, love?”

His voice is like brown sugar and maple in autumn, rich and warm, and your belly bursts into flutters.

Absolutely mortifying.

You can’t meet his eyes as you answer. “Pretty sure he drugged my friend. I’m gonna get her to a hospital. If you wouldn’t mind waiting for the police, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.”

Finally, the asshole realizes just how deep into the shit he’s fallen, and he makes a break for the road. Skull-face catches him by the neck and pins him to the wall like it’s nothing.

“I wouldn’t,” he rumbles. “Might have an accident.”

A squeeze turns the man to stone in the titan’s grip, and the Scotsman – Johnny – sweeps up to help you maneuver Elaine along the alley, out to the street, and into a cab the (still visibly pissed) pretty one has hailed in the interim. It’s all very efficient. Very professional. You realize these men must work together regularly, and they aren’t afraid of a little violence.

Mr. Muttonchops lingers by the open cab door as you settle Elaine, and you look at his shoes. These men aren’t the twats you’d assumed. Your embarrassment mixes with guilt, and the draining adrenaline leaves you defenseless against the building well of tears.

“Thank you.”

“’M just sorry we didn’t notice something was wrong until your friend was already in trouble.”

You finally look up to his face, surprised out of your self-pity, and fuck all if he doesn’t smile at you. He nods into the cab, at Elaine, and says, “Take care of your friend.”

Then he closes the door as Johnny finishes murmuring something to the cabby, and you’re off to do just that.

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

It’s a full thirty-six hours before you realize you never closed out your tab.

To be fair, it has been a very full thirty-six hours. Summoned by the doctor, the police arrived at the hospital to ask questions and get a formal statement. You expected them to request you come into the station at a later time, but the officer lets slip the perpetrator has already confessed, and between the drugs in Elaine’s bloodwork and the matching samples taken from his hip flask, they had plenty to go on for the moment.

Elaine had a rough night, and a rough day after that. When she was released, you shuttled her home and played nurse until she decided she’d had enough of your face and insisted you take care of yourself for a while. A wave of emails pushed back any impending deadlines, and you’d just decided your trauma called for a pizza when you realized your card wasn’t in your wallet.

That leads you back to the bar. Through the front door. Up to the surly barkeep who definitely recognizes you as you weave through empty tables during the mid-afternoon lull. He has the game on an outdated flatscreen that’s too small to entertain more than three people at a time, and he steps up to meet you as your hands come up to rest on the black laminate.

The mirror is still your enemy.

“I didn’t close out my tab the other night. Would you mind…?”

He plonks your card in front of you with a receipt slip. Once you’ve signed and returned it (including tip), he slides another scrap your way.

It has a phone number written on it.

“Uh…” You blank. Have you misread every atom of this man? Doesn’t he hate you? The tip you just left was good but it wasn’t THAT good. Are you missing something? Maybe it was left by a detective or…

“From the guy with the,” the bartender pantomimes a beard. “Left it after he and his pals cleared things up with the police. Said it was for you.”

You take it. The number looks back at you, like something alive, and you aren’t sure whether it’s going to bite you as you study it. The message is scrawled on a ripped bit of napkin, informal and linking a face to an event.

The floor is wide and clear around the bar. There’s no reason to feel like you’re suddenly stranded on a tightrope strung between skyscrapers.

“Oh.” Your head feels fuzzy. Some foundational thing just got yanked out from under your feet, and you’re spinning with the feeling. “Thanks.”

It goes into your wallet with your card.

#captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price smut #call of duty x reader #cod mw fanfiction

60 notes · View notes

freesia-writes · 2 months

Text

Ch 21: Deceived

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 2.1k

If you’ve seen The Bourne Identity, this chapter is an attempt to channel those vibes.

Hunter waited until the door clicked then abruptly sat up, mind racing with her mysterious words and the undeniable air of guilt hanging over her as she’d kissed his forehead. He pulled on his clothes at breakneck speed, tucking his weapons into their usual places and slipping into the hallway. Keeping a nonchalant pace, he headed for the stairs, peering down the middle of the spiraling steps to see how far ahead she was. But there was no sight of her.

Backtracking to their door, he found no exits, just other hotel rooms. He returned inside, throwing his few things into his bag and slinging it over his back. Some raised voices in the courtyard below caught his attention, and he rushed to the windows, peering down to see the source.

His heart stopped.

Imperial troopers were pushing through the crowd, heads swiveling back and forth on high alert as they appeared from all directions and converged upon the courtyard at the base of the hotel. He cracked the window slowly, just enough to be able to hear their words.

“Standard ground op. Target is to be brought in alive. Let’s go.”

Hunter couldn’t believe it. Did Lyra know more about his past than she’d let on? Was this her doing? Where was she? And why had she apologized? He shook his head, clearing the thoughts and narrowing his focus to the well-worn habit of observation, assessment, and strategy.

The troops fanned out when they reached the door of the hotel, some going around the sides and others taking up posts around the open area. Hunter scanned the nearby rooftops, empty as far as he could see, and went through every feature of the building he’d taken mental inventory of as they’d arrived. He secured his pack, ensuring his disguise was readily available, and narrowed his eyes.

It was time to move.

He looked at Lyra’s suitcase, tempted to grab it but reeling with the implication of all that was occurring.

She could get it herself, he decided, ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest and slipping into the air duct.

“Hostile engaged.”

Hunter squeezed some careless cover fire over his shoulder, spinning behind a wall.

“Headed north. All units converge.”

A leap between buildings, a roll upon landing.

How could she have done this to him?

“Get us eyes in the sky. Hostile is utilizing the roofs.”

He sprinted across an open area, noting the trajectories of the troops below.

Had it all been a lie?

“Cut him off at the marketplace.”

He sprang from balcony to balcony, sliding down the last part of the wall and ducking into an alleyway.

There had to be some kind of misunderstanding. She really… She’d really seemed to…

“Don’t let him get to the bazaar.”

Forcing nonchalant body language as he bent over the barrels of a fruit stand, his breath was hot against his own face as he panted beneath his quickly-donned disguise. Two troops ran past, boots heavy as they matched the beating of his heart against his ribcage. He’d gone soft, he grumbled, purchasing a jogan fruit and strolling slowly through the densely-packed stalls of merchants.

He should have known better. Known that he wasn’t made for that kind of life.

“Sir, we’ve lost him.”

He would never make that mistake again.

* * *

“Most of the Republic’s records are either revised with Imperial bias or heavily encrypted,” Tech’s voice crackled quietly over the comm. Hunter’s dark eyes glittered with intensity as he watched and listened to every movement on the shuttle. “However, I was able to find some curious information from some of the Coruscant news outlets. It is… well, to be frank, it is surprising, and not at all what one would expect considering what we have thus far seen in our dealings with–”

“Get to the point, Tech,” Hunter growled.

“Lyra Vetana is wanted for being a traitor to the Republic. The Empire continues to seek justice for her offenses against the Office of the Chancellor and the political group by which she was employed.”

A wave of nausea ran from Hunter’s head to his feet, furthering his frustration at the news. He was a battle-hardened soldier. He’d been through virtually every torturous situation known to the galaxy. It had never affected him before. Yet now, he found it hard to think at all, much less with any semblance of clarity.

“She was imprisoned after it was discovered that she was selling secrets to the Separatist Alliance,” Tech continued, evoking another shake of the head from Hunter. “An unknown source enabled her to escape not long after the Republic became the Empire, and she remains on the list of wanted individuals.”

“I don’t believe it…” Hunter muttered, flames of rage dancing around the deep ache in his chest.

“It does seem a stark contrast from her character as we have yet observed it. Although it would seem that she has experience in leading a double life, which would explain her ability to deceive so easily.”

Deceive. He’d been deceived. Flashbacks of tender moments played in his mind without his permission; small moments of wonder and connection, warmth and vulnerability, all monstrous now in their complete and total lack of authenticity. He had to force his face back to neutrality, continuing his vigilant scan of the shuttle’s passenger area. Everyone seemed bored and content, and they were almost back to Xylo, but his pulse pounded in his ears as he grappled with the rollicking anxiety within.

“Her familial accomplice is also wanted by the Empire, but there is no evidence of any actual crimes on her–”

“Familial?” Hunter rubbed his forehead with a hand, clenching his jaw.

“I assume, due to the same last name. Breslin Vetana. Currently twenty-two years old. On the watch list due to conspiring with known enemies of the Republic and possessing information desired by the Empire.”

“She said it was a friend…” The muttered lament was unintentionally filled with enough pain and regret to evoke a response from Tech, low and garbled as the shuttle entered the planet’s atmosphere.

“I am sorry, Hunter. It is painful when things are not as we believe.”

* * *

“You’ve got to eat something,” Wrecker said quietly, pausing his own meal to regard his brother across the table. “It’s been weeks.”

“I will,” Hunter answered, idly pushing his food around as he hunched over his plate. Silence passed between them for a while, then Hunter straightened, dropping his fork with an air of agitation. “It’s just… We can’t just stay here and wait for them to find us.”

“We’ve got our plan, Hunter. Remember? We all know what to do. If the Empire does show up, they won’t find anything, and they’ll have no reason to come back.”

“All they have to do is ask around…”

“And we’ve got that covered too.” Wrecker’s voice was steady, his expression sincere as he took another bite of his own dinner. “It’ll be alright.”

Hunter sat back in his chair, rubbing his forehead before resting it in his palm. The last few weeks had passed in a blur. He’d filled his family in on all that had transpired, insisting that they all needed to pack up and leave because their location had been compromised. His urgency had been met with sympathy yet resistance; none of them were in a hurry to leave the lives they’d built over the last couple of years on Xylo, so they’d reached a compromise. At the first sign of any Imperial activity, they had a contingency plan, and while it hadn’t fully appeased Hunter’s fear, he’d been strongly outvoted and forced to settle.

So he’d gone hunting, finding it more difficult than usual as his focus shattered among a million thoughts.

He’d made small talk with the locals, constantly analyzing every intonation and gesture for any hint of ill intent.

He’d appreciated Omega’s quiet consolation during her short visit between internships, insisting that she repeat the safety precautions to him over and over before seeing her off again.

The sinking pit in his stomach had grown.

But he’d kept it to himself when he paid off the shuttle station attendant to let him know if anyone matching certain descriptions arrived on the island…

When he snuck into Lyra’s house to place some small devices in inconspicuous places…

When he’d investigated the nooks and crannies of her home and found a hollow panel in the wall that admitted him to a tiny back room, where he had sensed all of the metal and electronics, and discovered a variety of long-range transmitters and more weapons than any one person would ever need.

The pit in his stomach threatened to engulf him whole.

Unbidden, memories would fill his mind at the most inopportune moments. The feeling of her body snug against his as they dozed on the couch, the stubborn insistence to inspect random bits of nature, the self-conscious chuckle at her own bad jokes. They were all cast in shadow, however, covered in the sickly pallor of betrayal.

Tech had discovered some additional information one evening, prattling on while Hunter stared at the edge of the balcony, unresponsive and dejected. Family dinner was going on all around him, yet he still felt as though he were underwater somehow.

“Did you hear me?” Tech interrupted his rumination.

“No, sorry,” Hunter muttered, shifting his gaze to his brother where he sat beside them at the large wooden table.

“I said that some internal bureau files noted that Lyra’s escape from jail involved outside assistance, and the last time she was seen was on a cargo transport with a wealth of firearms. For all of the expressed aversion to weapons and the notably mild disposition, this is quite a departure from Lyra’s nearly cowardly avoidance of conflict.”

Cowardly. That word rankled in Hunter’s mind too, though he didn’t know why. She was a coward for deceiving him for so long. Why hadn’t she just given him away immediately? When had she learned the truth? Decided to turn him in? And she didn’t even have the guts to be there when it happened, to look him in the eye when the Empire showed up to take him.

“Still want to stick around?” Hunter finally spoke, gaze sharp as he stared at Tech’s impassive face.

“I require more information or an actual, tangible threat to justify a complete uprooting of the lives we have established here.”

“Will Imperial Troops at the door be ‘justifying’ enough?”

“Hunter,” Tech said, a touch of exasperation in his voice. “Plans are in place. Preparations and contingencies have been made.”

An uncharacteristically light touch to the shoulder caught Hunter’s attention, and he turned the opposite way to see Wrecker beside him, a soft yet confident expression on the large clone’s face.

“We’ll be alright,” he reassured, resting his hand atop Hunter’s back. “We always find a way.”

Hunter sighed, head lowering between his shoulders. He sat still for a moment, then pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, scooping up his plate and utensils to take to the kitchen.

“Poor guy,” Phee remarked quietly, watching him heading to the sink once inside the sliding glass door.

“Think he’s right? That we should be worried?” Wrecker asked, tilting his head at her across the table.

“I don’t know,” she confessed, casting a glance at Tech, whose thoughtful gaze was fixed on the door where Hunter had disappeared. “Something about it just doesn’t add up.”

“I’m surprised she put up with him as long as she did,” Crosshair remarked from the far side of the group. “I would have gotten my reward and been out of here.”

“Sure you would,” Echo said dismissively, clearly believing none of it as his brow furrowed in thought and he leaned on an elbow to see the others. “But why would she take him to Keytoll and do it there? Why not here, where she could get all of us at once?”

“Probably wanted to keep this a safe place to get away from it all?” Wrecker guessed.

“Yeah, but she hasn’t returned,” Echo pointed out. “And then why would she come back here when we’re all here? Any sleemo knows that’s not going to be a pleasant conversation.”

“Well, let’s just take it one day at a time,” Phee said with an air of finality. “Things have a way of coming to the surface once the water stops rippling.”

Hours passed.

Days.

Weeks.

Song: Someone You Loved by Lewis Capaldi

Previous Chapter ~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

Join the tag list by commenting for the discord server link or filling out my form.

@lightwise @littlemissmanga @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

@solstraalaa @skellymom @photogirl894 @youreababboon @anything-forourmoony

@reader6898 @moonstrider9904 @hipwell @lamiliani @catoo

@ilarria @padawancat97 @yve-barr @lucyysthings @flowered-bicycles

@maddiedrmr @techhasmjolnir @arctrooper69 @spicy-clones @ezras-left-thumb

@cw80831 @dreamie411 @meagmcc12 @waytoooldforthis78 @hunter-lvr

@baddest-batchers @yunggoblin @sweeticedtea @imperfectxprincess @ivyyyyy

@callsign-denmark @leotawrites @carlislecullensadilf @ivyyyyy

@thetechturn @burningnerdchild @galaxyofthoughts99 @salaminus @goldy-lots

@littlefeatherr @thiswitchloves9904

58 notes · View notes

leggerefiore · 10 months

Note

I know you've done headcanons with the twins apologizing after a fight, but now we gotta know how Cyrus, Larry, Nanu, and Kabu apologize! Bonus if its right before someone has to leave for a business trip or something (him or his s/o, either one) so there's a lot of time to cool off and think of a way to apologize or maybe just agonize and angst about it lol

cw: angst, couple fights, comfort,

characters: Cyrus, Larry, Nanu, Kabu

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ He was a man of little emotion. That was what he desperately wanted to believe. Controlled. Logical. Feelings had no bearing on him. Yet, he was in a committed relationship with another. One where it seemed that whatever emotional barriers he set up were forced down. This could be good, as he was forced to relax and allowed a space to stop following his ruse of the somewhat charismatic and domineering leader of Team Galactic. It was nice to have moments to breathe with another he hated to admit he had high trust for. Though, it could also be bad. Horribly bad. He was so close to finishing his plans, yet you decided to demand his attention. Loneliness and feeling abandoned by him were your chief complaints, but he failed to listen to them. It became a heated argument quickly, which he ended by packing his bags for the time he planned to be locked into his plans.

☄️ Your hurt expression as he slammed the door behind him was haunting. He had turned his personal phone off, preferring to focus solely on matters related to the Red Chain and legendaries. Words echoed in his mind. Your frustration towards him was more than apparent, but the way you had locked onto his arm had made him feel strange. Lonely… You said you felt lonely and unwanted. Accusations of him not even wanting to be in a relationship any more were heavy on his chest. What did he want? Part of him wanted to accuse you of being a useless piece of his past holding him back from everything he was going to do. The other half felt mortified he had hurt the one person that he had these complicated feelings for. If only to himself, he would admit that he loved you. His words were more than unkind. Cyrus had mostly ignored you before snapping on you for trying to consume so much of his precious time.

☄️ The way it was distracting him from his plans was driving him into a special kind of madness. It was not like him to be so caught up on things like this. Feelings came and went. You would not care for this in his perfect world, and yet here he was spiralling further and further into the thoughts of you deciding to leave him. His breath hitched in his throat as he grasped at his chest. The door to his office was locked as he was sat alone in the dark room. Cyrus was above this. He was supposed to be the embodiment of emptiness that he wished to bring to the rest of the world. Yet, he was not. Memories tormented him as your hurt face kept itself firmly burned into his brain. Finally, he broke. The Galactic Boss had to acknowledge that his plans would surely fail if he were to enact them in such a state.

☄️ Saturn seemed mildly annoyed when he announced a postponement of the plans, but he cared little for his reaction. Sure, he lied about it being under the gaze of more testing and investigating, but he knew fully well that the path to what he desired most was through that method. That apathy only lasted until he stood in front of his apartment door. It was quiet. Not there was much noise in the high-end complex usually, but he expected some sound. Had you left? He had not been brave enough to turn on his phone. His fingers tapped in the code for the door, and he stepped inside. You sat on the couch, boredly watching the television screen as it played something. He felt nervous suddenly, like his legs could no longer support his weight. Before he crashed, you turned to look at him with big eyes.

☄️ Your arms locking around him froze him in place as you rushed towards him at an unexpected speed. The warmth of your body completely claimed his mind as it forced down all the horrible worries about you disappearing. His hand came to rest in between your shoulder blades. A sigh left him. “Beloved… I apologise for my behaviour,” Cyrus felt strange speaking so genuinely to you, “I… I have been a bad partner to you. This project has simply been one of my most important ones, and I could not bear to waste a moment away on it.” Your grip on his shirt tightened at those words, obviously it was not what you had wanted to hear from him. “But, I realise that was cruel to you,” he continued, making eye contact with you, “… I love you, truly. Please, do not even think that I wish to part from you.” A kiss to his lips silenced him from whatever else he was going to say. It seemed you just wanted to soak in his presence for now, to which he was more than happy to oblige.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 Larry sat in the cab with heavy thoughts weighing on his mind. Relationships certainly were not an easy thing. Especially with a working schedule like his. Geeta had assigned him an out of region business trip, which he knew better than to try to decline. She could be quite… persistent, for lack of a better term. Though, he found she had a fierce competition in you. The news had upset you greatly, as the trip was happening during a time he had requested time off. You felt frustrated that Larry did not argue against her about his requested time off. He felt annoyed and stressed about being stuck between your upset reaction and Geeta's demanding nature. It was rare that his facade broke, but he snapped at you. His words were cruel. Too cruel. You almost instantly teared up when he told you that this would not be a problem if you were not together. There was no time to talk as you left the apartment.

🍙 His eyes stared out at the terrain below as it carried him through the Galar region. He felt too far from home. You had made him feel like he had a reason to return back from work. Larry was not ignorant about the bright changes that you brought to his life. Meals no longer felt lonely, his battles felt more meaningful with you in the audience cheering him on, and he felt like his home was more than a place to just rest his head. You spoke with him and cuddled up to him. He could enjoy the sight of you playing with his pokemon. It felt brighter now. He basically smashed that light with a bat. Embarrassment burned in his chest. You just wanted to see him more. That was not unreasonable. Yet, he blamed you for his distaste for this sudden trip. If he was not dating you, he would not feel this upset about having to take it, sure, but he also would be missing so much else instead.

🍙 Attempts to call you went unanswered, as it was clear that you did not want to speak with him. He understood. The tears welling in your eyes haunted him. Larry knew better than to say things like that, especially at his age. You deserved much better than some average man like him. It was a strange form of torture, moving through negotiations and meetings on his trip. He put his usual effort into them, not wanting to incur any more issues, but his mind was completely elsewhere. While wondering around Wyndon, he found himself searching for any to bring back as a gift for you. Nothing seemed to call out to him. That was until he saw something in a children's shop.

🍙 By the time he was back in Paldea, he could feel his blood pressure up high. His feet carried him through the streets of Medali nervously, freezing a few times in deep thought. Would you still be there? He hoped you would give him a chance to apologise. The time away had given him the ability to consider the error of his ways. He opened the apartment door quietly. The sink was running in the kitchen as he saw the light pouring out from the door way in the low light of the late evening. The middle-aged man carried himself into the home, aware that you were now. Yet, before he could reach the doorway, you stepped out and stared at him. It was quiet for much too long. An awkward moment of refusal to make eye contact followed.

🍙 Larry pulled out the gift wordlessly and offered it out to you. He let out a breath. “... I shouldn't have said that,” the words came out as his stomach twisted, “I'm grateful you put up with a man like me. I was stressed and should have controlled myself better. I assure you that won't do it again to you.” You took the box and opened it quietly. Inside was a cute Alcremie plush holding a heart. A small laugh left you. Placing it on a nearby table, you walked towards him and hugged him. He returned the affection with ease, feeling at peace after everything. Home truly was with you, it seemed. “I love you,” Larry said after a while, “... I managed to get the next few days off.” The excitement on your face was like electricity in the air. His Oricorio would be envious. It seemed you two would be able to work this out.

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 It was not like him, honestly. Nanu had become pretty passive in his older age. Discourse and stress were not really worth it, he had discovered long ago. Yet, somehow, he managed to get into a fight with his partner. It was dumb, admittedly, and not entirely your fault. The Ultra Beast you had brought back from wherever you had been made him instantly go on edge. It had to be specifically that one, too. The Guzzlord made him instantly feel on the defensive. He said something harsh things that he knew he should not have, and you seemed so shocked by his sudden shift in personality that you ran off. He had not seen you since. The Kahuna wondered if you were done with him. He supposed he deserved it for what he had said.

🌑 Though, Acerola found him moping around with Meowths and quickly put to rest any worries. You had just been called out to some battle tournament thing for Champions and had gone away on a trip. Apparently, you had captured the Ultra Beast for it. Of course, whether you would actually come back to him after the trip was over remained in the air. The girl seemed distressed about how to respond to the situation. He understood. Nanu could not stand the Ultra Beasts, but accusing you of mocking him and trying to make him think about his past failures was simply wrong. You did not know about that because he did not tell you about it. Miscommunication was common, he guessed. But, you had seemed genuinely hurt and terrified by how he changed upon seeing the Guzzlord. This is why he liked Meowths, he supposed. They did not judge people like humans did.

🌑 He still wanted to apologise to you. As much as he hated to admit it, Nanu was fond of you. The old man wished he was not, but you unfortunately had made him care for you by going out of your way to spend time with him and just by being so loving towards him. He wondered why you wasted your time on him. There were a lot of men out in the world that were greater than him. He was just a lazy cop who avoided his duties until he had to do them. But, he was not one to deny someone what they wanted. Even if that meant sharing his couch bed with another person alongside his Meowths. Acerola had no idea when you would be back, however, so he just would have to play the waiting game.

🌑 While a certain friend of his had called him unlucky once, Nanu had not thought too much about it until a familiar voice called out to him as he ordered his usual meal at the Sushi High Roller in Malie. You had seemingly come out of nowhere, sheepishly smiling at him as you stood in the entranceway. He ordered your usual for you and watched as you followed him to where the both of you were normally seated. For a while, it was an awkward silence. He thought of a few things he could possibly say, but nothing came out. Your meals were just eaten in a strange quietness. Nanu brought this on himself. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, you were staring at him. “I'm sorry,” you apologised to him, “I didn't know that you… Were uncomfortable with UBs like that.”

🌑 He shook his head. “Don't blame yourself,” Nanu reassured you, “You didn't know, and I didn't tell you. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that.” Your eyes looked towards the floor. He reached across under the table to grab your hand. “I like you, kid,” he called you that nickname to tease you a bit, “I'm not mad. I understand if you don't want to bother with an old man like me any more-” He was cut off by you suddenly grasping his hand tightly. You shook your head. He sighed. “Hey, let's get out of here,” Nanu got up and headed to pay, “I feel like there's more you want.” Needless to say, the Kahuna felt completely reassured that you wanted this relationship later, and whatever awkwardness the miscommunication brought up was destroyed the minute you two were alone together.

🔥Kabu🏅

💥 He had no idea how the fight even started, really. Something between you two just lit up like a Fire Blast. Kabu wanted to pretend that he was not the type to get jealous, but something about how much time you seemed to be spending with Raihan. He supposed it made sense with you being the Champion and all, but he just felt oddly insecure. After all, Kabu was an older man and, despite how fit he was, there were times when he could not keep up with you. He was not proud of what he said. An accusation like that in a heated moment was a mistake. Especially when he was taking a trip back to Hoenn to visit family. You looked so hurt as you stormed out of your shared home in Motostoke to go who knows where. Attempts to call you were in vain as you refused to answer, and then he lost the ability to while in Hoenn.

💥 He truly could not even comprehend how those feelings came up inside his mind. You had never shown any romantic interest in Raihan, nor were you acting unhappy or discontented in your relationship with him. Kabu simply just felt as if you had suddenly were interested in him as you had been training with him more often. He even felt as if it were cutting into the time that you spent at home with him. If you wanted to train, he was more than willing to train with you. You were both his rival and lover, ultimately. Training with you was one of his favourite things to do. The more he lamented about it, the more it seemed apparent that he was not truly convinced that you were into Raihan, but upset that he was taking up time that you both usually shared. Some wizened old man he was. Kabu wanted to laugh and cry.

💥 As the gym leader wandered around his home region, he debated a way to truly make up for what he had done. Kabu would be certain to apologise first and foremost for his words, knowing fully well that it was his fault for acting in such a manner, but he wanted to show his affection at the same time. He wandered around a few markets and stores in the tropical region before stumbling across something sweet in the Lilycove Department Store. Of course, he thought as he looked at it, that would be an obvious way to apologise and would hopefully be something that you would like.

💥 The flight back home was a slightly nervous one. He hoped you had returned home in his absence, not wanting you to have to stay at a hotel or out camping. The familiar ambiance of Galar surrounded him as he boarded a train bound from Wyndon to Motostoke with a racing heart. The region he came to make his home was always quite different from the one he had originated from. He could complain endlessly about the delays with the trains, but he opted against it. This was his home, after all. It was here that allowed him to meet you and enjoy the battles he found himself continuing in well into his ageing self. Unlocking the door to his home, he felt more determined. Kabu entered and found you curled up on the couch with his Centiskorch. The sight was refreshing. You turned to look at him with curious eyes.

💥 “I'm sorry, love,” he stood before you and hung his head a bit, “I know what I said was completely off the mark, and I shouldn't have even said it.” You stared at him with big eyes, making his heart race. Kabu wanted to laugh at how well you had him trapped. Without a doubt in his mind, he knew that he would run himself ragged to make you happy. He pulled out the gift he got for you in Hoenn. “I love you,” he said plainly, “I hope this helps convey my feelings.” You picked up the pokeball out of his hand and sent out what was inside. A heart-shaped pokemon looked around the living room in confusion. The Luvdisc clearly had no idea what was going on. There were few, if any, in Galar due to restrictions, but he pulled a few connections to bring it in. Judging by the hug and kiss you gave to him, it seemed he was forgiven and understood.

#pokemon x reader #cyrus x reader #larry x reader #nanu x reader #kabu x reader #pokemon cyrus x reader #pokemon larry x reader #pokemon nanu x reader #pokemon kabu x reader #pokemon/reader #cyrus/reader #kabu/reader #nanu/reader #larry/reader

156 notes · View notes

drkmgs · 11 months

Text

Back up plan

Warning: Angst, mention of pregnancy, swearing

pairing: Jenna Ortega x GN! Reader

story type: one shot

A/N: It's a short and painful one. Part 2? or let's settle with this ending. Also, it's not proofread...

You got your first job as a barista and met Jenna, who was already working there for 2 years now. At first, you weren't sure if she liked you or not, so you only talked to her if it was necessary, but one day, she approached you and exchanged numbers.

Both of you got to talking, and soon enough, you found yourself falling for this girl. You have had your fair share of heartbreak and that not just in romantic relationships. You confessed having a crush on her. She rejected you but wasn't pushing you away. She wanted you to stay. She wants you to stay. So, you stayed.

Soon, she became busy with her acting activities, which you respected and continued to maintain the communication, but one day, she may have had a bad day and took your joke personally. You who has their hearts on their sleeves took that as a sign. You have been too clingy.

You didn't want to be that person in her life. So, you stopped texting her, and at work, you only talked to her if it was necessary. The teasing and the joking around vanished.

It has been weeks since you two had a conversation. "Hey- uhm- can we talk?" She nervously said. "Sure, right now?" You are getting ready to go home because your shift ended. "I- I don't know if it can wait." Jenna continues. "Okay. Then shoot." You nod towards her while you're fixing your jacket.

"Can we talk outside not in here." She drags you out through the back door where the trash are. You silently waited for her to talk. "Remember the manager of my agency?" With that start, your entire mood shifted. You knew who she was talking about. You knew this guy. This guy who is married but still look at his talents like they are not at the same age as his kids. This guy is the definition of disgusting.

"We kinda started talking-" You stopped her mid-sentence. "Talking? I- Jenna, this guy is married and has fucking kids the same age we are. He introduced me to his wife the other day while preparing his coffee." You couldn't contain the anger that is rising up.

"I- I'm pregnant."

That's when your whole world went into spiral. There was ringing in your ears. "Jenna, I love you, but this was a dumb thing to do. I know you are intelligent, but believing in his lies. Does he know?" You honestly let out. "Not yet. But I know the feeling is mutual." She desperately wants to convince you or herself. "Mutual? Do you think he'll leave his wife and kids for you? That's only 5% out of 80% because the rest are scattered between your other co-workers at the agency." You start to phase back and forth.

"What are you going to do? Are you going to keep the baby, and how about your dreams of being an actor?" You stopped phasing and looked into her eyes. It was watery and bloodshot. You couldn't hold on anymore. You stepped in front of her and embraced her. That's when her tears fell.

"I want to keep the baby, but I also want to keep auditioning, and I also want him to be involved. This is his responsibility, after all." You heard her say despite being muffled in your embrace.

You sighed. You let go of her and took a step back. "Jenna, why are you telling me this? If you already know what to do?" You coldly said. There's just one sentence repeating in your head, and you definitely don't want her to say it out loud.

"I- I saw how good you are with kids, and I was hoping that you would help me if he doesn't." The hesitant in her last words came to you like a truck in high speed.

"You want me as your backup plan."

This time, you are the one who has watery eyes. You just couldn't believe it. After years of long-distance relationships, you finally found someone who you connect with in person but fucks with you, like this. You let your tears fall.

"I'm sorry. I love you, but this. It's too much. I'm sorry."

and with that, you left her there standing. You went back inside the shop, took your belongings, and went home.

#jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x gn reader #drkmgsstories #fanfic #jenna ortega angst

303 notes · View notes

catapparently · 1 month

Text

Crescent Moon, Coast is Clear

MASTERLIST • AO3 LINK A rewrite of the ball scene from averyjameson’s point of view Not proofread

“You know, Heiress,” Jameson began as he tied the back of her dress. “While they all struggle with the game and rip their hair out –though Grayson already has enough bald spots-, we could just run off and get married.”

She could feel his breath on her nape, now in faster puffs speeding along with his heartbeat. Jameson couldn’t help but stare. It wasn’t just her bare back nor the familiar little mole under her right shoulder that bewitched him and made his heart race. No, it was the way her hair was laid provocatively over the front of her shoulder, displaying her back to him. The way the soft light shone on the curve of her neck in an alluring manner, taunting and waiting for him to pepper some bites and kisses along it.

“Married? But we’re dressed in dark blue,” Avery shot back, a small smile playing on her lips. Jameson could get drunk on the way she looked at him. If the twinkle in her eyes that she always had with him were the last thing he’d see, he’d die a happy man.

“Why not? As lovely as you’d look in white, you know I never did mind being a bit more,” he paused, “unconventional.” The corner of his lips curled up into his signature sly smirk. “Oren could officiate, and Tiramisu can be the witness.”

He took a step back, finally done tying her up, though he couldn’t help but imagine it was a different set of straps and laces he’d been tying. Avery turned around, handing him a silver necklace to clasp onto her neck, and he did. His knuckles brushed against the soft expanse of skin, bringing the jewelry up to the dip at the bottom of her throat where her collarbones peeked out. He made a mental note to leave a mark there later. Then, last but not least, the mask. It was adorned with black gemstones and purple around the eyes, with tendrils of black and gold weaving in spirals and swirls. It had been designed to match both her dress and Jameson’s suit, both a deep midnight purple. Avery’s dress had silvery stitching along the layered skirt to make it look like moonlight on water, while Jameson’s suit had small, embroidered pearls with silver gemstones along the sleeves and the hem to make it look as though the moon itself was dripping onto the water.

His mask was identical to hers, though instead of purple gemstones lining the eyes, he had short strands of the same pearls as on his suit dangling from the bottom of his mask.

Just as he was about to offer his arm out for her, the laptop connected to the video surveillance cameras let out a high-pitched ding, letting them know that someone had entered the library. Lyra Catalina Kane. She was a mystery to both of them, since Grayson seemed to know her prior to the game. The coincidence that they knew each other wasn’t something neither Avery nor Jameson could ignore. The Kane girl hadn’t gotten in by invitation; she’d been one of the wild cards.

Avery had done her little investigation on Lyra. Is it Lee-ra? Lie-ra? She lived with her biological mother and stepfather, and her biological father’s name was Thomas. Thomas, like when Grayson came asking for a ‘Thomas’ that might be on the List. There was.

She still had an itch in the back of her head, telling her something was off. Either Lyra had a hidden agenda, or someone on the outside messed with her game, intentionally making sure Lyra got one of the tickets. The only person she could think of was Eve, but they haven’t crossed paths ever since last year’s game.

“Maybe you should go talk to her,” Jameson suddenly said. “You know, get a taste of her personality and see if she’s hiding something.”

“With all the tension in between them, what are the chances Grayson is out there waiting for her behind a bookshelf to make out?” She retorted, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t want to walk in and have to see that.” With that, she pressed a small kiss to Jameson’s cheek as a goodbye, stepping out the door of their room.

She made her way through the dimly lit halls, feeling a pair of eyes on her. Of course Oren was still tailing her even when the island was perfectly secure, even safer than the Hawthorne House. There was no discreet way in or out of the island since it was surrounded by water.

Finally, she made it to the library. It was circular and stretched so far up you couldn’t see its ceiling. She tried her best to step as lightly as she could without making a noise. Even the slightest sound would echo through the room and ruin the element of surprise. The mystery appearance would be in her favour, she supposed.

She finally spotted her target, who was staring around in awe.

“I’m a sucker for libraries,” she spoke up from behind Lyra. “Circular ones in particular.”

Avery cringed internally. Wow, so smart. Out of all the things she could have said, really? Even after being the Hawthorne heiress for so long, she still lacked social skills and didn’t really know how to start conversations.

Lyra slightly jumped, turning around to face her. Lyra’s gown was a dark navy blue with a tulle skirt that faded into a light pastel blue like waves.

Her surprise seemed genuine. Avery didn’t know what to feel at the way Lyra was staring at her.? Nervous? Lowkey uncomfortable but still flattered? She’d been used to people staring at her for the wrong reasons, never because they were in awe of her or what she was wearing like Lyra was. Then again, the dress was a far cry from the torn dirty jeans and the loose shirt she’d wear back when she lived in her car. She could still feel the phantom laughs, snickers and sneers of her old classmates.

“It’s beautiful,” Lyra said, tearing her gaze away from Avery to look back at the shelves.

“And you don’t trust beautiful things?” Avery asked, tilting her head.

Lyra’s expression shifted, recognizing her. “You’re Avery Grambs.”

She held back a laugh. Really? Had Lyra really thought she was Brady? After all, there was only one player the Kane girl had yet to meet.

“I was you once,” she smiled. “Trusting people wasn’t exactly my forte, either. But if I could give you a little advice, going into this game?” Oh, what a lie. She hadn’t ever been like Lyra. Both in life context and personality. New Avery, though, told people exactly what they wanted to hear. Every little thing and detail the media expected from her, she did and said.

Her little line of empathy must have worked, because Lyra still had that faint awe-struck look. “Like I’m going to turn down advice from the person who masterminded all of this?” the girl answered.

“Sometimes,” she answered, “in the games that matter most, the only way to really play is to live.”

When Lyra looked away, she took the chance to quickly run away, thankful for the soft slippers that didn’t thump when her feet hit the floor. She crossed her fingers, silently hoping that it had looked like a mysterious disappearance and that Lyra hadn’t actually seen her running off like a dramatic Victorian lady.

She ran as fast as she could back up to her bedroom. She hated running, especially in slippers. She flung open the door, panting like a dying dog. Jameson was waiting, laid back on the bed dramatically.

“Finally, Heiress, I thought you were going to leave me here to starve and die.” He got up languidly, still faking boredom and a yawn. “Our own ball already started.”

As if on cue, she heard slow instrumental music floating up from the Great Room through the door she’d left open.

“Which entrance would be the most dramatic?” she asked as she put on her heels.

“Dramatic? But I’d rather enter discretely so that I can have you all to myself to dance all night without anyone watching us,” he replied, taking her hand in his. The spiraling staircase only added to Avery’s dizziness that was sparked whenever Jameson touched her.

People, a sea of tuxedos, dresses, and masks, were already in the Great Room. Jameson led her through the crowd and all the way to the center, where some people had begun to dance. Before the day Grayson appeared in her school’s office, asking for her, she’d always been on guard everywhere she went. On the streets, in her car, at school… With Jameson, he could just lead her everywhere by the hand like she was a puppy. She didn’t have to look around cautiously and constantly be on the lookout. She trusted him. Though when they made public appearances, she was the one who took charge.

At the center, he let go of her hand, raising his palm up while facing her. “Shall we dance, Heiress? I’m sure dancing was one of the first things Alisa made sure you learned.”

She raised an eyebrow, pressing her palm to his as they walked slowly around each other. It’s a seductive type of dance, she’d been told. “And what if I didn’t? It can’t be that hard. We just spin around each other, barely even touching.”

“You don’t have to touch for a dance to be or look intimate,” he said, looking down at her and bringing his face closer to hers just the slightest bit. Enough to taunt her, but not close enough to kiss. Her breath caught in her throat, a small hitch that she was sure Jameson could hear.

She mustered her lips up into a smile, but really, she wanted to pull him down, dance be damned, and kiss him until she couldn’t feel her lips from his nibbles. “Oh really?” She looked around, making sure nobody was watching. After all, Jameson’s passionate eyes and red ears were only hers to see.

She slid her outstretched palm down his forearm, not breaking step, until she reached his nape, bringing his head down until his forehead was against hers.

“I think this is much more intimate, don’t you think?” she whispered, her breath warm on his lips. She glared up at him playfully when he ignored the cue to kiss her. “We still have five minutes before we need to start the game.”

His green eyes were smoldering, the usual smirk gone from his face. “Heiress, with you dressed up like that, five minutes isn’t enough.”

He cupped her cheek, careful not to smudge her makeup. As much as he loved seeing her face messy, her lipstick smudged around from kisses and her eyes screwed shut in bliss, she would probably kill him for it later. He finally lowered his lips down to hers, tilting her head slightly to the right the way she liked it. Their lips slotted together perfectly, moving in tandem, always in sync with each other. It was moments like this that Avery lived for and had longed for her entire life.

Between kisses, he rested his forehead against hers again, taking a breath. “Wait for me before you take this dress off tonight?” he said, taking in a ragged breath. “It would be a shame to waste such an opportunity.” With that, he leaned to kiss her again.

45 notes · View notes

crimsonscloud · 1 month

Text

new version of my oc lore go brrr.

on the 12th hour of the first day of october 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. this was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day began. sir reginald hargreeves, eccentric asshole billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. brad barrett was not one of them. (and later, he'd thank god for that.)

name: bradley barrett

nicknames: brad (preferred); walking glowstick (by five and lila); sparkler, starboy (by lila); number two (by marcus); pretty boy (by sparrow!ben); the pyromaniac (by jayme)

gender: male

date of birth: october 1, 1989

place of birth: belfast, northern ireland

hair color: dark brown

eye color: blue; gold (when using powers)

faceclaim: pascal langdale

occupation: artist

affiliation: the umbrella academy (unofficial)

relatives: erin barrett (mother)

biography (pre-canon + season one):

as a young woman living in belfast during "the troubles", erin barrett is not at all in the position to be raising a child. especially not one that she hadn't had the time to plan for. but as she rests on the floor of her apartment, a wailing baby--her son--in her arms, she cannot imagine giving him up for anything.

when a strange man called hargreeves arrives on her doorstep, asking to take her son, she slams the door in his face. it takes everything in her not to grab the monocle he's wearing and stab him in the eye with it.

what she does not know is that he has or will ask many other mothers the same question. what she fears is that soon the question might become a demand. brad spends his early years being moved about, half because of the political turmoil and half because erin is paranoid that hargreeves will come back.

(in the end, he gets seven children, and apparently that is enough for him. it does not stop erin from waking up with her heart in her throat, wondering if this will be the day she wakes to a silent house and her baby gone.)

in 2015, brad moves to an area near the city to attend art school. despite the extraordinary circumstances of their births, he meets allison hargreeves in a mundane place -- a coffee shop. one conversation turns to many. he learns that the man with the monocle his mother warned him about as a child is sir reginald hargreeves. most important, he gains a friend, and someone who can understand what it's like having grown up with superpowers.

three years later, as allison's marriage spirals into divorce, they begin to fight. she becomes distant. he lets her. as far as he can tell, they've both moved on with their lives.

so he's surprised when, seemingly out of nowhere one march day, he gets a phone call from her asking if they can talk. she tells that him hargreeves is dead, that she and her siblings have been asked to attend the funeral. she doesn't want to go alone.

while brad has little interest in attending the funeral of the man who almost stole him from his mother, something makes him go anyway. maybe it's a sense of nostalgia for a past friendship; maybe it's curiosity about the other children hargreeves stole; maybe you could even call it fate. (brad wouldn't.)

thanks to a pair of time-traveling assassins, a senior citizen in a child's body, and an impending apocalypse, his trip to the academy grounds is anything but short.

powers and abilities:

plasma manipulation: brad's core power. he can absorb thermal energy and convert it into superheated plasma.

dagger creation: brad can generate daggers made of solidified plasma. he can telekinetically guide them in a given direction or spin them around his body to deflect small projectiles. if he is stabbed by his own daggers, the energy is absorbed back into his body.

heat and light generation: brad can release stored energy as bright light and intense heat. he also has a high resistance to temperature extremes.

self healing: brad's body can heal itself if in the presence of a heat source, usually sunlight. the speed / extent depends on the amount of exposure.

superhuman sight: brad can see over greater distances and with better clarity than most, and to an extent in total darkness. he has the capability to see a person's life force / aura (and in the case of the other children born from the marigold + harlan, he can also see their marigold).

weaknesses:

darkness: brad's powers aren't infinite. spending too much time in dark areas with no access to light renders him powerless until he can recharge.

drugs: like the others, brad's powers can be subdued with drugs / alcohol. because he can self-heal, the effect is usually temporary provided he has enough energy to draw on.

emotions: being "supercharged" or using a lot of power for an extended period makes brad more prone to increased aggression or impulsiveness.

energy depletion: if brad released all of his stored energy at once, he'd pass out afterwards. holding onto large quantities of energy without immediately releasing it is also painful and physically draining.

limitations: there is an (as-yet undefined) upper limit to how much energy brad can absorb at once. if he went above this limit, his body would overheat and potentially explode.

other random facts:

a chaotic, sarcastic, many-layered-bracelets-wearing bisexual.

constantly carries a lighter, and flicks it on / off when he's stressed or just bored.

has been arrested for vandalism before.

like his original concept, brad has a bit of a drinking problem. his powers make it harder for him to actually feel intoxicated.

you know that scene from j.essica j.ones where trish sips a coffee and goes "this has alcohol in it" and jessica takes it and tells her "that's mine"? five or viktor and brad energy tbh.

he's fluent in english and irish, and also knows some phrases in latin.

he has submitted work to, and gotten into, galleries before. (do i know how this works? no.)

his body temperature is constantly warm. as a child he'd run around in the cold without a coat on; erin repeatedly told him not to do this because it increased the likelihood of him getting noticed. (did he listen? most of the time, no.)

he bleeds light when he's injured. like. his wounds glow and stuff. he still has regular blood it's just glowy. it's fascinating and also really painful if anybody other than him touches them until they heal.

his eyes also do the "reflects light in darkness" thing.

it's gonna take me ages to rewatch so i can actually write up his season two lore, but for now i'm thinking he lands in april 1963, seven months before the second apocalypse.

marcus mistakes him for the umbrellas' number two since he and viktor have kinda similar powers. nobody corrects him on it until luther is captured.

he absolutely has a scene at some point that's set to "supermassive black hole" by muse. is this important to know? no, but it's in my head.

tagging @brellafaun plus everyone who interacted with the original post! if you don't want to be tagged let me know and i'll remove you: @mrbloodbender @dis-ast3r @jasshands @beesknees18 @justsomeonenoonecaresabout @aetherbound

#oc: brad barrett #the umbrella academy oc #umbrella academy oc #tua oc #my ocs #the umbrella academy #me actually making artist!brad his main canon out of pure spite:#this feels better actually. i'm liking the vibes

31 notes · View notes

tziporarosen · 5 months

Text

FLIP A COIN

CHAPTER II

Smacking your hand over your phone, you drag it towards you with your eyes closed before opening one eye to switch off the alarm ringing through your ear drums. Your eyes do a double take as you catch a glimpse of the time, shooting you straight into immediate panic as you jump out of bed, quickly tossing on a t-shirt that is laid out at the foot of your bed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” you mumble to yourself as you pull your hair into a high ponytail, quickly wiping the mascara off your under-eyes. Zipping up your pants, you run over to your kitchen, grabbing your belt along with your radio and weapon, snapping them into place as you open the front door, only to speed back into the bedroom to grab your forgotten phone.

Walking into the office felt like a scene out of a movie, eyes gawking at you from every direction as you walked in, the other officers creating a path for you. What the fuck? Smiling in confusion and discomfort, you make your way to your glass office, your sergeant and watch commander standing with their arms crossed, waiting for you to shut the door behind you.

“So sorry, I overslept, Sir” you apologize awkwardly as you take your leather jacket off.

“You being late isn't why we are here” your watch commander stated sternly, his eyes panned in disappointment. Double what the fuck?

“Oh- whats, uh, what's going on?” you inquire with a broken voice, your senses rising to a hundred. You swallowed down, hard, as your sergeant walked to the glass cabinet at the side of your desk, scanning your framed awards and trophies for the work you've done.

“I thought giving you this case would be simple, a quick case opened and closed, but no.” he insinuated flatly, his back turned to you as his arms rested on his lower back.

“Sir, I'm so close, it's been a little harder than expected” you admit in defense, completely confused by the tension sitting in your chair, admiring the scene as you fall apart in anxiety.

“At what cost?” your watch commander chipped in, his eyes trained on your tired face, your eyes dark from insomnia.

“What? Sir I’m confused by what's going-”

“When was the last time you spoke to Officer Lanes?” he interrogated calmly as the sergeant rounded his way back to you, standing side by side with your watch commander.

“Last night? Why? Is something wrong?” you asked with concern slipping through, your gut telling you there's something they're not telling you, something is terribly wrong. You can feel it.

“Nothing is wrong, Officer Lanes is perfectly okay, but you not so much” the sergeant joined back in, watching you like a hawk.

You tilt your head back, taken aback by how they're jumping around what's wrong, speaking in riddles, almost as if they're waiting for you to spill. Confess. “Am I in trouble for something?” you interrogate in response, unwilling to jump around in circles and waste more time, or worse, incriminate yourself. You knew exactly what their ‘innocent’ questions meant, they think you've done something, you know that because it's what you do all day, it's your job.

Your watch commander exhales harshly before he throws a glance to the sergeant before he nodded at him, allowing the watch commander to explain. “We wanted to hear what you have to say before we do this, we trust you, and frankly we're both very disappointed in you” he expressed as you spiraled, your heart in your mind beating in echoes, muffling his words as he continued. “Officer Lanes came to us this morning, told us about last night, how you've been inappropriate to her, harassing her after work, showing up to her place and even persuading her into.. Uh, sleeping with you” he finished, the last part falling in a croak at how uncomfortable he was by having to be the one to say it out loud.

You couldn't help but burst into a loud chuckle of disbelief, completely nonplussed by the things you were hearing. “Do you think this is funny, detective?” the sergeant spoke up, his tone searching for amusement. Goosebumps spread over your skin, realizing this is real, you're being accused of abusing your inferior. Fuck. You couldn't feel your pulse, you felt as if you're floating into space, your mind and body numb from the shit you've dug yourself in. She's the victim, and you're the predator.

“I- that's not true.. She wanted it to-” you gulp the remainder of your sentence down with your courage as you look at their faces, knowing you've just made it worse. You just shot yourself in the foot, and there's no way out.

“I'm going to need your gun and badge, I am hereby placing you under administrative leave effective immediately. You are not to leave town, you are not to act as detective or any form of enforcement in any capacity, including court. We will let you know of any changes once the investigation is no longer pending” the watch commander asserted as he opened his arm to take your gun as you paused for a moment. “Detective,” he warned gently.

“Sorry” you mumbled as you took the badge off your belt, passing it to him with your eyes pinned to the badge in his palm, your hands trembling as you processed what had just happened. “What now?” you whispered, your eyes blurring ever so slightly as you glanced up at them both.

“You go home, think over your defense” your commander advised, a faint crack in his voice seeping under his stoicism, confirming to you it wasn’t a decision either of them wanted. Clenching your jaw to hold the tears desperate to escape, you nod in understanding as your chin tremors.

A stillness that can only be described as a frozen moment in time takes over before they separate from one another, creating an opening for you to exit your office. Swallowing your pride, you step out in silence, the whispers dancing around you as they gaze at the consequence of negligence and emotions. You expected to feel angry, but all you felt was betrayal, not only by her, but by yourself as well, allowing yourself to end up in this position. Now you've lost it all, in a flash of a second, you've lost your career, your dream, and Sevika.

Your feet formed a mind of their own as you walked to your car, your head ringing profusely as the heel of your foot hit the concrete beneath you with every footstep. You had no idea what's next. Leaning on the little voice in your head, you drove down to the little bar hiding a block away, welcoming all the walking dead men and women, every degenerate and drunk, keeping eachother company.

Locking the door behind you, you take a deep breath before pulling the door open, walking into the somber bar and sitting down in the corner, away from any form of life. “I'll have a Johnnie, neat. Please” you murmur as you rest your head on your palm, your elbows keeping you up.

“Tough day at the office?” the bar man inquired as he poured your whiskey glass, sliding it over to you as he walked up to you.

“You could say that” you replied with an audible scoff, still in disbelief at the turn of events.

“You stuck on a case?” he suggested as he turned his back to you, placing clean glasses on the shelf, preparing for the afternoon rush while it was quiet. You furrow your brows as you look up at him, taken aback by his knowledge of you being a cop.

“How did you-?”

“It's obvious you're a cop, jeans with a t-shirt and a leather jacket? Seriously? You couldn't be a more stereotypical cop.” he pointed out as he turned back around to face you, one brow raised as he scanned your attire.

You let out a little chuckle as you down your drink, amused by his judgemental analysis. “You should be a detective yourself, Mr Sherlock” you rebuke playfully as you slide your glass back to him, indicating for a second pour.

“I should, shouldn't I?” he remarked with a warm little laugh of his own, pouring your glass before he pulled his attention to the man at the other side of the bar calling him over. You grab your second glass, allowing the whiskey to burn its way down your throat, getting rid of the lump hidden in it. You let your head back down to the bar as your arms shield your face, your foot tapping against the bar rod along with the slow beat of the music playing in the background. An oncoming shuffle of a person approaches before they sit down beside you, their leg slightly brushing against yours as you shift back slightly, not bothered to pay any attention to their presence.

“Do you usually start drinking at 11 AM?” your heart falls to your gut at the voice, the owner of it being only one possible person, and here they are, delivering themselves to you. In reflex, you slide your hand to your gun holster as you lift your head, only to be met with her brow raised, amusement lingering in her stone eyes. “Tsk, they took your gun, remember?” she taunted as she slid her jacket slightly, revealing the pistol in her holster. “They didn't take mine. stay” she asserted, her tone flat, almost as if she's bored, routined.

“W-what? What are you doing here?” you ask as you lower your leg to the ground, preparing yourself for an easy escape. Her words were so contradictive with how calm she was, there were no nerves in her, she was confident. Her arms looked as though she didn't need her gun to kill you, a simple wrap around them and she'd crush you, her build was hunched over the thin bar stool, her shoulders leaned forward as she relaxed.

“Do you usually stutter when you investigate someone?” she pondered, her eyes now turned to her glass as she raised it before pinning her attention back to you. “Cheers?” she offered, a thin smile forming for the first time since you met.

“Cheers? To what?” you questioned cautiously, your body frozen at a loss of escape, or defense for that matter, and her aura was making you extremely unnerved.

“To freedom” Sevika answered, her features sharp as she waited for you to obey.

For some reason, her words, mixed in with the smug grin plastered on her beautiful face pulled a rage only the fool would act on, and it looked like you were a fool, with a death wish. You didn't have a weapon, but you had a fair amount of skill, not enough to beat her, but enough to let your adrenaline convince you that you can. Lifting your glass to feign a cheer, you pull the most convincing smile you can muster as you watch her cling her glass against yours. Catching your opportunity, you shift your arm forward and smash the glass onto her head, causing her to grunt heavily as she loses her posture, giving you just enough time to gain a head start.

The lungs in your chest clamped together, ready to keep you afloat for this escape, hoping to put those running skills to good use. Slamming the bar door open, you let your feet take charge, running as fast as you can, each breath counting down as you made it further and further. You didn't dare look back, knowing if you do, it'll be a lost cause, it always is. All you knew was that she was behind you, you could see her shadow against the hot day, the sun reflecting on the pavement. She was getting closer. You strategize as you keep going, scanning for the best route to take, knowing the area like the back of your hand finally came useful, pointing you to the perfect alleyway.

Sudden silence takes over, her shadow disappearing like a faded imagination, leaving you to lower your guard, slowing down as your run shifts into a jog as you enter the alley way. You find a wall to lean on, using it as a reinforcement to catch your lost breath, your chest heaving as you shut your eyes.

You open your eyes back slowly before they go wide as you stand before her, her body shading you from the sun as she stood there and watched you, her breath far more recollected than yours. “I win”

You let out a little shriek as you jump up slightly, comepletey taken aback by her presence. How did she beat you here?

“We're quite alike if you really think about it. You know every creek and corner of every street, so does someone like me. You know how to operate a weapon, so do I. And best of all, you know how to lie and convince anyone to do whatever you want them to, and guess what? So do I. So tell me detective, what makes you so different from me?” she interrogated, her words clear and distinct as she scanned every shift in your pupils. Your stomach was in circles at how nervous and scared you were, there was no way out now. You knew you'd either leave here in a stretcher, or in a body bag. She didn't have her physique for show, she was strong and you could tell, her forearms showed her weight capacities, her legs looked like she could suffocate you with them in no effort. You needed a plan B, maybe it was time to stand up for yourself, hoping that will throw her off.

“I dont kill for my own benefit” you spit as you take a step forward, not ready to let her win just yet, you can’t let her scare you.

“Oh, you're a brave one aren't you?” Sevika cooed as she took the challenge, stepping forward as well, your chest ghosting on her shirt.

“It's not bravery, I would need to be scared to be brave, and you don’t scare me” you lie, hoping your locked jaw will convince her otherwise. With your heart on pause, you watch time slow into a still quietude as she glared down at you, attempting to figure out your game, because you both knew this was a dangerous game. You couldn't tell if she was plotting or simply waiting for you to fold, but the tension was quickly melting you to speak up. “I deal with dirt like you everyday, you'll have to do a little more than that to make me scared of you” you scorned.

A little smirk grows on her dark lips, taken aback by your words. “Okay detective, let me see you catch me without the security of a gun and badge, you think you can do that?” Sevika jibed as she lifted the leather hook over her pistol. Grabbing her gun, you back up immediately, only to watch her lower it to the ground, her eyes not leaving yours for an instant.

Fuck.

You watched her stand back up before tossing the gun back a little more with her foot as she crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for your response. Both of you knew sevika would win, there was no question about it. You had your skills of course, but without your badge and gun, you were at a severe disadvantage. It was a game you couldn't win, and deep down, you knew it.

“Show me what you got princess”

#wlw #arcane #lesbian #sevika #sevikasimp #writer #sevika smut #lesbian romance #cop criminal

32 notes · View notes

fandonnavyce · 7 months

Text

Jason In Wonderland - Part 2

Part 1 Part 3

AO3 Link

Jason asked once again why a King in this Supernatural Dimension would have any interest in him. But the couple only gave cryptic answers before speeding away on their motorcycle. The two giggling, "You're his type", was the straightest answer he got before the couple disappeared out of view.

“OK so it doesn’t matter which way I go; it’s only a short Hunt away,” Jason tried to psych himself up. His eyes roved the unnatural expanse before him. Jason decided to pick the direction which could only be labelled as Away.

He kicked his feet and felt his body push forward.

...

Jason had been a little too busy screaming in agony and then being stuck in maddening conversation. But (as he felt his body bob along merrily) Jason realised something.

He was flying!

There was nothing solid beneath his feet; nothing was supporting him. Gravity had no hold on him. He was floating in a green-tinted void!

Holding his arms in an aeroplane pose, Jason allowed his body to tilt. And he started flying in his leaned direction. Giddily, Jason did loop-de-loops. Because he was flying! Jason did a few laps, picking up speed, getting faster and faster, circling and tumbling everywhere. Spiralling high at accelerating speed, before nose-diving below headfirst, burrowing into neverending depths. Then freezing in place. At the instant of a thought.

A massive grin was on Jason's face as he laughed in delight. How did Kyrptonians bear not just flying all the goddamn time?

...

Skulker’s Island really was unmissable.

Jason spotted the floating island with its landmark Skull and soared over. He made sure to climb high and ascended over the island. With his bird-eye’s view of the Island, like an optical illusion or a trick of the light, he could now see the Revolving River of Doors. An uncountable number of purple doors of abstract design floating in corkscrew spirals, drifting in orbiting revolutions. A swirling river of doors as far as he could see. Jason tried to spot which door might be the one to Gotham from a distance. But all the doors looked as spooky and avant garde as each other from here. He decided to get closer.

Jason hemmed and hawed in front of a purple door. Out of all the purple doors it surely did match the description, ‘A Purple Travesty to Gothic Art Deco’. However, there was one little problem. It was far too small. It was the size of a mouse hole.

Jason crouched down and patted his finger tip against it in an imitation of a door knock. The door warmed at his touch, pulsing in mirrored response. Jason blinked in wonder. “Huh. Ok. Excuse me, sorry, is this the door to Gotham? I would like to go through.”

The tiny door warmed again but this time with the whirring of a buffering electronic. Then it materialised a black bubble. Which burst and Jason reflexively caught what was inside into the open palm of his hand. It was a thimble-sized bottle. A whiskey decanter with a fancy crystallised stopper with a black ribbon wrapped around its neck which read in cursive silver,

“DRINK ME”.

But Jason wasn’t an idiot. He was a born and bred Gothamite. Uncorking the bottle he lightly sniffed it. It didn’t smell of Joker Venom, any of Scarecrow’s fear toxins, Poison Ivy’s preferred pheromones, or any of the less specialised and more common drugs and poison.

Cautiously, Jason dabbed a drop onto his fingertip and licked. It tasted like one of Alfred’s hot chocolates, thick, sweet, and creamy. In unthinking delight, Jason gulped the rest down.

As he savoured the aftertaste, Jason felt pins and needles crawl all up and down his arms and legs. Then between one blink and the next, the door was the perfect size. Jason lifted his hand onto the adorned black brass door handle and swung the door open. Arrogantly rolling with shadowy furls, thick smog languidly spilled out into his face. Jason smirked. ‘Good ol’ Gotham,’ Jason thought to himself.

For the second time that day he stepped across dimensions.

Unfortunately, it became real apparent that Jason had not returned to Gotham City, Earth.

Jason Todd sorely wished that he’d been more specific when asking for directions. For he had landed in Gotham. But it was even more obvious that he had arrived in Gotham, the Supernatural Otherworld Edition. (The sky was still a void of swirling haunting preternatural green. But there was a misty haze to everything, a blur that went beyond Gotham’s smog.) Or at least an Impressionist version of them. It was like the defined lines of reality were brushing up against each other and smudging; the glances leaving each other more indistinct with each faint touch.

Jason walked down semi-familiar busy streets amid Gothamites who were the shades of people and echoes of walking crowds; indistinct and blurry; a constructed memory re-enacted. Jason eyed up and down the front window of Tony’s. One of his favourite pizza joints, who’s owner was one of Red Hood’s. Unlike its neighbouring buildings, Tony’s was brought into sharp relief.

“Curiouser and curiouser.”

“̷̼͗My̸̜̍ ̷͎̈b̴̬͋el̷̻̉ov̸͇̌e̵͚̓ḓ̷̓ ̶͇͒Re̶̫͗d̵̬͌ ̸̩͝Kń̵̲i̷̘͌g̸ĥ̷̡t̴̮̓,̵͎̿ ̶͙̋wh̸̽a̶̼̍t̸͔̉ ̷̢̿ma̵͕͝ỳ̵̧ ̸͔̀ȳ̶͎o̶͉͠u ḇ̵̕e̴̖͊ ̵̝͒dǫ̴͘i̴n̴̠̄g̸̪͝ ̶̭́h̵̺́er̶̢̈́e̴̪̋?"(surprise, delight, wonder)

Jason spun around. His surroundings blurred out-of-focus and were swallowed up into indistinct smog. All of the reality’s focus was concentrated on the figure before him:

Lady Gotham.

There was no way else to describe them. Just like how the Statue of Liberty was Lady Liberty; this blood-headed figure begowned in the velvet black of a shadowy night’s bewitching mysteries; bedecked in the poor man’s sweat and tears turned oil-black svelte evening gloves, and adorned with the anguished screams trapped in resplendent pearls that hung like noose around her neck and dripped like spilled blood from her earrings.

Of course she was Gotham.

Jason bows. “Lady Gotham” he greets. “I seek your help. I’m not where I wish to be.”

Gotham laughs. It’s the screech of a night owl, the scrape of fork against a porcelain plate, the mirthless titter of a socialite. It puts Jason’s teeth on edge.

“Not all who wander are lost.” Gotham smiled. It was cruel. It was uncaring. It was welcoming. “A̵̍̑͜r̶̞̳͋e ̸͍͜͝ÿ̶̢̥́o̸u No̸̖̯̽t̴͘ Họ̸̅̅m̸̿ẻ̸̩͘?̷̅ M̴̢͙̜͇͓̂̑̉͝͝¥̶̖͙͖͇̳̃̿͑́͠ Sð̶͓͚̟̟͚͗̅̃̋̒ñ̸(Mine, mine, MINE)(My-Twice-Born)(My Red Knight)(My Beloved Bloody Butcherbird).”

Previous Next

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dead on main #jason todd #crossover danuary week 2024

43 notes · View notes

cutegirlmayra · 10 months

Note

Prompt: The latest battle with eggman send Amy and Sonic deep into the wilderness. Communicators broken, trackers busted, and Sonic breaks a leg leaving Amy to find them food, shelter and protect Sonic. While they rest Amy asks Sonic questions about their relationship that she's always wanted to know but too scared to ask. They talk but are discovered and Amy has to fend off the robot until Tails finds them. After they're saved Sonic has a new appreciation for Amy and is happy she's in his life.

Prompts are on shutdown EVERYWHERE, posting on my other writing sites DOES NOT mean you get your prompt done XD It’s only through here, on Tumblr, when the GRAND REOPENING is announced, which it is NOT. Thank you, lovely Cuties~ I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I’m trying to finish Fanfiction TAT

Prompt:

A spinning, spiky blue ball revs itself up in the air at a high-pitched frequency, dropping down almost with an intense sense of gracefulness as it tears seamlessly through Eggman’s latest doom’s day device.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!” Eggman grips his head with both his massive, puffy gloves and reels his head back, “I won’t let you get away with this! Not this time, Hedgehog!” Stomping around his large ship, he slams his hand on a button which triggers a lever he pulls down, thus activating a flipping panel on the ground that looks like a car’s gas pedal which he stomps on, and in turn lowers a dangling line above his head with a triangular grip that is meant to be tugged.

Still fuming, grinding his teeth against each other, he growls and reaches up like a train conductor and pulls it, “Take this! You spiny little cretiiiinnn!!!”

With a howling roar, spit flying from his agape mouth, Eggman’s ship lowered the tip of its nose, making the haul of its stomach ‘chin-dip’ and slam down to the ground.

Sonic, still well-within the confines shredding through the ship’s interior, suddenly found his once-smooth aerial dive now wonkily swerving before turning horizontal.

As Eggman laughed, Sonic’s spin ball started creating heat and pressure… Sonic didn’t stop the rotation, but soon was slowly breaking through the hard metal one more and popped out of a hallway, moving now like a spinning-top on his side.

Eggman’s face dropped, “WHHHAATT???!!!” He slammed his hands down, looking with horror and shock at the cameras and following the image as he sweated in fear.

The Cameras zoomed in, and it showed Sonic using a single toe, perfectly placed on the tip of his foot, to keep himself spinning at such high speeds while turned on his side.

“Curse that infernal-!” Eggman smushed his face with gripping fingers, before a robot tugged on his coat and made him look down, “Hmm?” He saw the robot pull out a crowbar, and point to it.

Eggman blinked twice… before smirking wickedly to him…

When Sonic burst through the doors of the control room, balancing out his spinning top self and wobbling to try and locate what to shred into next, the tiny robot by the side of the doors, hiding from sight, swung and hit his spinning leg.

There was a crack and Sonic unspun with a dramatic pose of spiraling in the air, his eyes squinted shut in pain before Tails’s X-Tornado dived and shot through the window, making air burst into the space and–as most vacuums do–thrust Sonic out of the room and be dragged by the sky out into the open space.

“Grr… Trying to get away that easily, eh?” Thinking he had the upper hand now, even though he was kneeling on the ground and having a hand bring down his goggles from the rushing wind, Eggman still tried to sound cocky and confident.

“You there!” He pointed to the robot who was on the ground now, his hands under him, surprised that plan actually worked and jolted with a spark at being addressed, turning to his commander and sovereign Eggman. “Don’t just lay about!” He swiped his arm out, “Do something!!!”

Realizing the Doctor was putting everything onto his tiny computerized brain’s hand to hatch another genius but simple idea, the robot waddled over a bit awkwardly to the cabinet.

Delicately, he opened it and flinched at the door swinging open, then pulled tenderly out a bazooka.

“Oh, I forgot we had one of those…” Eggman’s face looked a little like a man having forgotten where he put his keys.

Cocking it, the little metal and cylinder soldier began to try and walk towards the window before the wind began to pull him out as well.

His tiny little tin legs wiggled vigorously, but his firm grip on the large firepower he was wielding didn’t budge while he spun slowly during the drop into the air.

“TINY TIMMM!!!!” Eggman cried out, holding a hand out to him, “YOU BETTER BLAST HIM WHILE YOU’RE OUT THEEERREEE!!! This isn’t a vacation, you know! You’re still on duty!!!” He gripped that hand into a fist, showing that he was giving an order, not a moment of compassion.

The Robot, having oily tears in their eyes, realized that Eggman just gave him a name.

Even though the irony of breaking Sonic’s leg, and the christmas season didn’t quite register with the robotic soldier, he took that as a sign of promotion into Eggman’s steely, black heart and was determined to not fail him.

He turned his body toward looking to the earth, and watching to see where Sonic landed…

“Soooniiiccc!!!” Tails cried out, turning around the plane but Eggman was sure to grab at the controls and fire at him, making Tails unable to pursue Sonic’s descent. “Err..!” He squinted an eye, having to pull up. “I can’t reach him!”

“What?” Knuckles, on his communicator, looked down at it as Amy covered her mouth in alarm. “What do you mean..?” His eyes shook a second and looked up with Amy, as they each scanned the skies…

Amy then gasped, “Look!” She pointed one hand out towards the flaming blue speck in the sky, falling towards the jungle-like forest, and another on Knuckles’s shoulder to gain his attention to the detail.

“Grr..!!! That lousy-!” Knuckles shook a fist, but pulled Amy up over his head.

“W-Wah-Whaaa!!!” Amy shook out her arms, “K-Knuckles!” She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but suddenly feeling like he was going to throw her, she summoned her Piko-Piko Hammer.

“Grrr… I can’t fly to him in time! You’ll have to reach him on your owwwnnnn…!!!” Just as her instincts had foretold, he launched her through the air and she curled, her little red and white-trimmed dressing making it look like a badminton ball flapped wildly as she spun while still keeping her dress on.

Her hammer rotated so profusely, that as her own spinball hit against the trees, bounced off the ground, or slammed against rock, it kept her momentum moving and propelling her ever closer to the falling Sonic.

Finally, soaring up with one final, hard hit to the ground, she unspun and reached for Sonic… noticing the pain in his face and braving through the flames of his burning body to catch him before a deadly fate.

She landed on a tree’s branch, but it fell and they both started to fall painfully through scratching twigs and leaves.

When Amy woke up… snow had begun to fall in the forest, and her little nose wiggled a second before her mouth wound-up twice and sneezed, pushing the small flake off.

“Emm… S-Sonic?” She rubbed her head, slowly getting herself onto her rear and sitting somewhat more upright. “That was a rough landing…” She groaned through the aches, but then gasped when she remembered, “Sonic!!!” She started to grip and throw up the leaves below her, searching frantically for him.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face, gritting her teeth as her eyes shook in loving worry, ‘His leg was just dangling kinda weirdly in the air, just then… Was it injured?’ She kept calling his name… to no avail.

Her chest fell and rose with cold air quickly icing her resolve, stinging at her heart already pumping with the warm adrenaline to save the man she called hero… whom she loved, dearly.

“SOOONIIICC!!!” She finally let out a single, elongated note of his familiar name…

Silence… the snowy forest…

Her breaths clung to the air like hot mist, pocketing that space before disappearing as quickly as blowing a bubble to pop. Scrambling, she got up to locate her communicator.

Pieces of the broken device were pulled out and held up to her face, making her look down as though her heart had sucken to that cold ground as well…

“No… Did I not…” Her shoulders bounced, tears unable to remain corralled in the pools of her lower eyelids. “Did I not make it in time..?”

Her hand shook with that open thought, as the pieces of metal slipped through her fingers, falling to the light snowy patches below her feet.

“Sonic…” she gripped her fists and felt herself faltering in being able to remain upright, hunching over. “Sonic…” She felt she was at blame, and slunk to her knees, freezing her even further to what could be the harsh reality of the situation…

“No… I won’t believe it.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “I… I gotta keep looking for Sonic..!” She bit her words as though to hold them fast to her heart, “Sonic…” She muttered once more, “Soooniiiccc!!” She reared herself up and began to charge about the area, searching everywhere, leaving no square foot unmarked by her own shoe’s print.

She could hear the sky battle above her head, and looked to see that Tails was still engaged with the now, downwards angle of the Eggman fleet’s main air-cruiser.

Her eyes couldn’t help but tremble, her body leaning away before her hands flung up and tightened around each arm. “I can’t… I gotta keep looking for him.” Her lips felt chapped and the cold only reminded her of the drying of her tears… before she quickly aboutfaced to keep looking for him.

Walking up a hill, treading through its piles of snow, she looked up to see the sky was now blanketed in the smoke of Eggman’s senseless war. “Guess I can’t rely on Tails or Eggman as a point-marker now.” She blinked through the chill of the wind, and sighed as she tried to figure out where she hadn’t looked.

“Could he have really been tossed from me so far..? OFFPH!” Tripping over some blue grass, she had scraped her knee and got up, shaking her head from having snow blanket it for a moment-

Blue… Grass?

Her eyes widened and she lifted her leg to see the gentle sway of the blue quills, just the tip sticking out from beneath the snow.

“SOONIICC!!!” Her heart about leaped out through her flailing to get back up, tugging on the quill and realizing it was fully stuck under the snow. She began to dig like her life depended on it, and… to a degree, he was.

“Sonic, breath! Speak! Wiggle! Do… something!” She tried to speak out before finally getting an arm and exclaiming loudly in surprised triumphant that she had gotten to him.

She tugged and began to pull him out, but he felt like dead weight.

Panic lit up her senses and now, she couldn’t feel the cold, but hoisted him up onto her back and began to run down the hill, hurrying to where they had last been, finding an open tree’s roots there and finding it a good, hollow den to at least try and wake Sonic up in.

Using the fallen leaves, she constructed a small bed for him, laying him down as saw that one of his legs fully detached from the bone.

She covered her mouth, “Oh no…” The pain must have knocked him out… he was probably passed out from the wind blasting by him on his fall anyway…

She gently touched the burnt ends of his quills and fur… Her eyes bunching up as though unable to see him in such a state.

“Oh, Sonic…” She brought his head up and tried to warm him, blowing lightly warm air out of her throat to his face.

“Please, Sonic… You have to at least show me you’ll be alright…”

After a while, Sonic woke up to find his leg was perfectly straightened by two twigs, and someone had put it back in it’s socket… “Ah… Glad I was asleep for that.” He twitched at the pain but tried to move to turn around. However, it was too much for the poor hedgehog, having endured firepower beyond normal mortal means, he couldn’t possibly stand for the fiery pain of a severely broken leg.

“Gahh…” He tried to lean up, “Who… Where am I?” He noticed a fire was burning, and looked strangely at the comforting glow, realizing he wasn’t alone.

“Tails?” He first questioned the thought, ‘But then… he’d just take me back in the X-Tornado… I’d be having warm soup by now…’ He squinted one eye down and finally was sitting upright, being careful to not move the lame leg, “Knuckles?” It was reasonable, but that echidna wouldn’t be foraging for berries or anything. He’d imagine Knuckles would have sat by the fire, the earth too hard to dig through during the winter seasons…

So that meant…

“Amy?” He raised an eyebrow, as though second-guessing that before hearing a bright voice exclaim in joy at hearing her name being called.

“Oh! Sonic! You’re awake!”

Waiting a moment, he smiled as Amy came rushing in, holding more firewood that she quickly just dumped to the side, some catching fire but she didn’t care at the moment. “SOONIICC!!! I was so worried about you!” she hugged him which made him have to hold back a cry, his banded leg with two sticks keeping it from twisting and turning further only moved slightly from Amy’s tackling hug.

She was warm, though… and her voice filled him with ease.

He hugged her back, “Thank you.” He calmly stated, “But what happened?” He looked to her face, then outside to the rain of explosions that sounded in the blurry, clouded sky… “Is that… smoke?”

“Em.” Amy nodded, letting him go and tilting her body in the same direction as the sounds, “The communicator broke on our fall, I don’t know how long Tails has been fighting in the air, but I’m pretty sure Eggman and our friends have lost sight of where he landed.” She lowered her shoulders a bit, then rotated one around to stretch it. “Hoo…”

“Amy? You okay?” He noticed she looked a little worse for wear as well, “You’re stone cold to the touch.” He placed a glove to her arm before reflexing off of it, then placing it there again. “How long were you out there..?”

She smiled, glad he couldn’t recollect how close to death he was while in the cold of the soggy snow he was buried under moments before.

“It’s nothing~” She chimed, “I’m a tough girl, as well as cute, after all!” She put her hands to the sides of her cheeks, trying to get him to not worry about her so much.

“I think we should probably move when the smoke rolls out… or when the gunfire finally stops.” She admitted, looking to the skies again and dropping her hands to her knees.

Sonic later asked her about how she got to him, and she explained the whole story… eeexcept the part about him almost suffocating under snow.

They talked and ate some of the wild onion grass she had collected, finding not a scrap left on the trees or bushes, figuring the other little critters had stored up for the coming winter anyway.

Not really liking the taste of it, Sonic just tried to see if he could hop on one leg, but Amy refused to let him go out to fight again.

Reluctantly, Sonic decided it was only polite to thank his brave rescuer by waiting it out.

But all the while… they worried about their friends well-beings… as the canons kept going off relentlessly.

“... You think they’re winning?” Amy asked, “Or… Eggman is at least… missing?” She flinched as a large blast seemed to hit the ground a couple long miles away from them.

Sonic, with his hands behind his head, and a blade of onion grass sticking out of his mouth, took a frustrated breath in and sighed out just as quickly. “We can’t hide out here forever, Amy… My leg isn’t gonna heal that quickly.” He tried to reason with her, and she knew that was probably right… but…

“Just… a little longer… let’s believe in Tails and Knuckles… to solve this on their own, okay?” She looked back with a forced smile, her hand gripping her heart. “Seeing you like this… it makes me… unable to let you go… right now.” She admitted, lowering her head and not having the courage to look at him in shame.

He eyed her with a turn of his gaze, not moving his head, before closing his eyes and not saying anything more about it.

The wind howled… before a foot fall was heard and Amy perked up, her ears twitched and she rushed out from the intertwined roots, “Knuckles!?” She exclaimed, more than expecting to see he had found them… before…

“... Sonic! Roll! Now!” She threw herself back to him as he looked to see a large missile fired into the hole.

Crying out in pain, he rolled as the blast sent the two flying to the back of the hollow tree.

Amy picked up Sonic’s spiky spinball, “Don’t uncurl! Whatever you do!” She cried out, as Sonic also–through immense pain–called her name but she was already grabbing a stick from the fire, the rest of the roots on fire from the blast anyway, and charged out of the large space.

She gasped as she noticed a small Eggman Robot, cocking the bazooka which had smoke slithering out of its mouth.

“You…” Amy’s eyes narrowed, her anger giving her the needed heat throughout her body, ready to fight.

“He’s already injured! Leave us alone!” She shouted out, but Sonic couldn’t help and voice his concerns as well.

“Amy! Your back!” She could feel something cool drip down in different areas from her exposed back… but it was already frostbitten and she didn’t dare think about what he was referring to.

“I’m fine. You just stay put and in your ball, Sonic.” She breathed through the pain that was now burning from her back.

However… this sting was like when she first lost Sonic, it moved her forward, adrenaline coursing through her like Sonic moving through a winding course.

Amy set Sonic down, “Amy!” he cried out again, moving in wobbly attempts to ‘roll’ after her as she stepped up to bat.

“It’s okay, I’m your strength too, Sonic!” She pulled the hammer up behind her shoulders, “Ready…” she narrowed her eyes, skidding a foot forward as though truly a baseball pro up for bat.

Sonic tilted his rolled body against her other, back leg, “Amy…” He couldn’t argue with that.

“... Aren’t I..?”

Uncurling, Sonic groaned out as the leg–the wooden beams now snapped and bent–was forced back into a straight position. His own problems meant nothing to him right now, though.

He looked up at Amy, seeing the wavering belief in her eyes, remembering that for a moment… she may have been the ultimate end for Sonic The Hedgehog…

Her memory went back to having no sign of him… and that haunted her… Was she really able to be there for Sonic… the way he was always there for her?

A shadow rose to meet her own on the ground, lightly shaded, as the clouds of smog were starting to clear out.

She gasped, looking down to see Sonic’s silhouette was on one leg, his arms then trailing up to her own around her hammer.

She could feel the warm and comforting breath he spoke by her cheek, telling her to wait on his signal.

The robot fumbled a little getting the bazooka back in order, but then went to fire.

“... Now.” Sonic’s voice was light, but his grip held stronger around her hand.

She swung with everything she had while Sonic fell back to the ground, unable to hold himself up much longer due to the crippling pain.

The missile fired but Amy heard Sonic say, “Now let go!!!!” In a ripping sound that shredded through her heartstrings… realizing how much he was suffering, but how that simple act showed her that he did trust in his friends–especially her in this moment–to get through it.

She let the hammer go and balanced herself, her dress spinning to one side of her body before the hammer’s top plugged and jammed itself into the firing bazooka.

The Robot made computerized noises of horror before exploding along with the gun.

Sonic and Amy fell by each other’s side in the blast, and Amy gripped onto Sonic.

In the cold of falling snow… the two breathed through great pain…

Shared pain… as Sonic’s and Amy’s eyes looked up to each other’s… and a smile greater than pain emerged upon both their faces.

“We… erk… did it.” Amy’s back jerked from the tortuous mix of frost and burn mingling upon its bare skin…

“No, Amy.” Sonic also couldn’t keep both eyes opened, but squinted one. His charming smile never faded though, “You did it… You’ve always got my back.” He gritted his teeth, but tried to make it look like a bright smile. “Thank you… again… A-Amy…”

Knuckles soon found them, Tails flew them home, and they ended up resting on opposite couches from each other.

While she read the insisted book about King Arther, the one Sonic kept trying to convince her had happened to him being pulled into it, making him miss one of their planned dates, he also reached over and held her hand, pretending to fall asleep.

She smiled as she read more of the book… wondering all the while…

“... Sonic?”

She knew he wouldn’t answer.

“If I am your strength… why do I feel like… I’m not?” She put the book down over her chest, turning to the couch’s spine to avoid looking over to him. “If I was your strength… I wouldn’t have shut you into that tree hole den… I would have trusted that I could get you out of there… carry you to safety, and reunite with Tails and Knuckles again to save the day.”

While she spoke, Sonic pretended to be asleep, but listened closely.

“... Then… When you braved the pain of your leg to stand beside me..? I knew then… that while you were down, so was my strength.” She teared up, “But when you got up…” Her voice began to wane and take on a higher tune, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her glove. Her lips trembled, but she continued, “I… I need you more than I think you need me, Sonic… And that… That worries me.” She sniffled, “Cause… Cause what if I’m needy? What if… without you… I’m nothing short of a useless girl?”

Sonic made a loud snore, then. It cut her off as she said ‘useless’.

She turned to see his head straight up at the ceiling, his mouth open wide,... “Ammmy…” He lightly spoke, as though asleep. “Ammmyyy…” His hand acted as though reaching for her hand, but it was already there…

That’s when she noticed, her grip on his hand had slipped somewhat, and she held it tightly but gently once more.

Sonic’s breathing went back to normal… and Amy smiled till her cheeks hurt.

“Oh, Sonic…” She giggled through her light tears and wiped them all away this time. “Even if I don’t understand what strength I give you… Just knowing… that together, we’re stronger? That’s enough for me… Cause right now, you getting better is all I care about.” She sighed and went back to the book.

She gasped when she looked at her hand and saw Sonic had tugged it closer.

“A-ah… Ow, ow, Sonic!” He was dragging her off the other couch. “Sonic! Ow! I’ll fall!”

He started to turn, as though in his sleep, snoring again and making Amy stumble out of the couch as he wrapped her arm around his waist.

She pouted a cute blush, but then sighed, “I know you’re not asleep, silly… Your actual snore is totally different.” She gave in, moving her bandaged self to lift up his head and place him on her lap, patting his shoulder and humming a tune.

Sonic closed his mouth, the jig was up, and he just smiled as she tried to actually lull him to sleep.

Though he had to let go of her hand for her to do that, he reached under his body to get at the hand that was resting just by his neck… and she smiled at how sweet that was…

“... You are my strength, Sonic.” She leaned down, continuing to hum.

When she had actually fallen to sleep, Sonic placed her laying on the couch he was momentarily on, replacing her, and before hopping to the other one, placed a hand on her head and lightly whispered, “You’re more than my strength, Amy… You're my whole heart, entirely.”

In the morning, Amy woke up to find Tails in a tissy, worried sick as Sonic had somehow miraculous snuck out of his workshop home and was nowhere to be found.

A moment of panic did course through Amy, before thinking to herself, ‘... If he’s strong again, then I’ll be strong too.’ and went back to not worrying about him… resting… as she smiled at feeling secure again in that–as long as Sonic was up and about, she’d be pretty soon as well!

#sonamy #sonicxamy #sonic fanfic #amy rose #sonic the hedgehog #cutegirlmayra #me writing

50 notes · View notes