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pencil-n-pen · 24 hours ago

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──────BROKEN DOWN AND HUNGRY FOR YOUR LOVE ───

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touchstarved ! rookie! reader x training officer! tim

summary: Tim had said ‘no more rookies’ after Lucy, but well. Things don’t always go according to plan. Just like you never thought you’d be staring at your training officer’s arms, wondering how they feel wrapped around you.

cw: daddy issues (seriously this is a tim x reader like. don’t we all have daddy issues) mild depression, descriptions of child death and abuse (it’s one scene and pretty easily skippable but yk police call stuff) tbh could be read as platonic this isn’t super romantic i just want tim to hold me i don’t care how he does it

a/n: in this universe chenford never happened even tho i ship it with every cell in my body. also im only like halfway through season two so take my depiction of characters and events with a grain of salt. buckle up this one’s LOOOOOONGGG

title taken from Lover You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (jeff buckley i miss u)

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Tim Bradford has really nice hands.

This is, undoubtedly, not at all something you should be noticing about your training officer. Probably the most strict, unpredictable, unrelenting, high-key-wants-you-to-fail training officer in the LAPD.

And yet.

Here you are, noticing.

His arms are really nice too. The chords of muscle flex in a particular way while he drives. Especially when turning or when he’s conducting a car chase and his hands go white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

You think to yourself that his hands are probably warm. Tim seems like the kind of man to run hot.

Tim also makes sure that you understand how much he doesn’t like you.

You get it. Kind of. He’d been on his way to becoming a sergeant when it’d been decided that during the coarse of his career, not enough of his officers actually made it past being a rookie.

“One last go,” The captain had said on your first day, “Should be easy. This rookie’s the most self-sufficient thing since Officer West. If she doesn’t make the cut, I want to know why.”

So yeah. You’re pretty sure Tim tuned out the conversation after hearing ‘one last go’.

Additionally, you two have�� clashing personalities. You’ve always prided yourself on being self-sufficient- on not needing anyone else. But Tim makes it his mission every single day to remind you of all the million different ways you need to rely on your partner and need them— need him.

It’s annoying on a good day and humbling on a bad one.

And then there’s the matter of Lucy Chen. One of the few rookies to survive the Tim Tests and actually make it past rookie, all the while gaining his respect and friendship.

You don’t even try to hope to reach what she accomplished. Lucy Chen is an inspiration, a pipe dream, and an unreachable standard wrapped up in blue. It’s clear that Tim is proud of the cop she’s become. Proud of his work.

You’re not sure he could ever be proud of you.

But you didn’t raise yourself to be a quitter. So you get up everyday and take the Tim Tests in stride. You work and learn and learn and work and pretend the lack of relationship or bond you have with your fellow rookies doesn’t bother you.

You pretend you don’t dream of being held by warm arms and wake up in the same position, alone and cold.

You pretend the heated blanket you bought during the Academy with your meager funds feels just like human warmth. You pretend it’s enough.

And you do what you always do: you manage.

—

Like with any job, there’s good days, and there’s bad days. You try not to dwell on the bad days, but you usually end up doing so anyways, usually in your silent, empty apartment as you try to fall asleep.

Your shift today is only half over, and you’ve already lost a suspect during a chase —Tim ended up catching her, and the look he shot you as he cuffed him was nothing short of fiery— you accidentally tampered with evidence —in your defense, you weren’t aware that piggy banks were used to move drugs, but accidentally dropping it made you want to crawl into a hole and die— and the cherry on top was the suspect you apprehended today, who, in her desperation to get away from you and jail, kicked you in the leg while she was on the ground. With her very long, and very skinny heel.

‘I got stabbed in the leg with a stripper’s heel’ isn’t a sentence you ever thought you’d say, but here you are. The wound isn’t that bad, thankfully. Just all the usual pain that comes from being stabbed with a fairly blunt object.

You sit in an uncomfortable hospital chair in the waiting room, elbow digging into the hard, wooden armrest and holding your head up by your forehead, while your other arm presses on the still sluggishly bleeding wound on your lower, mid thigh, leg stretched out in front of you.

You’re tired.

Recently, the bad days have outweighed the good ones. You knew this would be the case when you signed up to be a cop. You knew your apartment would feel empty and cold, but you thought that maybe, maybe, you’d make a few friends in your coworkers and it wouldn’t feel so unbearable.

But it turns out there isn’t enough time to make friends when you’re busy trying to get the highest scores in the Academy. And by the time you graduated, you’d been written off as a stuck-up teachers pet. Tolerated by the other rookies at best, occasionally sneered at and mocked at worst.

No fellow rookies, no friendly coworker, no nice neighbors in your apartment. Your training officer doesn’t like you, and the watch commander regularly enjoys singling you out for rookie-typical ridicule.

You’re tired.

The wound on your leg hurts like a bitch, already bruised to hell and back in that way that blunt force injuries usually do. Your pants are dark and sticky with blood, and the hand that’s applying pressure is uncomfortably tacky as you bleed, clot, and dry, over and over again.

It’s shitty. You feel shitty.

The fluorescent overhead lights are making your head pound and there’s so much noise in the waiting room, overlapping and, for lack of a better term, stabbing your eardrums in a pounding beat, and the pain is starting to make you a little nauseous, or maybe that’s the smell of anti-septic, and you fucked up so badly today, and oh god what if you get sepsis or a staff infection, that heel was so dirty, who knows where it’s been, and why won’t you just stop bleeding, and—

“Boot.”

—you haven’t called your mom in ages, she deserves better than that, and god your leg really hurts, and you don’t want to go home after this because—

“Rookie.”

—you’re most definitely being sent home, you got stabbed with a fucking heel for christ’s sake, and unlike after a normal shift you won’t have the exhaustion to just send you straight to bed, chores be damned, your apartment is so, so so quiet and you hate it—

“Hey!”

Snapping fingers in front of your face and Tim’s shout jolts you from your pain-slash-panic-induced spiral, and you reflexively clench your fists, then hiss in pain as your grip tightens over the wound.

He’s crouched in front of you, dark, steady eyes scrutinizing your face.

“Sorry,” you huff, face hot with embarrassment. “It’s, um, it’s loud in here.”

He just nods once, looking rather unimpressed. You resist the urge to fidget.

“You good to stay here while I go back out?”

The thought of waiting in the ER alone, and then more than likely catching an Uber to the station and then ignoring possible doctors orders to drive yourself home from there is… less than pleasant.

But if it has to be done, then it has to be done.

“Yeah,” You say easily, the lie slipping right off your tongue. “Yeah, yeah I’ll be good.”

Your injury had already been called in, so Grey wasn’t expecting you back at the station. Tim would go back on shift and you’d take care of yourself like you always do. You’ll be fine eventually. You always are.

You expect Tim to take the easy out. You’ve handed it to him on a silver platter. Express permission to not have to deal with you anymore today.

He sighs, unexpectedly, then stands, and you look down so you don’t have to watch him walk away, and wait to hear the sound of his retreating footsteps.

They don’t come.

The chair next to you creaks as someone sits down in it.

As Tim sits down in it.

You blink, looking up at him. “Officer Bradford?”

He’s crossed his arms across his chest, sparing you a small glance. “What?”

You look down at your lap. “Nothing.”

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls out his phone, clearly texting someone —probably Officer Lopez— and pretty much ignores you as you wait to be called back.

His presence is enough, though. It chases away some of that creeping panic and chill in your chest. You relax in increments. Your posture slouches, your hand unclenches, and you feel like you can take a breath without throwing up.

Eventually, your name gets called, and maybe you just look especially pathetic as your stiffly and shakily climb to your feet and begin ambling towards the indicated trauma room, but you hear another annoyed sigh, and then Tim’s mumbling “Here,” and then your arm is around his shoulders and his arm snakes behind your back and just above your waist.

And fuck.

If you thought that having him near you was something, having the arms of the man you’ve literally dreamt about doing nearly this exact same thing is… it’s a drug.

Your skin is on fire where’s he’s quite literally holding you together as you awkwardly shuffle across the waiting room. His hands are warm even through the under shirt and your uniform shirt. The rush of chemicals in your head is dizzying at the contact, your brain startlingly aware of each and every place the two of you are connected.

To him, it’s nothing. To you, it’s everything.

If this is what hard drugs feel like, you sympathize with the addicts. All it takes is his arm around you, safe and steadying, and you’re gone. Hooked.

You try your best to file the feeling away in your head, to commit it to memory, so later, when those bad days have their cold nights, you can take it out and remember it. Remember what felt like to be even half wrapped like this. Supported and steadied.

It’s an uncharacteristic show of care on Tim’s part. He’s not exactly a touchy-feely kind of guy. He’s more like the ‘deal with it or quit’ kind of guy.

But he’s helping you here, now. More than he knows.

You don’t comment on any of this, of course, because you don’t want to draw attention to how much you’re leaning into his touch.

You hope he writes it off as needing help walking.

—

The first night after the stabbing —Tim does not let you drive yourself home, though looks vaguely impressed that you were completely willing, and instead drops you off and has Officer Lopez drive your car back to your place— is great. You sleep clear through the night without waking up once. The memory of Tim holding you up, touching you, is fresh in your mind. Sleeping is easy. You arrive to work for once not faking your enthusiasm under layers of professionalism. You actually, genuinely feel okay.

As the weeks progress though, you start flagging.

By the time a month has gone by, you’re downright miserable. You didn’t realize just how empty your chest could feel after actually feeling how warm and full it could be.

This, of course, means doubling over on professionalism, because there’s absolutely no way that anyone can know how much you’re starting to fracture, bit by bit. You’re strong, put-together, and self-sufficient. You take Tim’s training in stride and you never complain. You don’t rise to the bait when you get singled out for hazing, and laugh when you become the subject of a rookie prank.

You do not stare at Tim’s arms or hands out of the corner of your eye when he’s not looking, you do not imagine the big pillow you hold at night is him, and most importantly you do not even entertain the fantasy in which Tim holds you, really holds you, and you don’t have to keep it all together anymore.

It’s not realistic. You’re always going to hold everything together. You always have and you always will.

But sometimes, every now and then, you get something well and truly right, and Tim says “Good job, boot.” And he means it. Gets that crinkle near his eyes and that twitch in his jaw when he’s trying not to look impressed or pleased. And it chases away the empty, just for a little bit. Makes how hard he pushes you just a little more worth it, each time.

It’s starting to get to you, though. Has been for awhile. Because it’s a bit pathetic, isn’t it, to think these things about your training officer? Someone who would never, ever do the things you want him to do? As trivial and stupid and childish as they are?

And look. You’re not stupid. You know exactly why you’ve fixated on Tim Bradford specifically. You’re well versed in the art of “intellectualizing your feelings so you don’t have to feel them” and your want of your training officer’s touch is no mystery. He checks all your boxes- Brooding, emotionally unavailable, harsh, attractive, and more importantly, in a position of power over you. So you get it. Daddy issues, your emotional needs not being met growing up, blah blah blah. It’s whatever.

What’s not whatever is your inability to stop obsessing over it. Him. You need to get a grip.

You want to become a detective. And, not to mention, you’ve worked incredibly hard to be a damn good cop.

But here you are, sitting in the shop with Tim, spacing out when you should be paying attention because you saw one of your old friends post the anniversary for her and her boyfriend last night and now you can’t stop thinking about how she probably look at every couple and wonder how it feels to have someone around, constantly, to soothe the near permanent ache in your chest and itch under your skin.

She probably doesn’t have the ache or itch at all.

“Boot!” Tim barks, voice sudden and loud. “Where are we?”

You jolt in place. “Uh—“

Tim slams on the brakes, your seatbelt snapping against your chest. “I’ve been shot. I’m dead. Where were you just now?”

You scramble for an answer. “I was—“

“Your head wasn’t here,” He jams a finger onto the center console. “And in this line of work, that means you’re dead. It means people die on your watch.”

He starts the car, and without the crackling of dispatch over the radio, it’s awhile before he speaks again.

“What’s wrong?”

The words sound so foreign coming from Officer Bradford that you pause.

“Is that a trick question? Is the answer…um… I should focus more…?”

“Well, yes, and no,” He responds, face set in a slight grimace, “Yes, you need to focus more, but no, that wasn’t a trick question.”

When you don’t immediately respond —what are you supposed to say to that?— he keeps going.

“You’re spacey. You don’t get spacey. But you’ve been all over the place lately, so something’s up.”

“Nothing’s—“

He levels you with a Look.

Now it’s your turn to sigh.

One of the main reasons you didn’t get along with other students at the Academy was your unwillingness to sacrifice your career for a social life. You didn’t tell anybody your sob story— didn’t need the pity, didn’t care what they thought.

And you don’t really want to tell Tim either, but for a different reason. An opposite one, really. You do care what he thinks. A lot. And you don’t want to sound whiny or sensitive or any less of a capable cop. You need to prove to him that you can do this.

But Tim also has the best bullshit sensor of anyone you know, and will immediately see through you if you try to lie.

“I moved to California right before I started at the Academy. I was focused and career driven. And I’ve never really been social. It just, uh, kind of hit me, I guess. That my family is a thousand miles away.”

“What, you don’t have any friends from the Academy?”

His confidence in your social skills is nice, if not very misguided.

You shrug. “I gave up everything to move here. I thought that if I went out to bars and parties, I’d lose focus and fail. I couldn’t, and still can’t afford to.”

Tim’s saved from responding by a call close to your location crackling out from dispatch. And thank god for that. You’re sure as hell not itching to restart the conversation, and besides. Tim wants you to get your head in the game, so you do. Complete and utter focus on the call.

It goes well. But Tim doesn’t say anything as you climb back in the shop, not even a not-displeased hum.

“That’s stupid, you know.”

You look up from where you were checking something in the system. “What?”

“This thing you’re doing. You’re not even living. You’re just going to work and then going home. Your performance is shitty because you feel shitty.”

You gape for a second before rushing to respond. “My performance isn’t—“

“Yeah, it is. Don’t argue me on this, boot. You’re drowning, is what you’re doing. You have no work life balance. You’re going to burn out, and then you wash out.”

He turns to you, eyes bright and jaw set. “And you better not wash out, because you’re my last rookie and I need you to win.”

Right. Yes. Of course. Tim needs you to win, so he needs you to get focused, and get real.

The smile you give him is perfectly practiced and hollow. You ignore the nausea churning in your chest.

“Don’t worry. I don’t do anything other than win.”

—

Even though it’s most definitely stupid and insane, you ignore Tim’s advice. Since when have you had the energy to do things outside of work but rot in bed? And besides. Going out would mean losing precious sleeping hours, which are already hard enough to come by as it is. You don’t need to make your energy levels any worse than they already are by adding going to bed late on top of incredibly fitful sleep.

So it’s fine. You’re handling it.

—

You’re not handling it.

You’re exhausted. All the time. The more tired you are, the more you have to work to make sure your performance at work isn’t suffering. Which makes you more tired.

And you just… can’t sleep. You toss and turn all night, wake up a million times, and usually end up reliving your worst cases with added bonuses, like Tim being injured, and then berating you for it, and then the watch commander calls you into his office and fires you.

And then there’s the guilt. The sickening, nauseating guilt that follows you day after day, choking and clogging your throat because you know you’re better than this. You’re better than this. But you’re not getting better.

You should’ve taken Tim’s advice, maybe. Should’ve heard it two, three, maybe four months ago and extended yourself to other people and tried going out, making a routine of trying new things other than sleeping, watching tv, or working, but it’s too late now and you’re just so fucking tired.

And alone.

Really, really, alone.

When you finally lose it, it’s because of a call. A bad one. A really bad one.

It’s a little girl. No older than nine or ten. Her mother had reported her missing when she’d come home from work and her daughter and her husband were missing. At first, the report hadn’t been taken seriously, but the mother begged and pleaded. It was Lucy who’d pulled up the woman’s husband and found several previous charges for domestic violence and abuse that dispatch had sent multiple units after the child.

Whom you found. Locked in a car.

You were the one to break the window. You were the one to get her out.

You were the one who had to call an RA unit for a nine year old girl, not conscious, not breathing.

Tim pulled you away from the scene. From her. Kept a hand on your shoulder and steered you towards the shop, and you were shaking. Are shaking. You’re in the shop. You can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

Tim is uncharacteristically silent. He doesn’t start the car. You can see him watching you out of the corner of your eye. You need to stop shaking. You need to get it together.

It’s just. That was you. Could’ve been you. Almost was you, once or twice.

You spent a lot of time in locked cars growing up.

“Boot,” Tim says softly, too softly, he’s babying you, “You need to take a minute.”

“No, no,” The first no is shaky and the second is no better but you need to be fine, “I’m fine, I’ll be fine. I need to adapt, need to get used to this kind of thing.”

He makes a noise of annoyance in the back of his throat. “No you don’t. Becoming desensitized to this kind of thing isn’t what you want to happen. Trust me.”

You breath is starting to hitch a little, and your eyes are beginning to burn. Why can’t you stop shaking? It happened so long ago.

“I’m fine. I’m— It’s okay. We should get back on the road.”

Your voice wobbles at the end. You clench your jaw, steel yourself against the onslaught of emotions and will yourself to just get a fucking grip.

“Hey,” Tim starts, voice that lower, gentle tone he sometimes uses on victims, and that’s messed up, because you’re not a victim, just dramatic, “It’s okay to not be okay after something like that.”

“I’m fine!” You snap, “I survived. She didn’t.”

Oh.

You feel the first few tears begin falling, and immediately scrub them off your face as fast and as hard as you can.

“I’m sorry,” You half-whisper, mortified at the action of crying and snapping at him. “I’m sorry, this is, this is really unprofessional—“

You hunch, pressing the heels of your hands so hard into your eyes starbursts of color are whirling behind them.

Tim doesn’t say anything, which only adds to your mounting anxiety, until you hear the semi-familar sound of him typing on his phone, and then a steady tik. Tik. Tik.

You look up, your eyes already puffy.

Tim sets his phone down on the console between the two of you.

“That timer is set for ten minutes. For ten minutes, you are not going to be fine. Ten minutes while we drive. Got that?”

You sniffle pathetically. “Ten minutes is a long time to put up with me crying.”

He shrugs. “If I give you your ten minutes, and you get this out, then you’ll be more focused on the job. Seems like a fair trade off to me.”

You’re not expecting the firm hand to land on your shoulder.

“This was your first d-o-a. Even the best cops are shaken after something like that. It changes you. That is not something be ashamed of.”

You let yourself lean into the touch, ever so slightly. The tears start falling easier after that, and, still not entirely comfortable with crying in front of your TO, you cover your face with your hands.

The crying bit is over in only a few minutes. The rest of the time on the timer is spent staring down at your lap and trying to calm yourself down, and when that doesn’t work, you pull out your phone and soothe yourself by organizing one of your Pinterest boards. Ah, the peace that comes from setting arbitrary rules that affect no one and organizing pictures based on these rules. Bliss.

Tim only removes his hand after you stop crying, which. You try your best to memorize the touch —no matter how mortifying the circumstances— and try your best not to think about how it almost seems like starting to catch onto the messier parts about yourself you’d like to keep hidden.

—

Sometimes it’s hard not to feel well and truly and completely alone.

You know you’re not. Not really. Not if you tried harder, extended yourself more. Made an effort to get out there. But you don’t have any energy for efforts. You don’t have anything left to give.

Tim’s touch and approval and just there-ness haunt you on your off days and are, if you’re being embarrassingly and horrifyingly honest, the only thing you really look forward to anymore.

You like your job. You do. But you’re tired. And how many times can you say that? Can you think that?

I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired. I’m tired.

Please, someone, put me down, let me go, give me a minute, I’m tired.

So it’s not really surprising when you get sick.

You’ve been running yourself absolutely ragged, day in and day out, and when you wake, feeling like death warmed over, you don’t even groan. It makes your throat hurt.

Your head pounds with pressure from your sinuses and your hands shake as you put on your uniform in the locker room. Your slow-and-unsteady gait gathers a few looks as you make your way into the, surprisingly empty, roll call room.

Is it really empty if one person is in it? Tim’s in it. He’s leaned up against the front desk, where you usually sit with the other rookies. Only time you’re really ever near them. He looks mad. Why’s he mad?

“Boot,” He starts, voice low, and that’s never a good sign, “Is there a reason you decided not to show up to roll call today?”

You blink, thoughts going about as fast as a fish in frozen water, “But it’s not time for roll call yet.”

It’s not. You woke up when your alarm went off, took cold medicine (probably more than you’re supposed to, and the wrong combination of them, but who cares) and drove to the precinct. Same as you always do. Minus the cold medicine.

Tim frowns. He’s always frowning. He frowns deeper. “You’re over an hour late.”

That…doesn’t make any sense. How’d you lose an hour of time? Did you fall asleep somewhere along the way? You don’t remember falling asleep. You’re not missing any memories, no blank spots, no black outs.

“Boot!” He barks, and you flinch and the noise, pressing a hand to your forehead as if that’ll help the sharp stab of pain in your head that accompanies his raised voice.

Tim is downright glaring at you now. “Are you hungover?”

“No!” You reply indignantly, then instantly regret it due to the burn you now feel in your throat, “I’m just like. Kind of sick.”

Did that come out convincing enough? You’re sure you can still work. You worked through every cold and flu and fever back at the Academy. You can totally do this, right?

Tim pushes off the table and stalks towards you. arms crossed. He uncrosses them as he gets closer and—

Oh. That’s nice. His hand’s cool.

Your eyes flutter shut, unbidden, as the cool skin of the back of his hand presses to your forehead. If your eyes were open, you’d be able to see that his frown has taken on a concerned brow furrow to accompany it, but you’re too busy enjoying the simple contact to notice. Or keep your eyes open.

He takes his hand away with a sigh, and you stumble forward a little.

“You feel like you’re on fire. Jesus- did you drive here?”

You nod, to avoid angering your throat, and end up angering your headache instead.

“Yeah, you’re going home.”

Panic stabs you in the chest.

“No!” You rasp, “I’m fine. I’m a rookie, it’s my job to keep working no matter what—“

“It’s also,” Tim interrupts, “Your job to take care of yourself, but you’re shit at that, which is why you’re sick in the first place. So I’m going to drive you home and make sure you’re not going to die by yourself while you’re sick.”

You shake your head. “I used to work through being sick all the time at the Academy, I can do it.”

“And you were stupid for doing that too. The key difference here is that you’re not responsible for peoples lives at the Academy. I’m not going to get shot today because you’re too hopped up on cold medicine to cover me.”

“But—“

“I’m sorry,” He growls, “Were you under the impression that you have any sort of say in this decision?”

You close your mouth.

“That’s what I thought. Go wait at my desk while I clear this with the watch commander.”

You trudge solemnly to his desk, head and vision swimming. Great. Now Tim’s upset at you and you feel awful. Why is everything so terrible?

You slump into the chair at his desk, dropping your head onto your arms and allowing your eyes to close. The walk from the briefing room to Tim’s desk exhausted you. And your uniform feels extra uncomfortable.

You just want to be at home, not sick, and maybe sleeping restfully for the first time since becoming a cop. Maybe you’re not cut out to be a cop. Maybe you should quit. Maybe—

Someone gently shakes your shoulder, and your straighten, blinking blearily.

“Come on, up we go.”

A strong arm hooks under yours and carefully hauls you up, and let out a small whine at the movement. Tim’s desk is comfortable. And smells vaguely like him.

“Don’t give me that. I’m taking you home. We need to go get your stuff from the locker room.”

You whine again, as if the noise will somehow convey everything you’re feeling at the moment.

I don’t want to leave the temporary and fake saftey of Tim’s desk. I don’t want to go home cause my home is empty and I’m sick. I’m extra miserable because I’m sick. My brain isn’t working and I don’t remember what locker I put my stuff in. I don’t even know if I brought my stuff. Is it somehow possible for my technical-boss to take me to his house instead and tuck me into his bed that smells like him and has him in it so I can sleep next to another human being and feel safe for even twenty minutes?

Of course, none of this is relayed to Tim, who’s currently half holding half dragging you over to the locker rooms, grip firm but not unkind.

After assuring you that no one else is even going to be in the locker room because you’re now over an hour into your shift, he goes with you and helps you find and take your stuff. In your sick daze, you did manage to bring your bag and water bottle, but neglected to put any water in your water bottle or put your wallet in your bag.

Tim just mutters an “Alright, come on,” once your stuff has been acquired, and escorts you out to the parking lot.

Two things occur to you.

One, Tim is no longer dressed in his uniform. Instead, he now sports jeans and a dark gray henley.

Two, you’re both headed towards the personal parking lot.

If Tim isn’t in work clothes anymore, and he’s taking you towards his car, that means he’s not just dropping you off at your house.

He is, presumably, going to look after you. Because you’re sick.

He ushers you into the passenger seat, going so far as to help you up and grab the seatbelt for you. He leans over you when he does it, and there’s a second where he’s pressed against you and it’s so nice and you kind of want to live in the moment forever but you can’t because you’re sick and he’s mad at you and he shouldn’t have to deal with this and you should’ve been better.

You sniffle just as he starts the car, momentarily thankful for the engine turning over hiding the sound, but unfortunately, the second the tears start, they don’t stop.

Tim notices immediately, because of course he does.

“What’s wrong?”

You hiccup a half-sob. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called out.”

“Yeah, you should have.”

You sniff again, harder, cause now your nose is running. “I thought I could do it. I thought I could handle it.”

He eases the car out of the parking space. “Having a brain-cooking fever isn’t really something you can just handle.”

He eyes the fat tears rolling down your cheeks and you see the muscles in his jaw work.

“Why didn’t just call out sick?”

“I don’t like calling out. I wanna be a model employee. Model officer. Wanna be reliable. I wanna be—“

You swallow, voice hoarse and wobbly. “I just wanna be good.”

The car is silent for awhile. A long while. Tim doesn’t respond, and with your nerves now thoroughly fried and your immune system making a minor attempt on your life, you’re pretty sure you fall asleep.

You wake to Tim shaking you, albeit gently, and helping you out of the car. He instructs you to leave your bag and to go inside and change.

He really doesn’t have to tell you twice. You feel awful. So bad. Terrible. Horrible.

Changing clothes only serves to exhaust you further, so you trudge out to the living room and collapse onto your couch, shivering. There’s a blanket only a few feet away, but it’s just so far.

You hear your front door open and the sound of heavy-footsteps, and then there’s the creak of your shitty fridge opening and a few mumbled curses.

You ignore the noises behind you and dedicate all of your energy to grabbing the remote off the coffee table and finding something you don’t have to think about watching. Maybe Criminal Minds. Or Bluey.

“I,” Tim starts, then annoyedly snatches the blanket off the end of the coach and drags it up over you, “Am going to the store, because your fridge looks like it hasn’t been used since the eighteen-hundreds. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

“Okay,” You say, but your voice is hoarse and muffled by the blanket so it comes out more like, “Mmomhay.”

You end up watching Jurassic Park, because nothing makes you feel better like dinosaurs and people getting eaten by them. Classic.

Tim does return at some point, right about when you’re thinking of just binge watching every single Jurassic Park/World movie, and starts making noise in your kitchen. Which you also ignore.

You’re doing a lot of ignoring today.

It’s easy though, is the thing. Tim is cooking something, if the sounds of grocery bags and pots and pans and chopping are anything to go off, and he’s handled you and his’s shifts, so there’s no work to worry about, and you’re really honestly too sick to think about any other things that need to be done.

Tim’s taking care of it. So you don’t have to worry, cause he’s cooking something, and people are getting eaten by dinosaurs on the tv in front of you, so maybe everything will be okay for the time being.

The okay feeling comes to a swift and brutal end when Tim comes around the edge of the couch and tells you to sit up.

“M’ comfy,” You mumble, indignant.

He rolls his eyes, ever exasperated. “You can’t eat soup while laying down.”

“Watch me.”

“No. Come on, sit up.”

You whine as he pulls you forward, stuffing pillows behind you so you don’t actually have to put effort in to staying upright. He then places a tray you didn’t know you owned (maybe he bought it?) on your lap and places a small bowl of soup and a sleeve of saltines.

Your eyes begin to burn with unshed tears again.

Tim groans. “It’s just soup, Boot.”

You sniff harshly. “No one’s made me soup before.”

He sigh’s long-sufferingly, but his vocal exasperation is undermined by the careful way he dabs at the tears on your cheeks.

“Thought you liked your mom.” Tim says, a question hidden in his voice.

“I do. But we were really poor, so she couldn’t really afford to take time off work because I was sick. And I got sick pretty often so,” You pick up your spoon with shaky fingers. “I got good at taking care of myself.”

“Yeah?” Tim says, opening the package of saltines for you, “Then where’d all that skill go?”

He clearly means it as a joke, but you still can’t help the small stab of guilt in your chest.

You set the spoon back down. “I’m just really tired.”

He doesn’t sigh again, but he does purse his lips in that way he does when he’s upset about something and can’t quite decide how to show it.

When he moves, it surprises you. He takes the soup off your lap, moves the tray to the little coffee table by your couch. Turns the TV volume up. Loud enough to hear the audible crunch of the Spinosaurus battling the T. Rex.

Then, he reaches forward and just. Reaches his arms around your waist and back and pulls you forward, then borderline man-handles you into a comfortable position with your legs now where your head used to be, and your had pillowed on his shoulder. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you just that much closer.

You couldn’t have stopped yourself from melting into the embrace even if you weren’t hopped up on cold medicine.

After a few minutes of mindlessly watching a Spinosaurus go on a rampage, he speaks again.

“You wanna know what I think?”

You nod into his arm, face smushed.

“I think you got really good at making people not worry about you. You probably had to.”

For a brief second, you think about hunger, and sickness, and locked cars.

“And I think that in my haste to get through this training period and make it to Sergeant, I didn’t bother looking deeper to find out if you were lying or not.”

You shift in place, now a little uncomfortable as the conversation has switched over to you. “It’s not really your responsibility.”

“It is,” Tim says easily, tone-matter-of-fact. “You’re my rookie. And it shouldn’t have taken me this long to learn what kind of training and support you needed.”

You sit up at his words. Which is a huge mistake, because then you get really dizzy and nauseous and there are weird stars dancing across your vision.

“You—“ You pause, taking a deep breath, “This is police work. I shouldn’t have to be coddled every step of the way.”

“Lay back down,” He tugs you down by your waist. “You aren’t coddled every step of the way. You’re a capable cop. You’re good at your job. I’m not holding your hand. I’m giving you what you need.”

You sink lower on the couch, trying to hide your face from this mortifying experience. Unfortunately the closest thing to hide your face in is Tim’s side.

Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers.

He rubs your back consolingly. It only feels a little patronizing.

“But,” He continues, “I don’t know what you need if you don’t tell me.”

“I don’t want to bother you with that. You’re my T.O.”

“And you’re my rookie,” Tim continues smoothly, “I can’t send my rookie out on the streets if any criminal can get to her through a hug.”

“Hey,” You grumble, “That’s mean.”

“No it’s not.”

You pull your face away from his side and go back to facing the TV.

“But what if I need this a lot? What if my brain gets… screwy when I’m alone for awhile, and this is what fixes it?”

“Then I’d say it was a fairly normal reaction and need.” Tim shrugs.

You look up at him questioningly.

“Look. I didn’t have a great dad either. It’s not…” He trails off, jaw working. “Bad things happened to you. You dealt with them the only way you knew how. But now you need a little extra help. That’s all.”

“That sounds like something Lucy would say.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “How could you tell?”

The conversation lulls into a gentle silence. Tim continues trailing his hand up and down your side. Up and down, up and down, up and down. And occasionally pause to rub, knead, or scratch. All of which you lean into with equal amounts of shame and enjoyment.

“You’re like a cat,” He mumbles, eyes trained on the still rampaging Spinosaurus, “Can’t believe I didn’t make the connection before.”

You don’t have it in you to do anything more than make a non-committal hum.

A couple beats pass.

“Thank you.”

Tim’s hand trails a little higher on the next pass, his large palm curling up over your shoulder and to the back of your neck.

“For what?”

⋆౨ৎ˚˖ ࣪

masterlist | kofi

taglist:

@wowzabowza69 @4kirstein @marvel-z0mbie @mca-attack21 @winchesterkenzie @daithideolishmer18 @entoxicant @scarlet-issilly

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witchbitchlovesdilfs · 3 days ago

Text

No Judgement

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader

requested! thank you!

synopsis: reader sleeps with a cpap mask and is worried that robby will judge her for it. he proves the opposite.

warnings: reader has sleep apnea, language, suggestive, hurt/comfort, fluff/angst

words: 1.3k

a/n: here you go! I hope you love it! sending lots of love and confidence

Fridays are your favorite day of the week: you have work off and get to go out with your super hot attending Micahel Robinavitch. The two of you have been going out for almost three weeks now, but you've been close ever since you first starting working at the Pitt. Robby first acknowledged you for your unbeatable smarts and fast reflexes, and when he joined you and the rest of day shift for beers after work, he began to admire your wit and charisma.

Ever since you first saw him barking out orders and scratching at his beard, you knew you were fucked. He stood with a cocky confidence that screamed authoritative in the hottest way, and when he first addressed you with that deep, raspy voice? You were a goner.

Two years later in your residency, he finally asked you out. And, despite the fact you've only been together for a few months, everything comes naturally. You can be your true self around him, and he actually laughs when he's around you. Still, you have yet to spend the night together. This isn't for lack of wanting to: you're self conscious of your CPAP. You've had sleep apnea for several years now, and despite the time you've had to get used to it, you fear how others may perceive it and you. You've been vulnerable with Robby before - after losing a patient, during a particularly bad day, etc - but this is a huge next step for you.

Having never mentioned your sleep apnea to Robby, you don't know how to bring it up. Do you take him home and let him see the machine? Do you tell him over dinner like it's big news? Why are you so scared?

Shaking your head in exasperation, you finish doing your makeup and give your reflection a long look before checking your phone for any texts. Robby sent a message five minutes ago alerting you that he's on his way, and before you can respond, there's a soft rasp against your front door. You pat down your blouse and make your way to the front, slipping on your heels before opening the door with a wide smile. "Hi Robby," you greet warmly, stepping outside and locking the door. You turn to him as he greets you, reaching up and planting a kiss on his cheek, lips brushing against the stubble.

Robby smiles back at you, pulling you in for a legitimate kiss. Your breath hitches at the intimacy as your hands clutch the fabric of his button down. When you pull away, your red lipstick's smeared around his lips. You leave it, possessively.

"You look great," you say, biting your lip as you shamelessly eye-fuck him.

Robby looks down, cheeks flushed. "Thanks." He takes your hand and lifts his head to take all of you in. "You're gorgeous."

It's your time to blush. "Should we go?"

He nods, and you begin the short walk to your favorite restaurant.

"How was your day?" you ask as you slide into your seat across from him.

Robby unfolds his napkin and busies himself by fiddling with the utensils. "I went to that new bookstore," he shares.

"Oh yeah!" You beam. "How was it? I want to stop by after my shift sometime."

He sets the fork down. "Very low key. The owner seems nice."

"That's great."

"Yeah." He scratches at his beard. "We could go together sometime."

You smile widely. "That would be perfect."

Clearing his throat, flustered, Robby flips through the menu although he already knows what he wants.

While you're finishing off your meals, he suggests what you've been dreading all day. "Do you want to go back to my place?"

Your breath stutters. Robby notices your hesitation immediately and sighs. He runs a hand over his mouth, leaning back. "You don't have to." His voice is strained, like there's agitation behind it that he's trying to keep at bay.

"No!" you nearly exclaim. "I want to! It's just..." you trail off, and Robby is more confused than ever.

"If you aren't ready for a relationship, seriously, just let me know-" he starts, but his doubt hurts you so badly you cut him off.

"No," you say sharply. "It's not that."

He looks at you with eyes so wide they're pleading. "Then what?"

You look away sheepishly. Here goes. "I have sleep apnea," you explain. "I use a CPAP machine. It's not remotely sexy."

Robby nods, his expression softening and his shoulders loosening from their tension and fear. You look back at him to study his reaction.

"I just... I don't want you to look at me differently."

His heart breaks into a million pieces. Robby reaches out for your hand, and you let him take it. He squeezes. "I'm a doctor," he says softly. "I would never judge you for something like that."

"I know." Sighing, you sink into your seat. "It's just some stupid insecurity."

"Hey." He squeezes your hand again and doesn't continue until he's certain you're paying attention. "Nothing about you is stupid."

You smile, and Robby looks over your shoulder for your server. "Do you trust me?"

You nod. Of course. Always.

He flags down your waitress down and turns back to you. "What if we went to your place? That way you'd be in a comfortable, familiar environment with your machine. And if at any point you get uncomfortable, you can just tell me to leave."

You melt at the selflessness and smile. "It's a good thing you put some clothes in the dresser."

Robby beams when he realizes that you're saying yes. His eyes gleam with mischief. "What makes you think I don't sleep naked?"

"Robby!" you exclaim, slapping his arm. He laughs, and the waitress approaches to hand him the bill.

As you head out, Robby puts a hand on the small of your back and leans in until his beard is scratching your ear. "And by the way... you're always sexy."

You flush, and your steps quicken. He just laughs.

You finish brushing your teeth and move into your bedroom, smiling as Robby slips past you to finish getting ready for bed. You had some spare toothbrushes and other hygiene products, so they were now his.

Settling into bed in a cute but comfy pair of pajama shorts and top, you pull the covers over yourself and look in the direction of the bathroom as you wait.

After a few minutes, the toilet flushes, and Robby comes out in a pair of boxers and a white tee. He studies your face to check that this is okay, and when you nod, he slides into the spot next to you. The bed sinks as his weight is added, and your stomach flips as he settles in next to you. He turns so he's on his side facing you, and you smile at him. "Hi," you say.

His lips quirk. "Hi."

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" you ask nervously.

He nods and reaches out to brush some hair from your face. "No judgement, okay? I want you: all of you. CPAP and all."

You smile and plant a big, appreciative kiss on his lips. Robby pulls you closer by your hips, moaning into the kiss. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the thought, the smell, the feel of him.

When you pull away, you look at him one more time before reaching for the machine and getting it ready. "If the noise bothers you..."

"I'll be fine," he assures you. "I promise."

With a nod, you fit the cushion, seal attached, to your mouth and pull the headgear into place. When it's all set, you glance over at Robbyagain.

He looks at you in nothing but admiration and... love. You flip off the light switch and adjust your pillow before letting your eyes shut. Your hand searches for his. When you brush it, he moves his hand over yours and squeezes.

You squeeze back.

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavich x reader #dr robby x reader #chronically ill reader #the pitt x reader #h/c #noah wyle #noah wyle x reader

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narcjsistx · 2 days ago

Text

— 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ! (bllk series)

✶ FIRST PART: INTRODUCTION AND ALREADY DESIRE TO LEAVE

plot: the largest villa in japan is opening its doors to 16 guys, all with the same characteristics: hot, young and single. get ready for the life of 8 girls and 8 boys, all ready to win the main prize: to come out winners and, maybe, with their soulmate. the challenges are ready, but you are ready for the challenges? the journey begins now!

"Are we sure it works? I mean, I don't even think it's on..." says the presenter, who happens to be me, Maya. The sound of the microphone explodes in the TV studio, causing a slight complaint from the audience who now have no eardrums "Oh yeah, it definitely works" I say satisfied, then turning to the audience that probably hates me at the moment "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first edition of the reality show "Race to Romance", where our contestants will find their soulmate among their enemies!" I say, but a voice interrupts me in the background "Say enemies to lovers didn't work better?" says the mysterious voice, but with a quick sign to the staff I ask to cancel the propagation of the sound from the mysterious microphone. I sigh a bit "It’s time for introductions, since time flies here. Let’s start with our ladies…"

You go up on stage, yes, you who are reading this right now. The audience explodes in a huge applause, maybe because of the beautiful dress you are wearing or maybe because they are paid to do this. Probably both. You arrive at the end of the television studio, the audience stops applauding. You turn slightly towards the wings, where the girls you will be participating with are looking at you curiously: you had the chance to talk to them previously, and you think it will be a nice opportunity to spend a few days with them on this program. You notice Helen looking at you smiling, while Nikki is giving you the thumbs up, maybe to encourage you. You look at them hopefully, as you take the microphone and clear your throat "It's a pleasure for me to be here, I'm also surprised above all that I passed the auditions. But evidently they chose the best ones" you say trying to sound charismatic, and not anxious as you are. The audience applauds again, and you sincerely hope that they are not doing it just because they are paid to do so. Maybe in reality you hope so, you just need to know that you don't seem ridiculous at the moment

"Only the best for the first season of the reality show" I say, clapping my hands lightly "Tell me girl, what do you think of the group of girls you've already met?" I ask. You clear your throat again, trying to relax your nerves "I've talked to some of them, but I'm really sure a good group will form once we enter the villa. We'll be strong when the men drive us crazy" you say, and I nod "Of course! You always have to have at least someone to confide in, here you'll def have more than one. Instead, what do you think of the men's introductions?" I ask

In your mind you replay the videos you've seen, the ones where the guys introduce themselves: you also shot the same commercial a week ago, and probably the others saw it the same way you saw theirs. You've seen a lot of cute guys, but there are others you'd stay away from. Three in particular come to mind "I've seen a few, but especially the one about the German, the extremely rich boy, and a certain younger brother. I have nothing bad to say about them! They seem fine... at least the last two. The first one, the German, seems extremely full of himself" you say honestly, and the audience laughs "You're talking about Micheal Kaiser, Reo Mikage and Rin Itoshi. Why do you think that about Kaiser Micheal?" I ask, and you sigh "In his video he did nothing but talk about being an emperor. I get it! No need to repeat it... 17 times?" you say sighing, and the audience actually seems interested

"I see. I ask the audience to give another round of applause, because another person is about to join us. From the men's team, Micheal Kaiser!" I say, and turning around I notice how slightly pale you have become. You gulp down a lump of saliva, a particularly heavy one, as the slender figure of the Bastard Munchen striker steps onto the stage. The usual smirk curls his lips, as he takes his microphone "Good evening everyone. Any problems with me and we haven't even entered the villa?" asks the boy. You turn to the girls, but magically they have disappeared. You put the microphone to your lips, but a series of stuttered words only make your situation worse for you. Kaiser laughs, running a hand through his hair "You don’t know how answer to me?" he asks, but I take his microphone "Save the beef for when you're locked in there. Race to Romance officially starts now!" I say, and two assistants come to get you

As you walk back to the girls, you wonder why you wanted to participate here. Cute boys? Definitely. Chance to make new friends and become famous? Sure. But the destruction of your ego was not planned for this soon, yet it has happened

✶ taglist: @shidousveneers ; @nevvynev ; @neeeooon ; @ravenbc ; @jnkosstuff ; @magicsness ; @kumasakka ; @ferraririi

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

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joluvsfinnick · 3 days ago

Text

Pretty Girl

victor f!reader x finnick odair mini fic

based off this request ! thank u lovely, i hope u enjoy <3

summary - finnick meets a quiet victor who keeps to herself. he’s curious. she’s not interested— or at least that’s what she says.

word count - 2.4k

You’re not hiding.

Okay, maybe you are. But only a little.

It’s not your fault the beach is the one place in District 4 that doesn’t feel like it wants something from you. It doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t dig into your past. Doesn’t try to peel you open like a fruit with something sweet inside. The sea is fine with you just being there, sitting on your usual rock with your knees tucked to your chest and your chin tilted toward the horizon.

You like the quiet. Which is exactly why you hear him coming.Sand crunches behind you. A foot slips briefly on the rocks. And then,

“Didn’t peg you for the ‘looks like she’s having a deep philosophical thought’ type.”

You don’t bother turning around. That voice is unmistakable. Smooth, infuriatingly amused, soaked in saltwater and shamelessness.

“Didn’t peg you for someone who talks just to hear himself,” you say. A low laugh. You hate how nice it sounds.

“Oh, I definitely do that.”

Of course he does.

You sigh, loud enough to be pointed, quiet enough that you can pretend it wasn’t. “Shouldn’t you be off somewhere… flexing or flirting or signing seashells for admirers?”

“Tempting,” Finnick says, and you hear the smirk. You feel it. “But you’re more fun to bother.”

Great.

You glance at him sideways as he climbs onto the rock beside you, all golden limbs and ocean breeze like he belongs in some Capitol-made fantasy. His shirt is gone, of course, because modesty isn’t part of his brand. He props himself up on his elbows and stretches out like this is his rock, his sky, his afternoon.

You pull your legs in tighter.

“You’re kind of everywhere lately,” you mutter.

He grins. “I live here.”

“You live two houses over.”

“I meant here, on the beach.” He gestures vaguely, then gives you a look. “And yet you don’t run away when I sit next to you. That’s promising.”

You stare out at the sea. “I’m considering it.”

“But you haven’t yet.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to. That’s the thing with Finnick, he talks enough for two people and then some. He seems to like filling up silences, which you normally hate, but somehow… he does it without making it feel suffocating. Just irritating enough to keep your attention.

“Is this your routine?” he asks after a beat. “Come out here. Glare at the waves. Ignore handsome passersby?”

“Only the insufferable ones.”

“Ah, so just me.”

You glance at him again. His hair is still wet, sticking to his forehead in lazy curls, and there’s a line of salt dried on his collarbone. He’s smiling in that relaxed way people do when they know they’re winning, or think they are.

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you get tired of people fawning over you?”

“Depends on the person.”

You hum. “And if they don’t fawn over you?”

“Then I follow them around until they do.”

You snort, unintentionally. Crap. Finnick perks up like he’s won something. “Was that a laugh?”

“No,” you lie.

“Sure sounded like one.”

“I was clearing my throat.”

“Sounded a lot like a ‘Finnick, you’re hilarious and charming and I want to braid your hair.’”

You deadpan, “If I ever say that, assume I’ve been replaced by a Capitol clone.”

His grin widens, and he shifts to face you more directly. “So what do you do out here all the time, pretty girl?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“I would use your name,” he says lightly, “but you haven’t given it to me yet.”

You blink. “You know my name.”

“Sure,” he says. “But you haven’t given it. That’s different.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

You shake your head but don’t answer. He’s not wrong, technically. You’ve never offered your name to him, even though you know he knows it, and he knows you know he knows it, and—Ugh.

You’re suddenly very interested in a particularly ugly shell by your foot.

After a pause, he tries again. Softer this time.

“You always come out here alone?”

You shrug. He doesn’t press, which is surprising. Most people do. They want the tragic backstory. The “how did you win” and “what was it like” and “do you still have nightmares.” But not Finnick, not right now. Instead, he leans back again, staring up at the sky.

“It’s weird, right?” he says. “How loud the sea can be when you’re trying to think.” You glance at him, a little caught off guard. He doesn’t look at you, just smiles faintly like he’s saying it to the clouds.

“…Yeah,” you say after a moment. “Weird.”

The quiet stretches, but this time, it doesn’t feel sharp. Eventually, he kicks a pebble off the side of the rock and watches it bounce down the slope.

“So,” he says, back to his usual grin, “if I keep showing up here, will you eventually warm up to me, or are you going to keep treating me like I’m some annoying seagull?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Well, if the shoe fits.”

“You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Only barely. I might need resuscitation.”

You make a face. “If you fake-drown to get me to kiss you, I’m kicking you back into the ocean.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t enjoy that.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet…”

“…And yet I haven’t pushed you off the rock. Yet.”

He grins, wide and dazzling. “Progress.”

He doesn’t stay long. Just enough to bother you, chat a little too easily, and make himself unforgettable in the most irritating way.

When he stands to leave, he stretches with a groan like lounging around beside you was hard labor.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asks, already halfway down the slope.

You raise your voice just enough for him to hear. “You do realize I come here to avoid people, right?”

He turns, walking backward, arms spread wide. “So change your schedule.”

And then he’s gone—vanishing over the dunes with a wave and a wink. You stare at the space he left behind, then you look back at the sea, arms around your knees again, and let the breeze tangle through your hair like always. But this time, when it tousles the strands near your mouth, it tastes just a little like laughter.

You should’ve known he’d be back.

You were hoping he wouldn’t, obviously. You enjoy your solitude. The quiet. The consistency of being left alone. But no, Finnick Odair doesn’t seem like the type to leave things be—especially after you failed to glare him off the beach the other day.

You see him before he sees you.

He’s striding down the shoreline barefoot, hair damp, sea breeze tugging at the hem of his linen shirt like even the wind wants a piece of him. His trident—stupid, overcompensating thing—is slung casually across his back like he’s a one-man war parade. You sigh and turn your attention back to the horizon. If you don’t acknowledge him, maybe he’ll get bored. It takes exactly six seconds for that hope to be crushed.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite antisocial beach cryptid.”

You don’t turn. “And if it isn’t District Four’s favorite narcissist.”

“Ouch.” He flops down next to you, obnoxiously close. “Jealousy’s not a good look on you, pretty girl.”

You glance at him, a little shocked by the nickname, but you quickly recover. “You’re insufferable.”

Finnick leans back on his elbows, stretching out like he owns the entire damn coastline. “You missed me.”

You snort. “I actively prayed for a shark to find you.”

“Romantic. I’d let you eulogize me if I die.”

“I already wrote the speech. It opens with ‘Finally.’”

He laughs, loud and easy, like you’re hilarious instead of mildly homicidal. “You know,” he says, glancing at you sideways, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me.”

“I don’t.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You were. Just now.”

You roll your eyes, but your mouth is twitching. Just a little. Betrayal. You quickly shift your gaze to the water, hoping he won’t notice.

Spoiler: he does.

“Wait—” he leans in, far too pleased. “Was that a blush?”

You scoff. “No.”

“Oh, it was! Don’t deny me this, pretty girl, it’s my first win of the day.” You try to fight it, but the warmth creeps up your neck anyway.

“I swear to the ocean gods,” you mutter, “if you so much as mention this to anyone—”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He grins. “I’m saving it for special occasions. Like your birthday. Or your wedding toast.”

You turn to glare at him, but he’s just beaming at you like you’ve handed him a trophy. “Shut up,” you say, mostly out of habit.

He rests his chin in his palm, gaze flicking over your face. “You know, you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

“And you’re kind of tolerable when you’re quiet.”

Finnick chuckles, not even a little bit deterred. “You know, I could stay quiet. If I had proper motivation.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Like what? Gag order from the Capitol?”

“No,” he says, tilting his head. “Like maybe…a compliment from you. Just one. Honest and from the heart. No sarcasm.”

You stare at him. He stares back, cocky and unrelenting and you can’t help but sigh while rolling your eyes.

“…You’re not bad looking.”

His grin turns feral.

“Oh, no. No, no. That’s not allowed. I’m writing this down.”

You smack his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

“It’s too late,” he says brightly, “You said I’m not bad looking. This is a legally binding moment.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“You’re blushing again.”

You curse under your breath, looking back out at the water and desperately pretending the heat on your cheeks is from the sun. Next to you, Finnick is still grinning like he just won a silly game.

The sun sinks low, painting the sky with warm streaks of amber and rose, and the ocean hums quietly beneath the sighing breeze. You stand at the edge of the dock, toes curled over weathered wood, lost in the delicate peace of evening. Behind you, Finnick’s steps fall softly, but you already know he’s there, he has that way of arriving without warning, like a sudden tide. The salty breeze carries hints of citrus and something unmistakably him.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he says, voice easy but charged, like he’s playing a game he’s already winning.

You turn just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes, that crooked grin tugging at his lips. You want to stay aloof, to keep your walls firmly up, but your mouth betrays you with a faint smile.

“What do you want, Odair?” you ask, low and careful.

“To see if I can make you smile,” he answers, stepping closer, the scrape of his boots on wood a soft rhythm in the evening air. “And maybe borrow some of this sunset light for myself.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Good luck with that.”

Then, without thinking, your hand shifts as you adjust your balance, and his hand is suddenly there, fingers curling around yours with a gentle certainty that stops your breath. He doesn’t let go.

Instead, his grin deepens, eyes lighting up with that playful spark and something softer, something almost shy. “See? You can’t help yourself, pretty girl.” Your heart stutters. You try to pull back, but the warmth in his hand anchors you, and the world seems to hush around the two of you.

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“Flirt?” he finishes for you, his voice a quiet tease but full of meaning.

You don’t answer, because your cheeks have warmed beyond words. You look up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment everything feels electric, silent, suspended in the fading light.

Finally, you whisper, “You’re impossible.”

He laughs softly, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “And you’re my favorite mystery.”

The sun dips below the horizon, but Finnick’s grip on your hand stays firm, like he’s not ready to let go just yet.

#finnick odair #the hunger games #joluvsfinnick #jo’s fics #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #thg fics #finnick odair fluff #finnick x reader

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femmesport · 19 hours ago

Text

Almost Something - Chapter Five

warnings: suggestive themes (conversations ig??) an: alright so here we have a bit of azzi's perspective and ugh these two just need to talk i swear wc: 2.5k

Azzi’s POV

Azzi considered herself level-headed. For the most part, this was true. When it came to Paige though, any ounce of reason was out the door.

She had been talking to Tyler for a few weeks before she finally worked up the nerve to tell Paige. It wasn’t that she meant to keep this from her best friend, but she was waiting. She was waiting for Paige to make a decision on what she wanted.

Azzi wasn’t oblivious to the fact that there had always been more to their friendship than the friendships she had with others. She felt it in the ways they communicated without words and always seemed to understand the other more than anyone else in the room.

She knew this and relished these feelings. She was hoping that there would be a day that she would wake up and Paige liked her more and wanted more than the title they currently held. This never happened. It was through these moments that Azzi began to recognize she deserved more.

Anger was not an accurate description of this realization. Not really anyway. Azzi was more so disappointed in herself for always hoping for more. She was disappointed for reading too much into the comfort she felt with Paige. It was her own fault. Really.

So, she moved to something safe. Something predictable and easy. That is when she met Tyler. She was well aware of how it looked to other people. Tyler was practically the male version of Paige. He was goofy, easy to talk to, blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was Paige in male form.

But, he wasn’t Paige. Azzi felt bad for trying to put the expectations of Paige on someone else. She did. But she couldn’t help it.

Nevertheless, Tyler made Azzi feel seen in a way Paige had never been able to verbalize. The things Paige thought silently were things Tyler did loudly. Was this fair of her? No, not necessarily, but she deserved to be happy to.

But in all the ways Tyler was able to do things Paige never could, he was still Tyler. Still not Paige. Azzi felt truly awful, but every touch, every kiss, and every word the truth remained. Tyler wasn’t Paige.

“Hey, I know we have been talking about that movie you have been wanting to see,” Tyler begins looking up from his phone. Azzi turns her attention away from her assignment to meet his excited eyes that were not quite the right shade of blue, “there is a showing after your game on Saturday. Any chance you’d want to go?”

Tyler had a sincere smile and genuine excitement for what Azzi was interested in. Azzi’s stomach dropped a little at the suggestion. She wasn’t all that excited about this movie, she mainly wanted to see it because Paige had told her it looked good.

“Yeah,” Azzi clears her throat, “that would be great.” She conveyed her excitement softly and smiled in his direction. His smile grew and Azzi felt even more guilty at that. Tyler was so nice.

“Awesome, let me get us some tickets,” his attention shifted back to his phone. Azzi’s eyes lingered on his form.

She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she chose a man who was a borderline twin to Paige. It was moments like this when he was smiling dopily down at his phone that she thinks back to the conversation that led to Ice pointing out this glaringly obvious fact.

She sighed and looked back at her computer trying to focus on this essay that she couldn’t seem to get through. Her focus was quickly interrupted by the sounds of her teammates entering their apartment. She looked at Tyler with a shy grin knowing he tries to leave when the teammates are back.

Tyler is looking up at Azzi with a smile so soft and sweet, “well I think that means it is time for me to go.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Azzi says, shutting her laptop softly and walking to her bedroom door.

Tyler grabs his bag and follows Azzi outside of the room and through the apartment to the front door. In the living room, all of her roommates were back. Their voices hushed as Azzi and Tyler walked through.

“Bye, Tyler,” KK calls out and the rest of them are joining in on the shouting. Azzi just laughs as Tyler smiles and calls out his goodbyes in return.

Azzi should be happy hearing the guy she is dating get along so well with her teammates. This should be another tick in his box on the reasons why he is the perfect guy for her. Instead, Azzi guides him out the apartment door.

“I’ll be at your game Saturday and then we can go to the showing right after,” he is reaching out his hand to brush a hair out of Azzi’s face. Azzi doesn’t respond to the touch and just lets it happen.

“Yeah,” Azzi smiles up at him, “sounds great.”

Tyler just smiles and leans down pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before turning down the hallway. Azzi waits until he is in the elevator before returning to her teammates.

“A-Z, what do you want for dinner?” Jana asks, looking down at her phone.

“What do you mean? She already had a meal named Tyler,” KK’s tone is teasing and pointed in Azzi’s direction.

It was such a juvenile comment and yet Azzi still flushed at the insinuation while the rest of her roommates laughed and played up the excitement of the comment, “it is not like that…we haven’t-”

She cuts herself off, not giving her teammates any fuel. Unfortunately, she had already said enough to add to the conversation an additional layer of noise that was sure to result in a noise complaint.

“Wait. Are you serious? You guys haven’t? You have been going out for a while and here all the time. I honestly just assumed…” Ice says as the jeers calm down.

“I know, I am just not ready,” Azzi mumbles shyly, looking down at her hands.

She sits down on the couch and figures her roommates might be the best ones to have the conversation she is about to.

“Okay, actually can I get some advice?” Azzi’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet and this gave everyone pause looking up.

“So, I know you all have or have had partners, and I just guess I have never really let myself date. This means I have also never…ya know…” Azzi flushes at the room around her, “I think he wants to, but I don’t know how to tell or even how to have those conversations.”

Her teammates were normally quick to turn things into jokes and pick fun at situations, but seeing Azzi so frazzled at the admission, they all remained respectful. They didn’t want to worsen the anxiety.

“Well,” Jana starts, “you first need to decide if that is something you want to do.”

She locks her phone, putting it down beside her and shifting all of her attention to the girl in front of her. KK nods before adding, “Him wanting to is only one part, are you ready?”

“I mean, we have been dating for a while. It feels like the natural next step,” Azzi explains vaguely and Jana’s eyes soften.

“That’s not what we asked,” her voice was gentle and that stressed Azzi out even more.

“I mean…yes. I think having sex with Tyler would be fine. It would be fun and all,” Azzi pauses, considering her next words carefully, “I think I am so nervous about it all that I can’t really fully want anything right now.”

Her words were mostly true. To be in a spot that requires you to trust someone so fully is intimidating. Azzi thinks there are very few people she would want to be in that situation with…maybe only one at the current moment.

She blinks heavily at that thought while KK considers the words.

“I mean, my first time was awkward as hell. Like so bad I never talked to him again,” KK laughs, “but, I wasn’t dating him and wasn’t comfortable. I think if you are comfortable, you will know when the time is right. Don’t rush it, Az.”

KK is reaching out and patting her knee. Ice gives her a soft look and suddenly Azzi feels like the youngest in the room instead of the oldest.

“So,” Azzi starts after a moment of silence, “dinner?”

Azzi appreciates her friends and their ability to shift conversations completely back to normal. Their volumes are picking up while Jana is announcing options. Azzi lets the noise fill the space and tries to fall back into the conversation.

By the time the game rolls around on Saturday, Azzi has herself so stressed and anxious. Not about the game. Never about the game, that is natural for her.

No, her nerves have come from the fact that she has decided that tonight is the night to have a real conversation about sex with Tyler. She also thinks it might be time to take that next step with him.

In her bag of clothes for after the game, she brought her nicest clothes and underwear. If there was ever a night for it, it was tonight.

She had come to this conclusion steadily and with only a few anxiety ridden moments. Overall though, the decision was relatively easy. Her anxiety started to bubble over and fill her head when she sat in the locker room beside Paige who was joking with their teammates before they were getting ready to head out for the game.

Paige, her best friend. Paige who had no idea what Azzi was planning after the game. Paige who would want Azzi to be making decisions based on true desire and not anxiety fueled beliefs. It was stupid and ridiculous to be thinking this way, but it was all consuming.

“Paige, you know that girl I have been seeing” Aubrey is smirking at Paige with a quiet voice from Paige’s other side. Her voice was meant to be quiet and reserved for just Paige. Still, Azzi listened in. She always did when it involved Paige.

“Uh, yeah, how is that going,” Paige responds just as softly. No one around the room was paying attention to their conversation. No one except Azzi.

“Bro, it has been so good. But get this, she has a roommate,” Aubrey is nudging Paige’s shoulder with her own, “a single roommate.”

Azzi’s heart drops, already knowing where this is going. She wants to look at Paige and tell her to ignore Aubrey. She can’t. That wouldn’t be fair of her, but still, her heart sinks.

“Oh, nice,” Paige’s voice is still soft and she begins fidgeting with her shoelaces.

“Yeah, we’re hanging out at her dorm after the game. You should come, I think you would really like her roommate,” Aubrey’s smirk hasn’t gone away, but it has softened.

“I dunno,” Paige shrugs and Azzi almost lets out a breath at that.

“C’mon,” Aubrey is begging at this point, “Selina is super chill and even if you don’t vibe with her like that, I think you guys would be good friends.”

Paige hesitates and Azzi has to stop herself from turning Paige to look at her and forget anything Aubrey has said. She knew her brain wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t stop it.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll go,” Paige offers after a moment and Azzi swears she felt her heart drop.

Instead of staying around to hear them finish hashing out the details, Azzi adjusts her uniform one more time and stands up following a few of her teammates to the hallway. They were beginning to gather before the game.

The volume from the crowd began seeping into the hallway. Azzi closed her eyes and tried to let the feeling of bass sink into her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind of anything but the noise.

She owed it to her team to not be wrapped up in her thoughts.

By the time the team had found their way out, the thunder of the home crowd was etched into every bone in Azzi’s body. She was in full dissociation mode. Her vision was laser focused on the court.

She focused on what she knew. She knew the other team had an aggressive defensive strategy. She knew they favored the left. She knew that she needed to be able to communicate with her team and get out of her head.

She shook her arms once, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

The game was a tough one. Every play had to be clean and tight. The other team was finding pockets where they weren’t and tried exploiting that. Azzi knew this game would be tough, but she felt it in every joint.

Azzi played well and felt it. She felt it in the way her teammates gave her extra recognition in timeouts and Paige’s eyes lingered longer than they should after especially clean plays.

By the sound of the last buzzer and a UCONN win, Azzi was feeling the high of it all. She jogged back to her team and made quick work getting through shaking hands with the other team.

“Hey, Az,” Caroline came up to her as she was heading back to the bench, “I think you have someone who is very excited to see you.”

Caroline’s shoulder is nudging Azzi as she points near the tunnel. She sees Tyler and she tries to smile up at the guy who is excitedly waving her over.

She jogs over to him and his arms wrap around her in a way that was so soft and excited, but felt so wrong. Azzi hugged him back. He pressed his mouth close to her ear.

“You killed it out there,” he starts and his breath hits her ear in a way that makes her shiver lightly, “seriously, so amazing.”

She smiles at the praise, but her eyes wonder seeing Aubrey walking near Paige with a smirk on her face.

“Thank you,” Azzi is all polite and quiet in her response as Tyler pulls back and his goofy grin is bright.

“Hey, you definitely deserve to go see that movie now,” Tyler jokes and Azzi forces a polite laugh.

“Hopefully there is enough time for me to shower, I am disgusting right now,” she groans with a chuckle and Tyler laughs.

“Yeah, definitely,” he grabs her hand and turns around leading her towards the tunnel. Azzi’s eyes immediately find Paige’s. Paige looks at her and Tyler’s hands before sighing and turning back around to Aubrey.

“Okay, you hurry up and get ready, I’ll be here waiting,” Tyler’s voice was soft and he leaned in, kissing Azzi lightly.

“Yeah, okay,” Azzi said before turning and heading into the locker room.

She saw Aubrey and Paige in the corner talking and laughing. Aubrey had her phone out and was showing an address to Paige who typed it in her phone. Azzi paused for a moment watching Paige. Then, with a sigh, she grabbed her clothes and headed to the showers.

Tyler was waiting.

Please repost, like, and leave your feedback! Thank you!!! <33 -- tea ★’*•.¸♡

#pazzi fic #paige bueckers fic #azzi fudd fic #uconn wbb fic #pazzi fics #tea writing femme fics #paige x azzi #wcbb fic #paige bueckers angst #pazzi angst #azzi fudd angst

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milafaye · 12 hours ago

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prebf!isagi yoichi, who you started talking to one random wednesday after school just because he looked too soft to be sitting alone like that.

you didn’t think much of it at the time— you were just curious. he was always polite, always quiet, always scribbling something in a notebook that wasn’t even for class. you found that kind of thing… endearing.

“isagi, right?”

he jumped a little when you said his name. you’d think you slapped him.

“y-yeah.”

“mind if i sit?”

“…n-no, go ahead.”

and that was the beginning of whatever this was.

it’s been already clear to you that you’ve liked him for a while now. stupidly so.

maybe it was the way he always tied his shoelaces twice, or the way he bit the inside of his cheek when he was nervous, or the way he apologized when someone bumped into him.

he was just… respectful. painfully polite. and for some reason, that made your heart squeeze.

you thought he didn’t notice you at all. you assumed he was just naturally shy, or too focused on soccer, or maybe just didn’t like people like that.

so you kept your little crush quiet. subtle glances during class. soft smiles in the hallway that he’d return with a bow and a panicked blink.

from that day forward, it became a thing. walking to class together. small conversations during lunch. waving at each other from across the field. he always seemed flustered around you — but not in a bad way. more like… he didn’t know what to do with your attention.

but you figured that’s just how he is. awkward. shy. respectful.

besides, he never said anything that would give you hope. he just… smiled a lot. stuttered when you complimented his hair. carried your water bottle when you dropped it during PE. took the long way to his locker just to pass by you. blushed when your hands brushed.

okay. maybe you were the delusional one.

you didn’t expect anything from him. you were just happy being near him. because who else would turn red at a casual “you look nice today” who else would give you their only umbrella and run through the rain? who else would whisper “you’re really funny” when he thought you couldn’t hear?

but from that day on, things shifted. he always waited for you before leaving school. made playlists and said “you might like this one.” offered you his scarf when it was barely even cold.

you chalked it all up to kindness. because that’s what he was — kind. awkward, flustered, endlessly sweet. but never obvious.

until today.

yesterday, you were lucky enough to go to a summer festival with none other than isagi yoichi.

he hasn’t said much since.

but then again, neither have you—

not since you caught him staring at you in that yukata like he forgot how to breathe.

“the yukata you wore…”

he hesitated.

“it suits you a lot.”

holy shit.

he seems to notice, suddenly stiffening beside you.

“wait.. ah sorry, was that weird?” he blurts out, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to make it awkward or anything. I just… I didn’t know how to say it yesterday.”

you turn to him, expression soft, teasing. “were you trying to say i looked pretty?” you asked, grinning.

he goes quiet, his eyes darting away from you.

“yeah..” he murmurs.

oh my god.

you let out a small laugh, heart still fluttering.

“gosh isagi, you’re so cheesy.” he finally turns to look at you, eyes wide and with a slightly embarrassed expression.

“…does this mean we’re official?”

hihii ummm sorry this is kinda terrible also kinda corny for me to write but i’m kinda new to the fields here so any tips for future posts would be appreciated 🌹🌹💖💖 (⁎⁍̴̆Ɛ⁍̴̆⁎)♡

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oliversrarebooks · 21 hours ago

Text

The Rare Bookseller Part 103: Fitz's Escape

Previous > Masterlist

tw: mind control, blood drinking, suicidal ideation

December 1925

"Killing the old man at his own party is a crazy idea. You're a madman."

"I'm desperate," said Fitz. "But you're calling me a madman when you're the one who's made a thrall out of a witch and a hunter."

"She's a prestige acquisition, don't you think?" Lily stroked her new thrall's hair, and she looked up at her madam with nothing but love in her eyes. Leave it to Lily to be confident enough in her enthrallment skills to keep a hunter by her side. Fitz certainly could understand the appeal, though. The enticing smell of her blood was a drain on his self-control, and turning a hunter into a docile little thing was a nice trick.

"She'd be worth a fortune, I expect. I'm surprised you're not selling her."

"There are some things more important than profit, even to me. I wanted to make sure she ended up with someone who properly appreciated her."

"I think our Lily has become quite attached despite herself," said Lex with a grin.

"I think you're right," said Fitz. "Isn't that what you've always warned us about?"

Lily scoffed. "I'm not unnecessarily attached, I just know good value when I see it. Now are you going to carve the rune or not?"

"Excuse me for being reluctant to drive a silver knife into my arm." Of course, that was the entire reason why Lily and Vivian were here, so that Fitz could test out the modifications to the rune. If everything went well, he'd be immune to his sire's powers, a theory they could test right away with Lex. If not, then both Lex and Lily would both be at the mercy of the Maestro's compulsions, making it next to impossible for them to kill him.

For all his big talk about the plans, though, he really did not look forward to how much this was going to hurt. The silver knife seared his flesh as soon as he touched it to his forearm, the sudden pain nearly causing him to drop it. It took all of his willpower, gritted teeth and embarrassingly pained noises for him to actually persist in carving out the rune. As he did so, Vivian sat up from Lily's lap, watching Fitz's progress intently.

"It's done," he said, gasping and panting.

Lex didn't congratulate him, though. Instead, he looked very sour.

"What's wrong? Are you worried about going an hour without being able to enthrall me? I promise I won't take advantage of it in any way you won't like."

Truthfully, Fitz's feelings on the matter were far more complicated than he'd like to admit. He'd forbidden Lex from enthralling him without permission as an attempt to establish his own presence as a vampire, and Lex had mostly respected it, as far as Fitz knew. But sometimes Fitz would just as soon be happy to let Lex plunge him into blissful unawareness. He wanted to ask Lex to do it, sometimes, but he had his pride. He was a vampire in his own right now and he didn't need Lex to sing him to sleep.

And if he did indulge himself too far, if he did become accustomed to allowing Lex to take away his thoughts, he might never return from it.

"It's nothing," said Lex, blatantly dodging the question, uncharacteristically irritated. "Let's complete the experiment."

Lex sang, a beautiful perfect clear note, and the already burning cuts on Fitz's arm seemed to sear into him. Fitz wanted to say that it hurt and ask if that meant it was working, but his voice failed him. There was nothing, nothing in the world but the song and its singer. He wanted to shut his eyes. He did so.

"Fitz? Fitz, wake."

His eyes snapped open. He was still sitting up, and he felt groggy. "What -- was I asleep?"

"Soundly asleep," said Lex. "It appears that rune configuration is a failure."

"It should be me to do the deed, sirs," Vivian blurted out, and all turned to look at her. "The rune works for me, and I have experience killing vampires. I've been training my entire life for the chance to kill this wretched monster."

"No," said Lex firmly. "We've tried before with hunters, experienced ones, and it was an abject failure. As skilled as hunters can be, they inevitably lack a vampire's speed and strength."

"But, sir --"

"Hush. It's too dangerous," said Lily. "And I will need you to protect me if things go sideways. Isn't that enough of a role?"

"Madam…" Vivian's brow furrowed. "I could best protect you by carrying out my duty and destroying the Maestro."

"None of that. Lex is right. A hunter won't be enough. Lex can draw close to his sire without arousing suspicion, as well." Lily stroked her hair, trying to soothe her agitated pet, and Fitz couldn't help but feel a bit uneasy. "Now, where do you think we've gone wrong with the protective rune?"

Vivian's mouth opened and closed. She clearly wasn't over the conversation, but she seemed too conditioned to put up much of a fight against her madam. Fitz knew Lily's talents firsthand, and knew how easy it was for her to wrap a human mind around her fingers. That had been him, once.

"The part we were most uncertain about is here," said Vivian, pointing to one of the symbols in Fitz's still-bleeding skin. "It's possible that our substitution of 'vampire' is in the wrong location, or in the wrong dialect. I think the next best thing to try…"

Soon enough, Fitz was carving another agonizing rune into his arm. Soon enough, he was unconscious and disoriented once more. Another failure.

They tried several times, Lex simmering in frustration as Lily grew impatient. Fitz was growing impatient himself. He was running out of room on his arms, and every inch of them burned. The wounds made him crave blood to heal himself, and the hunter smelled delicious, but he knew better than to lay a hand on her without Lily's blessing. The pain and the craving were driving his rational thoughts away. What would happen if they couldn't make the protective rune work on a vampire? Would Lex chance it anyway, hoping to catch his sire off guard? Or would they have Vivian attempt the deed, despite Lex's insistence that she shouldn't?

Would they fail again, and leave Fitz to be stripped of himself once more? He shuddered.

Lex sang his lullaby once more, and the rune burned, and…

Fitz looked up at Lex in surprise. He was still awake, somehow. "Are you running out of steam?"

Lex shook his head, brow furrowing, as he sang with more urgency. Fitz could hear the command in it, trying to lull him asleep, and yet here he was, eyes wide open. Could it actually be working? It seemed too much to hope for. Emboldened by the possibility of success, Fitz tackled Lex to the floor.

"Gotcha."

Stormy eyes bore into Fitz as Lex pulled him close, sang in his ear, and the rune carved into his arm hurt so much, but he kept resisting. Every moment he could keep resisting was a moment that Lex might be able to hold out against his sire, improving their chances of finally killing the old man. He shoved Lex away and rolled, standing up again. "You had better not be toying with me, Lex. Give me everything you've got."

The wave of enthrallment that washed over Fitz was dizzying, enticing him to sink back into sweet oblivion, but he still held out.

"We might actually do this," said Lily in awe. "We might truly pull this off."

It was definitely too much to hope for. He couldn't bear the thought of being captured by the Maestro for good, having his memories and personality obliterated and descending into an eternal hell. Yet he also couldn't bear the opposite thought, the thought that they might win, the thought that there could be a future.

Fitz remained numb to the possibility even as Lily cheered and Vivian clapped his back, even as Lex pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Oh, he maintained an outward show of cheer and good humor. It wouldn't help to pull everyone else down, and acting was always his forte, after all.

After Lily and Vivian had departed, satisfied at the accomplishment, Lex's mood dropped too. He flopped onto one of the overstuffed couches, beckoning for Fitz to join him, and Fitz wasted no time slotting himself into Lex's arms. Even after all these years and all that had happened, Fitz still felt safer there than anywhere.

"There's something very important I must ask of you before we carry out this plan," Lex murmured.

"What is it?"

"If I fail -- and I don't want to argue about this -- if I fail, I want you to take Oliver with you and escape as far as you can go."

"What on earth for?" Fitz asked. "What escape? We both know that there's no escape from him."

"We don't know that, not for sure. After all, he let you go overseas for years. He may not care to pursue you, once he has me at his mercy."

Fitz scoffed. "He'd never let anyone truly escape him for good. Not me, and especially not Oliver."

"But both you and Oliver can use the rune. You may be able to use it to prevent me from compelling either of you. Without me, he has no direct hold over you. He may be counting on being able to control you, and not realize he can't until it's too late for him to catch you."

"Seems like a long shot." Of course, it wasn't the risk that made Fitz want to reject Lex's request. It was the potential loss of his sure way out. If he were responsible for Oliver, if he were forced to make an escape attempt in earnest, he couldn't simply stake himself in the event of failure.

"I don't want you to kill yourself."

Fitz looked up, startled. "I wasn't --"

"I know you. I know you'd rather take your own life than be under my sire's control again." Lex's finger traced a pattern along Fitz's collarbone, close to the place where his old scar was. "But don't, for my sake, if not for your own. You deserve better than a lonely death. You deserve a chance to shine on the stage. To live without fear."

"Mm."

"And if you do make it, you can drink your fill of Oliver's blood. He's a good thrall who would serve you very well. He'd get along with Roger, too. You could make a good life for yourself, far away from here. From me."

Fitz pushed Lex away, standing up abruptly. "I need blood. I'm going to go feed."

"Right now? Are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset. I just carved half a dozen runes into my skin, and I need blood to heal. I'll be back."

"All right." Lex looked wounded as Fitz retreated from the library.

He threw on his coat and shoes and made his way outside into the cold night air, looking up at the moon. The wind was crisp and smelled of damp earth.

And if he were taken by the Maestro again, there would be no more night air, no more moon, no more wind. No pleasure in any form, not even in his own mind, as even his dreams would be tightly controlled. He'd much rather die as himself, die while he still had some happiness left. Sometimes he wished he would have died before he was taken by the Maestro so many years ago, when he was still human and still remembered what the sun felt like and food didn't taste like ash.

It would be easier if he hated Lex, and Oliver too. He could easily deny Lex's selfish request, if he did. He could abandon Oliver, his replacement, and leave him to meet an awful fate. It wasn't his business. Lex should have never taken such a desirable thrall in the first place.

Of course, he couldn't hate either of them. He was drawn to Lex no matter how he thrashed against the desire, and every time he returned to his old lover, he was reminded all over again how good it felt to be wanted. Lex wanted him in a way no human could, vampiric need shining in his eyes, and he was the only one who could truly quiet Fitz's mind and give him peace. It was addictive, intoxicating, and although Fitz wasn't sure if he could love as a vampire (or if he ever could have loved as a human), this mutual possessiveness was probably as close as he could come.

And he couldn't hate Oliver, even though Fitz burned with jealousy at his replacement. He was too delightful, the ideal thrall, and he smelled so nice and took to enthrallment so well and reminded him so much of what Lex might have been as a human… no, he didn't truly want to abandon Oliver to be destroyed by the Maestro. It was a fate he wouldn't wish on anyone, much less this dusty, nervous intellectual who looked as if a strong wind could blow him away.

So his only choice left was to hate himself, and that was thankfully easy.

There weren't many people out at this time of night, well after midnight and edging close to morning, but he could still pick up a few scents on the breeze. The most enticing of those scents led him to an exhausted looking man in coveralls, probably returning home from a night shift at a factory. The smell of metal and grease couldn't block out the aroma of his blood, especially when Fitz was so famished.

"Hello," said Fitz, wasting no time at all to invade this man's space, grabbing one wrist and planting his other hand on the man's cheek.

The man tried to back up, but found he was held fast by Fitz's strong grip. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "If you're trying to rob me, you're going to be disappointed. I'm flat broke."

"Shhh." Fitz placed a finger across his victim's lips, tilting his gaze up to meet his eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a friend."

"A… a friend…?" The enthralling touch was clearly having an effect on this unsuspecting human, his eyes already starting to glaze over. Tired humans always made such easy targets. "I don't… I don't know you…"

"You don't need to worry about it." Fitz stroked his cheek tenderly, pouring his power into the poor man's defenseless mind, infusing him with bliss. He was rewarded with a dazed smile. "That's it, just relax. Let yourself feel good. It's been a long night, and you deserve to feel good, just like this."

The man nodded dreamily, slipping easily under Fitz's spell. Satisfied that the human was subdued, Fitz pulled him into a dark alley, away from any prying eyes, and backed the man against the wall. He didn't even try to struggle -- an easy mark. That was just as well as far as Fitz was concerned.

"Nothing's wrong, nothing at all," he whispered in the hypnotized man's ear. "You're going to feel even better when I feed."

"Feed…?"

"Shh, shh, nothing to worry about. Just enjoy yourself." Normally Fitz would draw this out more, enjoy playing with the cute defenseless human, but he was absolutely starving. He wrenched the man's shirt collar to the side, ripping it a bit in the process, and sank his fangs in. Deep relief flowed through Fitz as he satisfied his urges, the pain from the carvings on his arms lessening, his anxious monologue fading. At times like this he wished he could drink forever, keep filling himself up with a human's blood until he felt full and complete and human again himself.

He drank too much, of course. The poor soul collapsed to the filthy ground as soon as Fitz was done with him. Fitz licked the last of the blood from his lips, leaning against the wall. It wasn't as satisfying as Roger's blood, but then Roger was a top-grade thrall who had the benefit of familiarity going for him.

Fitz wondered what Roger was doing now, if he'd ever see his loyal thrall again. He hoped that if none of the rest of them made it out, at least maybe he could. He could take the cash Fitz left for him and start a new life, one without a vampire to wait on.

The man on the ground coughed, and Fitz came back to his senses. He wasn't in the habit of just leaving his prey unconscious, and that pesky bit of morality could certainly be inconvenient at times. He sighed and hauled the man up. "Where do you live?"

Bleary eyes cracked open, and the man mumbled some directions. Fitz carried him home easily, sticking to the darkness so as not to invite attention, and soon he was carrying his prey up the stairs of a rotten tenement. With his hunger sated and the human deposited on a thin mattress in a drafty room, Fitz felt that he could get back to Lex's manor.

Perhaps he should get some food for Lex, as well, but truthfully he was still irritated at Lex for how determined he seemed to protect Oliver, when he'd utterly failed to protect Fitz all those years ago. He didn't mind being a bit petty about it, because he knew he was going to agree to what Lex had asked. If Lex's plan failed, if he had the chance, he would take Oliver and try to run, and maybe, just maybe, they could find some kind of existence far away from all of this.

He didn't truly believe that, but he wanted to.

Previous > Masterlist

Thanks for reading about this vampire's trauma. Next week: Oliver is returned to Alexander, and has a pleasant chat with the Maestro on the way.

@d-cs @latenightcupsofcoffee @thecyrulik @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @wanderinggoblin

@whumpyourdamnpears @only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are @pressedpenn @pigeonwhumps @amusedmuralist

@vampiresprite @irregular-book @whumpsoda @und3ad-mutt

@sowhumpshaped @whumpsday @morning-star-whump @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @light-me-on-pyre @theauthorintraining @whump-me-all-night-long @anonfromcanada

@typewrittenfangs @tessellated-sunl1ght @cleverinsidejoke @abirbable @ichorousambrosia

@a-formless-entity @gobbo-king @writinggremlin @the-agency-archives @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@enigmawriteswhump @bottlecapreader @whump-on-a-string @whumpinthepot

@cinnamoncandycanes @avvail-whumps @tauntedoctopuses @secret-vampkissers-soiree @whatamidoingherehelpme

@strawbearydreams @ghost-whump @tippytappytyping @natthebatt @fire-bugg14

#whump #whump writing #vampires #mind control #vampire whump #rare bookseller #alexander #fitz #lily #vivian

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harpsinfinity · 2 days ago

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Opposites attract

CHAPTER I → CHAPTER II (current) → CHAPTER III

→Frat-boy!jock!Chris X nerdy!fem!reader

→ you're back on the rugby pitch again, doing your duty. This time Chris gets a more serious injury, leading to your first actual interaction.

→ tags: @sinnamon-bunn @baepsays @socratestheegg @lettucel0ver @peachxkova

→ word count: 2.8k

→ notes: not gonna lie Chris and Piers are kind of assholes in his one I'm sorry

→ THEMED PLAYLIST

Here we go again:

Another day, another rugby match practice. Again; you had to convince yourself it would be worth it. All for the extra credit, for that scholarship to the prestigious college you were hoping to go to.

The more you thought about it, maybe you were somewhat equipped for the role of first aid. You'd done enough reading and research in your studies and spare time to understand how to treat wounds and injuries, whether they were minor or massive.

Right now, you are currently watching another practice. Is it boring? Yes. Would you rather be anywhere else? Absolutely.

So far your interactions with the team have been adequate. While the players can be dramatic with their injuries, some of them do have manners,

After all, a please and thank you go a long way.

Of course, the one player that seemed to stick out was none other than Chris. The constant arrogance that radiated off him was just plain annoying. And the pet names he used on every single girl he interacted with?

Doll, sweetie, sweetheart, babe.

You didn’t know how you’d put up with it. But you’d have to bite your tongue for this one.

You watched the match in front of you, the players that were clad in heavy gear and massive protective helmets. They were really getting into the match, it was clear how passionate each of them were about the sport. If you didn't have a distaste for the sport so much, you’d say it was quite admirable how much effort they exhibited in front of you.

Looking at some of the players as they tackled each other, you were able to make some of them out. No help from the big helmets on their head, obviously, but their jerseys. You also assumed that most of these players owned the same social status as Chris.

The player on the left — who was practically being shoved into the dirt head first — had the last name ‘Nivans’ on the back of his jersey. That was none other than Piers Nivans, yet another heartbreaker among the school population.

Of course, you hadn’t interacted with him. But he did seem somewhat nice, although whether that was just a front or not was up for debate, he was just as smooth and charming with the girls as Redfield was. Piers was one of Chris’ closest friends from what you could tell, maybe even his best friend. Although you were adamant that spot was taken up by Jill Valentine, seemingly by how much you'd seen them hanging out together.

On the right was Kennedy, Leon Kennedy — currently diving for the rugby ball — You didn’t know much about him either. But you did know he wasn’t just another player like Chris or Piers. You had met his girlfriend, Claire Redfield. Who also happened to be Chris’ younger sister.

Claire was a nice girl, you hadn’t spoken to her many times but she was kind to you, the type of girl to help those in need. You appreciated that. From observing Leon outside of rugby practice, he seemed decent compared to Piers and Chris; loyal to Claire, which you admired. You really admired loyalty, it seemed rare to come across lately.

The two of them looked like they were closest to Chris out of his many friends. Their interactions looked genuine, as if they knew Chris for Chris, and not his social status.

Though the amount of observation of them reminded you of your own status: lacking.

You were aware that you weren't popular, just a quiet kid who minded her own business. Though that wasn't enough to keep a target off of your back from bullying.

. . .

You had gotten so lost inside of your own mind that the sound of a loud thud followed by an equally loud grunt startled you from your musings. Flitting your gaze to the cause of the sound, you saw none other than Chris on the ground.

“Redfield’s down, first aid get over here!” the coach all but yells towards your direction.

That was your cue to scurry over to help Chris off the pitch, Chris looks up at you from his position on the mud tattered grass, realising who was currently trying to drag him off the pitch.

“Oh. it’s you again” He exhaled, almost in annoyance of your presence,

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “yes, it’s me again”

Your response was sarcastic.

When you had managed to guide Chris aside, the both of you were sitting with the plush grass beneath you as you began to do your work, first aid kit beside you.

“So, can you explain to me what exactly happened?” rummaging through the first aid kit, prepared by yourself, you began to get to the bottom of the incident.

“Nothin’ much” Chris began casually, planting his palms behind him and leaning back, looking anywhere but at the girl in front of him.

“Nivans just shoved me a little too hard, no biggie”

“Okay..That's a start” you nod, chewing your bottom lip as you look at his disheveled form through the frames of your glasses.

“Can you tell me what you fell on?”

You had a guess, considering he currently had a terrible nosebleed. Whether he noticed or not was up for debate.

“my head, obviously” Chris digressed; as if you were stupid. His muddied helmet, which now had a crack in the front, was set down beside him.

“Aren’t those specs supposed to help you see?”

Biting back the retort you had formed, you rummaged through the first aid kit and obtained a disposable cloth. You held it out to him,

“For your nose.” You stated simply as Chris took it from you to hold underneath his nose. You'd give him something to clean up the blood later.

You couldn't help but notice it looked like he was unable to focus on anything, his pupils irregular. He was also squinting more than usual when the sunlight caught his eyes.

You had a suspicion of what it was but you needed confirmation.

“..Can you follow my finger?” You ask, raising your finger.

Chris looks at you with a deadpan look, a brow raised,

“follow your finger?” He asked, as if he thought you were joking.

“Just follow it.” you practically commanded, beginning to move your finger side to side in front of his face.

With reluctance he began to do as he was asked.

But you could see he was struggling: a sign of concussion. His eyes seemed to be unfocused, having trouble following the simple task you'd given him.

You'd done enough research to know the signs. And they were crystal clear

“Okay.. You may have a concussion”

Chris lets out a ‘pfft’ sound, brushing your diagnosis off. “A concussion? Babe, i know you’re smart n’ all that but—”

He pauses momentarily to watch the ongoing movement of the match, his fingers briefly twitching. He wanted to get back out there, even though he wasn’t fit to.

“—You’re wrong this time.”

“I’m wrong?” irritation fills you from his arrogance as you parrot his words.

“Yep.”

"How many fingers am I holding up?”

You held up two fingers in front of him, in an attempt to prove your point further.

“Uhh..Three? Four?”

“No, I'm holding up two.”

“So?”

“So you have a concussion!”

You pushed up your glasses that had begun to slip down your nose. Chris was really beginning to grate along your nerves.

Exhaling through your nose, you took a second to compose yourself. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction that he was getting under your skin.

“So I really can't get back out on the pitch?”

You clenched your jaw, was he usually this stupid or was it just the concussion?

“No, you need to rest.”

You pass him a water bottle, having brought some for the team so they could avoid heatstroke during the summer heat.

“You can still do light exercise, but you should limit your screen time for a while to give your eyes a chance to recover.”

“Alright, miss smarty pants,” Chris teases “Guess I'm stayin’ here for the rest of the match.”

Smarty pants? That was a new one.

“Guess so.”

“Don't get too excited.”

“I won't.”

You could tell he was trying to use his charms for this one, though you could see right through him. He wasn't going to smooth talk his way into your life just to leave it as quickly as he entered.

. . .

The pair of you sat in silence for a while, watching the ongoing game. Chris would occasionally cheer for them or give enthusiastic reactions when one of his friends scored.

It did look quite rough. The way the players tackled and pushed and shoved each other. Personally, it wasn't for you. You didn't particularly enjoy getting your face shoved into the mud.

“What's someone like you doing here anyway?”

Chris broke the silence as he inches a little closer to you to hear your answer.

“Someone like me?” You inquire, it was clear Chris had already pegged you as a certain type of person.

He's made an assumption in other words.

“A nerd.”

“A nerd..” You mirror, looking down at the grass below you, its freshly cut scent plaguing you.

“Yeah.”

“Extra credit.” You reply simply, you weren't going to spare extra information for him.

“I'm guessin’ you're wanting to get into some prestigious college huh?”

“correct.”

Usually Chris had no business messing with people like you; nerds, introverts. You were the type of person he'd usually ignore, giving them a momentarily glance at best.

But something about you seemed to intrigue him, something he couldn't put his finger on. But him with you? Someone he considered a nobody? Absolutely not.

Chris Redfield doesn't mess with nerds.

“How's your head?” You mumble the question, bored out of your mind as you just waited for the match —and this— to be over.

“poundin’” Chris returns,

“Sounds about right,” Shoving your glasses up the bridge of your nose once more. “You'll be fine.”

“Guess I will be, since I got you playin’ nurse.” He jokes, trying to make the tension a bit lighter between the two of you.

He could tell you weren't fond of him, which was new. He was more than used to being practically worshipped. Always out somewhere with his friends, pretty girls hanging off his arms.

Your disinterest was new, almost refreshing. You weren't suffocating like the rest of them.

“Don't get used to it.”

Your replies were mainly short and simple, you didn't have much to share unless it was something you'd consider significant information.

Another thing Chris wasn't used to, including your appearance. A stark difference to the usual cheerleader he'd find himself on top of. There was no bleach blonde hair, no fake tan or skimpy outfits.

Just long skirts and pink cardigans. It was almost much easier on the eyes compared to the cheerleaders.

“Never caught your name, smarty pants”

Chris spoke, you nearly rolled your eyes at the name he gave you. It looks like ‘smarty pants’ was going to stick whether he knew your name or not.

“Well it's not ‘smarty pants’” You retorted, as well as reluctantly sharing your name with him.

Chris hummed to your response, now knowing your name. He tested your name out, seeing how it rolled off his tongue easily.

The noise of the coaches whistle brought an end to the bare bones conversation as well as signalling the end of the match.

‘Finally’ you thought.

You stand up, taking the first aid kit with you. Before leaving, you turn to Chris who was also standing with you.

“I’d go to the school nurse after this if I were you, she can give you proper treatment.”

Chris nods in acknowledgement of your advice,

“Good to know,” he responds “I'll catch you later, smarty pants”

With that he went to join the rest of the team before you could answer to his taunting of you.

It was over now, you could let it go.

. . .

The team was now in the locker rooms, cleaning up from the earlier match.

Everyone was bruised and covered in mud, their muscles sure to ache for the next couple of days.

“Hey, Redfield!”

Piers beckoned Chris over, Leon was beside him as they were all getting back into regular clothes. Chris’ attention was caught as he waltzed over casually.

“Leon, Piers, What's up?” He greeted them.

“Saw you getting cosy with the first aider during the match” Piers taunted, he'd obviously seen the interaction between the two of you.

Chris scoffed, "I had a concussion, which was from you by the way. She was only helping.”

Piers had a playful grin on his face, putting his hands in the air to surrender,

“alright, alright” he bit back a laugh, “my fault then”

Chris rolled his eyes, laughing along with him as he put his dirty clothes in a bag to be taken home and washed. They were covered in mud, dirt and sweat.

“Who even is that girl anyway?” Piers questioned “I've seen her around, but she's as quiet as a mouse.”

Chris told them your name, and that you were only sticking around for extra credit. Not because you were interested in the sport.

“So, she's just another nerd wandering around school?” He snickered.

Leon shook his head, playfully whipping Piers with his shirt as if to reprimand him.

"No, she's just a regular girl,” Leon states, defending you. “Claire has spoken with her, said she's a nice girl. They're in the same class together.”

“Claire'll speak to anybody, she's too kind.”

“True.”

“Speaking of, I've gotta take off. Claire's waiting for me”

Leon had his things together, waving off the other two as he left.

“We'll catch you later, man!” Chris called out.

The room was quieter now, as the rest of the team members slowly began to leave.

“So, how about that nerd?” Piers drawled, shutting his locker.

Chris turned to him after shutting his own,

“What about her?” He inquired, settling his gym bag on his shoulder.

“You gonna go for her?” There was a teasing glint in his eyes as he spoke,

“Thought I saw you batting your eyes at her” He jested, barking a laugh when Chris shoved at him.

"A girl like her? What do you think?” Chris snorted,

“Plus I've got company tonight, remember?”

“Oh right, the cheer captain? You're still messing with her?”

Chris gave an arrogant huff, puffing his chest up. As if to say ‘obviously’

“Yep, got that girl wrapped around my finger.”

The two of them laughed at the poor girl's expense. Unfortunately she was just another one of the poor souls Chris would use and drop whenever he got bored.

. . .

The sound of your own locker shutting echoed around the almost empty hallway. You'd come to collect your bag and textbooks now that the day was over.

It was safe to say you were exhausted after today. You couldn't wait to get home and curled up in bed with a good book.

That thought provided you a slither of relief, until you were that familiar, agitating, grating voice behind you.

“Hey, smarty pants. Didn't expect to run into you again” You could just hear the hubris in his voice. It agitated you to no end.

Reluctantly, you turned around to face him. Noticing he brought Piers with him. Great.

“Chris.” You acknowledge simply.

“You know it's the end of the day, right?” Piers huffed, you could tell this was going to be the start to one of his great insults.

“Unless you've got a science club to run off to. Or, was it maths?”

He snorted to himself. He seriously seemed like a dork undercover, or just in the body of a jock.

“Funny,” you reply with sarcasm and contempt. “I was just leaving. So, if you'll excuse me.”

Gritting your teeth you push past them, only to be stopped by Chris.

“Hey, wait!” He calls after you “I just wanted to thank you.”

Your eyes widened just that little bit, this felt rare. Someone thanking you, especially a jock like Chris.

“Thank me?”

“Yeah, for earlier. Took your advice and went to the nurse, she fixed me up.”

You let his thanks sink in, nodding slowly

“Right..Well, uh, no worries” You return, feeling a slight warmth to your cheeks.

It was a strange tenderness coming from him, receiving his gratitude. For a moment, you thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Until that moment just had to be ruined.

“Don't you have a pile of books to be tripping over?” Piers resumed his taunting of you.

For a split second you could see a glint of annoyance in Chris' eyes. Yet it was gone as quickly as it came.

You huffed, shaking your head and turning on your heels. The sounds of your footsteps and the laughter of what seemed to be Piers and Chris echoed with them.

Maybe jocks were that bad after all.

#harpy speaks #resident evil #chris redfield #leon kennedy #chris redfield x reader #resident evil 6 #leon s kennedy #resident evil 5 #chris redfield fic #chris redfield resident evil #piers nivans resident evil #piers nivans x reader #piers nivans #leon scot kennedy #resident evil leon #opposites attract #highschool au

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randomtacoscry · 1 day ago

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Early WIP Wednesday (it's Sunday)

Wrote the beginning a while ago for my fic- had to add more eventually... (it's rough and not beta'd, sorry haha)

Nov. 21

Lieutenant Bradshaw,

Happy Holidays. Hope you’re doing well in CA. It’s hot as hell here but I’m heading up to Luray for Christmas so it’ll be nice to see some snow. I bet you’re probably doing something with Nat or the family or something but you’re welcome to come join if you get bored at all. I heard you got off for a bit so it’s probably good to get a break. I’ve got like a week to fuck around and hell, maybe I’ll even try and improve my shitty skiing skills.

Anyway, just wanted to check in and see how you were. I know it’s been a while and you probably missed having someone to annoy you constantly.

Have a good Christmas Bradshaw,

Lieutenant Jacob Seresin

Naval Air Station Corpus Christi

Corpus Christi, TX

Bradley sets down the rest of the mail in his hand before scanning over the letter again. The guy never writes to him. Hell, Bradley wasn’t even sure he knew how. And Bradley would keep running insults towards the man in his head if his mind didn’t keep snapping back to a few key words the other pilot had written him.

…you’re welcome to come join...

…wanted to check in and see how you were…

It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Bradley knows that. It’s not like he even wants it to mean anything, it’s just-

Five days off. He has five days where he could just go. If he wanted to. If Jake wanted him to, which it’s not even like he really asked. But then again, who was he to use his words?

Bradley’s eyes fall back to the signature- and right above it.

Have a good Christmas Bradshaw.

Fuck it.

“Yes, I got a car from here to Shenandoah Valley?” Bradley readjusts his duffel on his shoulder as the woman behind the counter gives him a confused look. “Luray? It’s around there?” She nods before going back to typing on her computer and Bradley’s honestly ready to just crash at the airport if he can’t get a car. A five hour red-eye with an hour delay and now, he checks his watch, forty minutes of trying to get out of this damn place. It’s six in the morning, the shitty coffee Bradley got had no effect, and it’s still pitch black outside because of fucking daylight savings- at this point, anything is pissing him off.

“What’s your name again, sir?” The woman finally looks up and Bradley tries to forget that he’s already answered that question fifteen times for her sake.

“Bradley Bradshaw.” He gives her a tight-lipped smile and she goes right back to slamming on the keyboard.

“Sir,” Bradley blinks his eyes open as he takes in the sunlight coming through the car windows, “we’ve arrived.”

He shifts his elbows in a poor attempt to stretch his back but it’s nearly impossible in the cramped rear seat he’s been in for the past two hours. At least he got some sleep. “Thank you.” The driver smiles at him before moving to get out of the car. “I got it,” Bradley waves him off before wiping his eyes again to better adjust them to the bright light, “Have a good drive.” He grabs his bag and closes the car door before turning around to face the cabin.

It looks even more gorgeous than last time. The sunlight shines off the dark wood leaving a silhouette of the large cabin. Every flat surface is covered in powdery snow, including the porch, and it just makes everything more majestic. Bradley isn’t the type of person who’d normally think the word majestic but it seems like it applies here. It’s been over two years since he’s seen the place and he’s never been more grateful for Javy’s family right now. Partially for the escape from the California heat and partially for a reason to go see a pompous, somewhat cocky, pilot.

Bradley makes his way up the porch where only a sliver of it has been cleared away for walking. He throws his duffel over his shoulder to avoid it touching any slush before knocking on the thick, wooden door.

No answer.

He checks his watch again. 07:54. He should’ve known the other man wouldn't be up this early- the only issue is Bradley’s thermal and jacket isn’t exactly keeping him warm in sub-thirty temperatures. He raises his fist and knocks on the door again, waiting to hear if there’s any noise on the other side– some sign of life or anything.

The door swings open abruptly to reveal a shirtless Hangman on the other side looking somewhat confused.

“Bradley?” He says it with wide eyes and Bradley’s just about ready to punch him in the face. Anyone really. Or maybe take a nap– it’s been a long morning. “You’re here.” He says the most obvious statement in the world and Bradley pushes his way past him and into the (much warmer may Bradley add) cabin.

“Yeah,” He rolls his eyes before walking farther into the house. The place is emptier than he remembers– fewer old photos and some new, smaller couch. “You invited me, remember?” Bradley turns to see Seresin locking the door and spinning around to look back at him.

“Yeah, I just–” He looks surprised; his green eyes brighter and wider than usual. The sun’s rising through the huge windows behind Bradley and– Bradley would never admit this, not even to himself, but– he looks almost like an angel with the light shining on him as he walks closer to Bradley. His dark blond hair is lighter in the sun and his eyes are back to that sage color Bradley now thinks may be his favorite color in the world. “I didn’t think you’d actually say ‘yes.’” His eyes are locked with Bradley’s and any anger and annoyance he had from earlier in the morning immediately subsides. He sounds soft in the morning– it’s been so long it’s almost unfamiliar to him but the memories of tired mornings in bed come rushing back to him. “Coffee?”

Bradley takes a second to come back from being mesmerized by the god that is Jake Seresin and responds, “Sure.” His nod is awkward and stiff but Jake doesn’t notice since he’s on his way to the coffee maker in the kitchen. Bradley follows– automatically– and comes up close behind him. He can’t control himself for some stupid reason– he’s not like this. Ever. Bradley’s in control; able to focus on the task at hand and execute it perfectly but for some reason this man– this stupid, asshole pilot– makes him forget every overthinking instinct.

Sensing Bradley behind him, Jake turns around so they’re face-to-face, and Bradley takes the opportunity to press his lips to the blond’s. He tenses for a split second before melting into it and Bradley can’t help but place his hand along Jake’s jaw, pulling him closer. It’s not a long kiss– maybe a few seconds– but they’re both breathing a bit heavy when they separate (and Bradley has no idea what made him do that. Why he just had to kiss him before saying not even ten words to the guy. Bradley wouldn’t have done that a year ago. Not three or six.). “Thanks.” Bradley smiles and Jake responds with a few stunned eyelash flutters before Bradley turns around to grab the luggage he left by the couch. “I’m gonna put my stuff away.” He yells over his shoulder before making his way to the master but his mind can’t stop replaying the kiss. Which is stupid because it’s going to happen many more times on this trip (presumptuous but true). But feeling the softness of Jake’s lips, tasting the minty flavor from what Bradley assumes is his toothpaste, smelling the vanilla and bergamot cologne the other man applies vigorously at night so it’s more natural in the mornings– god he missed it. This. Him.

#sorry if this doesn't make much sense- there's stuff missing (like backstory)#my fic #hangster #sereshaw #top gun #top gun maverick #tgm #fanfic #hangster fic #sereshaw fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #wip wednesday #sort of

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apple4me · 17 hours ago

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Peter meets Tony Stark at one of the charity events for cancer, he came with Aunt May bc she can't leave him alone at the apartment. Peter sticks to the corners with his book and lets his aunt work,

When someone sits next to him the guy has a sick heartbeat, "Are you here with someone?" The dude asked, it wasn't weird he wasn't the first one to sit next to Peter and start a conversation, "Yeah, I'm here with my aunt"

"Huh" Peter could tell that the guy was looking at his badge and mumbled 'Peter Parker' " That hottie is your aunt? " he couldn't exactly see the guy's face but his senses drew a good picture in his mind, "I'd appreciate if you don't call her that" Peter cringed mentally.

"Do I get to know your name or do you prefer to stay mysterious? " The man was taken aback at Peter's statement "You don't know who I am? You've never seen my face? "

Peter giggled he likes it when someone mentions seeing "Well I don't know if I have because I can't see it right now" It was seconds of silence between them he could feel the realization sink in "I'm sorry kid"

He said first and cleared his throat "My name is Tony" He smiled "Nice meeting you Tony" Tony offered a smile but let it fall when he realized Peter can't see it "What are you reading kid?" "Electric Engineering by Allan R. Hambley" he answered simply, it is one of the only books he found in the library with braille "and you understand it? " "Of course I do why would I be reading it then?"

Everyone asked him the same question yet it still upsets him, Somehow they started a conversation about electrical engineering, it was fun and Peter doesn't always get to talk freely about science stuff without seeming like he is showing off.

He didn't feel the time and he didn't even notice his aunt approaching, " Peter-" she cut herself off her heart raised nervously "my god Mr.Stark we've been looking for you!" Peter's head became empty for a second piecing together information, His first name is Tony and his last is Stark which makes him Tony Stark but he can't be Tony Stark because Tony Stark is Tony Stark.

Peter can't see but his head snapped in Tony's direction anyway, Tony got up and smirked at the boy's reaction "Good talk kiddo" he said and ruffled Peter's hair."You can lead the way, Mrs Parker" She nodded at him but hesitated for a second "If you don't mind" she pointed at Peter "take your time"

May got closer to him and put a bag in his hands "This is some snacks, this will be the last event for us I got permission to go home early okay? " He fixed his hair while talking, he nodded and smiled "Okay" She walked away he could hear Tony talking to her 'You've got a brilliant kid' his aunt smiled and started complimenting him.

The second time Peter meets Tony Stark it was an accident, he was walking in the streets when he heard his heartbeat he was close, but the thing is Tony wasn't alone, he was with Captain America, you might ask how did he know, and Peter would simply say that he heard Tony call him super hearing and all.

Peter was so focused on Tony that he didn't notice where he was going, he bumped into someone and that someone was in a very good mood " Watch where you're going idiot" he said after pushing Peter making him fall on his butt.

He groaned in pain he could feel his hand had been scratched, he had worse for sure but pain is pain anyway.

"Hay! What is wrong with you?" Peter didn't even know when Tony had made it next to him helping him stand, the guy didn't wait to apologize to Peter, and he was grateful for it he didn't want to cause a scene.

"You okay kid?" He heard Tony say, he couldn't help but smile It's Iron Man after all his childhood superhero "Hello Tony" he could tell he surprised him by the fact he recognized him "Hello Pete" he could hear the smile in Tony's voice.

"Here you go, son" he heard another voice from his left he could guess it was Captain America he extended his hand but he didn't know what was it until he heard the juggling of his bag and stick Keychain when Tony grabbed it for him (he is still getting used to whole counting on his hearing thing).

"Thank you," he said politely as Tony helped him get the bag on his shoulders and put the stick in his hand It was a bit embarrassing, especially with the feeling Captain America staring at his face, he lowered his head feeling uncomfortable.

"Are you guys here to catch bad guys? " Peter can't lie he was curious and excited to know "Wouldn't you like to know?" Tony said as he slipped glasses on his face, Peter pouted at the answer making Tony chuckle in response.

"We could help you get home, son, it's a bit crowded today," Captain America said, Peter can't believe he is talking to him "Ever heard of stranger danger?" Okay, he might be a fan to them but he is still himself he has to sass them a little.

"Don't worry kid we don't kidnap kids with science puns on their t-shirts" Tony said "but those are the best kind of kids" he protested.

He could hear Tony rolling his eyes (it is gross) "Come on let's get you home to Aunt Hottie"

"Don't call her that!" He sighed when he realized that his frustration was only making Tony pleased "It's a ten-minute walk that way" Peter said as he pointed in the direction, Tony took his hand and made him grab his arm, he folded the cane and leaned on Tony.

He didn't need it really he can walk just fine with his enhanced senses but to keep his secret a secret he got to use it.

They chatted with him while walking him, and he could tell they reached the apartment building before they asked about it, "Well kid here we are" Tony said to him as he let Peter's hand go, and Peter remembered when he didn't hear the sound of the elevator, it is down and Peter had a problem, he still can't figure out how to go up the stairs blind and with enhanced sense and he doesn't know why.

"Uhmm, could you help me one more time?" He was embarrassed "Of course Peter what's up?" Captain America said

"Can you help me up the stairs? The elevator is broken" his voice came out small and shy and he hated it

_____

Okay guys seriously if this is good I would post the fic on AO3

#peter parker #iron dad and spider son #irondad #tony stark #incorrect irondad and spiderson #iron dad #aunt may #may parker #fanfic

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canadianfangirl-95 · 6 hours ago

Text

A Daisy through Concrete

Modern AU no outbreak 36 y/o Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You’re elated when you finally have a house to lease with your two children after a grueling year in your parents guest bedroom, post-divorce. Excited for a new chapter to your story, you’re even more excited when the Adlers introduce you to their neighbour, Joel.

Series Warnings and Information: 18 + minors DNI, eventual smut, some rough sex, divorce, swearing, drinking, drug addiction, car-crash death, absentee mother/father, emergency c-section due to babies heart-rate falling discussed, if you can handle a show like How I met Your Mother or similar, you can handle this. You are responsible for the content you interact with.

Masterlist

Chapter 3- WC 5800+

Something Great

Joels words ring through your head again as you finish putting together the kids backpacks for school and daycare on Monday. Honestly, you can’t remember more than five minutes where you didn’t think about the way he looked at you, the way he talked to you, the way he called you Daisy. It felt so personal for someone who seemed so distant, and yet here he was. Making a map of your mind. Finding a place to call home between your trauma and your aspirations. A possibility. Exciting yes but also terrifying. You know you flirted, of course you did. How could you not with him? With his kind Southern charm and sweethearts. You can’t help but love the way he interacts with his kid and yours. It seems silly though. Is the attraction between you both out of boredom and pure geographical location? If you lived across the street rather than right next door, would he had even batted an eye in your direction? Or yours at him?

His truck is already gone by the time you are loading the kids into the van on this drizzly Spring morning. Your raincoat doing its best to cover your freshly cared for hair. “Come on Jay!” You lament as he pats along in his green dinosaur rain boots, splashing in every puddle he can find along the way.

After dropping Jay off at daycare and Mel at her before and after school program, you finally pull into your parking lot at work. Taking the same spot you always do, to go sit in the same chair that you always do. You think about how as a child, a seating plan or direction of anything like that felt like chains. It always seemed so agonizing to have to sit in one assigned spot, but now, if you were to have to park somewhere else, or sit somewhere else, well, it’d probably be the tipping point to throw you into a spiral. Life seemed so easy and simple, and now, you feel like you’re adrift on a small raft in the ocean. Bobbing up and down, just hoping, that the same parking spot will be available everyday, so you don’t have to make another choice. Hoping that just one thing would stay the same.

Pulling out the wheely chair at your desk, you plop your computer bag next to the framed photo of you and the kids. You know, the one you had to precariously cut your ex out of. Rubbing your temple with your left hand as you scroll through the collection of emails you received throughout the weekend. Your coffee slowly cooling on the desk beside you.

The sound of rolling wheels sounds behind you as someone clears their throat.

“So,” your friend Ashley begins behind you. You turn in your chair and nod at her to continue. “How was the dinner with the neighbourhood DILF?” She says sarcastically with a batting of her lashes.

You shake your head, “Never, ever should’ve let you look him up on Facebook.”

“No, you should not have.” She confirms with a wink.

Letting out a sigh, you turn to grab your coffee before returning your attention back to her. “It was very nice. He barbequed, it was simple, kids had fun.” You say nonchalantly.

She eyes you with suspicion, “That’s it? Just hot dogs and kids’ entertainment? Nothing else happened?”

Shrugging, you take a sip from your coffee, “Nothing else happened.” You confirm.

Ashley squints one more time before beginning to shuffle her chair backwards, “I’m watching you.” She says with a humorously devious tone, “And your little DILF too.”

You can’t help but let out a chuckle at her humor. She was definitely one of your biggest rocks through your divorce and she is desperate to get you back into the dating world.

Later that week, you’ve been able to wave and smile at Joel a few more times, and his smile seems to get brighter each and every time you see him. The sun has set, and the kids are safe asleep in their beds as you’re cleaning the ensuite washroom. Turning the tap to add water to your cleaning rag, but no water comes out. You hear a chugging noise coming from below the sink. Opening up the cupboards, you take a look at the plumping and curse. “Shit. Okay, ensuite sink, ensuite sink.” You chant to yourself as you try to remember the Adlers instructions. “When the ensuite sink acts up, I have to call…..” The thought suddenly comes to you, and you look through the door towards the bedroom window. “Joel.” You whisper. The thought of him in your space seems so intimate and sudden. You look in the mirror. Hair is normal, makeup is whatever, a hoodie and leggings. It’ll do. You quickly head downstairs to grab the list of phone numbers the Adlers left you. Finding Joels, you hold your breath as it begins to ring.

His deep voice comes through the receiver, “Miller Construction, Joel speaking.”

You stutter, “H-hi, um, Joel. It’s me, your neighbour.” You rub your forehead with the heel of your palm with embarrassment at your half-ass introduction.

His voice sounds surprised, “Oh hey, what’s up?”

“Um, I hope it’s not too late, but the ensuite sink is doing that thing that the Adlers were talking about. It’s not a matter of life or death anything and it can totally wait till tomorrow, or even the weekend, or next week-,” your rambling is cut by a soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

“I’ll be right there, Daisy. Just give me a couple minutes to grab my toolbox.”

“Okay, uh, thanks.” You hang up and wince at your nervousness, yet warmth blooms in your chest at his use of the nickname again.

Standing shyly by the door, you finally hear his knock. Opening it up, a little quicker than you’d prefer, you’re met with Joel Miller. Grey t-shirt, tan work pants, work boots and a heavy toolbox clutched between his fingers. His smile stretches as soon as you open the door. “Hey.” You say, leaning against the door like 2000s rom-com college girl talking to her crush from the lacrosse team.

“Hey, how’s your evening?” He asks politely, the sun wrinkles by his eyes showing as he smiles.

Shrugging, you reply. “Not so bad, this little mishap did interrupt my bathroom deep clean, so can’t complain too much.”

“Nope, can’t complain about that. I’ll take pretty much anything to get out of cleaning the bathroom.” He says before grunting as he passes the toolbox to his other hand.

You come to the realization that he is probably uncomfortable just standing there with that heavy toolbox in his hands. “Um, so right this way.” You say, standing aside and gesturing him to enter.

He nods and then passes you. The scent of his oaky cologne still clinging to him from his workday, or perhaps he reapplied after you called. You follow him up the stairs, his ass filling out the pants in a way that makes your eyes bulge and want to look away, yet you can’t quite bring yourself to.

When he gets to the door of your room, he stands to the side awkwardly with a tight-lipped smile to allow you to pass him and follows you through to the bathroom. Joel groans as he kneels down in front of the sink and places the toolbox onto the tile floor. It makes a thud sound as it hits the floor, he leans forward to begin inspecting the pipes.

“Yeah, same thing as always. Doesn’t take long for me to fix and I’ve done it so many times I’d say I’m a professional at it.” He says with a joking smile, his eyes gleaming as he looks up at you.

You fold your arms across your chest and lean against the counter. “So, this will be a regular occurrence then?”

He takes out a few tools from his box and begins to work on the plumping under the sink. The way he grunts when he turns the wrench makes you want to whimper, and seeing his biceps flex in his shirt sleeve dries your mouth. “Eh, it’s not so bad. But I could slot you in for a weekly check up if you’d like.” He says with a smirk.

You chuckle, “Yeah sure, I’ll throw it on the calendar. Thursday night, standing invitation for Joel to come clean my pipes.”

His eyebrows pop up in surprise and he grins, “Sure would make us the talk of the neighbourhood if anyone else were to see that calendar huh?”

“I’d say so.” You place your hands on the counter and gently shuffle yourself up to perch yourself on the edge, your feet dangling beneath you. “So, how was your week?”

As he works, he shrugs. “Not bad, got a big job done which is nice. We’re gonna take tomorrow off, give the guys a break considering all the long days we’ve had at that place.” He shifts to roll over and lay flat on his back, his head inside the cabinets. His arms reach up to begin working from the new angle and the hem of his shirt raises, revealing a soft but solid stomach with a slight treasure trail.

Your lashes flutter and you quickly look away before your body and mind betray you. “Oh, that’s nice of you.” You say hurriedly before looking back at his body. You can’t help but imagine what it’d feel like underneath you. How sturdy and solid he’d feel between your thighs; damn it’s been a long time since you had sex.

“How about you?”

“Um, it was fine. My job is pretty routine work, not a lot of surprises.” You say casually, a flat tone so as to not arouse suspicion of the incredibly horny state that you’re in.

Joel gives one last grunt as he pushes a wrench tight on a bolt and then his hands fall, “There, that should do it.” He scoots back to raise off the floor and slowly rises to his feet. Placing his tools back in the toolbox, he stands up straight and reaches for the faucet. Turning the handle to one side, a smirk stretches on his face as water begins to flow from it. “Ta-da.” He says with a wink, and you grin.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You say with a bright smile, still sitting comfortably on the counter. “What do I owe you?”

He shrugs and shakes his head, “Have a glass of wine with me again and then we’ll be even.”

Making a fake shocked face, you slide off the counter and point at him. “You drive a hard bargain Miller, but I think I can make that happen.”

He grins as he grabs his toolbox, you follow him through the door and into the bedroom. You still and click your fingers together as you remember something you wanted to ask him. He hears the sound and stops, turning to face you, and your bed. “Before you go, I was wondering if Sarah would be interested in babysitting Mel for a summer job. I imagine she’s too young for somewhere like McDonalds, but I’d be happy to pay her to watch Mel while I’m at work. Her summer care from last year is all the way across town now that we’ve moved. It’s doable but adds about 30 minutes to my commute both ways now.”

Joel nods and smiles, “That would actually be great. She uh-,” his voice trails off as his eyes seem to un-focus from you and onto something behind you. You look at him confused as you see the way he takes a deep breath to regain himself. Finally looking back at you he nods again, “Yeah I’ll definitely talk to her for you.” He slowly begins to walk backwards and gestures towards the door. “I’ll uh, see myself out.”

“Joel.” You say confused, taken aback by his sudden retreat. “Is everything okay? Is that too much to ask of her? I’m sorry I didn’t realize-,”

“No, no, not too much. Just, like I was saying I can uh-,” and his eyes betray him as they dart past you again.

Your eyebrows pull together as you catch his eyeline and follow it. Turning your head, you say, “What are you-,” and then you see it. On the nightstand, clear as day. Your hot pink vibrator. It might as well have a sign on it that says “Hey look at me! She hasn’t gotten laid in over a year!” You didn’t even think about tidying up the bedroom before he came over, you were so nervous, you had run straight downstairs to collect his phone number. Your hands immediately fly up to cover your eyes and you groan, “Oh my God.”

“,-see myself out.” He finally finishes. “See ya later.” With that he quickly ushers himself out the door.

You stand in agony as you hear his boots hit the stairs hard as he makes his descent. Walking over to the nightstand, you grab the toy and toss it in the drawer, slamming it shut. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you hear the front door closing behind him. Rolling your eyes at your own stupidity, and any chance of ever having a normal relationship with Joel ever again, your body falls into your bed. Hoping that the blankets simply swallow you whole.

Joel didn’t sleep much last night. He tossed and turned, split between two faces of yours. The one he saw when you realized what happened and how embarrassed you were. That one made his eyes squeeze shut tighter to will the image away, and the other. The one he imagines you might make when you use the toy that he saw. He couldn’t sleep, being able to imagine the way your face may contort, the way your hands may grasp the blanket he saw laid on the bed.

As he stomps down the steps, his shoulders slump low from exhaustion, he enters the kitchen to find Sarah and Tommy seated at his table eating eggs and toast. He groans when he passes. “Don’t you have food at home?”

Tommy chuckles, “Don’t got anyone to make it there.” And he winks at his niece who simply shakes her head with a smirk before taking a bite of eggs.

Joel fills an owl mug with coffee and turns to lean against the counter. “Thought we weren’t goin’ out today.”

Nodding, Tommy says with a mouth full of toast. “We ain’t, I like my routine. So here I am.”

Shaking his head, Joel takes the plate of eggs and toast Sarah has placed in the oven to keep warm and then turns it off. Taking a seat at the table, he grunts as his knees crack, and he places his dish on the table.

Sarah and Tommy eye each other, given Joels gruff appearance and puffy eyes. “What’s got you so moody?” Tommy asks.

He lets out a huff of breath and says flatly, “Nothing. ‘M fine.”

With a careful tone, Sarah leans forward on the table. “Are you still okay with me sleeping over at Jessicas tonight? If you uh, want me to stay home I can.”

Joel looks up and sees his daughters’ hopeful eyes and checks himself. Shaking his head, he confirms. “No, no, you can still go sweetheart. Don’t worry about me, like I said, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

She nods and collects her plate and cup to place back in the kitchen. Coming back around, she places a kiss to her dad’s forehead and rubs his shoulder. “Okay, well I’ll be going there straight after school so her dad will drop me off in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.” He says, offering a polite smile. “Wait, uh her dad’s Ken, right?”

“Yep. Alright, well enjoy your day off. Whatever, two guys in their 50s do on a day off.” She says jokingly before grabbing her backpack and overnight bag to head out the door to school.

Joel and Tommy yell their goodbyes between bites of food. “50s she says.” Tommy snarks, shaking his head.

Leaning back in his chair to stretch, Joel groans. “Feels like it some days. Can’t believe I’m, 36 years old and my knees already crack when I move.”

Taking another look at Joel, Tommy nods at him. “So, what’s really got your knickers in a twist?”

Rolling his eyes, Joel laments. “Just tired, didn’t sleep well.”

“Okay, then what’s making you not sleep well?” He asks further and Joel gives him a look. Tommys tongue darts out to wet his lip, “Oh, who’s making you not sleep well?”

Letting out a deep breath from his nose, his hand settles on his hip, and he shrugs. Quietly, he confirms. “Neighbour.”

Tommy’s eyebrows pop up and down, “Oh, the pretty single mom Sarah was telling me about? Something uh, goin’ on between you two?”

Shaking his head, Joel takes another sip of coffee. “No, I don’t know.” Leaning back in his chair, he rubs his tired eyes. “The thing is, I do like ‘er. I would be,” he thinks for a second before remembering the words of his too wise for her age daughter. “open. Okay? To seeing if there’s something there. But, well something did happen and now it’s kind of awkward.” He says nervously.

Tommy looks at him curiously, “What’d ya try to kiss ‘er and she said no?”

“Nah, I don’t know if I should talk about it with you. I don’t wanna embarrass her.”

“Oh, come on, I won’t tell. Maybe I can help.” Tommy pleads.

Joel eyes his brother, but his shoulders slump down, and his guard falls as he figures it’s his only shot at figuring this out. “Fine, but don’t say a damn word and I ain’t telling you everything.” He says pointing a stern finger at his younger brother. Tommy nods and continues drinking his coffee. Letting out a huff of breath, he continues. “So, last night, she called me cuz the Adlers ensuite sink was doing that clogging thing again-,”

“Ou, did she ask you to come clean her pipes?” Tommy cuts in with a devious grin.

Joel looks at him frustrated, “Are ya gonna let me get through it or are you gonna be a little shit?”

Chuckling, Tommy nods. “Sorry, yeah yeah continue.”

“Okay.” He stills for a moment as a smile creeps up his face, remembering how surprised he was when you made the very same joke. “So, I go over, all’s fine, we chat while I work. She asks me what she owes me; I told her to just have another glass of wine with me like we did when she came over. Cuz, I don’t know, that night was really nice.” His mind drifts off to your conversation back in his backyard. “There was definitely some flirting. I know I’ve been out of the game for a while, but she was definitely flirting. So anyway, we go out to her bedroom to head out once I’m done and she stops me to ask about Sarah babysitting for the summer and then-,” Joel winces and rocks his head on his shoulders.

“And then what?” Tommy asks, curious.

Shaking his head, Joel says, “I don’t wanna say the whole thing, but let’s just say, I saw something that she left out, something private, that I shouldn’t had seen and I acted like an idiot and now she’s all embarrassed.” He rubs the back of his tan neck with his hand as he recalls the events of last night.

His eyes narrow, “What’d she leave some panties out or somethin’?”

“I’m not, I don’t wanna say alright? Just what should I do? I want her to know everything’s normal between us.” Joel continues, adamant to get back on track.

Tommy smirks, “Well, damn you really have been outta the game a long time. Shit brother, the answer is right in front of you.”

Joel looks at him confused, unclear on how he missed the truth all along.

His brother rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Idiot, I swear. The wine.” He says clearly. “You told her you wanted to have a glass of wine with her again. Bring over a bottle to sit and chat, show her everything’s normal. Just pick up where you left off.”

Joel clicks his tongue as he takes in his brother’s suggestion before grinning, “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” He says with a chuckle.

Tommy matches his expression, “And because I’m so damn good at my job, right?”

“Right.” Joel says with a smirk as he brings his coffee up to his mouth.

Unfortunately for you, your blankets did not swallow you whole and instead you had to spend your workday dealing with the agonizing fact that Joel Miller saw your vibrator. Never mind the fact that you definitely thought about him while you used it the night before. His name slipping from your lips as you climaxed. Now, the kids are in bed, it’s finally the weekend, you are hoping to just melt into the couch and distract yourself from your utter embarrassment with a rewatch of one of your favourite rom coms. You’re half-way through a bowl of chips when there’s a sudden knock at the door. Pulling your eyebrows tight, you look at your phone to see the time. It’s not particularly late, but a little late for a visitor. Standing, you dust off the crumbs of chips from your lap and pull the bottom of your shirt down from it’s raised position at your waist. Your bare feet pat to the front door, opening it, your eyes blow wide as you take in who’s on the other side.

“Hey, Daisy.” Joel says with a lop-sided smile. He raises his right hand and nods towards it. You look down and see a bottle of red wine clasped between his large fingers. “Was wonderin’ if you wanted to make good on that glass of wine we agreed on?”

You take in his sweet offer and let out a deep breath. Nodding, you step aside and usher him into the living room. He smiles as he walks past you and takes a seat on the couch, pushing over the blanket that had covered you just seconds before. You head to the kitchen for the wine glasses. Once concealed by the wall, your hands clasp onto the edge of the counter and your head falls. What if he wants to talk about last night? What if he doesn’t talk about it at all? What’s worse? Getting it all out in the open, or pretending there isn’t a huge elephant in the room? Collecting yourself and the wine glasses, you slip back into the living room and place them down on the coffee table. Taking the blanket, you roll it up in your arms and place it back in the basket near the corner. Joel watches you the whole time. The way your hands move, the way he can see your mind racing behind your eyes. He hopes he's not making you too uncomfortable and is silently damning Tommy for his idea already.

You pour he and yourself each a glass of wine, taking yours, you sit on the couch and pull your leg up and under you. Joel smiles, “Cheers.” He says, raising his glass up.

“What are we cheersing to?” You ask, bringing yours up and clinking it with his.

He takes a sip from his drink and shrugs, “I don’t know yet, hopefully something good.” His words die on his lips, and you stare at each other. That undeniable sense of something that isn’t being said but is instead lingering. A hair that keeps tickling your arm, but you can’t quite find. You feel the way his deep brown eyes make your chest flutter with anticipation. “How is your sink? Workin’ alright?” He finally asks, breaking the undeniable tension.

Your shoulders fall in relaxation, and you nod, “Yeah, thank you for that again. Saved my dad from driving across town.”

“’Course, what I’m here for.” He says with a smile.

“What did you get up to on your day off?” You ask politely, enjoying that the conversation seems to be flowing normally.

Joel leans back against the couch, his arm raising to sit along the edge of the top. His fingers just inches away from your shoulder. “Eh, nothing crazy. My brother Tommy was sitting at my table with a plate full o’ food before I even got outta bed so that was a nice surprise.” He says jokingly and you laugh. “I finally got him rid of him mid-afternoon, and uh, actually I took a nap.” He says with raised eyebrows.

Yours raise as well and you look at him impressed, “Wow. A real nap? As a parent?” You ask sarcastically and he nods with a smirk. “Fuck, I can’t remember the last time I had an honest to goodness nap.”

He smiles, “No kidding. It’s been a long time for me too.”

“Were you just seizing the opportunity or actually tired?” You ask casually, taking a sip of your wine.

Looking down at his hand holding his wine glass, his cheeks begin to warm, and he says quietly. “Just tired was all.” Looking up at you slowly, “Didn’t sleep well.”

Embarrassment begins to crawl up your neck like a squirrel up a tree and you look across the room at the tv. Sandra Bullocks frustrated face from The Proposal filling the space. Clearing your throat, you try to push the words out. “Look, Joel I-,”

“I like you, Daisy.” Joels deep voice cuts through yours quickly. Not allowing any kind of self-deprecation that you were trying to spill out. Your eyes snap up to him, and you see no discomfort, only yearning. The way his eyebrows pull together to soften his eyes. The creases on his face displaying his worry on how you may react.

Letting out a deep breath, you repeat. “You like me?”

He grins, “What I said wasn’t it?”

“I mean, yes but uh-,” you adjust on the couch cushion to look more directly at him. “Do you like me as your new neighbour, or a friend, or something else?” Your voice trails off as you look at him intently.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he shrugs, “Yeah, I like ya as a neighbour. You keep the yard and gardens tidy, quiet.” You watch as he trails on. “And, yeah, I definitely like you as a friend. You’re fun to talk to, really open which I like. The cupcakes are a plus as well.” He says, pointing a finger at you and a small smile stretches on your face.

“And, what about the something else?” You ask quietly.

Joels eyes rake you up and down and says softly. “Well, maybe that something else could be that something good we cheersed to.” Your breath hitches in your chest and your eyes fall to his lips, so plush and inviting. He continues, “Maybe that something else could be something new.” You’re so captivated by his words; you miss how he leans forward to place his wine glass safely on the coffee table. “Maybe that something else could be scary.” His hand wraps around yours that’s clutching the wine glass tightly, you look down wordless and release your grip. He takes it gently from your hand and places it on the coffee table next to his. Joels eyes return to yours, he’s somehow closer now, his arm still resting above the couch, so close but not close enough. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you watch every twitch of his lips.

“Maybe that something else could be, the most beautiful and sexy woman I have ever met.” He whispers with a breathy voice, barely able to contain himself another minute longer. You both lean forward instinctively. Your noses meeting in the middle, just grazing, teasing. Your eyes flutter open and see that he’s staring at you. So close, you can smell the wine on his breath. His cheek twitches, “Sorry, just wanted to look at you a little longer.”

A smile tugs at your cheek and then you finally close the distance. Your mouths locking into one another like they were meant to be there. His lips are as soft as you imagined and the way his scruffy beard rubs against your skin drives you wild. It starts off so sweet and gentle, moving with each other smoothly and slowly. His hand that is settled above the couch falls to rest on the back of your head, his fingers intertwining in your hair. Your hand raises to hold the side of his face, feeling his beard and pushing back to scratch the hair at the nape of his neck.

He lets out a low moan at the feeling and his tongue prods at your lips. You open and lick into his tongue with your own. Tasting him might be more intoxicating than alcohol. The making out turns more aggressive. Pushing your noses into each others faces. Hands flying to pull each other just a little bit closer than you were a second ago. You pull away just enough to raise onto your knees. He watches you in awe and pulls his thighs together as you reach one leg over them to straddle him.

Looking down at him, his eyes flick to your mouth briefly before you launch at each other again. Teeth and tongues thrashing about against one another. Your hands run up and down his strong neck and shoulders, feeling every bit of his sturdiness. Joel moans and grips your ass through your leggings, pulling you close to him in his lap.

Through the kisses, he lets out a heavy breath. “Fuck.” You begin to trail kisses down his neck, sucking the veins that are bulging beneath the skin. “You know, only reason I didn’t sleep last night, was ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And what I saw.” You still for a second before his hand raises to hold the back of your head. “Was so jealous of that damn toy.” Your panties begin to wet and stick to your skin as you raise your head back up to kiss him again. Moaning into his mouth.

Pulling back slightly, he begins his trail of kisses down your throat. Your pussy clenching with every nip and suck. With closed eyes you whisper, “Only reason it was out, ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you the night before.”

He growls. One of those primal, claimant growls. The kind that only comes from a man as touch starved as Joel. His hands and arms squeeze you tighter and you grind your hips down on his cock as it strains against his tough jeans. Joels mouth quickly returns to yours to lick into you deeply, his calloused hands scraping beneath the hem of your shirt. Teasing, wanting, just like everything else the two of you have done since you met in the Adlers backyard.

Your skin burns with need and your hands quickly grab the bottom of your shirt to start pulling it up. He feels your movement and suddenly his hands grab yours and you still. Your lips break apart and you stare at each other intensely. His breath heavy and mind racing; his hands pull yours to bring your shirt back down and you look at him confused. “Daisy, fuck I just, I don’t wanna go to fast. I wanna take my time with you, get to know you a little better.”

Your breath begins to slow and the want in your core makes you whimper. Nodding, you place your forehead against his as you both let your breath settle. “Right, you’re right.” Begrudgingly, you peel your body off of his and sit back down on the couch, pulling your shirt flat. Joel rests his head on the back of the couch as he rubs his eyes with his hands.

Looking at each other, you take in the others messed up hair and swollen lips and can’t help but laugh. “Well, then.” You say, unsure of where to go from there.

“Yeah.” Is all he can muster up at this point.

Turning on the couch, you place your hand on his shoulder, “Obviously there is some um, tension, here.” You say and he bites his lip. “So, let’s just say right now. No falling into bed together until it’s the right time.”

Nodding, he looks at you earnestly, “How do we know when the right time is?”

“Well, since we’re both pretty out of practice when it comes to dating. I guess let’s just get to know each other more, and work up that kind of physicality slowly. Start at first base, and work our way up from there.”

Joels eyebrows raise, “So, like high school?” He says with a chuckle.

Letting out a laugh, you nod. “Yeah, just like high school. But without the guilt of getting caught.” You say and you both still for a moment. “Um, actually, I don’t think I want the kids or my parents knowing just yet. It’s been a hard year and I just, I feel like it needs to be a little more solid before we tell them.” Your face contorts nervously.

He lets out a huff of breath from his nose, “Yeah, and Sarah hasn’t seen me date, since you know who.” He gives you a nervous look, “Probably shouldn’t get her too excited just yet.”

“So,” You begin, “it will be just like high school. Except instead of sneaking around behind our parents back, it’ll be our children’s?” You say amusingly and he chuckles.

“I guess so. Could make it a little sexier, you know?” He says seductively before leaning in and capturing your mouth in another devastating kiss.

You lose yourself in his scent before snapping out of it and pushing him away, “Hey now. Remember the rules, slow.” You say, pointing a finger at him. He rolls back onto the back of the couch cushions and groans.

“Fine.” He says with a wink. “Since I gotta keep my hands to myself for the remainder of the night, what do you wanna do?”

Looking over at the tv, you shrug. “Finish the rest of this movie and our glasses?”

He squints his eyes at the tv, “This The Proposal?”

Your mouth drops in surprise, “Joel Miller, are you a rom-com fan?”

Smirking, he shakes his head. “Nah, more of a Sandra Bullock fan. Tommy and I have seen Speed more times that I can count.”

“Sandy B, always a good choice.” You grab the remote and un-pause the movie, taking your wine glass back from the coffee table to take another sip.

Before it reaches your lips, Joel holds his out to you with bright and stary eyes and you smile. Biting your lip, you softly clink your glass with his. “Cheers.” You whisper.

“Cheers, to something good.” He says with a smile.

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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pyramultimuse · 22 hours ago

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He wasn't worried about catching the disease, or falling off his horse for that matter. Cole wasn't careless per say, but the attitude he had seemed like he'd accept death whenever it decided to take him. The man had his own self loathing, that even if he cared for his gang he knew they'd all move on without him and not look back. Cole took a seat under a nearby tree, drinking the water and watching Arthur gather some berries for his pack.

"Keep your pants on. Ashe would chew you up and spit you out, partner. I've seen the men she's taken to bed, they come out like they've tried to make love to a bobcat. Bloody, covered in cuts and bites. You don't want none of that." Cole warned with amusement to his tone thinking that the other might have the hots for the female bandit.

Then the mood got all depressing as Arthur went on, thinking that he might not have long and didn't want to waste Cole's time. It had the bandit looking down at the grown, hat tilted to hide the sorrow in his eyes. Maybe Arthur was right, he shouldn't be getting attached to someone he might loose. But at the same time Cole wanted to take a chance on him.

"You're no burden. I think the medicine will work, but on the small chance it doesn't I ain't going to turn your body in. I'm going to give you a proper burial and put you somewhere nice." Cole cleared his throat and his tone got serious for a moment. "Now I don't want to hear any more of this negativity out of you. That's an order." He said firmly and got back to his feet. As much as he didn't want to hear it, it wasn't good for Arthur's emotional state for him to be saying it.

Cole climbed back on Dawn and waited for Arthur to do the same. "Pegasus is a great name for him. I like it." He smiled fondly and the pair headed back to town, taking their time on the way back. With time flying by and afternoon rolling around he offered to get Arthur dinner again at the saloon, this time getting them beers to go with their meal.

Arthur's eyes softened when Cole said he would do what he could so he lived a long. "Don't keep your hopes high, Cass." Arthur shook his head- honestly, he didn't have much faith he could live too long. "That day in the rain...I think it was gonna be my last. If you hadn't showed up." He also had climbed down, letting his horse take some rest- the animal didn't take a minute to approach Dawn and rest by her side, eating some berries from a nearby bush.

When Cass offered the water, Arthur stopped Cole's hand with his black gloved ones and gave it a slow soft push, moving the bottle and Cass's hand away. "I appreciate it, but I can't risk passing this curse to ya. I'll fill my own and drink some water once we head back." Arthur chuckled as Cole showed off about his skills- yes, he was impressive and held so much optimism, more than enough to share.

"One thing I learned all these years...is that there's always risk. Never abuse your luck, or you'll end up like me." He grabbed some of the berries himself and ate a few- they were juicy, more than enough to hydrate him and give him some extra energy. After eating a few, he made sure to fill three cloth pouches with those and store then in his leather bag for later. His bag was basically empty, so he had plenty of space to take the treats for the horses (and for himself).

"Naaaah....me...? Cry when ya beat me? You'll be the one crying. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone when I beat you. Your secret will be safe with me." Arthur teased back, acting arrogant, while clearly he wasn't, he really didn't care about who won a silly bottle shooting challenge, all he cared about was having some fun together. "You have a bunch of clowns, but that woman, Jesus, she might scare away all the clients." It meant Arthur really didn't mind all the intimidation from her the day before, and he clearly respected her, despite the joke.

After the chuckling softened and faded though, Arthur looked away, while collecting some herbs which he could use to prepare some healing tea afterwards. "Listen...don't waste too much time with me. You have an entire gang to worry about. I won't be a burden, I'll do my part of the job...search for the natives as you said...try some different medicine...and keep helping you as I can. And when the time comes for me...just take what's left of me to Blackwater, get some cash...and take good care of Pegasus for me...okay?"

Pegasus. I was the name he had chosen. Since the animal could trottle so fast and so smoothly, as if it could fly, and seemed to hold such a peaceful determined wisdom, such a strong link with nature.

#arthurmorganrp #{muse} cole cassidy

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snekdood · 1 month ago

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anyways ppl with vaginas are amazing and not inherently less than anyone with a penis and if you disagree you can jump off a bridge <3

#go ahead. TRY to read anything into this that isnt just what the statement is saying.#bc lets be honest- a lot of ppl on here praise penis's but just do it for trans women so its 'better' somehow??? like its still penis #worship either way and its fucking weird to do.#i mean personally if i was a trans woman i'd feel like everyone was fetishizing me and i'd be really uncomfortable.#like if i wasnt already avoidant of ppl sexualizing me before that would be the nail in the coffin for me #hey everyone i have an idea: what if we treat all genitals as neutral?#like penis's are fine and great but the way ppl praise and fetishize girls with dicks is.... wild #and no you're not inherently better about it bc you're queer.#i sometimes think about what it'd be like if i was born the opposite way and became a trans woman instead but still had my brain #and i think the over sexualization of transfems would overwhelm me to the point of having a panic attack and never leaving the house #so like basically already what im dealing with but new layers and dimensions and reasons for why its happening added on #and id prolly detrans but thats bc i actually like being a dude so like. it just wouldnt work out in general. but i can see myself trying #it and probably being terrified the entire time. i just feel like a lot of the support transfems get isnt about like their actual struggles #but bc ppl can fetisihize and sexualize them later if they show they're 'on your side' and im worried a lot of transfems are desperate #for anyone who will take them and yeah.... idk. ig to me the 'support' doesn't really feel like support but feels more like...#'nice guy says all the right progressive words to get you to sleep with him' type beat #not all the support to be clear- i honestly specifically mean like. trans guys who id as tme or cis women who even seem like they're #pretending heavily that you're the same. idk. like the ppl who defend trans women against the idea of transandrophobia being real #dont... feel like they're actually doing it out of genuine support or fucks......#it feels like they're saying everything you WANT to hear instead of what you NEED to hear. and anyone who glazes you that much #i feel like is p much only doing it to get in your pants. like wow you think ALLLL of my political opinions are correct? i don't believe #you at all lmao. and anyone who's pretending that hard likely just wants something from you. bc watch them turn around and use #some of your takes against you when its convenient.

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illbringthechaosmagic · 2 days ago

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@thenexusofsouls

"You are amazing. I mean just look at you," Wanda replied, a small smile tugging on her lips. "You're an incredible person. I think you are. And that isn't anything to do with the powers you're capable of, I just mean that you are an amazing person deep down. Despite all that you've gone through, you've shown me such kindness and compassion. It really is sweet."

She was quick to add, "I hope you don't think that's a bad thing, me saying you're mysterious. It's just... well when we first met in the dome, when you had your hood up... I wanted to know more about you. I wanted to know who you were, where you had come from. And now that I've gotten to see your handsome face, I can't help but want to know more, to learn about your past and to hopefully... help you settle into here."

She nodded softly as he thanked her, her face softening as he told her that she was special to him. "You mean that?" She asked, her voice barely above a whisper before she cleared her throat. Stroking his cheek, she then continued, "you're special to me as well Xenos. There's definitely a connection between us, having shared experiences. I never feared you, even when I didn't know what you were capable of. I only knew that I wanted to help..." She smiled once more as he told her that her rubbing his back felt nice. "I'll keep doing it then..."

---

"We won't get in the way of either Strange or Fury. I'll send a message to one of the teams and ask them if they can run a quick background check, make sure that no one's missing," Steve replied, pulling out his phone to send the message. He had gotten used to the technology by now, though there was still the occasional hiccup.

"I wouldn't say it like that. More that there are times when you maybe don't filter what you are going to say before you say it. But it's not always a bad thing," he reassured him, noting the slight tone of his voice. There was always something that he hadn't been sure of when it came to Pepper, though he never told Tony, since he had seemed pretty smitten with her.

----

"Not now Tony." Steve muttered under his breath, not wanting for Wanda to feel like they were having a go at her. If the two of them were comfortable, that was all that mattered.

Wanda found herself relaxing when she heard Xenos telling her that it was alright, even more so when he was rubbing her arm. While she was still a little on guard with Tony and Steve, she trusted that for now, things were alright, that they weren't going to try and harm Xenos. That didn't mean that she was going to pull herself away though, not wanting to be wrong.

"Alright, let's go..." she smiled, peering up under the mask to see his face. She was curious to see if Tony had taken her ideas on board so that he could fully rest. As he got to his feet, she followed him, happy to still have his arm around her. She would allow for him to keep her close for as long as he wanted, not quite ready to pull away herself just yet. Though as she heard Steve's question, she paused, her hand reaching for Xenos' gently so that she could give it a squeeze.

Listening to them talk back and forth, she was amazed still that Xenos had been able to move everyone out of the dome and safely into the streets outside. It must have taken a lot of energy and so, she didn't blame him for not wanting to keep it up for too long. She wondered just how he had done it, had it been a safety net as such or something that was accidental.

Steve was quick to pick up on Xenos' question of someone being hurt. "No, no it's ok. No one is hurt," he replied, refraining from adding 'that we know of right now' since he seemed a little shaken up by the thought of harming someone. "We were asking about the dome because it's not something we've seen before. And because we were wondering if you had moved them, or done something else to get them to leave the dome. You're alright." He paused, "is the dome something that you've done before?"

what are you afraid of? (Xenos)

Xenos should never have come this close to this developed of a human city. Even wandering the suburbs of New York City had been a trial for him, with car horns blaring, people yelling, and a sense of too many things moving around him all at once. But once he'd reached deep into the city, he knew he'd made a mistake. There was a stark lack of awareness from the people walking around him. Some bumped into him without warning while others simply seemed to have no spatial awareness whatsoever. There were even more car horns, and more yelling, and Xenos felt his chest tightening from the stress of it all.

Soon, he couldn't breathe, and try as he might to get out of there, it seemed the more he walked, the deeper into the city he embedded himself. "Back!" Xenos shouted to someone who had bumped into him hard, pushing him away with one of his hands.

"Hey man, screw you!" the human said to him as he kept on walking.

He hadn't realized that he'd wandered into a roadway until he was almost hit by a car. It screeched to a halt and Xenos lifted his hands to cover his ears as the sound of the car's horn blared so loudly he thought he would die. "Get away!" he yelled, and it happened. His magic lashed out, creating a dome of isolation around him, encompassing the entire block. Everything went silent, for he'd removed all the humans from within the dome, leaving them outside its invisible border. Inside, he left the animals and insects for they did not bother him, but the cars, trucks and buses were now uninhabited, turned off, still.

The silence was wonderful, and he felt the tension begin to release him. The dome's barrier kept out the sounds of the surrounding city, as well as those of the angry and confused humans who had been moved from their vehicles, or who could no longer pass down the street because of the invisible barrier. While Xenos paced back and forth in the middle of the street, slowly calming himself, people outside the dome where already calling emergency services and police, angry and scared by what had occurred.

The Avengers were called in.

Xenos moved inside a building, where it was dim and peaceful, taking deep breaths as he slowly wandered around. This was better. Much better. He didn't care or even realize the disruption he'd just caused within a major human city.

Outside, people were telling tales of a strange man who had somehow made invisible walls in the city, not fully understanding what all had happened. When the Avengers arrived, they were met with a large block of New York City that looked... empty, uninhabited. Cars left abandoned, doors to buildings left open. It looked like something out of a zombie apocalypse... but where were the zombies?

Steve couldn't punch through the wall. Tony's repulsors couldn't penetrate it either. They couldn't even see what it was they were trying to knock down. But not all members of the team were as hindered by the magical barrier as the rest...

Xenos knew the moment someone had entered the dome, and he twitched with the sensation of his magic being disturbed. Perplexed, for this had never happened before, he walked to the door of the building and peered out. A human was there... but how? No human should be able to defy his magic. None ever had before. He watched her from afar for a bit, until it seemed that she was, either intentionally or inadvertently, headed right for him. Did she know he was there? No, no, she could not. Humans lacked such senses, he knew, especially in this time. The sorcerers of old were all but gone from the world now, or... or at least Xenos hadn't encountered any for a very long time.

Slowly, he stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk, his body tilting awkwardly to the right as his head did the same, as though he was trying to size her up and see her better. When she spoke to him, he recoiled suddenly from the sound of her voice. He didn't take steps back from her, but rather only leaned back, his head snapping backward a bit as a dog or cat might do if they were startled while curiously trying to get the scent of something. He thought about her words for some time before responding.

"Not afraid," he said, but his voice was barely there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to anyone to any real capacity, and his voice suffered from a lack of use. He didn't think it was loud enough for communication purposes, so he tried again. "Not... afraid." Xenos put up his hand almost as if he was making a wait a minute motion with it, but moved it up and down, as though pressing some imaginary buzzer in the air, his fingers outstretched. He was merely thinking of the right word, his head turning this way and that like the word might suddenly be floating in the air somewhere he could see. "Overwhelmed," he finally decided upon. "The city is... too much." His hands found his head and he swayed a bit, as thought he was in pain. "So I have expelled it... from this space." He then made a pushing away motion with both his hands, moving them out from his body.

But then Xenos' head tilted again, his face obscured by the draping hood of his long coat. "How...?" he asked, pointing back in the direction she came. "How... did you enter?"

#thenexusofsouls #ch: tony stark #ch: xenos

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