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stxrvel · 11 months ago

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the house (2)

hi guys! i felt so inspired that i was able to write part 2 soon and that's a very rare thing for me. thank you so much for all your comments and notes! they made me very happy. see you in the next one!

summary: Azriel wasn't gonna give in so easily with Rhysand, but he had to do everything he could to ensure his mate's well-being pairing: azriel x f!reader words: +3.5k warnings: bad words and fights and angst and a lot of anger. also English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

part 1: the cliff

part 3: the court

part 4: the routine

“... what the fuck is wrong with me? No, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Az, I had no idea-”

“What does that fucking power works for if you're not gonna use it right?”

Cassian stood back from the commotion, with Nesta and Mor on either side of him watching from head to head as words crossed. Azriel was raising his voice and snarling at his own High Lord, and Cassian was almost surprised to see the way Rhys only dropped his shoulders, looking at his brother with sunken eyes as he claimed him. He had no intention of defending himself, Cassian could almost feel how embarrassed and remorseful Rhys was from a distance.

Azriel had a right to be angry, everyone knew that. And no one would stand in the way (unless the situation turned violent) because they understood the lengths you could go to just to safeguard your mate's well-being. Rhys would do it for Feyre. Cassian would do it for Nesta. Cassian always believed that this was how he would see Azriel defend his mate, right when he found her, and he was grateful that Rhys understood that his cries came from beyond rage and anger. There was anguish there, pain, guilt… Cassian had never seen Azriel so upset.

Returning to the Town House was torturous. Azriel wouldn't leave his mate's side and wouldn't allow any of his brothers to get close either, but she wasn't willing to go to a place she didn't know at all either, even if her mate accompanied her. Cassian had to watch his friend be more cautious and careful than ever with someone he never thought he had to be: with himself and Rhys. The sight was bleak as Azriel's shadows swirled around him and his mate, almost as if erecting a wall between the four of them. The looks Azriel sent them were like daggers and just by sharing a glance they knew that this was something the Shadowsinger wasn't going to overcome out of thin air, even if hundreds of years of friendship gave him the confidence to do so.

Azriel had to make a promise with her to convince her to leave, because he wasn't willing to let her disappear from his sight and she wasn't willing to just go with them for the sake of it, when one of the men in front of her was the one who pushed her off the cliff.

Cassian noticed several times Azriel watching the tattoo with crystallized eyes. Beyond everything, the hostile and distrustful context of the whole situation caused him pain.

Arriving at the Town House, they were all assembled. Without wondering too much without Rhys having spoken to Feyre (which he surely had), Cassian ran into the kitchen where Nesta was with her sisters and enveloped his mate in a tight embrace. Within seconds he heard movement around him and knew Rhys had done the same. Neither of them would ever be able to forgive each other for what had happened, if Azriel ever forgave them first.

“Az, I'm truly sorry,” Rhys stood behind his desk, the only thing that allowed him distance from a heated Azriel, besides Feyre's presence which the Shadowsinger respected even within his rage. “I was careless with the inmates. And you're right, it was easier for me to have simply looked inside her head. It had been a long time coming and I think I became confident of the reality of the situation, that whenever I saw inside them I knew what they were. I didn't give her the benefit of the doubt. I'm sorry, brother.”

“Your apologies are worthless,” Azriel spat, his face almost red from the way he was trying to contain his emotions and his hands resting on the table. Rhys lowered his head in front of him, running his hands over his face. “How are you going to fix with your words what for years broke under your nose? How can I come to look at you with respect when my mate is terrified to see you?”

Cassian felt Nesta's hands wrap around his right arm and he lowered to look at her questioningly. She had reserved her comments from the moment Cassian had told the two sisters what had happened. Feyre had escorted Rhys to his office after their effusive hug and Cassian had stayed with Nesta and Elain in the kitchen, talking. With Elain it had been a little easier, her face looked mortified and she had run after Rhys and Feyre barely understood what had happened.

Nesta… she tried not to show what she was thinking, but Cassian knew there was something that made her feel upset and insecure.

Cassian tugged at the bond, trying to get her attention and Nesta had to drag her gaze from Azriel to look at her mate. Cassian felt the air rush out of his chest when he noticed the tears under her eyes. He didn't waste a second in leading her out of the room, moving into the giant living room in complete darkness, despite it being barely noon. The maroon curtains lent a more somber look to the situation.

“What's wrong?”

Nesta closed her eyes as Cassian's hands cradled her face, letting out a pair of tears that furrowed the border with her cheeks. A ragged breath left her and Cassian felt the agony of her nervousness shake his body.

“I had already seen her,” she whispered, her eyelids tightening. Cassian frowned, but didn't interrupt her when she came up for air again. “I once accompanied Rhysand and Feyre to the camp. Feyre had told me that Rhysand had some business to take care of on the mountain. I heard… I heard her voice…”

Cassian pulled his mate closer by the shoulders, pressing her against his chest as her voice broke off.

“I heard her voice begging Rhysand to believe her,” Nesta continued, trying to still the sobs that were born in the ache in her chest. Cassian shared the sentiment, the end of the bond in his chest twisting with his mate's wailing. “She was so scared…”

Nesta wrapped her arms around Cassian's torso, sinking her face into her mate's neck. Cassian moved from side to side, trying to send warm sensations through the bond, trying to calm her down a bit.

Nesta's revelation left Cassian almost frozen. The last time Rhys had gone to the mountain had been ten years ago.

Azriel hadn't expected that to be the way he would meet his mate, much less would he have expected her to be terrified to be around his brothers and almost himself and, of course, much, much less had he expected to hold so much resentment against Rhysand.

His mate hadn't left the room Azriel had left her in, as far away from the others' rooms as possible. With the tattoo burning his skin, Azriel had not only promised her that she would be safe in the Town House, but she had also made him promise that her interactions with his brothers would be next to none. With the watchful eyes of his friends from centuries ago upon his back, Azriel agreed. He had to make sure to provide for his mate's physical and mental health, especially when he knew that the time she had spent with the Ilyrian soldiers had to have been traumatizing.

And of course, there was also the issue of the bond.

His mate couldn't or didn't know how to control the flow of emotions that traveled through the bond and Azriel felt it all. At the moment she was relaxed, calm inside the room away from everyone, but Azriel was losing his temper in the living room. His friends were gone, they had left him a moment alone when he had finished yelling at Rhysand, as he tried to control his emotions and those of her mate, who had surely been listening to everything and so was sending distressing sensations through the bond.

But even with all that space to himself he still felt like he couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how things were going to be from now on. The mere thought terrified him to the bone. He didn't know how he would deal with the fact that he wanted and was dying to be near his mate, to hold her, to comfort her, to support her, to protect her just a step away from him, but he couldn't, at least for now. The need consumed him and tormented him. Staying behind had never been an option, especially if it was his mate, but what could he do if that was what she wanted? He would have to get used to the pain, the emptiness he already felt in his life even though it had barely been half a day since he had found her.

Ah, Azriel didn't know how much guilt and pain he could carry until his knees failed.

He closed his eyes for a couple of minutes, laying his head back on the couch, his face settled in the direction of the ceiling. He tried to relax his muscles, stiff from the tension and stress, from the speed with which everything had happened in the last few hours. Maybe then he could get some sleep. He didn't know how it would be now that he had found his mate.

Azriel was beginning to feel his body going numb, the inattention to his senses and the lightness of his limbs, when a pair of light footsteps entered the room. They would've gone unnoticed by anyone, but not him. He lifted his head attending to the sound, finding you on your feet, frozen, all around the entrance to the living room, hands clasped together twitching in nervousness.

Azriel didn't know what to do. His heart skipped a beat at the sight. But he also felt the fear and nervousness coursing through the bond from the other end. He tried to send calm through his end, hoping that and the shadows crowding at her feet, which hadn't left her since they found her, would allow her to relax a bit.

“I'm sorry… for interrupting,” you looked down and Azriel had to stifle the urge that went through his body to get up and go running to your side. His head filled with the memories of his dream, cruelly comparing the happiness that was in them and the sadness that now engulfed you. Your voice was barely a whisper.

“It's okay,” Azriel stood up carefully and quietly, catching your attention. From the way you brought your hands to your chest, still clasped together, Azriel made no attempt to move closer.

“I need to ask you something,” you fought with the words until you finally told him and a current of panic ran through the bond, so strong that Azriel had to hold back the grimace on his face.

“Whatever you need.”

You looked at him again and Azriel felt something in his chest blossom. He sent that feeling through the bond, hoping it would counteract the anxiety on your end, but only received a frown in response.

“I need to contact my parents,” you asked, shifting your feet a little closer and Azriel quickly caught the pleading expression you were trying poorly to hide.

“Sure. Where are they? I can take them a letter, if you want,” Azriel offered, but your reply wasn't welcome as a spasm of pain ran through his chest.

“No… I-I-I don't want that,” you shook your head, lowering your head. The way you moved your intertwined fingers made him question how much courage you'd had to muster to come out of your room and ask him that. You must've wanted it badly. Surely it was all you could think about for all the years you were on the mountain. Azriel moved his hand from side to side across his chest, through the fabrics of his clothing.

“We'll do what you want, then. Tell me where they are.”

“Adriata,” you whispered, eyes glittering.

Azriel choked. Of course, former prisoner of the Summer Court. How would he get across the border if he had a blood ruby in his desk drawer? Rhysand and he were still mortal enemies of the Summer Court.

“And how do you want to contact them?”

“I want to go back.”

“What?” he coughed, his body tensing and the calm evaporating from his body in a second. Surprise narrowly prevented him from noticing your crystallized eyes.

“Azriel,” you implored, taking long strides towards him, frozen in place, electricity coursing through his veins from the way you said his name. “I don't even know how long it's been since I last saw them. Please, please. That was all I've ever wanted since I was captured. I just want to see them and let them know I'm okay. Please.”

Azriel stood there on his feet in front of you, barely acknowledging the fact that you had moved so close to him that from just raising a hand he could run down your cheeks. Your request had torn at his chest and he was sure he hadn't been able to keep some of that emotion from traveling through the bond, because now you looked more disgruntled and nervous than before. Now you wanted to… leave? And you were asking him to let you do it, as if he had any right to keep you here, as if you owed him anything?

The Shadowsinger clasped his hands at his sides, trying to contain his emotions behind the line, trying to keep them from affecting you too much. He had never felt such pain, not even something he could imagine, nothing that had ever hurt him before could compare to the pain of that moment. He hadn't had a moment with her and he had to let her go already.

“You want to go back… to Summer Court,” Azriel murmured, trying to confirm the obvious, as if you repeating it made it more real, as if he needed it to be sure.

“Yes,” you shook your head in assent and Azriel's heart crinkled as he noticed your desperation. Of course that would be the first thing you would want to do, how could he have been so selfish as to not even consider it before? How could he not have suggested it from before?

“You… I don't… I mean-”

“Azriel,” you took another step, hesitant, he could tell by your body language, but trying to keep the assurance on your face. “I need to see them. Please.”

“All right. Just… wait,” Azriel moved to the side, trying to clear his mind and think rationally even though your closeness was suffocating him. “There's something you should know.”

“I know the Night Court and the Summer Court aren't on good terms,” you shook your head, as if to tell Azriel that it was a silly problem that should have no bearing on your return.

“Yes, but that's not all,” moving his hands away from his already sufficiently tousled hair, Azriel looked at you in anguish. “If you go back to Summer Court now, I don't think you'll be able to come back again.”

You frowned at him, tilting your head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Rhysand has held the Summer spies captive for…. many, many years. Tarquin has tried to negotiate their release, but Rhysand is not open to negotiating with him, or even seeing him again,” Azriel tried to explain, not overlooking the way you flinched when he mentioned the high lord's name. “If you leave now… If your parents declared you missing… Tarquin's not going to let you go out again. And they won't let me in either because the moment they see me they'll try to kill me.”

The silence that followed his words was agonizing. Azriel was terribly frightened. It didn't calm him to know that the doubt in your eyes was minimal; the desire to see your parents again was greater than the possibility of never seeing your mate again. The mere thought made him shudder, but if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing.

“Why… why wouldn't my High Lord let me come back?”

“Fifteen years ago the high lord forbade his people to return to the Night Court. Fifteen years ago no person from the Summer Court has gone beyond the mountains of Day.”

“Fifteen years?” you stammered, an expression of incredulous surprise taking over your face. “I'd been there for more than fifteen years?”

Azriel halted his movements, barely noticing how you succumbed to gravity and plopped down on the couch where he had been a couple of minutes earlier in complete stupefaction.

“Y/N, I'm really sorry-”

“I can't stay here,” you looked at him again, shaking your head in refusal and sending a current of panic through the bond. “I don't want to. I need… I need to see my parents. I want to be with them.”

Azriel shuddered at the desperation he saw in your eyes. He wasn't going to deny you that, ever. But he couldn't deny that he wanted to show resistance because, if you left right then, when would he ever see you again? They wouldn't even have time to talk about the elephant in the room, but, at the same time, it didn't seem like the most important conversation at the moment.

Azriel wanted to cry.

“It's okay. Don't worry. Of course you'll go see them,” he finally spoke, facing the reality he would have to live in from now on.

“Thank you,” you cried and Azriel felt each tear pierce his heart, even though the feeling of relief reached all the way to his chest, your relief, mixed with his hopelessness. “But, you… you won't be able to go.”

“No.”

“We won't be able to see each other.”

“No,” Azriel exhaled sharply and shook his head slightly. “But I'll work it out. Somehow.”

“You can't go near there. Tarquin would hurt you!”

Azriel felt the worry reach from the other end of the bond to his chest and was a little glad to know that you at least cared about him the same way he cared about you.

“I'll make an agreement. Whatever I have to do, I'll do it. I promise.”

You nodded in his direction, convinced of his words, convinced of his shaky assurance and confidence.

“And you… will you accompany me?”

You frowned when he shook his head, but quickly added, thinking he'd be mad and damned if he'd let you spend the return trip all alone after all you'd been through, “I know a faster way to travel.”

“Okay,” you nodded, calm finally ruling in your body. “So when do we leave?”

Everyone in the house had gathered to receive Azriel's announcement and things were breaking down just as he expected.

No one had said anything for several minutes after the Shadowsinger announced that he would be going to the Summer Court with you, to return you to where you belonged, to your true home.

“I'll do it,” Mor was the first to speak, to Azriel's right, watching him confidently. She turned to look at Rhysand, who hadn't looked up since his brother finished speaking, deep in thought with a hand on his chin. “I'll request a meeting with him.”

Cassian stirred at Azriel's left side, sweeping his gaze over everyone present. He could almost imagine what was going through his friend's head, helpless at not being able to join him, just as it must've been going through Rhysand's mind. Azriel knew the only reason his High Lord was still thinking was that. If it was risky for the Shadowsinger to go, it would be worse if it was both of them.

“I can go too,” Feyre spoke to Rhysand's right and the aforementioned raised his head in a second, beginning to shake his head in denial.

“For no reason should you ever step near that Court again,” Rhysand stood up, resting his hands on the desk and leaning towards his mate. His face contracted, contrasting with Feyre's warm gaze.

“Rhys, don't you think it's time to get this over with?” Feyre reached up to cradle his mate's face, Rhysand leaning in almost on instinct, betrayed by his senses.

“You want me to overlook so easily what he did to you?” the High Lord frowned, closing his eyes under Feyre's gentle touch.

“Not easily, Rhys. It's been fifty years.”

“You know fifty years is nothing to us,” Rhysand snorted, straightening his back.

The Shadowsinger clicked his tongue.

“It was too much for Y/N.”

No one in the room had to look twice to know that Azriel was tense, hands clasped behind his back. Rhysand turned to see him, his wary look of apology over his friend's stony expression.

“You know I didn't come here to ask your permission, Rhysand,” Azriel almost spat, dragging the words out between his teeth.

Mor shuddered beside him, following Cassian's gaze. In so many centuries, there had obviously been trouble between the Inner Circle for some time, but in this moment it felt different, deeper and more painful. The anger and rancor in Azriel's gaze was unmatched and to earn that facet of the Shadowsinger you really had to be a son of a bitch. Mor hoped she was wrong.

“It could be dangerous for you,” Rhysand warned and Azriel had to stifle a wry chuckle. The way his High Lord's features contorted gave him to understand that he had understood the twitch in his muscles all too well.

“I don't care what you think,” Azriel bellowed, clasping his hands at his sides. “I'll go with her, and since Mor offered I'd greatly appreciate it if she'd accompany us.”

Rhysand didn't respond, settling for sharing a glance with his brother, trying to reach a part of him that was minimally willing to forgive him. Azriel sensed his intrusion and angrily erected a wall of obsidian in his mind, miles away, forcibly pulling Rhysand out of his head. The aforementioned barely staggered to his feet.

“Fine, but I'd like to be kept informed of everything that happens,” Rhysand nodded looking at Mor, who barely returned the gesture and left the office to manage the meeting as soon as possible.

When the doors rattled and the room fell silent again, Rhysand looked at Azriel pleadingly.

“Az-”

“If that's all.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, Azriel turned on his heels and stormed off. Cassian followed close behind, barely sending a glance at his high lord, his brother, saying with his gaze how sorry he was that it had all happened and ended like this.

#azriel x you #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar series

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raconteur-wanpi · 5 months ago

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OK, but really, I'm genuinely so sad this fandom doesn't talk enough about Vinsmoke Reiju. She's legitimately one of my absolute favorite characters in the entire story and a lot of people don't see how absolutely tragic she is.

Just. She had to stay behind. She had to stay behind so Sanji can be free, she could never join him. She can only live her dreams of escaping her horrible, horrible family vicariously through him, the only person left in that household she loved. And she had to let him go. Because if she left, an army would follow behind her to get her back; she's a "success" after all. And also because she had already deemed herself a monster. After Sora died, Sanji was all Reiju had left. And then she was alone. Stuck with them for 13 years. Stuck with the wolves. The only way to survive being to mould herself after them.

From the beginning, it was never slip up, never make a mistake, always be perfect or you're next. Pretend to laugh at the misery of the only person in your family you haven't lost hope in, knowing that he might hate you forever after this, feeling like a coward. But you're a child. A mere child, a little 10-year-old girl, and you're scared. And she already saw herself as unworthy of that freedom at that age. She's not like Sanji, she was born to play the role of a monster. Even with her intact emotions, she's still trained soldier. She has the symbol of Germa tattooed on her, how could she ever escape it? She has blood on her hands; not because of her own choices, but because of the commands she's physically incapable of disobeying. She looks at him and tells him he looks so much like their mother, but she denies to accept that so does she.

She's the firstborn, dad's perfect little girl, his first success, his obedient property. The man who she grew to hate so much, when she found out he was going to be assassinated, she didn't warn him, because she hoped it would actually happen. Even if it meant throwing her own life away as well. When she saw him beg for his life she just, rightfully, felt no guilt or remorse. Just anger and satisfaction, even as she herself was about to die, something that seemed she wanted happen. But when he got attacked later on, she showed concern, because unlike Sanji, to her he still is, dad. He's dad, who held you and called you his wonderful child. He's dad, who raised you and showed pride in you. He's dad, who potentially put some sort of authority chip in your brain and forced you to stain your hands in blood. He's the man who killed your mother. She hates him. She wants him dead. She can't stop seeing him as family, and shows concern when he's hurt. It's more complex than how her brother sees him, and it's visceral and real and upsetting.

She had to stay behind. And after all of that, she had to relive the goodbye to the only person left in her family whom she ever loved. God. I hope she gets to see Sanji again. I hope she escapes. I hope one day she finally gets to taste his cooking. She never got the chance to do that, didn't she?

#one piece #vinsmoke reiju #one piece meta #one piece reiju #vinsmoke family #whole cake island #black leg sanji #reiju they could never make me hate you. youre so underrated

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months ago

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The Girl Next Door - XVI

A Constantine x FemVampire!Reader (feat John Wick!) fic based on this imagine. all chapters gen. warnings: NSFW, blood, biting, violence divider by animatedglittergraphics-n-more

⚠Chapter warnings: A bit more graphic violence. Character death. If you made it this far, you'll be fine...⚠

16. epilogue

John Constantine stands on the rooftop, looking out over the glittering lights of the city.

He wants a cigarette so fucking bad, but like he can hear you grousing about how he was given a second chance and he shouldn’t waste it, he pops a stick of gum instead.

It’s not the same thing.

He misses you.

He can’t stop himself from thinking about that night, not so long ago, when the two of you headed off an early Apocalypse by the skin of your teeth. He remembers how in the end, somehow he found the strength to stumble to your side, and how whatever small grain of hope he’d allowed himself vanished at the sight of you, the Spear piercing your heart to the hilt, your body deathly still. He’d collapsed to his knees beside you, clutching your cold little hand in his. The knowledge that your eternal soul was saved was hardly a consolation at the moment–he was the one who was supposed to die, not you.

He’d tried to budge the spear–but couldn't.

And so he’d clutched at your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles as silent tears slid down his cheeks.

“She saved me,” Angela had said, making her way on shaky legs over to press his shoulder.

You saved him too, he realized. If not with anything but the determination of your love, you’d saved him, and he was finally able to save you in turn. That should count for something, but at the moment it was all so raw that he still wanted to curse God for taking you from him in the mortal realm, if not the next.

If he ever wanted to see you again, he was really going to have to walk the line.

He and Angela had both jumped as a bedraggled Gabriel surfaced from the bottom of the pool–their wings naught but bloody stubbs protruding from their shoulders. They had looked upon your lifeless body with zero remorse. They dared to say with their usual blind righteousness, “You should rejoice, John. She’s gone home.”

John had narrowed his eyes, but his scathing tirade died on his tongue as a hulking figure had emerged from the water behind the ex-angel, his eyes glowing that deadly blue. Constantine had felt nothing but the most un-Christian gratification, as Wick seized Gabriel’s head in his massive hands and twisted.

The angel sank back to the bottom of the pool, and Wick stepped over their body to pull himself out of the water, a horrific wound barely knit together over his abdomen. Paying it no heed, he’d collapsed to his knees beside your body, tearing out the Spear and throwing it to clang against the far wall before sinking down to weep upon your shoulder. It had been unsettling for Constantine, not to see a man cry, but the utter despair with which Wick expressed himself. In a way, he found that he envied him.

“My little bird,” Wick whispered desperately against your lifeless flesh. “I will find you again. I swear, I will find you again.”

In a strange twist…Constantine found that he actually felt sorry for the dhampir.

Whatever his sins…his love for you had certainly been real, and true.

But then…you had that effect on people.

♰♰♰

Constantine continues to stand vigil on the roof, and there is something about the warm desert breeze that night, like a breath of heaven on his skin, that reminds him of you.

Then something silken soft brushes against his face–and in his mouth. He spits, making a show of expelling something from between his lips.

“Really? I gotta use the tattoos on you?”

Laughing, you assume your most corporeal form, appearing in front of him. Your raven-black wings enclose the two of you like a privacy curtain, a cozy little space just for the two of you. Steadying yourself with hands on his chest, you incline your head for a kiss.

He grants it, his soft lips lingering on yours, his big hands on your waist pulling you closer. “You’re back early.”

“Hmm.”

“I was afraid he might not let you go.”

You reach up to brush dark hair out of his eyes; he softens for your touch, a small sigh betraying his enjoyment. “He’s happy with our deal.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

He has trouble hiding how relieved he is to hear this. Fighting John Wick wasn’t something high on his list of suicidal things he wanted to try out, but he might have had to, had the vampire hunter not been in such a seemingly generous mood.

He had to admit, he’d never envisioned himself in a polyamorous relationship with a dhampir and an angel.

At least, that's what they think you are, or some derivative anyway. The black wings are a little wildcard–but then, you had been carrying around a baggie of blood taken from the other Antichrist, which was pierced perfectly by the Spear. Beeman theorizes that it counteracted the blood of Christ in a way that somehow saved your life. And after Constantine’s little deal with Satan…supposedly, you were home free.

Or at least…no longer damned by default.

You liked being an angel, so far. You still had the immense power to help people, but didn't have to get your hands quite so dirty to do it.

And, he won't admit it, but you're pretty sure John Constantine has a wing fetish.

You think about the first time you'd appeared to him, about a week after your supposed death. He'd broken into your apartment, and was just sitting amongst your things. You'd been trailing him invisibly, not having quite gotten the hang of your corporeal form yet. You didn't even really know what you were, yet. You kind of fancied yourself a sort of guardian ghost for John, your heart breaking all over again as you watched him mourn you.

You didn't think that he could sense you–but when you couldn't stop yourself from reaching out to touch his face he’d straightened like you'd slapped him. You'd watched as he’d rolled up his sleeves, admiring those corded forearms even as he chanted the words and joined those archaic tattoos. The magic in them felt like being tugged hard by a rope, and suddenly–he could see you.

You're not sure who was more shocked: him, or you.

“Y/n?”

You swear his hands shook as he reached for you. And then his eyes went wide, as his gaze fixed behind you, on what you would soon find were oil-black wings, your feathers shimmering with green and violet highlights in the low light.

With no concept yet of what you'd become, you’d flung yourself into his arms, and he'd welcomed you gladly. Finally, when you could come up for air again between heated kisses, he demanded, “Have you been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Mostly.” You'd gone to check on Wick for a little while, trying to comfort him in the manic depths of his grief, but he’d been untouchable.

Then, he’d disappeared.

You will admit, that you’d been more worried about Constantine, if for anything because you knew Wick was a survivor to the bone.

“I thought…I was a ghost,” you'd admitted.

Constantine actually laughed, a short, disbelieving burst of mirth. “Oh, honey.” He’d cupped your face in his large hands and kissed you deeply, filling your heart with something like sunshine. Then, his attention had turned to your wings again. He ran an experimental hand down your silky flight feathers, and a delicious shudder ripped down your spine. “They’re sensitive,” you admitted, and the look John Constantine paid you could have melted granite, one angular black brow lifted high.

“Are they now?”

Suddenly you could barely speak past your libido lodged in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, and his fingers found their way into your hair, drawing you to him again. The new addition of the wings made things interesting between you, but somehow you managed to come together with only one casualty of a lamp you never really liked much anyway.

It reminded you of the first night you made love in this bed, riding his beautiful cock while he teased your needy little clit with his thumb. Desperate for each other, hardly able to believe that this was real, that you were even allowed to have this blessing after everything you went through…you came together as you held on for dear life, your eyes locked with his as you found bliss with his body joined with yours.

“There's a Touched By An Angel joke here somewhere,” he’d teased in the aftermath, as you curled up in his arms.

“I always thought that show sounded like something you'd have to report door to door,” you mused, winning the coveted prize of his mirth, and his lips on your forehead.

Much later, while you were cooking for him [and you, because God you missed solid food] he told you, “I never thought I’d say this…but we better go find Wick. He's gone on a rampage killing vampires, but I don't know what he'll do when he runs out of fangfaces to mangle.”

You looked back over your shoulder from the stove, your eyebrows raised high. “Where?”

“Last I heard, he was tearing Portland apart.”

“Fuck.”

Constantine offered you a commiserating ghost of a smile.

“The High Table…are not going to be amused by that?”

“Ah…probably not.”

Your heart fell like a stone. “Will they go after him for it?”

“I would feel sorry for anyone they sent his way, but…”

You sigh. “Can we go tomorrow?”

“I suppose.” He looked down at the table. “Well. I had you to myself for all of 24 hours.”

“John…do you want me to yourself?”

He’d looked up at you through his dark hair, those eyes filled with a mix of heart-crushing sorrow and longing, his long fingers clenching then unclenching upon the table. The bond between you was different, after your transformation, but you still could tell in a rare instance this man was nervous.

“I’m not saying I think I’m…husband material or that I’d even make a good boyfriend, and I know you deserve better…but…I love you, y/n.”

How far you'd come, that he could say that last part aloud.

All you had to do was die.

You’d nodded in earnest, your knees weak. “We can work with that.”

Suddenly he was on his feet, and you gravitated towards him until you were in his arms again. He kissed you like you were the air he needed to breathe, for so long that you almost burned the chicken, and you found out that when you're that happy your wings flutter, the same way your toes curl.

♰♰♰

In the end you’d convinced Constantine that you should probably go on your own, not knowing Wick’s state of mind, and you caught up with your dhampir at a cabin deep in the Snoqualmie Forest. It seemed he’d retreated there to heal after tearing through the vampire population of Seattle, almost like he was daring the High Table to come after him.

It was a beautiful setting, the fir trees towering all around. The cabin was small, rustic, and you wondered if Wick did not build it with his bare hands. The air smelled fresh, and clean, and reminded you of a different time, long ago. Something that came to you as fact, in the fever dream of your resurrection, and somehow you were allowed to retain the long buried memory.

When you were a young woman, in another life, 300 years ago, vampires ravaged your village, killing and pillaging as they pleased, the dead including your own parents and young sister. A dhampir named Jardani Jovanovich came to hunt them. Tall and true, dark as the devil himself, and from the moment you laid eyes on his tall, terrible form, you’d felt as though you had a fever burning inside you. He’d looked your way from astride his beautiful black horse, as though you’d said his name, and when your eyes met you knew he’d stolen your soul. After he delivered the heads of the strigoi to your village starosta he took you as his wife, and the two of you never looked back, and never separated, until the day you died.

Despite the fearsome man he’d been, Jardani Jovanovich had always been good to you.

Perhaps it was this memory that gave you the courage to let yourself into the cabin, as though you had every right to be there. It was deathly quiet, and an empty bottle of vodka on the table, along with a pile of bloody gauze, perhaps explained why. You found him in the back bedroom, half-clothed, passed out on his side.

You weren’t sure there was any good way to go about this that wouldn’t startle him, so you shed your shoes and lay down beside him, taking his hand in your smaller one between you on the counterpane. Now that you’d found him, you wanted to sleep. You’d flown (on the wing!) all the way from L.A., after all. Being an angel–or angel-ish–was strange. You got the sense that you didn’t need food, or drink, or sleep–but you liked to have it. The cold damp wouldn’t kill you, but you certainly felt it. Perhaps this is why you snuggled into Wick’s furnace of a body, as you dozed.

You half-woke to the sound of him mumbling in his sleep–or rather, the vibration of it from within his broad chest. “Yelena Ivanovna, gde ty byl…”

Where have you been?

“I’m here,” you answered softly, not really awake yourself.

“Hmmff,” he’d answered, holding you closer with a grip that would have crushed a human woman. You managed to worm loose a little, perching on his chest.

“Jardani,” you’d said softly, brushing back his unkempt dark hair.

That was when his eyes finally slitted open, slowly focusing on you. Then they drifted up, taking in your wings. Maybe he thought he was dreaming, for he questioned nothing at first, simply taking your face in his hands and kissing you deeply. “Milaya…my pretty little bird, what wings you have grown.”

“You like them?”

You sit up, straddling his torso, and as his hands gravitate to your jean-clad thighs he seems to begin to realize this is not a dream or a drunken vision–you are here.

Bolting upright, he seizes you in his arms, holding you hard against him. “Y/N?” His face is buried in the bend of your neck; your name is lost in the distortion of a sob.

“I’m here,” you told him again, running your fingers through his tangled dark hair.

“...How?” he asks as he pulls back to look you over again, seemingly in awe of the feathered appendages protruding from your shoulders, but most amazed by the smoothe, unbroken skin over your breastbone.

You have a scar there, where the Spear pierced your heart. You wondered if you would have managed to heal, had Wick not wrested the blade from your body so quickly.

You shrugged, because you really didn’t know the answers, and his calloused fingers caressing your chest so gently crossed the wires in your brain. You couldn’t help but lean into him, winning something like a growl from deep in his throat.

“Do you remember what I told you would happen, when we finally found ourselves a bed?” He'd almost posed it like a threat, his hands ghosting over your breasts, running down the ladder of your ribs. It felt marvelous, and you giggled nervously as you undulated against him.

“I might recall something of that nature…”

The sound he made was nothing less than animal, as he fell on your lips and devoured you whole. You let him gladly, giddy with bliss as he seemed bent on tasting every inch of your bare skin with his seeking lips and tongue. “You are so beautiful, my love, my darling little angel, my own heaven on earth.” He whispered this like a prayer upon your skin, consecrated each word with a kiss, and you utterly melted beneath what was nothing less than an onslaught.

You lost track of how many times you came, in that man’s mouth, on his thick fingers, and with his insatiable cock buried inside you. By the time he was done with you, for the moment, at least, your body was covered in lovebites, full of his cum, and your usually supernaturally sturdy limbs were rendered into utter jelly. You could do nothing but curl up with him under a blanket beside the fire he’d built for you, joyfully stupefied by his relentless affection.

Later, you ate soup together made from a freeze-dried packet, and it tasted like a gourmet meal when eaten in the warm glow of his tender gaze upon you, your legs tangled under the table. You talked of what happened after you died, and what you can’t remember but you theorize happened in the interim. You wonder if the High Table witch’s spell was another factor in your taking on a new earthbound form, rather than going on to Heaven like Constantine had bargained for. Wick found it amusing that you thought you were a ghost. “I felt you,” he tells you regretfully. “But I was mad with grief–I thought I was hallucinating it. I am sorry…I let you down.”

Perhaps he is thinking back on how he wept on your corpse and vowed to find you again–but you were there all along.

However, you shook your head, reaching out for his big hand on the rough-hewn table. “You didn't let me down. We’re both still new to this, aren’t we? And John figured it out.”

Wick narrowed his eyes a little at the mention of your other beau. It’s funny– you really could not have picked two more opposite sorts of men. “Yes. He is very clever, your John.”

You smiled a little, perhaps masking the bloom of warmth in your heart that flowers any time you are speaking of John Constantine. “He is.”

“He loves you?”

You can't stop your lips from curling a little more. You'd in fact heard it from that stubborn horse’s own mouth.

“Yes.”

“But he was not good to you?”

You sighed. “Things were…complicated.”

“They are not now?”

“Less so, maybe.” Somehow, you thought you were actually telling the truth. Something about the lifted weight of certain damnation brought a lightness to John that was never there before. He is more open, with you, at least. He is, in fact, damn near affectionate, when you're alone together in your own little world. Maybe the truth of this showed on your face; Wick seemed attuned to your every tell. The look he paid you next was nothing less than wolfish, long in fang and a sharp hunger in his gaze.

“This does not mean I am letting you out of your promise to me. You will like New York.”

“For a visit,” you answered sweetly, ready to do battle. “But I'm not uprooting from L.A.”

He smirked at this, as though he did not think the matter closed by half. “Hmm. You think I will share you, little bird?”

“I think…it’s the only way this will work,” you answered him honestly.

“You won't give him up?”

“I can’t,” you admitted.

“Mmm,” he grumbled, that deep sound from his chest that did not fail to make your pulse quicken. “Stubborn woman. You always were a disobedient wife.”

There was a sparkle of mirth in his dark eyes that signaled to you that this was an inside joke between you that you just didn’t remember.

Or so you hoped.

“Honey, we are not married,” you dared to remind him.

He smirked at you like you said something very funny. “Maybe not yet…but I know how to make you pliant and sweet…”

The rabbit impulse to run came too late. You barely had time to even squeal before he caught you up in his strong arms and had you on the table, his narrow hips wedged between your thighs, your hands pinned over your head. All you were wearing was your panties and his oversized flannel shirt. You felt utterly vulnerable to him, and it was so terrifyingly wonderful you feared you might burst. “Give me…an hour…between these luscious thighs,” he’d purred, kissing down your neck as you tried to struggle, giggling all the while. “And you'll see things my way.”

He bites off one of the buttons of his own shirt, clearly not caring in the least.

“That is so not fair!”

“I am not interested in fair,” he chuckled against your skin. “Only in making you mine.”

It occurred to you that not once had that intoxicating power of his surfaced between you. Were you immune, now that you're no longer a vampire? No bewitching scents, no tantalizing magic–the desire between you is fire, but it’s just pure, good ol’ fashioned, human lust, woven through with love, and it was its own potent magic indeed.

“Jardani…”

He sat up on elbows above you, looking down at you with a warmth that rivaled the red hot coals in the stove as you stroked the hair out of his face, tracing the ridge of his brow. His eyes closed under the lull of your touch, leaning into your hand.

“You need him, little bird? To be happy?”

“Yes,” you'd answered in a whisper, aware that something binding was happening between you.

“Do you need me too?” There was a vulnerability in this simple question from this fearsome man that melted you to your toes.

“Yes,” you confirmed, going for broke.

His answering smile was like a baring of teeth. “My little angel is greedy.” He kissed you hard, your head pressing down into the table. “Fine,” he grumbled as you gasped for air, and maybe your sanity too. “I will grant you this. I am a generous man, ptichka. You will see.”

You were so delighted that you pulled him down into another tonsil-teasing kiss, holding him closer with your bare legs around his waist. “Thank you.”

He sat up to sweep you with a considering look, your body laid out like a feast for him on the table, and he made a sound that reminded you more of a bear, than a man. “But when you’re with me, malyshka,” he warned you darkly, “you are all mine.” Suddenly too impatient to even bother with removing your panties again, he moved them to the side so that he could sink into the wet heat of your needy cunt, stretching you deliciously while he played with your clit, his voracious tongue mercilessly toying with your peaked nipples. You came on his cock with a ragged scream, the searing pleasure of another release tearing through you like a punishment as much as a blessing. You were impressed that the table held, after the way he pounded into you, finishing with a roar like a battle cry as he filled you again with his seed.

You held him, as he collapsed on you, and you knew you were going to have your hands full.

Deep down, a part of you knew that he only agreed to this arrangement out of pure practicality.

You don't know if he's immortal, per se, but he certainly isn't aging fast. You suspect your own situation might be the same. But John…is mortal, and even if you hate the thought, the fact is that you and Wick have time that Constantine doesn't.

All the dhampir has to do is be patient.

And, not piss you off, of course.

You keep telling yourself that just because you were his wife in a past life doesn't mean things are a done deal between you. You have to keep reminding yourself that you barely know him, because when you're together?

Everything else melts away.

♰♰♰

Perhaps Wick is patient, but he does not waste time. A month after Snoqualmie he’s already bought a house in Los Angeles, and a cabin in Big Sur.

Oddly enough, the arrangement suits Constantine just as well. He’d meant what he said, that he wasn't relationship oriented, and you knew it. You had zero interest in molding him into something he didn't want to be.

Besides.

You have your own thing going.

You don't move into Wick’s posh manse in the Hills, despite his invitation.

You keep your humble apartment next to Constantine’s. You like your little space, and frankly…you need something of your own. Splitting your time between the two of them…can be intense, truth be told. Blissfully, maddeningly so, but sometimes, you need a break.

You are having one of those, when you hear a knock on your door. John had been away on an exorcism, clearing out an infestation of aswangs in the Bay Area, and you were afraid you might not get to see him before your upcoming trip to Paris with Wick, to officially receive his release from Service to the High Table.

You missed him.

Eagerly you open the door.

“Hello, handsome.”

John Constantine looks down at you with that half smile that still quickens your heart, leaning on the door jamb. He could push you over with a feather when you see he is not only holding a bottle of delicious red wine, but a bouquet of flowers.

Who is this man, and where is your surly demon hunter?

You can tell that they came from the gas station around the corner, but they are pretty, and that he even thought to bring them to you fills you with a fluttery glee.

Amused by your stupefied expression, he lifts one angular eyebrow at you. “Hello, angel.”

You feel the warmth in his eyes to the marrow of your bones–and if you’re being honest, right between your thighs.

You've really missed him.

You express your enthusiasm by tugging him inside by his tie, pressing your lips to his. John puts down the wine and the flowers as you breeze by the table–en route to the couch, where you direct him to sit in no uncertain terms.

The wings complicate things–you've discovered you can glamor them away to mingle with the public at large, but it doesn't actually make their volume disappear. It’s just easier to be on top–good thing you both like it.

But you notice he flinches a little, and immediately you hold your weight off of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.” Frowning, you undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. He lets you do what you want, having long learned it's no good to fight you.

And, you suspect, he secretly likes being coddled a little.

What he calls just a scratch is in fact angry claw marks that rake across his entire abdomen. “Oh, John. Why didn't you call me?”

“I just…wanted to come home to you,” he admits, looking up at you with those soulful dark eyes in a way that makes your wings quiver, your most visible of tells these days.

“Okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

You hold up your hands, and they begin to glow.

Something else you've discovered?

You can heal with your touch.

You found this out when visiting Chas in the hospital, when he was trussed in traction, and the doctors weren't sure he'd ever walk again. Heartbroken, filled with guilt and the wish that it could have been different for him, you'd taken his hand and something poured out of you.

His recovery within weeks was considered nothing less than a miracle, utterly boggling the medical community. Bless his heart, but Chas kept your secret. It was an ability certain clandestine government agencies, not to mention unscrupulous billionaires, would certainly have snatched you for.

It also comes in pretty handy with a boyfriend like John Constantine. And others, too. You spend a lot of time in the children’s wards of various hospitals (in invisible form). You've discovered the ability is not infinite, nor without its price. You can run out of juice, and you have to take time to recharge. You will feel like shit tomorrow, but it's a price you'll gladly pay. You've downplayed that particular effect–John doesn't quite know the toll it takes on you, but you prefer to keep it that way.

It still does not cease to impress you, watching John's skin knit back to its previous milky pale perfection, only the faintest hint of pink scars left behind in your wake. He sighs, his eyes closed, head tilted back in bliss.

“I warned it that my liver wasn’t exactly grade A, but it was determined.”

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. You know he drinks a lot less now, but the bottles still appear with regularity. You lean down, catching his lips with yours. “You taste pretty good to me.”

He chuckles, holding your face in his hands. “Mmm, so do you, Girl Next Door. My favorite vintage.”

“Am I?”

You can't hide your surprise. You'd kind of assumed that he might start seeing Angela on the side eventually. They liked each other, and you weren't exactly in an exclusive arrangement, considering. But he looks at you the way he does when he's afraid he's said something that only belatedly he realizes is hurtful.

“Yeah.” He cups your face in his big hands, and you feel your wings quivering again. “I know I don't tell you enough, y/n, but I love you. So much.”

You know you were always ridiculous, and becoming an angelic being of some sort has not changed that. Your eyes brim with tears, and your lip quivers. “Oh John. I love you too.”

He sits up to pull you into an embrace, holding you close against his heart. “Jesus Christ. I still don't know what I did to deserve you.”

You think about the journey that brought the two of you to this moment, and the transformations you’ve both undergone. It’s nothing less than incredible, really, and yet that is the miracle of the human spirit. The ability to endure, and to change. The power of love truly is an awesome thing.

“Hmm. I think…you were just yourself.” He huffs at that, holding you harder. He’s getting better, at not hating himself all the time, but for a man like him it’s still a daily battle. So you tell him, and you will keep telling him, until someday maybe he sees the light that you saw in him all along.

You stay like that for a long time, just holding each other.

It's moments like these that you savor to the last second, knowing how very precious they are. Maybe you've never exactly received any direct marching orders from the Big Guy Above, but you can't really refute the existence of some sort of Divine entity after what you’ve been through, and you can’t help but feel like your time with either of your Johns is something sacred. You've learned, if anything, that He or She or The Universe, whatever you choose, works in mysterious ways, and maybe, just maybe, things have worked out exactly the way they should.

the end. for now. until, it all begins again. but that’s another story…

__________________

*starosta - the village elder/mayor figure *strigoi - evil spirits risen from the dead, vampires *aswang - evil, bloodthirsty, sometimes organ-eating spirit from Filipino folklore

__________________

You guys!!!!!! 😭😭😭 Finishing a story is always bittersweet, but I’m so happy to have gone on this journey with all of you! You kept me going with your love and your encouragement, and the way this story evolved thanks to your feedback is pretty cool, I have to say. It NEVER would have turned out like this without you! A huge thanks to @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @discoscoob @donaka-screaming @reallongwire @scarlettspectra @lilithlinen @lilspookymeh @xxjaejaexx-blog1 @casuallyobssessed @girl-at-the-verge @babsharrison @luminousmoon21 @luluvstars @lonelyspadez @desolatewrath @fernpetals @axshadows @junojunimo @nightmare-bean @ghcstpyre and so many others for your kindness and your readership, I really can’t tell you how much it’s meant to be over the course of this story! And a special thanks to @lilspookymeh , I know you haven’t been on in a while but in case you ever read this, your comments and analysis back when I first started this story were just utterly crucial in molding it into what it became, you’re so insightful and I can’t thank you enough! I love you guys! ❤❤❤❤❤

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petertingle-yipyip · 5 months ago

Text

STRANGER - KAZ BREKKER

//tags: @beekeepingageissome // an: i really hope i can pull this off. i anticipate this being 2-3 parts. right now, we’re set before the Ice Court. also i’m picturing danielle rose russell as the character. lmk if we want this as an OC or reader// next part

Pairing: kaz x rollins!reader (enemies to lovers) [no Y/N used yet]

Word Count: 5,892

Summary: Her father’s action led to the death of her only two childhood friends, Kaz and Jordie Rietveld. Only Kaz returned as the infamous Dirtyhands. Creating her own gang in the shadows, she considers allying with the Bastard of the Barrel, only it goes about as well as anything could with Brekker.

It all seemed so far away, the first time you had met Kaz and his brother. Years ago that seemed to be another life. And maybe it was. You had left your father not long after that. When you heard that Jordie and Kaz - or at least two boys that fit their descriptions and matched your sketches - were picked up during the Queen Lady’s Plague collections, your stomach had pitched.

You were only a child, the same age as Kaz give or take a few months, and his brother seemed a good boy. They ate dinner with your family, played with you and your dog. You and Kaz had come up with games late into the night until Jordie took him home.

And then suddenly, you and your family were out of the house. You didn’t understand but you didn’t question it. You never saw the boys again but it was easy enough to hear of who had died of the sickness and who hadn’t. And it didn’t take long to find out how.

Your father used an alias and rolled the boys for their money. They had nowhere to go except the streets and it killed them.

Well, one of them.

Kaz had managed to pull through, but the boy that came back wasn’t the boy you knew. He had changed and you weren’t sure if you had expected him to be the same. When you left your father, you had seen him around the Barrel. You considered talking to him but the unbridled anger in his eyes kept you at bay. Instead, you decided to bide your time. Build your own empire. And in time, you would offer Kaz a deal and take down your father together.

Leaving Jordie and Kaz to die killed not only one of the Rietveld brothers, but it killed you as well. You existed only in stories to him. Pekka Rollins’ only daughter, fled home as a young teen, building up a gang of her own.

You changed your hair, colored it a midnight shade of red, and cut bangs. You kept the rest braided and pinned. You wore a hooded cloak when you went out during the day. You never spoke your name in public. But you did help yourself to your father’s money.

Your money, technically, since it was placed into an account in your name. You withdrew from it once a month, never letting the balance fall beneath the initial. It filled the coffer of your growing gang, choosing a snake as your branding. Your father had Dime Lions. Kaz had the Dregs. You had your snakes, though a fitting name never came to you.

You were on your way to attempt a meeting with the Dregs’ Heartrender, Nina Zenik. She held occupancy at the White Rose, and she was not an easy woman to schedule with. Nor was she cheap. You were leaving the bank, your latest withdrawal under your cloak, when you saw him.

You’d seen him in passing over the years, heard all the stories of what he’d become. Dirtyhands Kaz Brekker. The Bastard of the Barrel. Some said he was a demon. Some called him a monster, a wretched boy with only bones for fingers. He was Death, the Reaper who sent his Wraith without remorse.

You had to remind yourself to breath when a hand clasped your shoulder.

You spun quickly and a hand went to the small knife in the sheath sewn to the inside of the collar.

“Boss has been looking for you.” A familiar voice said. You didn’t know his name, but the voice was one from your childhood. You didn’t miss the lion tattooed on his forearm. “He’ll be happy to see who’s been taking his money.”

You narrowed your eyes but remained quiet. You yanked your knife free and sliced the forearm of the hand touching you, cutting right through the Lion. Decapitating it. You would’ve stayed and admired your handiwork had you not been on a mission.

So you ran.

You worked through the busy crowd until you somehow ended up at Kaz’s side.

“I need your help.” You stepped in front of him. You hadn’t even realized it was him until you stood face to face.

You couldn’t have picked anyone else?

“You’ve come to the wrong person.” He shook his head.

“It’s one of Pekka Rollins’ men.” You tried urgently. “They’re looking for his daughter.”

That got his attention but he tried not to show it. It flashed across his face for a split second, a momentary sliver of the young boy you knew.

“Isn’t she dead?” He said flatly, as if it was a fact. “I sure hope so.”

“She’s not.” You said sharply and dared a glanced behind him. Your father’s goon was making his way through the crowd a few feet away. “But I’m guessing you’ll kill her if you get the chance.”

“In front of her father, yes. Maybe slice her open from her sternum and watch her heart stop beating.” He nodded, tapping the beak of his crow against the base of your throat, then paused to study your face. Your heart sped up and under your cloak, the grip on your knife grew tighter in an effort to not bat his cane away. It was already stained with the blood of your pursuer, and you weren’t above adding Kaz’s if he recognized you, but you were praying that Sankta Alina would help you avoid it. Never one for religion, but her story had always stuck with you. “What do you know about her?”

You lifted your chin slightly. “Why should I tell you anything?”

He leaned down slightly and you reflexively stepped back. “You came to me, remember? Unless you’d like me to leave you here for your friend back there.”

You sneered slightly before answering. “She’s alive, in the Barrel. She’s been building her own gang, using her father’s money for it.”

Kaz’s head cocked in interest.

“He has an account open for her and puts money in every week. She empties it every month or so.”

“A fool’s errand.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leaves a paper trail, on both sides… Why is she still here?”

“Why do you think? She wants to get rid of her father.”

“Why?”

You checked again and the Dime Lion was closing in. You shifted on your feet and Kaz took a step to the side, turning himself slightly to block you from view. You dropped your head and blocked your face with your hand as the man passed, hoping the scene looked like a blushing girl hiding her embarrassment. You sighed with relief and almost thanked Kaz.

He didn’t do it for you. You’re useful to him now is all.

“How do you know this?” Kaz asked after watching the Dime Lion for a few more seconds.

You replaced your knife and unbuttoned your cloak to pull your collar and show the snake tattoo winding across your shoulder. You fixed your clothing back to position and Kaz studied you silently.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon, Brekker.” You nodded.

He stood dumbfounded as you continued on. It took only a moment before the shock wore off. Kaz watched you go, his confusion burning to anger. He was mad that you had so much information yet gave so little. He was mad that you knew him, yet he knew nothing about you.

But what infuriated him most was that you were vaguely familiar. That he felt some old reminder of who he used to be, when he was just a boy with his brother. He also thought of Jordie with a shudder. He hated that you had some memory connected to his brother and he swore that he would get his answers, even if he had to cut them out of you.

When you were finally able to get in with Nina, it was a relief. She went into what seemed like a rehearsed spiel while you undid your cloak and draped it across your lap as you sat. You reached into your boot and pulled out the specific pile that was intended for her. You dropped it on the table and it silenced her.

“I didn’t come for the Heartrender, Ms. Zenik. I need the Dreg.” You began calmly.

“The Dregs?” She tugged her sleeve uncomfortably. “What is this, a test from Brekker?”

“Not at all. I just ask that you deliver a few things to Kaz.”

“A delivery?” She laughed. “Drop it in the Post like every other lovesick girl that thinks they can fix him and move on, Dear.”

“He has a fan club?” Your brow quirked. You knew it was a joke but you wouldn’t be surprised if there was some group of girls that were fawning over Kaz. He was very pretty after all. “This isn’t a declaration of love or a marriage proposal. More of a… heads-up.”

“If this is a threat-“ Her hand raised and quickly lifted your own in defeat.

“I’d rather try my luck against his Wraith than face you.” You admitted. “I’d like you to hear me out, Nina. Please, you can turn me away and keep the money after. I’m sure every cent helps towards your Fjerdan project.”

Hesitantly, she lowered her hand

You flipped your cloak and withdrew the small envelope from the main pocket. You held it out to her and waited until she opened it before you spoke.

“All I ask is that you get these to Brekker. He’ll know what they mean.” You said calmly, though your heart was racing. You wondered if she could tell.

“Drawings?” She looked up from the papers to you.

“She’s quite proud of those.” You smiled slightly.

It was a small collection of portrait sketches. A few of Kaz as a kid, one of Jordie and Kaz, and a few of Kaz in recent times.

“There should be something else.” You nodded and she shook the ring out of the envelope.

“Hmm, are you sure this isn’t a proposal?” She joked.

She examined it carefully, turning it at different angles and holding it close to her face. She slipped it on her own finger - it was so small, it barely fit her pinky - and your jaw tightened.

“Who is this she you mentioned?” She asked, looking back to you.

“He’ll know.”

“I could just keep this ring, you know. It’s quite adorable.”

“You could.” You agreed. “But that’s a risk she was aware of. Truthfully, I didn’t think you’d care much for a child’s keepsake ring. Besides, it was either you or the sharpshooter, and I’m sure Jesper Fahey would’ve found some parlor that’d give him a line of credit for it.”

“It’s Grisha made, isn’t it?”

You rubbed the fabric of your cloak between your fingers. That had cost you quite a pretty penny. “Yes.”

“Must be a very well off child.”

“She was.”

“Merchant’s daughter?”

“Not quite.”

She quickly grew tired of your avoidant answers. “So what happens if Kaz gets all this?”

“He can do what he wishes with the papers. Those are only a part of a collection that needs to be downsized regardless, but the ring is what’s important… She’ll come for it when she’s ready.”

“She plans on waltzing up to Kaz and demanding the ring?”

“No.” You smiled. “She’ll simply take it back, almost like a placeholder.”

“She’s mad if she thinks she can rob Kaz Brekker” Nina laughed, and you had to admit the sound was rather infectious. “But I’d love to see her try.”

“Can I trust you with this, Ms. Zenik?”

She mulled it over and had to tighten your hands into fists around the fabric of your cloak when you saw your ring was still on her finger. You knew you couldn’t take it back. Not only because it was part of your plan, but because she’d stop your heart as soon as you stood.

“I will, but only because I'd like to see how this’ll play out.” She nodded. “But what about the Wraith?”

You stood and fastened your cloak into place over your shoulders.

“He’ll send her for you and whoever sent these.” She warned.

“Trust. She expects as much.” You added over your shoulder as you left the room.

It took a few days but the unmistakable feeling of being watched from the shadows seized you as you were returning to your small dwelling. You ducked down a different alley, weaving your way through crowded passageways until you finally got to an empty, secluded area. Bold to lure the Wraith deeper into darkness, but you couldn’t risk anyone else hearing your words.

“I’m surprised he waited so long.” You said flatly and lowered your hood. To anyone else, you were talking to yourself. But soon after, her dark clad figure came from the shadows and you faced her bravely. “Hello, Wraith.”

She held up her hand and your ring tumbled out, tied around a string attached to her wrist. You stared at the small piece of jewelry for a moment and the chain around your neck you usually kept it on felt too light. You missed the light weight against your chest, the way it would bounce off your bones when you ran or trained.

“Ah.” You forced a smile. “I see Nina made good on our deal. I should thank her.”

“What business do you have with Kaz?” She finally spoke and her voice was level, void of any sort of emotional cue. You had to give it to Kaz. He trained his Dregs well.

“What business does he have with Pekka Rollins?” You countered. You knew it all, every minute detail, but you wondered what he had told her.

“Nina said that you work for someone else.” She changed the subject, wanting control of the interrogation. “An unnamed girl with Grisha connections.”

“Hmm.” You shrugged. “What did Brekker tell you when he sent you after me?”

“That you work for Pekka Rollins’ daughter.”

You tilted your head side to side in thought. “I suppose, in a way they’re both correct.” You conceded and flicked your cloak over your shoulder. You watched her hand fly to the knives at her ribs and you smiled innocently. You shifted your shirt collar and tilted your head away, waiting for her to see your tattoo. She squinted into the darkness but her hand slowly fell away. “I’d like to live long enough for the reunion, Inej.”

Her eyes went wide and she took a step back. You fixed your cloak over your shoulder and held out your empty palms.

“Yes, I know quite a bit about Brekker’s favorite Crows.” You said simply, keeping all malice out of your words. “Nina Zenik, the Heartrender at the White Rose with a Fjerdan friend out at Hellgate. Jesper Fahey, remarkable Zemeni sharpshooter with a tendency to wring out his coffers across the Barrel. You, Inej Ghafa, formerly Tante Heleen’s Lynx turned ghost story, utilizing those Suli acrobatics. Then there’s the Fjerdan himself that Brekker keeps tabs on, and the new one, the young demo expert.”

Wylan Van Eck - though he had an alias of his own - but you didn’t dare to say that. You wondered if Wylan would recognize you, but you had only seen him in passing years ago. You weren’t sure he knew that much about the Barrel in general. But given the fact that Kaz didn’t recognize you, you doubted Wylan would when you thought about it.

“How long have you been watching us?” She asked, squaring her shoulders and tucking the ring away. You were sad to see it go.

“Off and on.” You shrugged. “Truthfully, I just needed to establish a pattern before I could get that to him… He did get it, didn’t he?”

Her head cocked and you knew she heard something in your voice. Hope, or desperation maybe, and you cursed yourself for it.

“No.” She said smugly. “Nina delivered it to me.”

“Then I assume you have the same motives as she did, interest in what’s happening here.” You realized. “Tell me, Wraith. Has Kaz ordered my death yet, or am I still a target?”

“I believe the word he used was investment.”

“Investment… You know you won’t get anything from me. You’ll go and report back to Kaz with how much I know. If you two haven’t already, you’ll go over the ‘paper trail’ of her account and see it’s been tapped out, which’ll only serve as proof to what I’ve said so far. I’ll wander the Barrel, wasting nights at a gambling table while I bat my lashes to use someone else’s money or I’ll sample the menageries to pass the time. You or Brekker will get restless and pause your pursuit. And when none of you are looking, I’ll go back and you won’t see me again unless I want you to.”

You recognized a flash of silver and realized she drew a knife. You hadn’t even seen her hand move but you hid your shock by lifting your chin defiantly. You would not yield, not cower from Inej. You folded your hands in front of you, under your cloak so you could reach your pistol.

“I don’t want a fight, Inej.” You said honestly.

“I don’t intend there to be much of one.” She countered smoothly and the blade shifted in her hand. “I come as a warning. Keep her snakes away from us.” She said, adding extra venom into your gang’s patron.

“Us?” You instigated. “You bear no Dreg tattoo, Wraith. How can I be sure you’re truly aligned with them?”

“Doubt be again and find out.”

“We don’t want a war.” You reasoned.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. You and your shadow boss will not back the Dregs into a corner. Brekker won’t he-“

“I don’t fear Kaz Brekker.” You said firmly.

“Then you’re more of a fool than he thinks.” She snapped. She glanced around as if someone was listening, but no one in Ketterdam dared to watch the confrontations in the alleys. “Pride will be your downfall before he makes a move.”

“He wants to dismantle everything Pekka Rollins has.” You reasoned. You weren’t why you wanted so badly to convince Inej that you weren’t Kaz’s enemy, but when you thought about it, you knew he’d see you that way regardless. You worked for Pekka Rollins’ daughter. Actually, you were Rollins’ daughter. You’d be dead the second he found out. “She wants her father’s empire to burn as well. Why fight?”

“Do not come to the Dregs again, snake.”

“Is that a threat?” Your brows raised.

She smiled and her hand was a blur as the knife flew at you. You barely hid behind your cloak in time. You felt the blunt force of the knife against your cheek, thanking the Saints, before the blade clattered to the floor. You peaked out and another came, skating across the back of your hand. You yelped and clutched the wound to your chest.

Before you could react, she was on you. She had you by your cloak and slammed you against the nearest wall. You felt the distinct tip of a blade under your chin and you were quick to pull your own. You pressed it against her abdomen, grabbing her other arm to keep her close. You ignored the burn of the cut and righted your grip.

“The thing with snakes-“ You began and smiled. “We can wait. Bide our time until conditions fit us. We won’t back the Dregs into a corner, but you won’t flush us out either.”

Her eyes darted between yours as she tried to read your expression. Or maybe she wanted to remember your features. Either way, you acted. You slammed your head forward and collided with hers. She stumbled back and her blade fell away. You flicked your cloak to add to her disorientation before you kicked at her chest to knock her down.

Then you ran.

It took a few more days before you saw either of them again. You had seen a Healer in that time, someone who wouldn’t give their name or let you look directly at them. Why they were in hiding you didn’t know or ask. They repaired your hand and that was all you needed.

You were wandering the streets when you saw her silhouette in the alley you passed. Moments later, she was on the rooftops above you, following. You dared a glance but as soon as your eyes turned that way, she disappeared. You knew she wanted you to follow so you sighed to yourself, checked that no one else was looking - of course they weren’t - and ducked down the alley.

You went as deep as you dared but there was no one else, only the faint tap of a cane behind you. You nodded slightly and put your hands up in surrender. You flipped down your hood and turned, facing Kaz straight on.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” You began innocently, though you added a bit of roughness to your voice. If Kaz was going to recognize you, you weren’t going to make it easy for him.

A soft thud of landing behind you but you kept your focus forward.

“Will you come quietly?” Kaz spoke simply, as if it was obvious you were beaten. You quirked a brow and considered how the fight would go if you chose it. One of them you could take, but winning against both of them wasn’t likely.

“You say that like there’s a choice.” You sighed. “I know when I’m out-gunned, Dirtyhands.”

You slipped your fingers under the opposite sleeve and slid the hidden retractable blade strapped to your wrist out. You tossed the cuff to Kaz and he caught it with the crow’s beak of his cane. While he examined the small device, you held your pistol to Inej, who took it without a word. You tapped the toe of one boot on the ground, then the other, and felt the blade shifting against your leg. Glancing up, Kaz didn’t seem to notice the movement but the gentle kick to shin told you Inej did. With a huff, you pulled it out and handed it over. All you were left with was the small blade at the sheath under your cloak’s collar, but you wouldn’t give that up.

Only an idiot gets taken hostage by the two most lethal Dregs unarmed.

“Nice to see you again, Wraith.” You said teasingly. “Although this isn’t much of a fair fight, is it?”

You put your hands up again and offered Kaz a sarcastic expression. He was stone faced as usual, though he nodded to Inej over your shoulder. Your brows furrowed and as you turned, the side of your head was slammed into the nearest wall.

You woke up tied to a chair in an office/bedroom with an empty chair across from you, Kaz’s cane resting against the seat. Your head was pounding and you could feel your pulse beating in the new wound, growing as the room came into better focus. Your cloak was thrown across the desk, your wrists tied tightly to the back of the chair with scratchy ropes, your ankles were tied a lot looser. You shifted in the chair to test the integrity and wondered how hard you’d have to fall for it to break.

“About time.” He complained from somewhere behind you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do your usual hostages regain consciousness sooner?” You spat back, craning your neck to find him. “Should’ve brought your Heartrender if you were that impatient.”

Kaz was making it very hard to try for an alliance with him. At that moment, you wanted to kick his pretty teeth in.

“You’re not worth that much trouble.” He waved you off and you saw the infamous black gloves.

“Enough trouble for you to come and get me. What made that decision for you? Was it when Inej couldn’t do it herself?”

“Are you certain she wanted to?”

“Could’ve fooled me, but according to her, I’m a fool anyways.” You shrugged as best you could. “What's with the gloves?”

His leather-clad hands tightened into fists and he looked down at them for a moment, contemplating. You wondered what was going through his head, but you’d never know. His expression was as blank as ever and you cursed his self-control.

“You didn't wear them before.” You continued. “When you were a boy.”

“You know quite a lot, Dear.” He said simply and made his way in front of you. He moved his cane and sat, stretching his legs in front of him.

“Been around a while.”

“Who are you?” He leaned in a bit in interest. You were something new, something potentially dangerous, and he wanted to learn everything he could about you.

“A stranger that knows so much about you, Kaz Rietveld.”

His eyes narrowed and shifted the cane between his hands. You eyed it carefully, knowing the dangers that object held especially in Kaz’s hands. It could break bones, numb limbs, slice through skin. You’d be lucky if he didn’t use it on you, but the daunting silhouette of the crow’s head didn’t stop you from talking.

“You and Jordie… Her drawings are the spitting ima-“

The sharp beak of his crow topper sliced down your cheekbone and cut your words short. Your head snapped to the side and you cried out slightly, fresh blood slowly dripping down your cheek. You stared back at him angrily, new and sudden rage burning in your stomach as he stood over you.

“You don’t get to say that name.” He said viciously. The rage in his eyes made you worry he’d kill you there. “What did she tell you?”

“You can beat me all you like.” You said firmly. “I won’t break.”

“Then you’ll die.”

He pulled a knife and you shifted in your seat, pushing back as far as you could. One of his covered hands landed on your shoulder while the other pressed the blade to your throat. Your eyes darted in a panic and you noticed the silver chain around his neck.

“The ring.” You breathed and the knife froze. “You have the ring. You know she’s out there.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.” He pulled the blade, causing you to wince, and you felt a thin stream of blood from your neck. He took up his cane with the other hand and tapped it against the floor, punctuating his words. “I do, however, doubt you’re as steadfast as you claim.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You shook your head. “I’ll die before I give up anything on my snakes. You think I don’t know what you do to people you don’t like? I’ve heard all the stories, Dirtyhands.” You laughed. “I wouldn’t risk their lives just to save myself.”

The cold crow’s head came under your chin and forced your attention to him.

“Your snakes?” His head cocked and your eyes went wide with panic for a moment. Leave it to Kaz to pick up on your one rhetoric mistake.

“I serve as her lieutenant. The snakes are as much mine as hers.” You covered, but he didn’t seem convinced as you jerked your head away. “Are the Dregs not as much yours as they are Haskell’s?”

“The Dregs follow me.” He said firmly, an air of leadership and confidence around him. If you didn’t have a gang already, you would’ve asked him to take you in as well. “This will go one of two ways. You answer my questions and you can burrow back into whatever hole you and Rollins’ pathetic daughter are hiding in with minimal injury.”

You spat at his feet. He swung the cane at your ribs. You wheezed as the air left one of your lungs.

“Or I can flay you piece by piece until you’re unrecognizable, covered in tears and your own blood, and I still get what I need.”

“You’ll get nothing from me.” You rasped and shook your head.

“Or…” He trailed off, wagging his finger as if a new idea came to him. “I can simply keep you here, wait until she finally shows herself and then drag her kicking and screaming to her father’s doorstep.”

“And do what?” You dared to ask, though you had a feeling you knew the answer. “He won’t care. He gave up on her years ago.”

“If that were true, he wouldn’t have an account for her.” Kaz shook his head. “Yes, I looked into it and, as I mentioned, the paper trail was easy enough to pick up. But I must admit, the trail to you was quite the dead-end. Well done.”

“He’ll laugh in your face if you bring her to him.” You continued, but the air you breathed left the faint taste of blood in your mouth. “She ran out on him. You think he’d want to see her again?”

“Oh, I think he’s still hoping she’ll come home.”

The wicked look in his eyes told you all you needed.

“To protect his secrets, maybe. She knows every trick he has.”

“Secrets die with those who keep them.” Kaz mused as if it was his saying. “And the only ones worth keeping aren’t worth a life.”

“Oh, Saints.” You complained with your head dropped against the back of the chair, eyes cast upward. “You know no one is going to come for me, don’t you?”

Silence. Just the threatening tap of his cane on the floor.

“Her and I agreed that if either of us get caught by you or her father, we wouldn’t go looking for the other. It’s a good way to get us both killed so we sacrifice the other if push comes to shove.” You looked back at him. “And you’ve shoved.”

“No one is coming?” He asked. The question seemed innocent enough but the menacing way he spun his knife in his hand proved otherwise.

“Our secret dies with the other.”

“Meaning no one will hear your screams? You’ll cry out and plead. but no one will come… I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Hang on.” You tried and he pressed the knife to your collarbone, a few inches to the side of your snake tattoo. “I-“

“Giving in already?” He taunted.

You needed something to get the knife off of you, something to distract him. He didn’t seem all that interested in anything about your alleged leader. Maybe he knew all he needed about you on that front. Was there something you could ask him instead?

“She feels guilty.” You confessed suddenly. “About you. About Jordie.”

You flinched at the look he gave you.

“I don’t know who he is!” You lied quickly.

You hated that all your control, all your pose and power, fell away while you were strapped to the chair. You were helpless, at the mercy of the Bastard of the Barrel, the most notorious and merciless person in Ketterdam. Maybe you were out of your league.

“I’ve only heard the name… She says her father took everything and she wishes there was something she could’ve done. She wants to make things right.”

“Make things right?” He asked lowly before a rough, disbelieving chuckles left his lips. “Can she suddenly raise the dead? No, you see, she was a child. Just as I was. But breaking her in front of her father, taking the one thing he yearns for, now that just might ‘make things right’.”

“What happened to you?” You said desperately. “What changed?”

“The boy that girl told you about is dead.” Kaz explained carefully, as if saying those words took more effort than anything he’d ever done. “Kaz Rietveld is dead.”

“She doesn’t believe that.”

“What’s that old saying? Like calls to like? Believing that makes her more of a fool than you are… Where is she?”

“She’s in the Barrel.” You confessed carefully. The knife hit the ground but before you could feel any relief. a heavy fist connected with your jaw. Blood filled your mouth and you knew you but your tongue, hard.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.” He said, his voice holding a dangerous edge.

“No.” You managed through gritted teeth. “What will you do, hunt her? You’ll never find her.”

“What makes you think you haven’t led us to her already?”

Your mind raced. Had he or Inej seen you go to your most recent safe house? It was possible that he had been trailing you longer than you thought, but if that was the case, he’d know that there was no girl in the shadows leading the snakes. It was you.

It was a bluff.

“So string her up instead of me.” You sneered and shifted your feet, just able to brace your toes against the floor. “I tried to be civilized here, Brekker. But you know what I’ve learned?”

“Enlighten me.”

“You’re just a man. And all men can fall.”

His brows furrowed slightly and you threw yourself backwards. The chair hit the ground and broke with a loud crack. You got to your knees and were fiddling with the ropes that bound your wrists to the fragments of the chair when you had to drop to your back, the heavy crow’s head swinging past where you head would’ve been. You yelped and rolled to the side as it crashed into the floor in a high arc.

Finally, you freed your hands. However, the crow’s head landed against your same side again and the impact had you falling to your face. You coughed roughly and the ragged breathing and shooting pain had you fearing that your rib was broken.

With a whine, you climbed to a kneel.

Your eyes darted to your cloak before surveying for an escape route. You could go for the door but it was obvious and you knew the place would likely be crawling with Dregs. You weren’t getting out that way. Your only other option seemed to be the window.

You got to your feet and charged. You threw punches at Kaz, hardly any of them connecting. You growled slightly in annoyance at his ability to block your hits so you threw your elbow instead, smacking it to the side of his jaw. You followed it with a hard hook then a few body shots. You wanted to end it so you threw a hard kick for his head but he caught it.

He tilted his head in disappointment and you saw the blossoming red marks across his features. You watched his elbow lift, on a path to the side of your knee, and you reacted. You jumped and threw the other foot. It connected with his jaw and you both fell to the floor. You cried loudly and you landed on the rib.

You forced yourself up, ignored the dangerously threatening pain as you stood straight, and dashed for your cloak. Beneath it was the rest of your weaponry. You collected it in a hurry and climbed through the window.

“We’ll meet again, Kaz.” You warned, crouching in the windowsill. He had rolled to his back and you saw the cut your kick broke near his eyebrow. “Come for me before that, I’ll burn the Dregs to the ground.”

Then you were gone.

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viandclintbarton-supremacy · 3 months ago

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Catalan Comeback (Crimson Mask Part 4)

You breathed in as you felt the tattooed woman hug you tightly. "I missed you too, Mapi," you said slightly shaky. You missed the warmth of Mapi gave you . You felt her protectiveness wash over you as her embrace got tighter. "Mapi, we just got Y/N back, lets not cut off their air support," you heard Ingrid say, making a joke. Mapi would only respond by holding you tighter, which you didn't mind.

You let out a shaky sigh as you relaxed into her touch. Mapi was the big sister you never had, she was also the one who messaged you every single day since the incident. Even if you didn't reply she was there.

"Ok we should move now" You say reluctantly as you both parted. You pick up your suitcase and bag, ready to get into the pairs car. Its been a week since the meeting between you and Bright, You stayed at Fran's for the week. You became her dogs carer whilst she went training and had movie and game nights. It felt like the old days when you used to play for Chelsea. It was a calming vibe but not on social media. Ever since the incident where Keira tackled you and Lucy barged you, It sparkled major rumours. From bad blood between you guys, Transfer rumours. Hell a lot of Wonze fans came after you, even some believing you tried to get with Lucy. Something that mad you laugh out loud. But the transfer rumours? They were kinda true. Well you are always gonna be in transfer rumours. The footballer life.

You knew that the Barca chairmen and co, Talked to Jonaton. They want to see how you are till January and then decide whether you stay or go. Jonaton is still very relucted to let you go but you have had interest from Roma, Arsenal, West Ham, Lyon, Man City and Real Madrid. You had no desire to leave Barca, even if you forced to go, Your loyalty to Barca and Chelsea would not let you go to Arsenal or Madrid. Though the one thing through everyone that stuck out was the fear of seeing the two people back in Barca.

Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh.

The Duo messaged you heavily after the injury but it seemed they stopped. You wouldn't be surprised if Mapi or Alexia told them to give you time. Mapi of all people knew how much Lucy's and Keira's friendship meant to you. "Come on then, in the car young one" You were gently pushed into the car. You couldn't wait to get back to training even though Keira and Lucy were gonna be there. You managed to be calm, But thanks to your encounter with Millie, It could not worse. Right?

The day flew by, Before you knew it. it was the next day and you were walking back into the training locker room but you were met with a powerful hug, you didn't need to question who it was who was suffercating you

"P-Pa-" You struggled to breathe as Patricia was currently suffocating you. "Ai- air." She gasped as she let go. You held your face. "Im so sorry, i just missed you!" You couldn't help but laugh at her protectiveness she was showing. "Patricia down," Patricia pouted at the voice of Alexia. You hear a sigh. "Now!" She said more sternly but friendly way. She reluctantly let go of you. And you make eye contact with your captain. "Welcome back, little one," She said with a massive smile and wrapped you in a motherly hug. "Great to be back cap." You felt her chuckle at her nickname.

"Hey Y/N," your breath quickened, and you became hot, You knew that accent. You turned around with a deep breath. Alexia hands was on your back to reassure you.

You noticed Keira looked remorseful in her looks and how she stood. "Hi Walsh," You controlled your breathing and avoided eye contact, She went to touch your arm, but you instinctly flinched. Which made a pained and shamed expression cover Keira's face. It look like she wanted to say something but hesitated

"Glad your back," Keira said, she said in a honest tone looking down before leaving the room. You didn't look just headed to your locker. You could feel the air once thick return to the noisy sounds of your club mates. You picked up your training top and felt the fabric, it comforting your mind but also a warmth as you finally getting to go play football after your injury.

You started warming up with the squad, getting back into the groove. You were happy, smiling and laughing alongside Mapi until your eye caught a certain defender.

Lucy Bronze

You tried to control your breathing, the panic wasn't as bad since you were playing the game and surrounded by familler faces. You could feel her eyes glance at you every minute or saw.

Once you glance and made eye contact, this making your eyes snap away, unknowingly making Bronze huff in frustration.

You were running at the ball during your attacking drills, you pulled your leg back and struck threw the ball sending it into the bottom right corner. You hear some if the girls cheer and hype you up as you jogged back. You managed to see the next defender who's job was to get the ball away from you was.......Bronze

It felt like an lifetime chasing that ball. You ran fully determined to get the ball. You were locked in, you approached the ball

But then

You Hesitated

You Tensed up as soon as Bronze slid for the ball. Making you hurriedly jog away to the attacker line before Bronze tried to make convo.

Now you started a mini game. 5 v 5

Your team was winning 3-1 as you ran towards the box, your heart pumping as the wind blew past you. You felt Bronze hot on your tail as Graham went for the cross. The ball glided in the air, finding its way to your destination. You had a brief moment of doubt before you jumped, you heard Bronze behind you. You saw the ball come closer and closer and as it was about to hit you

The image of the incident flashed before you

Your bloodied face

Bright

The screams

You screamed as you squased your hands and felt a shove on your back. As you opened your eyes, you saw the goal post and managed to manoeuvre out of the way, landing next to it inches away.

You deeply breathed, in shock you were frozen on the spot. It nearly happened again. And it was......the person you heard behind you. You glanced to the player a few steps away from you..

The player who looked concened

Lucy Bronze.....

She step towards you, but you couldn't let her come close. Her hands grazed your shoulder and you Scurried away screaming making her jump

You relived all the pain of that night, you couldn't focus on anyone's voice.

You felt big arms wrap around you. You didn't care who it was. You screamed and screamed until you felt the world fading away as your voice croaked as you fell past out from exhaustion.

Unknowingly to you, Cata held you tightly as Alexia, mapi, and more kneeled by you.

Leaving Bronze in shock and crushed

Long time no see 🤷‍♂️

Busy life, sorry for long wait yall

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pxnsneverland · 8 months ago

Text

Something Immortal | Biker!Austin Butler x OC (part 1)

plot summary: In the gritty underbelly of a city ruled by werewolf biker gangs, Austin Butler reigned supreme as the ruthless leader of his pack. A man of unwavering ferocity, he lied, killed, and stole without remorse, living by a code of violence that defined his kind. Yet, even Austin harbored a secret weakness – his childhood friend Bonnie Barlow, the one woman he had loved in silence for years. Bonnie's father had once been part of Austin's gang, but after his death, she fled the treacherous world of the werewolves, unable to stomach the endless cycle of crime and brutality. For five years, she remained a fugitive from her own nature, until a fateful night when her life took an irreversible turn. Freshly released from a two-year prison stint, Austin returned to his pack, reveling in the debauchery of their den. But his revelry was cut short by a frantic call from Bonnie, pleading for his aid. Rushing to her side, he uncovered a grim truth – in a desperate act of self-defense against her abusive boyfriend, Bonnie had taken a life, awakening the dormant werewolf within her. As the next full moon loomed, she would undergo her first agonizing transformation, a fate she had always dreaded. Defying the pack's ruthless code, Austin sheltered Bonnie, guiding her through the excruciating metamorphosis that tore through her body each lunar cycle. In the depths of her torment, their bond rekindled, blossoming into a love they had long suppressed. Nights of shared laughter and reminiscence gave way to stolen moments of tenderness, their connection deepening with every passing moon. Yet, their newfound bliss was a fragile thing, forever threatened by the harsh realities that governed their world. For Bonnie was branded a deserter, her very existence a betrayal in the eyes of the pack. If Austin's treachery was uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless.

pairings: biker!austin butler x oc

word count: 2746

warnings/notes: violence, mentions of murder, gang activity

Chapter 1: The Alpha's Return

As Austin pushed open the heavy oak door, the overwhelming cacophony of sound hit him like a physical force. The deep bass of the music thrummed through his chest and reverberated in his ears. The mixture of sweat, alcohol, and cigarette smoke assaulted his senses as he made his way into the dimly lit bar. Flickering lights hung haphazardly above the scattered tables and stools, casting shadows that seemed to dance with the rhythm of the music. In one corner of the bar, a group of men gathered around a pool table, their voices loud and boisterous as they cheered on their game. In another corner, a couple was engaged in a heated argument, their voices rising above the din of the bar.

Jerry Thompson, known as 'The Butcher' for his towering stature and imposing presence, immediately spotted Austin from his perch at the bar. Jerry's muscular arms were adorned with intricate tattoos that seemed to come alive with each movement as he stood up to greet Austin. His leather jacket emitted a low creaking sound as he moved, adding to his intimidating aura. With sharp eyes constantly scanning the room, he appeared to be assessing every person and potential threat.

"Austin!" Jerry bellowed with a wide grin, revealing his crooked teeth. Austin returned the gesture with equal enthusiasm and they met in a brief but firm hug, both happy to see each other after so long apart.

"Ace of Spades!" Jerry exclaimed, slapping Austin's back with a hearty laugh. The impact sent vibrations through Austin's body and he couldn't help but grin at his friend's exuberance. His booming voice echoed throughout the dimly-lit bar, drawing the attention of the other patrons. Heads turned, conversations paused, and eyes widened as they caught sight of the alpha in their midst.

"Still got your sense of humor, I see," Austin replied with a smirk. Despite the weariness in his voice, his piercing blue eyes sparkled with a fierce determination that radiated authority. He let his gaze wander around the room, taking in the familiar faces of his pack members and noting the new ones who had joined in his absence. The gang had clearly grown in numbers'.

"The pack's missed you," Jerry said, his deep voice barely audible over the pounding bass of the music. He motioned towards a back booth where a few burly men sat hunched over their drinks, their eyes gleaming under the dim lights. Jerry's eyes darted around the dimly lit room, his body tense with unease. He leaned in closer to Austin, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Things haven't been easy since you've been gone; a few of the newer guys, they don't respect the code... or you."

Austin straightened up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. The tension in his posture was palpable as he issued a silent challenge. "Name them," he demanded, his voice laced with authority and steel.

Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze trailing away from Austin’s intense stare. He let out a deep sigh, the weight of the situation evident on his weathered face. Finally, with a heavy hand he pointed towards the corner of the bar where two young bikers were shooting pool. Their boisterous laughter filled the room, oblivious to the fact that they were being talked about.

“Those two. Dal and Jimmy.” Jerry’s voice was rough and gruff, barely audible above the rowdy crowd. “Think they can run things their way. They’ve been challenging your rules ever since you left.”

Austin’s piercing gaze followed Jerry’s finger and then slowly moved to focus on the two men in question. They seemed hardly more than boys really, their matching leather jackets and cocky attitudes giving off the impression of overgrown pups trying to mark their territory. The sight of them sparked something in his chest - a cold, calculated anger that had him clenching his fists at his sides. “I see.” His words were sharp and clipped, void of any emotion except for a simmering rage that only those who knew him well could detect. With a determined stride, he pushed past Jerry and made a beeline towards Dal and Jimmy who were still engrossed in their game of pool. The tension in the room felt palpable as all eyes turned to watch Austin approach the group of challengers. Austin's body visibly trembles with a mix of rage and anticipation as he approaches the oblivious duo. His broad shoulders square up, ready for a fight, while his icy gaze pierces through them like a sharp blade. The laughter dies down around them as they finally notice the Alpha's approach.

Dal, a lanky man with a scar running down the side of his face, meets Austin's stare with a smug smirk that exudes defiance. Jimmy, shorter and stockier with a wild mop of red hair, takes an instinctive step back in fear and quickly averts his gaze under Austin's intense stare.

With a voice full of authority and malice, Austin addresses them. "You got a problem with my rules?”

Dal's smirk twists into a snarl as he leans back against the pool table, crossing his arms over his chest in challenge. "Our problem ain't with your damn rules, Butler," he spits out Austin's title with contempt. "Our problem is with you.”

The pool stick falls from Dal's grip with a loud clatter as he stands, his eyes blazing with anger. "You've been locked up for two years and now you think you can just waltz back in here and reclaim your throne as alpha?" He takes a threatening step forward, his voice dripping with disdain. "We've managed just fine without you, Butler. Who's to say you're still the strongest?"

"Is that a challenge, Dal?" Austin's voice pierced through the dim bar like a shard of ice, freezing the air around them. His crystal blue eyes glinted with a dangerous intensity as they locked onto Dal, who could feel his heart rate quicken under the alpha’s unwavering stare. The muscles in Austin's arms bulged as he stood tall, crossing them over his broad chest in a show of dominance

Dal shifted uneasily, almost feeling physically pinned under the weight of Austin's intense glare. The smirk on his face vanished, replaced by a fierce determination that hardened his features. Meeting Austin's gaze head-on, he squared his shoulders and spoke with a steely resolve, “Yeah, Butler. It is."

Without warning, Austin lunged at Dal with such ferocious speed that he was nothing but a blur. The crowd's hushed gasps were drowned out by the sickening thud of Austin's fist connecting with Dal's face. A fresh cut on his lip oozed blood as he lay sprawled on the ground, his body trembling with pain and shock.The air in the room seemed to thicken with tension as Dal slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood away with a shaking hand. His gaze locked onto Austin's, filled with a fiery defiance. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Austin, their bodies colliding in a flurry of fists and grunts. But Austin was a force to be reckoned with, easily overpowering Dal with his brute strength and merciless blows. Each punch landed like a sledgehammer, causing bones to crack and skin to split. The smell of iron permeated the air as blood spilled, staining the floor beneath them. Dal was no match for Austin's relentless assault. A thunderous left hook knocked him off balance, leaving him dazed and stumbling. Before he could regain his bearings, Austin charged at him like a raging animal, slamming him back against the pool table.

Pain exploded through Dal's body as he hit the hard surface, gasping for air as if his lungs had been crushed. He struggled to focus through blurred vision, gazing up at Austin who loomed over him like a giant. With one final burst of strength, Dal tried to push himself up off the table, only to receive a brutal kick to the gut that sent him crashing back down. As he lay there, helpless and defeated, all he could taste was blood and defeat in his mouth.

Austin stood over him, chest heaving and fists clenched. His ice-blue eyes were alight with a victorious glint as he looked down at his conquest. The crowd parted in silence, every pair of eyes glued to the spectacle. Austin’s gaze shifted from Dal to the onlookers, his expression stern and unwavering. His voice rang out clear and commanding through the silence, “Let this be a lesson to all of you - I am your alpha, your leader...and I will not tolerate disloyalty or disrespect in my pack.”

He cast a final glance at Dal, then turned towards Jerry who had been watching the scene unfold from the sidelines. The Butcher's face bore a grimace of satisfaction; he approved of what Austin had done. Austin slowly walked back to him, the crowd parting to make way for their leader.

"Painful but necessary," Jerry muttered as he draped an arm around Austin's shoulder, "hopefully this little display of power will keep them in line."

Austin simply nodded his agreement, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. However, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He knew that he had needed to assert his authority but the violent encounter left a bitter taste in his mouth. He hoped that no other member would dare to challenge him; he didn't want to shed any more blood of his own pack. But he would stand his ground and uphold order, no matter the cost.

"Well, that was a helluva welcome back party," Jerry chuckled and slapped Austin on the back. The two walked to the exit, their imposing figures outlined by the dimly lit bar behind them. Austin didn’t respond; his thoughts were elsewhere – on Bonnie Barlow. How would she react to tonight's events? Would she be afraid of him...or for him? As Austin sat in his cell, thoughts of Bonnie consumed his mind. She had been his only source of comfort during his time in jail, and now that he was out, she still lingered in his thoughts. It had been five long years since he last saw her, and he couldn't help but wonder how she had been and what she was up to now. Memories of her petite figure and expressive eyes flooded his mind, stirring a mix of emotions within him. Remorse for the mistakes he made and an intense yearning to see her again. His heart clenched at the reality of his situation. He wasn't just a man – he was an alpha, a werewolf. And Bonnie? She was the quiet beauty who had found her way into his heart, and then fled from the violent world he inhabited. Even as he craved to have her back in his life, Austin couldn’t help but acknowledge the bitter truth. The world he ruled with an iron fist was no place for someone as delicate and empathetic as Bonnie.

With a troubling thought gnawing at his mind, Austin abruptly shrugged off Jerry's arm and strode out into the cool, crisp night air. His heavy boots crunched with each step on the gravel path as he made his way to his motorcycle. The machine stood there like a ferocious animal lying in wait, its metallic body glinting in the moonlight.

"Hey, where you off to?" Jerry called after him, but Austin did not even spare a glance as he pulled on his leather gloves and climbed onto his ride. His mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Bonnie, bittersweet memories that brought both solace and a haunting pain.

The engine roared to life beneath him, a low growl that reverberated through the peaceful night. With one last look at the bar where his pack was still celebrating their leader's victorious return, he revved the engine and tore off into the darkness. The wind whipped against his face as he raced down the deserted roads, slicing through the quiet stillness of the night. He welcomed the chilling gusts, hoping they would blow away the weight of remorse weighing on him. But no amount of speed or distance could erase Bonnie's image from his mind or ease the ache in his heart. His thoughts kept returning to that fateful day five years ago when Bonnie had left.

She had vanished into the ether, leaving behind a void in Austin's life that he couldn't fill. No call, no text, no warning. One day, they were holding each other at her father's funeral - her tears staining his shoulder and his arms wrapped tightly around her. The next day, she was gone, taking all traces of herself with her. Austin searched high and low, calling every number he had for her and knocking on every door he could think of. But she had disappeared without a trace, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Weeks turned into months, which turned into years. The uncertainty of not knowing where Bonnie had gone or even if she was still alive weighed heavily on Austin's mind and heart. He would wake up from nightmares, drenched in sweat and trembling, his thoughts consumed by visions of Bonnie being hurt or in danger. As much as he wanted to protect her like he did when they were younger, he couldn't do anything if he didn't even know where she was.

The soft purr of his motorbike echoed through the stillness, offering him a strange sense of tranquility as he veered down onto the dirt path that led home. Austin’s cabin, nestled in the secluded wilderness away from town, was as rugged and unyielding as he was. A shabby structure with weathered timber walls and a roof so worn it seemed to blend into the overcast night sky. Sliding off his bike, Austin crossed the threshold, stepping into the austere living space. Minimalistic and practical just like him. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its hearth filled with charred logs from a fire long gone. The rest of the furniture was plain and functional - a worn-out couch, a small dining table, and his bed tucked into an alcove.

He shrugged off his leather jacket and made his way to the worn-out armchair by the fireplace, sinking into its familiar comfort. Pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a dusty bottle, he stared at the golden liquid swirling within. Each drop mirrored years of torment and solitude that had gradually gnawed away at his soul. Drinking was not his means to drown the pain; instead, it was more of a ritual – an acknowledgement of his broken spirit and an attempt to numb the hurt festering within. The air around him crackled as he struck a match and brought it close to the dry logs in the hearth. The fire leaped up instantly, hungry flames lapping at the wood while releasing whispers of smoke into the air. Austin watched the dance of the fire, his mind lost in the glowing depths as he sipped from his glass. The warmth of the Scotch spread through him, a perfect foil to the cold emptiness he had grown accustomed to. The silence of his cabin was only broken by the sporadic crackle of the flames and the quiet hum of woodland creatures outside. This solitude was his sanctuary and yet it was also his prison cell.

The tranquil silence was broken in an instant by a shrill ring that made Austin jump. He quickly realized it was his cell phone, a device he hadn't heard from in what seemed like ages. His fingers fumbled for the familiar weight in his pocket, almost forgetting it had been there this whole time. The screen displayed ‘Unknown’ as the call persisted, daring him to answer and reveal the identity of the caller. Who could be reaching out to him, someone he had not seen at the bar? With a deep breath, Austin pressed accept and brought the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?" His voice came out rough and hesitant.

"Austin," said a soft voice on the other end.

Instantly recognizing the voice that had haunted his thoughts for years, Austin's heart began to race in his chest. The drink in his hand suddenly felt like a lead weight, and he carefully set it down on the small wooden table beside him. His fingers trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on the phone, as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

"Bonnie..."

Stay tuned for part 2!! Click HERE to view!

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miiukkaa · 2 years ago

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raph's subway room 🧸

personally speaking, raph is both an easy and a difficult character to understand. he has grown up with the responsibilty of having to look after his younger brothers. he definitely can be rowdy, playful, goofy and irresponsible but there's a sense of responsibility that he carries and holds onto. i mention this only because i feel this shows in him wanting to let his brothers have things over himself (things like furniture, trinkets, food... just stuff in general). not in a dramatic way in which he'd sacrifice EVEYRYTHING for the sake of others and thus neglect his own needs, no, no, it's not black and white like that. this would simply mean that he owns less furniture/trinkets/things than what you'd imagine. a mindful guy looking out for those he loves (let us not forget that he looks after himself, too).

i gave the big guy a big bed which is supported by the subway car's seats opposite to one another as well as cinder blocks. again, very little space underneath the bed. there're a few teddybears by the foot of the bed (note that the mattress isn't as wide as the car so the bears are just sitting on the seat).

raph is a RnB fan and has shown to own a collection of vinyl records. i was feeling generous so i gave him a vinyl record player with an amp right next to his bed.

while i could have moved his DIY bench press in the car, i rather it stayed outside of the car as seen in the movie. he would probably still have some weights stored in his room (he could easily use smaller weights in his room, too - i feel there's enough room for that).

opposite to the main entrance, he'd have a clothing line to hang some of his clothes. oh, and the door on the right side? that's just half-open. i'm not sure if raph himself would fit through a half-opened door but i like to imagine it's more of a window to him anyway. (from the bed he would lean a little to squint what's happening outside before shouting "hey, what's the commotion about!?" or something).

posters! first we have ghostbear's poster which we have seen in raph's sewer room. i feel he would have ripped the poster off of the wall after feeling betrayed by the wrestler but then later taped it back up after having calmed down and feeling remorseful. he still does admire the sport and ghostbear after all. complicated feelings.

a new lou jitsu poster in which our favorite rat man is simply just posing for the fans. speaking of the rat man, i'd like to think he helped raph write down the famous japanese quote from the show: 「あなたは一人じゃない」 translated to "you're not alone". i mean, if i were raph, i'd want to write the quote down... ESPECIALLY since he doesn't know the language and it's easy to forget for that reason. it's like splinter signed his poster for his son in a way :)

the mad dogs flag looks like it was bought rather than self-made... so i doubt they would have bought just one for leo. i mean "mad dogs" is their thing so you gotta get all the siblings involved kind of like a shared tattoo!!

then a silly little drawing by mikey in which he drew raph flexing :)

and speaking of mikey! there's some graffiti art by him! both of them are near identical to the ones seen in raph's sewer room but... one of them just says "boss!" and the other is just flames.

a very simple room design but i feel it's just enough for raph :]

leo's room

mikey's room

#feel free to use for reference yall #miiukkart #rottmnt subway lair reference #rottmnt

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doromoni · 9 months ago

Text

Clash of Champions | LH44 , MV1

Act 1. Part 2 : When all had fallen

Ships : Lewis Hamilton x Engineer! Reader , Max Verstappen x Engineer! Reader

Genre : Drama , Angst , Romance

Warnings : Morally Grey Characters

Summary : The rivalry between the titans of Formula 1 go off track and only one will reign victorious.

< Previous Next >

You remember 2015 as if it was tattooed to your brain. This was the year when cracks had started to appear in the Mercedes motorhome.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was all victories and celebrations — through what appears to be years of dominance ahead. However, destruction and chaos loomed between the walls of the 2 garages. The dispute between the drivers is growing gnarly and what was supposed to be kept on track was seeping into the personal lives of the people involved.

Lewis and Nico were ready to slit each other’s throats when given the permission and command. Moreover, the management did not give a damn about the rapidly growing hostility, for as long as one of them won . No, Mercedes didn’t care. And you saw how it affected not only the drivers , but the entire pit.

A person cannot forget a lifetime’s worth of friendship that easily. You saw it with your own two eyes , how the loss of friendship killed a part of Lewis and all you could do was sit there and pull him close into your embrace.

Paranoia had started to claw its way into Lewis’ mind; wondering if his teammate and Mercedes were teaming up against him.

You could do nothing to help, because you were going through the same exact thing. Not as Lewis’ partner, but as his race engineer. You cannot lie to yourself, and most importantly you cannot lie to Lewis and say that no dirty cards were drawn — because you know for a fact that several team calls were given without your knowledge or permission that had led to losses and misjudgments. You cannot deny foul play … not when Monaco 2015 happened.

“Lewis, you have a 21-second gap on Rosberg. Tires are good, keep that pace” You radioed towards Lewis as you monitored the data on the car.

“Copy, what lap are we? “ Lewis radioed back

“Lap 64, Lap 64 of 78. Keep your head down, A race win is projected, I repeat, a race win is a project— RED FLAG, RED FLAG! ” Just as you were talking, the signal for a red flag had lit and you and your team were informed of a crash.

Quickly gathering the information, you rallied it towards Lewis.

“Slow the car down, Red Flag, Red Flag. A safety car is deployed. Lewis , lay low and keep those tyres warm” You mentally cursed as what appeared to be a 21-second advantage for Lewis was no longer there.

“What happened?” Lewis questioned

“Verstappen and Grosjean touched on turn 1. Verstappen is out. “ You echoed

“Fuck! My pace was good. Are they ok though? Who was at fault?”

“I will get back on that, the stewards are now discussing” you replied.

Your eyes were focused on the data that was on your screen when suddenly at the corner of your eye you saw an engineer discretely say something to Bonno.

A look of apprehension clouded his features. And he sent you a look of remorse as he pressed what seems to be your mic connection to Lewis’ car. Horror ate your entire being as you realized what was about to happen.

Before you could do anything else, Bonno had radioed to Lewis.

“BOX, BOX “

Your world froze entirely, as absolute terror gave you whiplash. Rage consumed you and you stood from your chair not caring for the mess you’re making as you made your way towards Bonno and gripping his polo forcefully towards your height.

“HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!” You screamed at Him, now the other engineers tried to hold you back — but not before you could land a solid punch at him. Fuck HR, they could fire you for all you care.

You once again tried to claw at him, when you heard the confused voice of Lewis in your abandoned earphones.

Elbowing your way out of their grip, you placed the headset back on your head and reconnected to Lewis.

“ Y/N? Why did they tell me to box? Where were you? “ Lewis’ voice held so much confusion and doubt that it broke your heart.

“Lew, I - “

“ Y/N you said my tires were good. Why was told to box? Why am I boxing? “ Lewis countered before you could even answer.

You knew that Lewis had just lost his win. And you felt like it was somehow your fault.

“Lew … I'm sorry”

And just like that, Nico Rosberg had won the Grand Prix. While you lost the trust in every person in your motorhome and you gained contempt back.

After that incident, you had developed severe mistrust and it has led to nightmares and unhealthy amounts of alcohol. And only Lewis could break your cycle.

It was truly you and Lewis against everything. Or that was what you thought. Because , you didn’t know that Lewis has been fed false information about what happened, where everything was pinned on you.

Without your knowledge, Lewis’ trust in you had also formed a crack and doubt had nested itself in his heart.

No matter how coarse and dreadful , life still ensues and you are forced to move on — and continue with your life. Lewis had won another world championship.

It cant be denied that the prestige and glamour that the title brought has broadened opportunities for Lewis . Yet ,no one can argue that this has also broadened the target behind Lewis’ back.

And it had shown during 2016, Nico Rosberg was adamant about winning and he had done everything in his power to achieve his goal.

And painstakingly, Nico had won the title. Then not long after he announced his retirement.

Nico Rosberg has left Mercedes … and what did this mean for Lewis? Admittedly you were relieved by Nico’s exit; this meant the tension in the motorhome had been dissipated. You were no longer worried that the 2 Merc drivers were going to kill each other on track.

This meant, that you and Lewis could finally figure out what was between the two of you. You two could finally grow and develop your relationship. A relationship that wasn’t surrounded by anxiety and work . You could finally re-approach the promise that Lewis swore to you a year before.

He promised that he would rectify the contracts so that we didn’t need to stay in the shadows.

However, time continues to pass, days become weeks weeks become months and months become years.

It was now 2020, Lewis was experiencing what the title of Formula 1 Champion brought. He won another championship. And Lewis was living the life! And you had your moments too. You could proudly say that you are now a well sought after race engineer — with Race teams serving job offers left and right. But you have always declined , even if you so badly wanted to leave Mercedes… because you stayed where Lewis was.

4 years had passed, but you were still at the very beginning. You still waited for Lewis to make do his promise.

But as you gazed at him looking so alive and carefree as girls littered at his side while the music blasted in the bar.

The music was deafening,yet all you could hear was the pounding of your heart, as you felt the vile rush up to your mouth at the sight of your boyfriend holding another woman. And you could do nothing because to the world you were just his race engineer. Even after everything you sacrificed, you still cannot claim and shout to the world that Lewis Hamilton was yours.

Tears had started to drop from your eyes. As you felt the warm liquid run down your face , you felt a soft material in your hand. Looking down it was a handkerchief.

“ Pretty race engineers shouldn’t cry” A cold voice caught your attention, as you looked up to Blue cerulean eyes.

“Hi, We haven’t formally met. I’m Max” A smile graced his features, softening his usually cold appearance

“I don’t think we have. Well then, Hi Max! My name is Y/N. It is so nice to meet you”

Taglist : @vicurious28 @xoscar03 @barnestatic @stelena-klayley @sopheeg @imagandom @4-20-21-12 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @itslagumi

Anyone interested to be added to the taglist? Drop a comment or DM me!

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animeyanderelover · 6 months ago

Note

Can I ask this for Kaneki, Ayato, from TG and Sukuna (+some other characters of JJK)?

I’ve read your reply about wanting PM and ADA Dazai also added in here and it doesn’t count as a second request.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, paranoia, stalking, sadism, abduction, death

Tags: @flaming-vulpix @shumidehiro @leveyani @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

S/o has a tattoo of the name of their ex

Kaneki Ken

🔲You would have never told Kaneki about the tattoo that decorates your back even if you would have known him before he abducted you. There is no need for you to even attempt to hide it from him as the ghoul finds out anyways. He is a rather devoted stalker, all the time on edge out of worry that something may happen to you if he isn't watching you. It is to be expected that he at one point catches a glimpse of the tattoo on your back, though he didn't mean to peek when you were undressing yet he doesn't avert his gaze quick enough to avoid catching a glimpse of the name you have written on your back. All effort to be polite by looking away is instantly wiped from his mind as his eyes are glued to the tattoo on your back. What-what is that? Whose name is that? His throat tightens as the air he breathes in suddenly seems to have a new weight to it, his chest heaving as he is unable to tear his gaze away from the black ink etched on your back.

🔲That tattoo becomes one of the biggest sources of insecurity for Kaneki and he is unable to get it out of his mind, constantly envisioning that name. He can already imagine whose name it might be but he is terrified to ask you and confirm his suspicions as soon as he has abducted you. The question often lingers on the tip of his tongue yet it becomes lead the moment he attempts to vocalise the words. It doesn't fly over your head how he constantly stares at your back with that queasy gleam in his eyes, knowing exactly what is beneath your shirt. It is when he sees the sight of it again by accident that he snaps and breaks down. Tears stream down his face, his lips wobble and fingers dig into your flesh painfully as he asks you with a trembling voice to whom that name belongs. He has always feared your answer yet not even his worst imagination could have prepared him for the feeling of his heart being crushed when you fearfully confess that it is the name of your ex. He isn't able to look at your back properly anymore from that day on without breaking down again. You'd probably never be able to love him the same way, right? Of course not... He's absolutely despicable.

Kirishima Ayato

🌌It's quite difficult for Ayato to come to term with the fact that he has fallen in love with the very thing he has despised his entire life. He's always loathed humans for fearing and hunting down his own kind and he has gladly slaughtered your kind without feeling any lingering remorse yet now he's got you. You exhibit the same fear as soon as he has abducted you and it only fuels his anger. Your kind really just can't stop judging and hating his kind, can't you? He's very rough with you and no matter what you do it only seems to get on his nerves. During one particularly frightening argument where you try to run away he accidentally rips your shirt apart when he yanks you back, revealing the tattoo written on your shoulder blade to him. You cower on the ground as you expect screaming yet nothing ever happens. You dare to turn your head around to look at him with teary eyes only to feel your heart stopping when you see his activated Kakugan as he stares at the tattoo. What...the fuck is this?

🌌You're subjected to a bitter anger from that day on as Ayato actively degrades you for the tattoo. You really are pathetic, you know? Who is dumb enough to let a name of their lover to be engraved on their skin? Especially since that person isn't even with you anymore. He always barks at you to cover up that tattoo to spare him the disgusting sight as seeing the black ink always triggers him to be thrown into a whirlwind of emotions. There's a deep hatred for the person who made you stupid enough to make this decision and he considers if he should perhaps question you where they live so he can just murder them to vent out some of the seething anger inside of him. Maybe he'll just do it but before that the abomination on your skin has to be gone. His angered sadism might get the better of him as the threat for him to bite the spot and rip a portion of your skin and flesh out of you is a chance though he wouldn't swallow the gross skin of yours where their name is written on.

Pm! Dazai Osamu

🤎A sickly sweet facade to lure you closer to him only for him to eventually reveal his venomous fangs to you and unleash his inner beast on you. That is Dazai from the Port Mafia for you. As soon as he has you where he wants you to be he will expose his everything to you and his darkness threatens to swallow you whole. Hot and harsh kisses are what you remember on that night as his fingers dig painfully into your skin, brown eyes gleaming with the devil's look as he takes in the sight of your tears as you feel your clothes slowly being removed. And then all of it stops. Fearful confusion twists your intestines as you gather the shaky courage to open your eyes only to see his face void of any emotions, his eyes focused on the inside of your thighs. It takes you a few seconds to piece everything together as your mind is slowed down due to the overwhelimg fear. Only then do you realise with a hitch of your breath that he must have discovered your tattoo, hidden down there. It is the audible stutter of your breath that has those terrifying orbs snap up to your face, a dark look on his face as he asks you slowly what that tattoo symbolises.

🤎The following days after he has discovered your little secret he leaves you dangling over the abyss. You're thoroughly shaken up as you estimate this to be his intended calm before the storm where he leaves your mind and heart quivering with fear. All for this one moment so indescribably horrifying that no words could explain it as he escorts you to a basement only for you to be met with the sight of your half-dead ex. A gun is pushed into your palm as he guides your arm so that the weapon is pointed at your ex, his voice whispering into your ear to shoot. You're frozen in fear as Dazai uses you like a puppet, his fingers guiding yours to push the trigger one time, two times, three times... Even after your ex has died he forces you to keep shooting until you are out of bullets. You sink to your knees as soon as he removes himself from you, your mind still in shambles as it tries to catch up with what just happened before you hear the rattling of chains, your gaze slowly moving up only to see Dazai giving you a lopsided grin with chains, tattoo needles and a knife in his hands. Be sweet for him whilst he's going to correct your tattoo. After all you love being branded by the person who currently owns you, don't you?

ADA! Dazai Osamu

🤎Dazai is already well acquainted with the unsavory fact that you had someone you used to call his lover before him but as petty as he is, he has stayed away from them because he also knows that you have broken off contact with them and they have done the same. Aah~ What wonderful opportunity to swoop in and mend the broken heart of a damsel in distress. Now that they are gone from your life he can claim your heart and your love for himself. If there is one thing he can do wonderfully it is knowing how to attach himself to your hips as he swoons over you and dotes on you. All of those sweet feelings are temporarily shattered the moment he catches a glimpse of your tattoo, the name spelled out on your shoulder. A sudden lump forms in his throat as he stares oddly at the tattoo until your voice brings him back to reality and he musters a wry grin as he apologises for spacing out there. You have noticed what he has spotted though and admit to him nonchalantly that this is the name of your ex.

🤎It is from that moment on that Dazai starts focusing more on that ex of yours as it is a hard knowledge for him to digest that at one point you were so madly in love with them that you tainted your pretty skin with their ugly name. Pettiness and jealousy can truly do wonders as Dazai resents them, envies them for the fact that you once held so much affection for them that you tattooed their name on your shoulder. He starts subtly questioning you about them as he wants to ensure that you truly do not have any affection left for them and he might even be motivated enough to pay that ex of yours a visit to have a polite talk with them to ensure that they never think of contacting you again either. He truly loathes that tattoo but he hides it behind silly reactions as good as he can though he is wondering when exactly you plan to get rid of that name. After all they aren't even your lover anymore. You do not hold any lingering affection for them still, do you? That would be a bit troublesome after all.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾In Sukuna's eyes you are utterly his. He is the King who takes what he desires and no one dares to subject, not even you after you have learnt your place. After all you should know that you will never be an equal to him and should instead be grateful that he allows you to be so close to him in the first place. You'll never regret the day you made the decision to engrave the name of your now ex-lover onto your skin as much as the moment where Sukuna spots the black ink on the back of your neck. One of his arms effortlessly keeps you in place by wrapping itself around your waist whilst another hand of his grabs the back of your head and pushes it down, forcing you to tilt your head as he observes the tattoo on your skin. Nothing but silence follows for a few moments where he keeps your head in that uncomfortable position and you feel blood rushing to your brain as the atmosphere grows heavier, causing your stomach to churn anxiously as the curse lets you bathe in your own anxiety before he asks you with only a mild hint of displeasure in his tone who that person is. Surely they must be quite important for you to have a tattoo of their name on your skin.

🗾You shouldn't keep secrets from him, little mortal. He's your owner now so if his belonging has been spoiled before he must know of it. A sadistic grin soon finds its way on his face as he lets go of you and asks you if you'd like for him to serve you their head to truly help you realise how pathetic their human life was and, by extension, how pathetic you were for ever thinking it'd be a good idea to get inked with their name. If you love being branded by your current owner so much you should have just told him so from the beginning. He relishes in the sight of seeing you cower beneath his form as you are barely able to look up at him. Now, now, there is no need to be so skittish. He'll even be kind enough to let you choose. Would you prefer for him to slaughter that paltry former companion of yours first or would you prefer for him to erase their mark on you and give you a new brand which will claim you as his first? Flames appear on the tips of his fingers, only adding to the wriggling terror deep within your soul as he looks down at you. Hurry and make your decision or else he'll decide for you.

Nanami Kento

💛Nanami takes his time to properly court you and get to know you. Even though he knows of his own obsession he prefers to do things the proper way instead of doing it half-heartedly. You inform him quite early on that you used to be in a relationship but had to break things off since it just didn't work anymore and he respects that. What you did not tell him though is that their name is still decorating your ankle, something that Nanami has the displeasure to discover all by himself. There is only a short flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he puts on a poker face to hide all of his displeased feelings for the moment, his eyes finding yours as the unspoken question lingers in the room. The frustration on your face is quite visible as well as the slice of embarrassment. So you deliberately chose to not tell him about this. He must say that this does disappoint him a bit even if he understands that this is probably a bit of a difficult topic to talk about, especially considering that you aren't even together with the very person whose name is tattooed on your ankle.

💛It is safe to say that he would prefer for you to get that tattoo removed. It would be quite awkward for him to be your new partner all whilst you have the name of your ex inked on your skin. He'll even take over all the costs that would come with the tattoo removal. Surely you'd agree to his offer, won't you? If you were to give him signs of hesitation he would have to assume that maybe there are still lingering feelings for your ex, something he cannot tolerate. Perhaps he should get acquainted with your ex after all even if he is confident that it won't be a pleasant experience to figure out how their feelings are in regards to you. In the meantime he will slowly change your mind so that you agree with his suggestion. His arguments are logical as he is dismissing any lingering feelings of yours, especially since you and your ex broke things off quite some time ago. Any chance for you to get in contact with them again will be taken care off by him secretly as that ex of yours is luckily civilised enough to understand the message as soon as Nanami meets them privately as he clarifies to them what kind of relationship he has with you.

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