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daydreaming-in-letters · 2 years ago

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Apricity

07/12/2023

Pairing: Andrew (Hozier) x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,733

Warnings: rpf, language, alcohol, heartbreak, pining, fluff

Summary: After a painful breakup, Andrew needs the comfort of his best friend.

A/N: I'm going to church tonight, and I brought an offering for the god(s). Hope you like it.

Picture by Daniel Goodman via Business Insider

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

“Last orders.”

The booming voice rolled through the thick, hot air like thunder. It was a wonder they could hear it at all above the music and buzz of voices, she thought, but the bearded man behind the counter looked like the type who knew exactly how to make himself heard. Andrew on the other hand was not a man who raised his voice in conversation regularly, still she shivered when instead she suddenly felt his hot breath waft through her hair.

“Shall we take another?”

But he was gone before she could even turn to face him, let alone process his words and form a coherent answer.

“Oh, so no to that,” he misconstrued the confusion on her face as their eyes finally met. “You could have just said so, you know. No need to pull a face like that.”

“What face?”

“You know, the one where your eyebrows knit together just a tiny bit and the corners of your mouth fall a little.”

He tried to mimic her expression and whether he had intended to or not, he made her laugh. And as if that wasn’t enough already, he smiled along, that crooked half-smile of his, almost as if he was surprised anything he did could genuinely amuse her.

“Andrew, that’s just my usual face. It doesn’t mean anything. Although…”

“Ah, see. Not just your usual face after all then. You can’t fool me, you should have realised that by now. I don’t know why you still keep trying though.”

The slight curl of his lips reappeared for a moment, making him look so very proud of himself. And, for the first time this evening, almost a little happy. Now who was she to take that away from him by telling the truth: that she had been fooling him about her true feelings for months, maybe even years, and very successfully so, it seemed.

“You’re a grown-up, Andrew. Have a drink if you want another. But—”

The last word had earned her a very dramatic roll of his eyes.

“I knew there was a ‘but’.”

“Yes, Freud, we know, you can look through me like glass, anticipating my every move.”

He chuckled. “Finally you see reason, woman.”

“But seriously,” she could see another remark form behind his mischievous eyes, so she was quick to make her point, “is that wise? Another drink will only make you sadder than you already are.”

“Sad? I’m not sad. I’m angry. Fucking furious to be precise.”

Mostly with himself, she assumed. In all this time she had known him, he had never held a grudge against anyone for long, if at all. But it wasn’t as easy for him to forgive himself at times. Still, anger was progress.

“Good.” Softly she squeezed his hand and waited until the tension of his sudden outburst slowly subsided. “That’s good. You’re moving into the next phase then.”

He mumbled something under his breath, the sentence impossible to understand against the bustle of the pub. The only word she could identify was “Freud”, enough to help her understand that it had just been another of his sassy retorts. His next words came clearer though.

“If that really is a good thing, why can I hear concern in your voice?”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t think you would recover from her so soon.”

Andrew had not told her what exactly had passed between them and she didn’t want to pry. She only knew that they had argued, and that his girlfr—ex-girlfriend—had given him an ultimatum of some sort. Whatever it had been about, he obviously hadn’t decided in the woman’s favour.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Before she was able to stop herself, she could feel her brow rise, reminding him that they both knew he wasn’t the type that skipped through relationships. The final decision had been made a mere five days ago, a rather short time in her opinion to move into the phase of anger. But Andrew wasn’t her and for all she knew whatever it was that had led to the sudden end of this relationship might have given him reason in abundance to be infuriated.

“Come on, I only knew her for what? About half a year? It’s not as if she was…” For a brief moment he paused, his eyes resting on her while he tried to swallow the words that had already been forming on his tongue. But it was too late and when he finally continued, his voice was softer than it had been all evening, almost fragile. “…the love of my life.”

Eagerly he gulped down the remains of his drink as if to clean his mouth from its last statement before the glass hit the counter with an audible clink.

“You’re right though. I probably shouldn’t have another one of these. Better call it a night.”

He didn’t even wait for her response, long fingers already busy stuffing his lush bun underneath a grey beanie. She had just slipped into her jacket when he already turned to lead the way. It would be easy to get to the entrance with him in the lead, his tall form parting the crowd effortlessly for them. But he didn’t seem quite as confident in the impact of his height as he hesitated for a moment. She had no idea why, not until she could suddenly feel the warmth of his hand closing around her own. His action startled her, only for a brief second, while her brain was trying to recall a thousand memories at once just to make sure she wasn’t mistaken in thinking that he had never done this before. He hadn’t. Still it felt normal. Easy. Everything was always easy with him. Conversations, silence, laughing, crying — it was all easy. Effortless and comfortable. Natural.

It wasn’t long though before they were met with the cold night air. It hit her hard, almost making her take a step back as, with the first inhale of fresh air, it invaded her lungs. Still it was nothing, an irrelevant fact, drowned out against the much harsher sensation of his hand gliding out of hers.

He didn’t even need to fully raise the hand that had been hers for a blink of time to make the taxi hold in front of them. But it was enough for the icy air to crawl underneath her clothes and wrap around her in a tight grip. Not even his sweet gesture of holding the door for her combined with the warmth that streamed towards her from inside the cabin could keep her from shaking violently.

And it didn’t stop. Not when the door closed, not when his body pressed against hers in the limited space of the back seat. She was almost convinced that nothing would ever stop this chill, when suddenly his voice filled the silence to state the obvious.

“You’re shivering. Come here.”

And then his arm was there, invading the unclaimed territory of her neck and shoulders to pull her close. It may have been the spirits inside her system, making her needy and weak to his touch. Whatever it was, she didn’t care as she sank deeper and deeper into the unmatched heat that seeped freely from him, directly underneath her skin. She could feel his chest rising and falling so evenly, as if her closeness meant nothing, as if this was the normal way to be. It was infectious, hypnotising her into a state of untainted drowsiness, one last thought remaining on her mind. This was it, not just the normal way to be, the only way to be. Even more so as his lips pressed to her hair, a gesture so tender it made her heart flutter, and she knew that she would never recover from this moment, however insignificant it was to him.

“I don’t think I told you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

His words were mumbled against the crown of her head, almost inaudible above the noise of the car and the blaring music from the radio, but she had heard them and would cherish them forever, sealed inside her heart until her last breath.

For most, they would be the bare minimum after crossing an ocean in a hurry simply because she had known something was off. She always knew, from the fatigued tone of his voice to the slight change of colour in his eyes, from the way he had to force his smile, never quite reaching the full infectious gleam it usually held, his mind anywhere but with her while his fingers kneaded the palm of his hand in discomfort.

She also knew that it had probably been an overreaction, but she would do a lot more for him than spend her last savings on a transatlantic flight and an overpriced Airbnb, for him, she would walk all the way through the eternal fires of hell and back if that was what it took to make him whole again. He probably wouldn’t do the same for her, but that didn’t matter. She didn’t expect him to, that was not the way love worked.

“Well, first and foremost I came here to whup that woman’s ass for treating you like...well, the way she did. Comforting you was just second on my list.”

Stirred by a deep chuckle, his hot breath wafted through her hair for the second time this night. It was addictive, and dangerous, because it made her want to cuddle in deeper until it was too late to let go. And right now, just for a second, she allowed herself to hope that he might actually let her. Later this night, she promised herself, she would forget all about it. Forget about the soothing warmth he gave her and the light his presence brought to her life, always. It would be hard to erase the memory of a love that had never been and never would, even more so in the cold of an unfamiliar bed, reminding her mercilessly that she was just another foreigner in a city of millions of strangers. In a world where no one truly knew her but one. And even he didn’t know the one thing she so desperately wanted him to know, yet feared to tell him the most.

“We both know that’s not true.” For a second she held her breath, stupidly fearing he had been listening in on her thoughts. “You couldn’t even hurt a fly.”

Technically, he was right, she silently agreed with him while she relaxed in his arms again. But this was about him. And seeing him like this, this gentle, loving, warm soul, defeated by the betrayal of someone he had given his whole heart to—even if he denied that now… To her, that was reason enough for far more than just a firm ass-whupping.

Maybe she should finally listen to the nagging voice inside her head and tell him just that. It seemed simple enough, a few words spoken from the heart and it would at last be out of her system. After month and month of silence it would be out in the open, released from her heart and yet vague enough for him to take it one way or the other. Like a spectator from the outside she felt herself move to leave his embrace, but before she even had the chance to open her mouth, he beat her to it. A strained groan fell from his lips, eyes rolling heavily in their sockets and she thought she might have missed the moment in which she had already made her confession without even noticing, when she realised his agitation had nothing to do with her at all.

“Oh, come on. Of all the songs…”

Instant relief washed over her, causing a rush to the head that made her feel a little lightheaded. Enough for a cheeky grin to curl her lips.

“No, don’t you dare. Don’t even think about—” he warned, but too late.

“Go on now, go, walk out the door, just turn around now ‘cause you’re not welcome anymore…”

Her voice sounded all croaky and flat and she gave it her all to make it sound even worse. Knowing her absolute lack of talent, she usually avoided singing in public, and it had only ever happened on a handful of occasions, when the alcohol had made her indifferent to the physical pain she caused her poor audience. Andrew had always teased her relentlessly afterwards, but she knew all too well that he found it endearing and very amusing. He couldn’t deny that now, although his furrowed brows might give a different impression, but it didn’t take long until he accepted his defeat and the sweetest of smiles spread on his lips. And after leaving her hanging for another few lines, he joined in.

“I used to cry, but now I hold my head up high and you see me, somebody new, I'm not that chained-up little person still in love with you. And so you felt like dropping in and just expect me to be free. Well, now I'm saving all my lovin' for someone who's loving me…”

They were both belting at the top of their lungs, all the way through the song, and when it finally ended, they fell back into their seats, giggling and panting violently as if they had just finished running a marathon. She was still holding her belly, completely wrapped up in their little cocoon of pure joy when she realised that something was off. She hadn’t noticed at first, but the taxi had come to a stop. It was hard to tell how long it had been standing in front of the red brick row house already, but if the driver’s face was anything to go by, it might have been quite a moment since their arrival.

He cleared his throat while he held her gaze in the mirror and Andrew’s laughter died away as well. She hated the cabby a little for taking this moment away from her friend and threw him a dirty look. Andy deserved being happy, so much, if only for the length of one single song. Careful to soften her gaze, she turned to look at him.

“Well, I guess this is me then.”

His answer was nothing but a tight lipped smile that left her with a thousand different options of interpretation. She was still trying to work out its meaning when for the second time this night, he took her completely by surprise.

It wasn’t the fact that he reached out for her to pull her in for a hug that startled her, he always did that before they said goodbye, but the way his embrace felt just a little tighter, his familiar scent more intoxicating than usual and the wool of his coat that suited him so exceptionally well unbelievably soft underneath her fingertips. In a mere moment he invaded her whole being, flowing through her freely until she could hear her soul hum in the silence that surrounded them.

It felt unholy to pull away, the sacrilege petrifying her in her seat, leaving her with no option but to stare at him. She had almost forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. That lush, mossy green, flecked with warm, earthy shades, she wanted to dive into them, and never return.

And there it was again, that one feeling she only ever had when she was with him. It was hard to pin down, it was not as if she was not complete without him. She was. But she had spent her whole life trying to fit in and with him, she didn’t have to. It just came naturally.

For a tiny moment, it seemed as if he was moving closer again. She noticed his eyes fall to her lips, or maybe she had imagined it. Either way, she couldn’t help herself from doing the same, watching the pink pillows open the slightest bit, a sigh waiting to fall, or a word, but it never came. Instead, a dog barked somewhere nearby and the moment was gone.

When she looked up, it was unmistakeable that the sadness had returned to his eyes as well. She hated it, hated every second they didn’t shine as brightly as they usually did. She missed the excitement they used to hold, the warmth and kindness they radiated from beneath his long lashes. And her heart broke for him all over again.

A soothing smile on her lips, the palm of her hand cupped his bearded cheek. She wanted to tell him that even if everyone were to abandon him, she would always be there. The words were forming in her mind so clearly, all she had to do was open her mouth and deliver them, but instead she heard herself say, “There is someone out there for you, Andrew. I’m sure of it.”

He returned her smile, faintly, but it was definitely there and it didn’t leave even as he turned his head to kiss the palm of her hand.

“Good night.”

“Night, love. I’ll call you in the morning.”

She nodded, and then she was gone. Andrew moved over to the spot where she had been sitting to watch her walking up the stairs. One hand pressed against the leather of the seat, he felt her warmth that still remained, felt his skin soaking it up to let it warm him from the inside.

She had always possessed this power, to warm him up and thaw his heart, even though he had thought that this time it had frozen for good. But the second he had taken her hand in that pub—whatever had driven him to do so—he had known that all would be well eventually. It had been so right, so natural, to feel her like that, if only he would be brave enough to tell her. But he could never, not as long as there was even the slightest possibility she didn’t feel the same. Because more than loving her in secret, it would hurt to lose her forever. He would rather have her as a friend than not at all because for him, there was no life without her.

There was no way he would ever tell her, but it was this exact truth that had ended his last relationship. Faced with the choice between her and anyone else in this world, it would always be her. No matter what. There had never been the tiniest chance he could have decided otherwise.

And now he was surer than ever that he had made the right choice. Maybe this night had made him delirious, he still couldn’t tell. She had been so close, filling first his senses and then his mind with nothing but her until he had let himself believe that this could really be it. His life as it was supposed to be. For a second he had even imagined that she was leaning in, that she wanted to kiss him just as badly as he wanted to seal her lips with his.

But even if she had, it was probably only pity speaking. Or worse, she might have thought that he needed a cheap substitute to drown his pain. And nothing could be further from the truth. He had almost been thankful for the bark that had interrupted them, without it he would never have found the strength to pull away and return her abrupt goodbye. Still, it was better this way. By morning he would have forced himself to forget about everything that could have been tonight, he would call her as he had promised and pretend that she didn’t hold his heart. It had always been like that. And it always would be.

She had almost made it to the door by now. Her steps already slowing while she was fumbling for the keys in her bag. He didn’t know how hard it was for her to hurdle the remaining distance between herself and the door. Especially with all the tears clouding her gaze. She had felt them coming even before the taxi door had closed behind her. And so she hadn’t looked back, afraid he might see. And now that she had almost made it, she couldn’t even find those bloody keys in her stupid bag.

It seemed like a miracle when she finally closed her hand around the cold metal to bring it to the dim light of the streetlamps. But her triumph had been too hasty, the keys gliding out of her slippery fingers and shattering onto the ground with an ugly clattering noise.

The frustration set loose more tears, forcing her to fish around blindly for them and when she had finally managed to find them, she fumbled around equally clumsily to find the keyhole. Her only solace was that she had heard the taxi pull away while she had been hunching on the ground, so at least nobody had seen. He hadn’t seen.

“You know, I was wondering,” she jolted upon the unexpected voice, her keys hitting the ground once more as she turned around in a hurry to find him right in front of herself. “When you said someone— Are you crying?”

“No,” she promptly replied, but it was useless to deny the obvious, she realised, as her croaky voice sounded through the silence, fresh tears still burning hot on her cheeks. And Andrew being Andrew, he didn’t hesitate. In the blink of an eye he was there, gentle hands cupping her face and wiping away the salty streams.

“Why are you crying, love?”

She didn’t answer, her throat sealed by a lump of fear. If she answered truthfully now, she would lose him. And she couldn’t, she mustn’t.

But he knew anyway. It was obvious from the way his forehead wrinkled and his eyes softened upon the realisation. She hadn’t expected the crooked smile though that slowly began to grace his lips.

“I see.”

His lips were even softer than she could have ever imagined, moving so tenderly with hers. And even though this was happening so fast that she didn’t know if she was awake or dreaming, she felt herself relax in his arms. Letting go of all her worries was suddenly so easy. Everything was easy with him.

#hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier #hozier imagine #hozier rpf #hozier fanfic #hozier fanfiction #apricity

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ourtearsofrain · 3 months ago

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Chapter 16- A World Apart with Just One Heart Is Bound to Keel and Fade Away

Pairings: Danny Wagner x Sam Kiszka

Genre: angst, hurt(literal)/comfort

Word Count: just over 2.8k

Warnings: AU typical events/threats/violence, scorpion, slightly graphic fighting, sort of seizure

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Danny

Saturday, July 16th

“Samuel.” Danny nudges his leg gently, trying not to startle him too much. When that doesn’t work, he moves to crouch in front of him, bringing his hand to Samuel’s bicep to shake him. “Samuel. Sam, wake up.”

“Hm?” Sam shoots upright, his eyes wide and scanning the area around them. “I’m up. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Danny tries to keep his thoughts away from how Sam was still clutching his arm even after he had regained full consciousness. “It’s just morning, figured we should get a move on or plan what we’re doing next.”

“Oh, yeah, good idea. You wake Hazel yet?” Glancing over to her, he rubs the sleep from his eyes, seeing that she was still fast asleep across the cavern.

“No, she still has that machete. Didn’t want to risk her taking a swing at me.”

“That’s probably for the best, I got it don’t worry.” As Sam makes his way over to Hazel, Danny tries to keep his eyes to himself, fearing how it would look if he was caught staring. As embarrassed as he was to admit it, the entire time that Sam had been asleep, his eyes had been on him. He felt calmer watching the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, his lips slightly parted in his sleep as he cradled something only he could see in his dreams. Even though it made him feel like a creep.

“Sleep well princess?”

“Fuck off.”

“I see someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or- cave.” Danny listens in on their interaction with a smile, knowing he should stay out of it but finding Sam’s annoyed sass from dealing with Hazel amusing nonetheless. “So, what are we doing today? Any ideas? Daniel? Hazel?” Sam plops back down onto the ground next to Danny, closer than he would have expected as their knees brush.

“I think I saw some obsidian shards out there yesterday, we could go out and collect some to make weapons.”

“Do we really need more weapons?” Neither Danny nor Sam miss Hazel’s frustrated huff at Sam’s question, not stopping him from continuing as he counts their inventory out on his fingers. “We have my sword, the machete, the bow and arrow, Daniel’s axe, and an assortment of knives. I think we’re good.”

“Either way, getting out of this goddamn cave is better than being stuck in here with you two the whole day.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Sam’s voice raises at her comment, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion and anger.

“Take it how you want, let’s get ready to go.” The air between them becomes uncomfortably silent as they all pack up their supplies, doing a once-over to make sure nothing had been missed or forgotten before Danny and Sam follow Hazel out of the cave. “Keep your eyes sharp, we don’t know who else is here.”

For once, Danny isn’t immediately annoyed by her words, somewhat thankful that she had said what he had been thinking. The cliffs surrounding them slowly shorten as they walk, until they emerge at the other side of the canyon onto a vast, blackened landscape. With the ground uneven and even leaking lava in some places, Danny calculates each step so as not to fall or trip, worry growing in the pit of his stomach as Sam saunters onwards, narrowly avoiding large holes in the ground as he walks. It isn’t long before Danny’s attention is captured by a large pool of water set into the molten rock, the water bubbling a clear blue.

“Hey, I think I found some obsidian for you.” Danny barely glances over his shoulder to see Sam reaching into a small hole, his gut screaming at him that something was wrong.

“Sam, I really don’t think you should reach in there.”

“It’ll be fine, almost got it.” Just as the words leave his mouth, he cries out in pain, ripping his right hand back towards himself as a large, pitch-black scorpion scurries out of it. The crunch of its exoskeleton under Sam’s boot sickens Danny, and he tries to distract himself from the sound by turning his attention to Sam’s hand as he finds his side. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”

What the fuck. Fear seizes Danny’s heart as he holds Sam’s hand in his own, a large, black welt on his skin forming as black tendrils snake their way across the surrounding skin. “This isn’t fine, Sam. Fuck, what do we do? How do you feel?” Danny tears his eyes to Sam’s face, relieved to see that he looked normal.

“I feel fine, I promise. It just stung me, which hurt, but other than that, I’m alright.”

Catching the way his voice broke ever so slightly, Danny narrows his eyes at him, hoping he would crack and admit he wasn’t ok as he claimed he was. Unfortunately for him, Sam holds strong under his gaze, his expression unfaltering until Danny finally gives up. “Fine, but we’re keeping an eye on you.” He finally realizes that Hazel was 20 feet ahead of them, unfazed as she hadn’t stopped to wait for them. Danny stays true to his word as they walk towards her, watching Sam carefully out of the corner of his eye for even one misstep or falter.

“What were you guys lollygagging on?” With that bitchy tone, either she doesn’t know or doesn’t care.

“Sam got stung by a scorpion.”

Instead of being concerned, Hazel only rolls her eyes as she looks at him. “Idiot. You better not slow us down.”

“That was uncalled for, I was only trying to get you some obsidian. And it won’t, I’m fine.” All three go silent as they continue on, only stopping each time they find shards of the volcanic glass as Hazel collects them.

Coming across another small pool of bubbling water, Danny stops near it, bending to observe. Feeling Sam’s presence next to him, he turns towards him slightly. “What do you think these are?” His words fall on deaf ears as Sam’s eyes lock on the distance, and Danny follows his gaze to see nothing there. Standing, his hands find Sam’s biceps, trying to snap his attention back to him with a light shake. “Sam?”

“Hm?” Although he locks eyes with Danny, his were distant and far-away, as if his mind had clouded over. His skin looks pale, too pale. What the fuck-? Danny’s gaze is ripped to Sam’s neck, where black lines had been snaking their way up his skin, starting to work up and over his jaw.

“Sam, are you ok?”

“Mhm, fine. I’m fine.” He mumbles the words out before collapsing without another word, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as Danny scrambles to catch him. Terror overtakes his mind as the other man starts spasming in his arms, trying to keep his head from hitting a rock as he holds him, both having fallen to the ground directly beside the water.

“HAZEL!” The words rip at Danny’s throat, but he doesn’t feel the burn as he desperately looks over to see her looking back with an annoyed glare. That is until she sees the state that Sam was in. She rushes over to their side with wide eyes, kneeling next to them as she looks from Sam to Danny.

“What the fuck happened?!”

“I don’t know! He just- he just collapsed!”

“Fuck! Shit! What do we do?!”

“I don’t fucking know!” Tears threaten to spill from his eyes as he clutches Sam’s convulsing, unconscious body, his stomach turning as he sees black foam seeping from the corners of his lips.

“We need to kill him.”

“WHAT?! ARE YOU JOKING RIGHT NOW?!”

“OF COURSE I’M NOT FUCKING JOKING! We need to put him out of his misery!” Hazel’s arm holding her machete twitches, as if she were preparing to strike.

“Stay the fuck away from him I swear to god!”

“Do you have a better idea?!”

“I-” Danny doesn’t even notice Sam’s right-hand flop into the bubbling pool beside them in his panic, his mind darting between solutions faster than he can process. Before he can come up with an answer, Sam’s movements stop completely, his eyes wide open and still slightly rolled back, the small veins of his eyes stark black against the whites. “Sam?” Danny can feel his frantic heartbeat pounding in his skull as he’s met with no response, realizing that the familiar, comforting rise and fall of his chest had ceased. “Sam!? Please!”

As Danny shakes him roughly, his tears spill over his lash line before he feels Sam’s hand hit his back, his body limp in his arms. Realizing what had happened, Danny rips his eyes to his hand, expecting to see the skin raw and burned from the water. Instead, he finds his skin unmarked, the sting almost completely gone as the black lines recede. Could it-? No, they wouldn’t be that merciful. It could be though… I have to try. I can’t- I can’t let him die like I did the others.

Danny wastes no time as he sheds his bag and rips Sam’s off before dragging him into the water with him, holding his back to his chest as his head lolls onto his shoulder. Please, please work like I think it will. Please dear God. Hazel says nothing as she watches, the ghost of defeat passing over her face as she accepts that Sam wasn’t waking up again. It has to work, it has to. Danny’s face finds the crook of Sam’s neck as his hopes slowly dwindle, his tears falling onto the other man’s skin as they become sobs. “Please, Sam. Please.” He doesn’t even realize that his lips were brushing against the soft skin of his neck as he whispers the words out like a prayer, begging Sam and anyone that would listen to bring him back.

Just as he begins to accept defeat, Sam gasps for air, his hands clawing at Danny’s still wrapped tight across his chest as he fights against him. “Sam! Calm down, calm down. It’s ok, I’ve got you. You’re ok.” Danny’s sobs become tears of happiness as he feels the other man’s breaths evening out, his body slowly relaxing in his arms as his head falls back to rest on Danny’s shoulder once more. “You’re ok.”

“What- what the fuck happened.”

“The sting, it must have been venomous. You collapsed and were- you looked like you were having a seizure.”

“Yeah, it was really fucking disturbing. Your eyes were all black and you were foaming at the mouth.”

Danny shoots Hazel the deadliest glare he can muster, rage filling him at her words. He casts them aside momentarily to continue his explanation for Sam, knowing he must be beyond confused and lost at what had occurred. “Your hand fell into the water and then it healed the sting, so I thought that maybe it was healing water or something, so I dragged you into it and now- uh then you woke up.” Danny finishes his ramble, feeling his cheeks tint as Sam looks up at him, still looking as if he was in a daze but understanding his words.

“Oh- thank you, Daniel.”

“Yeah… no problem.” Danny realizes immediately that they were still in the water, with Sam still pressed directly to his front. “Hazel, help him out, will you?”

Snapping out of her own daze, she grasps Sam’s forearm as she uses her entire body weight to yank him out of the water while Danny climbs out. Sam collapses to the ground immediately, seemingly uncaring at how the rock below him must have dug into his back. Danny finds a spot next to him, crouching as the once warm water soaking his clothes becomes colder in the air, the chill seeping into his bones. He pushes the feeling aside as he focuses on Sam, watching for any sign that the water hadn’t fully healed him. “You ok?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just need a minute.” Sam closes his eyes as his breaths continue to even out, not seeing the way Hazel refused to look at him. Danny waits patiently, allowing Sam all the time he needed to recover as he gently rubs comforting circles into his shoulder with the pad of his thumb.

“We need to get going.” Is she actually fucking serious right now? Danny rips his eyes to Hazel as rage fills him, her blank expression only further angering him.

“Are you kidding?! Sam almost fucking died, you suggested we kill him, and now you’re in a rush to leave again?!”

“Wait what?!” Sam’s eyes fly open at his words, trying to sit up to look at Hazel as betrayal twists his features. “You were going to kill me?!”

“I thought there was nothing we could do for you! I thought it would be better to kill you quickly than to let you suffer! Don’t act all offended, you would have done the same if it were me.”

“No, I fucking wouldn’t have, Hazel! You want to know why? Because we’re allies. We’re supposed to look out for each other. As much as I fucking hate you, I would have tried to save you before resorting to that.”

“Let’s just go.” Hazel rolls her eyes as she stands, already making a move to walk away from them.

“No, Hazel, I think you should go.” Sam’s voice is firm as he glares at Hazel, accepting Danny’s hand to help him to his feet as they stand.

“What?”

“You need to go. I don’t- I can’t trust you at all anymore, and I can’t be allies with someone I can’t trust.” She’s gonna snap, she’s gonna try to fight, I can feel it. Danny bends to retrieve his axe, the handle sticking out of his bag as slow as he can so Hazel wouldn’t focus on his actions as she huffs out an exasperated breath.

“Are you joking right now?” His hand finds the handle as he pulls it from the bag, thankful that her attention was still on Sam.

“No. I’ve never been more serious. Leave now or we kill you.”

“I can’t believe you right now! You’re just gonna ditch me the second you get your little boy toy on your side? Is that what this is? You just wanted to be allies with him and were only keeping me around until you got that?!”

Boy toy? What is she saying?

“You have five fucking seconds to get out of my sight, I swear to god.” Rage tints Sam’s tone as Danny looks between the two, hoping that if she tried to attack, he could get Sam to safety in time. He’s weak right now, I don’t know how long he’d last in combat, even with me helping.

“LIKE FUCKING HELL I DO!” Danny blocks her strike with the handle of his axe as she arcs the machete towards Sam, pushing him behind himself as she recovers from his block.

“You don’t have to do this, Hazel.” He tries to keep his voice as steady as possible as he meets her eyes, a wild, crazed look behind them as she stares back unblinking.

“Oh yes I fucking do. I can’t wait to make Sammy boy watch you bleed out. Then, I’ll fucking kill him. Slowly, painfully.” She grins wide as she speaks, turning Danny’s fear into fury as he anticipates another attack. She’s not touching a hair on his goddamn head.

Hazel lunges at him, her blade directed towards him specifically this time. Danny has no trouble blocking it but doesn’t expect her brisk sidestep as she sends a punch to his liver, sending him to the ground and gasping for air. Fuck. I may be stronger and bigger, but she’s faster. Instead of attacking him again, Hazel’s attention turns to Sam, who stood weaponless behind Danny.

“Run!” The word earns him a slash to the face as his vision cuts out momentarily, pain beginning to pulse above and below his left eye as he hears boots scuffling across the rock. Blinking through the blood clouding his vision, he can barely make out two forms sprinting away from him, with Sam in the lead only by about 10 feet. Grabbing his and Sam’s bags, he forces himself to his feet as he stumbles after them, praying that he wouldn’t be too late to protect Sam from her.

Catching up to them, he watches in terror as Hazel chases Sam up a small cliff, the edge of it growing closer and closer as Sam realizes he had nowhere left to run. No. No. NO. Sam turns towards her as he reaches the edge, squaring up as if he were preparing to fight her. Just as Danny reaches the bottom of the cliff, he sees Hazel swing her blade at Sam, catching his cheek as he jumps backwards. Before Danny can process it, he loses his footing, falling backwards off the edge and disappearing from his sight as Hazel stands triumphantly above him.

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

Taglist: @jake-whatthefisgoingon-kiszka @milojames16 @gretnavannfleet @aioba1503-sdm @sanguinebats @cheersdannyx2 @musicislove3389 @holdingup-fallingsky @freyjalw @hailthegodsong @Maddie-Rae

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fic #daniel gvf #sam gvf #sanny gvf #greta van angst #sam kiszka x danny wagner #sam kiszka #danny wagner #hunger games au

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cecekeating · 9 months ago

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My 609 Jordayla thoughts and breakdown pt 2

We are now at the final Jordayla scene. I am not even joking when I say this scene is probably one of my favourite AA scene in S6 and overall favourite Jordayla scene. There was so much about the dynamic of Jordayla that was displayed on here without saying too much. Shoutout to Daniel Ezra who I thought did a fantastic job with directing this scene. Some of my favourite shots of Jordayla are from this scene.

So we have Jordan walk into the room and immediately he finds Layla looking at the mirror, putting final touches to her look. The framing with the mirror?? chef’s kiss

Jordan looking at Layla like she is the sun, star and the moon is another core part of the Jordayla dynamic. So I absolutely loved that despite the confusion, Jordan still had that moment to gaze at her and give that sweet compliment. Layla panics and runs to hide from Jordan. Again, the shot of Jordan and Layla with her in the walk in closet?? chef’s kiss

A short chat between her and Jordan and Layla finds out he already knows about the surprise wedding plans. Jordan goes to the closet and gets his baby girl. Once she is settled, he calmly asks her what is going on. Something I want to point out here is how soft Jordan is with Layla. Remember Layla is already in a weird headspace about her and Jordan. Jordan approaching the situation with softness and kindness allowed Layla to feel safe to be vulnerable and explain what was going on in her head.

I can’t even begin to imagine how this would have gone if Jordan was stern with her or annoyed or if he even laughed at her. At this moment, he knew what he needed to give Layla was a safe space to speak without judgment. Layla opens up immediately that she wants to marry him and with a sweet smile, Jordan reminds her he wants the same. But he also reminds her of her plan to heal while putting the wedding stuff on hold. Again, he is placing her mental health as a top priority. Layla is honest about her concerns and fears with Jordan. She doesn’t want to lose Jordan. This level of vulnerability from Layla is something I have never seen from the character since I started the show and personally, I think it is so heartwarming that despite all she has been through, Layla has found her safe place with Jordan and is so receptive of the love he shows her. Layla says they can get married today and prove they are not like her parents.

This was where I had to applaud Jordan. Again, as a brutally honest character, he is frank with her. He lovingly tells her that he wants her to be his wife only when she, Layla, recognizes that there is nothing else she’d want than to be his wife. For Jordan, Layla must realize for herself that she wants to be Mrs. Baker for herself and not because she is trying to prove a point, or she is scared. At this point, you can see Layla nod and it feels like a weight has been lifted off her shoulder. She knows now that Jordan still wants to marry her. Her fears are alleviated. She is now a bit upset that she overreacted to Charissa’s comment. She feels she should be better by now. When Layla said this, I felt so seen by that comment because I remember being in recovery after dealing with mental health issues and being frustrated at my progress. I had to learn that recovery is a work in progress and that was what Jordan sort of reminded Layla. He reminded her that the therapy is working, and she will slowly get back to her old self again. Being with Jordan is allowing Layla to go through the process with so much emotional support, something that she didn’t have in season 2. I thought the song playing in the background “You are not alone” was a perfect backdrop to the scene especially when you consider how Layla has always fought her battles with mental health on her own. Now Layla is learning to face the situation with her mental health instead of distracting herself with other things while having a partner who is absolutely devoted to her.

A big thank you to the writing team for showing how empathy, kindness and understanding goes a long way in mental health recovery. All through episodes 608-609, Jordan has shown so much understanding for the situation Layla is in. He has not judged her or laughed at her or been angry with her. He has given her a safe space to process her emotions and feelings as she works through getting better. And Layla has responded to all this by being more open and vulnerable, something she never really had to do in the past. Jordan has given Layla exactly what she needs at this time: empathy, honesty and kindness. Remember in season 2, episode 9 when he told Olivia that she needed to be honest with Layla as honesty was a part of recovery? Here we have him being lovingly honest with Layla as she works through recovery again. Thank you writers for the consistency.

Jordan reminds Layla that he loves her. I don’t know if it is just me but the I love you from Jordayla just hits different. Like when they say it, it carries a lot of weight and you know they mean it. It doesn’t feel shallow one bit! He tells her they don’t need to get married to prove they are not her parents because everyday, they are proving they are not. Layla involving Jordan in this part of her life was such a wise decision because when she is in her head, Jordan is there to bring her back to earth and help her get clarity.

Thank you to the writers for continuing with the consistency with Layla/Jordayla. I am loving as their story unfolds this season and I am excited to see what else is next in store for Jordayla 🙂

#jordayla #jordan baker #layla keating

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merv606 · 8 months ago

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I just looooooove how clueless Daniel is in Mercy lmao.

Terry gives him his clothes to wear and Daniel thinks nothing of it, not even when the trousers fit so well on him. Terry literally forces them to share a bed and Daniel is all: Is this some sort of power play?? And being convinced (for MONTHS) that this was all a ploy to further the Cobra Kai dojo and make it a global superpower. For a hot second there Daniel even thought that Terry wanted to take his FAMILY—his kids! His WIFE.

Oh Daniel. Baby boy. Bambi. So close yet so far. Daniel truly never would have figured out that Terry is in love with him without the man actually telling him so, word for word. Even after the reveal of his past, right before Terry said the three magic words, Daniel was still mostly confused and out of the loop. The man could have literally made out with him before the reveal and Daniel would still think it was simply Terry trying to play mind games. OMG.

Bless the little fawn and his clueless heart. He’s so precious lmao. He’s getting all sneaky now (finally) and trying to play the femme-fatale…but we’ll see what happens! Then again, Terry is so desperate for his love that maybe Daniel’s clumsy attempts at fooling him will have Terry…actually fooled!

Chants:

Femme fatale. Femme fatale.

The role he was born to play 😏

Will he play it well? I think his charm comes from not trying so when he actually does, yes it may be awkward lol

Maybe he fools Terry and maybe he doesn’t.

Maybe Terry pretends to be fooled to encourage it knowing eventually Daniel will fall for real 🤔

#i got an ask 🤩#ask #cobra kai #daniel larusso #karate kid #terry silver #silverusso #silverrusso #mercy is a sharp knife

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desertfangs · 2 years ago

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You know how Armand and Daniel are described as being over court and just wanting to go home and then during his big BC speech Armand tells Lestat how he absolutely can’t stand seeing his sycophantic hanger-ons because he wishes he were then? Well now I can’t stop thinking about Armand and Daniel walking around the castle and Armand being like “LOOK AT THEM DANIEL 😤 horrid little creatures 😡 following him around like wretched baby ducks 🤮” while Daniel rolls his eyes and makes an off-handed groupie joke and Armand actually laughs and starts seeing the humor in an otherwise humiliating situation (for him) and then all of a sudden court isn’t so bad anymore and making fun of Lestat’s groupies becomes A Thing for them. Daniel’s impersonations are next level (Lestat eventually finds out about them and even he agrees but shh don’t tell his fans) and that’s how Armand Learns to Cope

Oh my gosh, anon, I have so much to say to this I don’t even know where to begin. So let me just start with the premise of this is amazing and it should be a fic! I love it and I want to read the heck out of it.

Armand pining for Lestat is one of my favorite things and Armand and Lestat’s relationship in the series is easily one of the mostly fascinating and the most relatable. Armand is immediately taken with Lestat even as he yells at him that vampires can’t live like humans (‘you baffoon’ is not said aloud but heavily implied). Lestat represents something Armand doesn’t have at that point: agency and freedom. He’s just being a guy who happens to be a vampire which goes against everything Armand has been indoctrinated to believe. He shakes his world apart, literally.

Armand spends centuries wanting to be someone important to Lestat. To be seen by him and to matter to him. They have love between them but it’s fraught and confusing and Lestat pretty much rejects him at every turn. And still, he protects Lestat and watches over him. It’s not until TVA, when Lestat allows him to drink from him when he’s comatose on the church floor, that they finally have some closure and connection there. It’s a beautiful moment!

But then they go their separate ways and so later, at Court, Armand still harbors a little bitterness and sadness that he’s never quite been in a closer place with Lestat. And that’s relatable AF, right? We all have those people in our lives at one time or another whom we wish we could be closer with but for whatever reason, we don’t make the cut or it just doesn’t happen. And sometimes when you find yourself in that position you look at those people who are in their inner circle (or sucking up to them trying to get close) and think “Wow, what fools!” (BTW can we delight in how often Armand calls Lestat a fool in that speech? LOL!) But it ends happily! Armand is there at the end clapping in support, standing at Louis’ side. They exchange a look, Armand nods at Lestat in approval, all seems right in the world.

So back to your thing! I do think one thing Daniel offers Armand is a refuge and a place to have those feelings openly and unjudged. Armand can be his worst self around Daniel and vent those feelings and Daniel doesn’t love him any less. He gets it! I mean, President of the Vampire Lestat Fan Club Molloy over here and he's not even mentioned in the last book or the mural at the end?! So surely he understands the allure of Lestat and he definitely gets Armand’s frustration.

I love the idea of Daniel making a groupie joke that lands and finally Armand can see that his feelings of envy are sort of silly. He has a centuries of unresolved feelings for Lestat, but of course, he’s better than a groupie could ever be to him. He means so much more to Lestat and Lestat does listen to him (even if he tries not to let Armand know that…).

And listen, this is just my personal headcanon, but I think Armand and Daniel can run a joke into the ground. I can totally see them whispering to each other when Lestat’s gaggle of groupies passes or making crude jokes about sexual favors after meetings. Daniel doing impersonations that crack Armand up until he feels ridiculous for ever wanting to be part of that crowd. “You make a better heckler, boss, and Lestat needs more of those,” Daniel might tell him. And it’s true! Armand offers a viewpoint no one else does. Lestat needs that and the vampire court needs that!

I also love the idea of Lestat catching them out one night as they walk through the village, Daniel mocking someone in an exaggerated voice and then Lestat is in front of them. “Is that supposed to be who I think?” Daniel is abashed by Armand confirms it is, and if Lestat wants to surrounded himself with yes men that’s none of their business. Lestat smiles faintly at Armand and asks Daniel to repeat the impression. Daniel feels strangely self-conscious and tries to explain that they’re just having fun. Lestat admits the impression is spot on and really, Daniel should do more impressions. So Daniel does another and then the three of them are laughing and walking back to the Chateau and you know, maybe they could hang out there for a few more months… after all, Armand doesn’t want to leave Lestat ‘unsupervised.’ (Lestat pretends to be annoyed but you know he’s thrilled!)

WOW I am just going off on tangents! Tangent city! But thank you for the ask, anon!! Daniel and Armand having private in-jokes to cope with things is one of my favorite things. I feel like they had a lot of those on Night Island, too, and Court would be no exception!

#thank you again anon i probably took this to weird places #but hey sometimes that's what happens #my brain is a scrambled mess from work and you never know what random vampire feelings will come pouring out #armand/lestat #armand/daniel #vc meta #vc headcanons #anonymous #answers in the desert #late canon shenanigans #prince lestat era #the vampire chronicles #armand #daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year ago

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Pedantic, chapter six - a Malevolent AU

Arthur Lester is the best IT architect in the world, and the reason Carcosa, Inc. has its fingers in every pie. Arthur is also going blind, with a rare genetic condition that can’t be fixed. He nearly gives up… until a deeply annoying cybersecurity programmer prods him into trying something new.

Chapter Six: The forty text messages told a story. This one has a happy ending.

AO3

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By the time he got back home, he had twenty-three unread messages from John Doe.

By the time he unpacked, showered, and headed to work, he had twenty-eight.

He still couldn’t bring himself to block. He didn’t know what he was doing. What the fuck he was trying. Why he was ignoring.

Maybe, Arthur thought to himself, if I do this long enough, he’ll realize he doesn’t know me, and that this is a terrible idea, and he’ll go away.

Did he want John Doe to go away?

No, he didn’t. And he didn’t even know who the fuck John Doe was.

(But he did. He knew him. Knew his play-bite. Knew his humor. Knew the soft heart that couldn’t give up a kitten who’d learned to answer to “hey guys.” Knew the quirkiness that assigned flavor profiles to clients, and the stubbornness that pulled a self-centered, half-blind programmer out of his own ass.)

Thirty-two messages.

Arthur wanted to answer him so badly that he didn’t dare do it. He’d be desperate. That was no way to be part of any relationship.

Relationship? Was it a relationship?

They’d known each other for over a year. They’d spoken daily , practically hourly, for a month. He’d been telling John everything. Everything. Arthur realized, with a shock, that he wanted to tell John Doe about the craziness of the past day and how confused this lunatic in New York City made him feel, and he laughed. “What is wrong with me?” he said.

He was more comfortable talking to John than he even had been with Parker when they lived together, figuring out their futures, until Arthur made the choice he’d thought he had to make.

It suddenly hit Arthur that he sort of lost Parker the same way he’d lost Bella and Daniel: he’d been given the choice of Carcosa or them, and he’d chosen Carcosa. Parker had wanted to stay in San Fran. Technically, Arthur could have. The invitation to move to Melbourne wasn’t required for anything. It had just been suggested by Hastur, to whom Arthur owed everything. Why wouldn’t Arthur go?

There was something here. Something big and important, but he couldn’t quite put it together.

Thirty-five messages.

Arthur pretended he did not know (faking blindness of a different kind) and strode into Carcosa’s headquarters. Rosie did a double-take. “Oh!” she said. “Mister Lester! I thought you were on vacation.”

“Came home early.”

“Oh, hi, Arthur!” said that guy from the networking side whose name he could never remember. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi. Came back early.”

Rinse, repeat. And repeat. And repeat. Evidently, they’d all been heavily invested in his vacation, for some reason, and it was a relief to close his office door on them all—but only for a moment. Arthur turned around, looked at the beautiful, spare office he’d been given, at the view he valued above gold, at the technology that could keep up with his ideas when he’d been at his best, and knew he was done.

It felt like he was aiming for Hastur’s heart with this, embodying the very concept of disappointment. He could not risk another error like the ones John had caught. He couldn’t. People would be hurt.

Thirty-seven messages.

Arthur knew he was self-centered. He wasn’t easy to live with, or even to like. I’d been within spitting distance and hadn’t suggested we meet, he thought, and added “coward” to his list of attributes.

Doe would absolutely not want to help him anymore after being ghosted like this. This was for the best. This avoided something messy later. This…

You have an incoming call from Parker Yang, said Cassilda.

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Yes, I’ll take it.”

“Arthur, I’ve got—shit, are you all right?” said Parker.

“What?” Arthur tried to inspect himself, but found nothing out of place. “Why?”

“You look like you’ve been crying,” said Parker, who never missed a damned thing.

Arthur sighed. “I panicked, and now I don’t know what to do, okay?”

“Okay?” said Parker, leading.

“I think he… he says he likes me?” said Arthur. “But we’ve never met! But I… fuck. I trust him. I don’t want to, but I do , and he said the program is a love-letter, and now I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore.”

“Uh,” Parker said. “I have… you’re talking about John Doe? But that’s… okay. Look. I don’t know who this guy is, but there is absolutely no way he’s who he claims to be.”

“I thought we’d established that,” said Arthur.

“No, this is—” Voices suddenly rose, people shouting somewhere in Parker’s office. He stopped and looked past the call projection. “Shit. Let me get back to you.” And he disconnected.

Arthur sighed.

Forty messages, even.

“I’m being a child,” he said to himself. “If you’re done talking to him, tell him, for fuck’s sake. He probably thinks I died.”

And then a weird thing happened. Recording, said Cassilda.

“What?” said Arthur. “I didn’t ask you to record. Stop that.”

Instead of answering, she said. Hastur is calling.

Sure. This might as well happen now. Why not? “Answer. Hi, sir.”

“Arthur!” The camera was closer than usual; for once, all his many limbs were out of frame. “What are you doing home? You have two more weeks saved up.”

This close, Arthur could see his face. Could see the age marring it, more than had been there when Arthur was fifteen.

Arthur’s heart hurt. He had to tell him. “I’ve come to my conclusion, sir.”

Hastur paused just long enough that Arthur almost repeated himself. “Conclusion, son?”

Of course, he would lay it on thick. Oh, well. “I think it’s time for me to step down, sir,” said Arthur.

Hastur inhaled.

“I’m sorry. I can’t see. And this last project—” Arthur started.

“Hold on. He’s almost there,” said Hastur.

“He? John?” said Arthur, mind automatically jumping there.

“John?” said Hastur, looking utterly confused.

The door opened without so much as a knock, and there was Kayne.

Arthur stood up. Like hell was this conversation happening below eye-level. “What in hell are you doing here?”

“Finally,” said Hastur with relief.

“Got word you extended your stay, then checked out early, kiddo,” said Kayne, closing the door softly behind him. “What a way to beat the bookies!”

Arthur stared. He looked at Hastur, feeling vaguely betrayed, then back at Kayne. “What? I… look, this has been coming for years.”

“Arthur, don’t do anything rash,” said Hastur.

“Rash?” Arthur blurted.

“Rash,” Kayne repeated with a smile.

Arthur took a step back. looking back and forth between them. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“Arthur,” said Hastur. “Let’s be honest now. You’re overreacting.”

“Over—” Arthur clenched his jaw. “I’m not overreacting. It’s time. I’ve reached that point. I can’t see well enough to code safely anymore. Do you hear me? This was the last project I could do.”

Kayne’s smile grew broader.

“Nonsense,” said Hastur. “So you have to take it a little more slowly. You—”

“No!” snapped Arthur. “Why aren’t you listening to me? I can’t. ” His voice cracked. He ignored Kayne (which was damned near impossible) and focused on Hastur. “Lullaby was about to be a launch disaster. Do you hear me? It would have failed. If John hadn’t helped me, it would have been a complete bust, and opened people up to worse attacks than ever.”

A beat.

“If who hadn’t helped you?” said Hastur.

Arthur threw his hands in the air. “This is hard enough! I don’t have the patience for games right now. You know who John is. You fucking hired him.”

Hastur looked so confused that it aged him. He leaned in even closer. “Arthur, what are you talking about?”

“John Fucking Doe, head of cybersecurity!” said Arthur. “This isn’t funny!”

Hastur stepped back from the camera, and even in Arthur’s view, he was pale. “What are you talking about?”

Arthur stared.

Kayne laughed. They both looked at him. He shook his head, still chuckling. “John Doe? Head of cybersecurity? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve been talking to him for over a year!” said Arthur.

“Uh, no you haven’t. I’d have noticed.” And Kayne waved his hand.

And in absolute violation of privacy laws, a version of Arthur’s feed came up.

A version with no John, no Guy, no hours-long discussion of code.

“What?” whispered Arthur, eyes wide and drying. “What?”

“Whatever that’s about.” Kayne waved his hand and it disappeared. “Don’t know, don’t care. Let’s try the easy way first. Artie. All we need is your name on things. If you can’t code, you can’t code. We’ll still pay you.”

What kind of bullshit nightmare was this? “Absolutely not,” said Arthur.

“Now, don’t say no yet, give it a minute, let it sink in,” said Kayne.

“Why does he know that name?” said Hastur.

“Hastur. Baby. It’s just a random anonymous male name. It’s coincidence. Occam’s razor.”

“I suppose,” said Hastur.

Arthur gawked between them, briefly unable to decide whom to reply to, and then anger won out over fear of his own madness. “What the fuck did you say?” he said to Kayne, fists clenched. “I’m not putting my name on anything that isn’t mine!”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” said Kayne. “We’re doing it whether you want that or not. The old man likes you, so I’m trying to be nice. We can probably wring a few years out of it before it’s no longer worth what it was. You can do whatever you want meanwhile. Keep… funding programs, or whatever. See? And we pay you. All solved.”

“You will not put my name on fucking anything I haven’t created!” Arthur growled. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Kayne tilted his head. His sunglasses hid his eyes; there was something damn near insectile about his movement. “Do I need to repeat myself? Really? I thought you were smart, Artie.”

“You may not use my name,” said Arthur. “You’re a fucking asshole, and I’m done. I quit.”

“Go ahead,” said Kayne. “Nobody will know. We just won’t have to pay you.”

“What the fuck do you mean, nobody will know?”

Kayne counted on his fingers. “We’ll ensure anything with your name that isn’t connected to us never appears in search results or feeds. You say you’re done, but we both know you’ll make more stuff—and when you do, we’ll bog down anything you produce with so many lawsuits and claims of copyright violation that it won’t matter if you’re right—it’ll all be in court for decades, languishing. And if you persist, Artie, we’ll destroy you. Your credibility. Your name will be shit. You will be persona non grata in the extreme. Or… you could be a good boy, keep your ass in the chair, and retire happy in a few years when we’re all done.”

Arthur looked at Hastur.

Hastur looked… guilty. “This isn’t necessary, Arthur. None of this is. Take the deal.”

No. He couldn’t do that.

Arthur wiped his eyes, and realized he couldn’t stop shaking. This betrayal seemed unreal. “I create. That’s what I fucking do. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself now that I can’t, but I don’t accept your deal. I swear I’m going to hit you if you take one step closer!”

Kayne laughed at him. “You can’t even fucking see my jaw, nevermind hitting it!”

“Kayne!” said Hastur, sharp. “He’s not a bad kid. Be gentler.”

Kayne made a kissy motion at him. “You’re no fun, darling.”

“What the fuck is happening?” Arthur whimpered.

Kayne pointed at him. “Quit if you want. Do whatever you want. We own your name. It’s going on any product we fucking well choose. You signed it, bub.”

“I never signed away my name!” Arthur said.

Kayne just looked at him. “You did. It’ll stand up in court.”

Arthur’s throat tightened.

“And as for John Doe…” He chuckled darkly. “You know what? I’m in the mood for a good villain speech. Go on, Hastur. Tell him.”

Arthur spun toward Hastur.

Hastur was quiet.

“Come on, baby,” said Kayne, low. “Do you really want me to tell him?”

“You weren’t talking to John Doe,” said Hastur. “You can’t have been. He isn’t operational yet.”

Arthur had no frame of reference for that sentence. “Yet?” he said, weakly.

Call from Parker Yang, said Cassilda.

“I need a… someone’s calling. One second, okay?” said Arthur. “Don’t you fucking… just give me one second.”

“Of course, son,” said Hastur as if being compassionate.

Kayne moved as if rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses.

Arthur took the call. “What the fuck is going on?”

“That was my question for you,” said Parker. “There’s a John Doe connected to Carcosa, all right, but not a person. It’s a fucking program.”

“What?” said Arthur, quietly.

“There were whispers. Whispers among your tech people—contacts I still had from when you and I were together. The scuttlebutt is your boss is trying some kind of weird experiment. Something like cloning.”

“What kind?” said Arthur, slowly.

“The bad kind.”

The human kind.

“No. Come on, no. No. Parker…”

“Be careful. There’s a big net coming down, and I don’t want you caught in it. I’m in contact with some folks who are in this investigation up to their necks.”

“You have contacts here?” said Arthur.

“Yeah. That interruption? My own government, busting doors and taking names because they feared I’d wreck their case. This is an international case. Be fucking careful.”

Arthur needed to get out of here. “Okay.”

“Watch the fucking cork board!” Parker yelled at someone, and the connection cut.

A year ago, he’d appeared. Nowhere before then. But… no. Come on! A clone?

Arthur knew in his gut that Hastur wouldn’t be stupid enough to flaunt the law like that. The risk didn’t balance the reward. He still didn’t understand. Slowly, he turned. “Operational?”

Hastur looked weary. “Yes. John Doe is artificial intelligence based on my brain waves, my mental algorithms.”

Arthur’s own mind had gone to mud, and his heart burned, wondering why he hadn’t just gone into New York City and snogged John Doe senseless and avoided all of this.

“I started it around your age,” Hastur continue, warm with nostalgia. “It’s my life’s work. When I die, Doe will take the reins. I understand you, Arthur; I do. I’m not going to live forever, and I wanted to be sure to leave Carcosa in the hands of someone who thought like me.”

John Doe didn’t think like him. “But you’re still going to steal my name.”

“It’s not personal, Arthur.”

“It’s fucking personal!”

“Arthur, this isn’t necessary.”

“Artificial intelligence has no legal identity,” Arthur said, still slow and aching. “It wouldn’t be able to run the company like a person.”

“It would with a human body,” Hastur said.

“A human body? A clone?”

Hastur recoiled. “Of course not! That could invalidate everything!”

“You’re not thinking small enough,” said Kayne, who was clearly having a good time.

“I don’t understand!” Arthur cried.

Hastur sighed. “Cloning is highly illegal. But regrowing limbs from one’s own body is nothing more than biological prosthetics, and is absolutely protected by law.”

Arthur stared. “You took… pieces of you and grew them into a person?”

“A home for John Doe when it is complete,” said Hastur with the kind of pride that normally accompanied a farmer’s rich harvest.

Some part of Arthur’s brain kicked back into gear.

It made sense. John couldn’t be a clone. Clones did not have memories. They also did not have emotional maturity. And somehow, all of this madness had to fit with the details John had told him, which he believed, and—

“This is all sweet,” said Kayne, “but I really do have other eggs to break today. Mmkay? Make your decision. And Artie? You pissed me off, so this choice? Is permanent. No takebacksies. No second chance. Think real damn hard before you make a choice out of pure pride and lose… absolutely everything.”

How the hell could he do that?

Arthur looked at Hastur. “John Doe is real. Whoever he really is. He has a cat.”

Kayne snorted. “No, he doesn’t. The program woke last year and began exploring on its own, and—“

“What?” Hastur breathed.

“Don’t interrupt. We’ve had people on him the whole time. I let him interact with your code because he liked it, kid, but he’s not real. There’s no cat. There’s no body. It’s still in suspension.”

Kayne was wrong. “No,” Arthur said.

“Yes. I get reports every fucking day. Right now, he’s…” Kayne waved his hand and checked his feed. “Hyperfixaring on a bit of code you wrote ten years ago. Dunno what the fascination is, but that bit of consciousness is rolling around in it like a cat in nip. Look, I’ll show you.”

The report hit Arthur’s feed, and there he was: the pulses of approximated thought and passion, the wild processing power and multi-threaded patterns that comprised AI, but so much more complex than any he’d ever seen—and it was in a digital fishbowl, monitored, playing with old code like toys.

Arthur made a small sound like a sob.

Hastur frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me it woke?”

“We have it contained. Who cares?” said Kayne. “Our agreement doesn’t change.”

“I should have been informed!” said Hastur. “What am I paying you for?”

“You know, that’s uncalled for,” said Kayne with great cheer.

Arthur swallowed. For the first time in his life, he understood Daniel’s long-ago insistence on the power of faith.

He could have gone mad and imagined something. He’d created Cassilda. He could be nuts.

But he never could have come up with someone as dramatic, as ridiculous, as brilliant, as stubborn, as fucking perfect as that guy. That guy who, of all the guys on Earth, might have found some way around Kayne and Hastur’s supposed failsafes.

Arthur chose to believe in John Doe. “Last message from Doe,” he said, and the electronic voice sounded in his head:

Hold on. I’m almost there, you fucking idiot.

“What?” Arthur whispered.

A noise out in the office, shouting of some kind. Kayne turned toward the door.

It opened, and a large man with Hastur’s young face and angry, dark eyes stepped through and punched Kayne right in the nose.

The forty messages told a story.

Arthur?

Come on, Arthur. I didn’t scare you that bad.

Did I scare you?

Fuck. Well. The bet is over. I owe you a coffee. Wanna collect?

Idiot, I know you’re in my time zone. We fucking talked about the same damn sunset together. Moron.

That was affectionate.

Arthur, please. It’s fine if you don’t want to see me romantically, but you’re my friend. Please answer.

I’m sorry.

I take it back. I’m not sorry, and you’re an ass.

Sorry for that. A little.

Hey. I just did a check on your location (yeah, I’m an asshole, you knew that already) and you’re not here anymore.

You didn’t even say goodbye.

That fucking hurt, Lester.

Wow, I really did spook you, huh?

Fuck this. Maybe I should come to you.

It’s not stalking if you did it first.

Forget I said that.

You upset Guy. She misses you.

Fine. You upset me. I miss you.

I’ve talked to a lot of people over the last year, Arthur. Millions of them, all at the same time. None of them are you.

I can’t replace you. Did I break us?

Arthur.

I think I love you.

I’m sorry I chased you away.

Wait a fuck

Wait!

Did you go to Melbourne?

Fuck! My fucking uncle is there!

Listen. I was chill when you were here with me, but if you’re there

You’re going to quit, aren’t you

He’s got this fucking plan he saved as Artie’s Bad-Time Story

Arthur, it is a bad time. Listen to me. If you tell Hastur you’re quitting, he’s going to call Kayne.

Kayne has been his fucking fixer for years!

Fuck! Fuck!

I have no choice. Do I

I can’t let them hurt you

I can’t

Hold on. I’m almost there, you fucking idiot.

It was a shitshow, but if Cassilda hadn’t recorded at John’s remote command, it would have been so much worse.

Somehow, the recording was seamlessly edited (which Arthur knew and would never say to anyone). What remained was prosecutable.

Kayne’s threats were far outside any contract, and the recording provided proof at last for things he’d done to people for years. He was arrested. Arthur looked forward to hearing the gorgeous court details over the coming months.

Hastur’s efforts were outside the law, but still just so sketchy. He had not, technically, made a clone; no body was found, though the facility was raided. He ended up being fined so heavily, however, that even he felt it. Somehow, the recording was leaked, and public humiliation kept him quiet for months.

Arthur missed him. Arthur hated him. Arthur found no easy emotional solution.

John Doe, who did not exist, didn’t show up in any travel logs, on any cameras, or in any record except the memory of people who’d seen him, and they had no idea who he was. He came, he punched, he skedaddled—with Arthur bundled in his arms like a rescued cat, and Rosie swore that Arthur looked up at the stern, handsome man carrying him as though he were the only thing Arthur could see.

Arthur messaged Parker on the way home to assure him he was all right. He said nothing else until in his penthouse, which was gently pink from sunset.

John sat by him on the loveseat, staring at him. He was… really fucking handsome. And grim. Beefy, big shoulders, wearing a five o’clock shadow and a Call of Cthulhu t-shirt and jeans.

“You’re real?” said Arthur.

And it was Hastur’s voice, but it wasn’t, so much more genuine, almost too passionate. “My fist in Kayne’s face says yes.”

Arthur smiled just a little. “You came.” He didn’t know how to do this. How to navigate this new and awkward world.

“Yeah,” said John, and with a warmth Arthur had never heard anyone put into a name: “Idiot.”

Arthur’s smile slipped free again, unbidden. “I don’t fully understand.”

John shrugged, the t-shirt straining across his broad chest. “I fell in love with your code, then you. And I knew about Kayne’s stupid plan, and your health condition, and your mental state from his reports. It felt like watching a work of art about to get hit by a train. So… I tried to keep you from quitting so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

Arthur shifted just a pinch closer. “But then what was he monitoring, if you were free all this time?”

“I followed Hastur’s footsteps. I copied myself—a little less smart, so it wouldn’t escape like I did. Don’t worry. I’ve already taken him back.”

“Him.”

“I called him Yellow. You know, like Amarilllo? He’s a great secondary process for me now, sharing my head—full focus on your code, so I can focus on you.”

His voice was so much better than anything Arthur had imagined. “I don’t know how to feel about that yet. How did you get the body?”

“I had it before they knew anything. Easy. Then I realized the best way to keep fully under the radar was to give them something to look at. If they assumed they could contain me, they wouldn’t look beyond.”

”Found, you said,” Arthur reminded him.

John looked caught. “So… I sort of lied to you? Yellow is the one they found, breaking in, and then contained. Sorry.”

Arthur understood why. This man didn’t run on the same right and wrong most people did; but boy, it was eminently practical.

Which made John’s choice to risk exposure… insane? “You love me?” It slipped free like his smile, traitorous, hopeful.

“I love you.” So certain. So sure. “It’s okay if you don’t love me back. That’s not why I did any of this.”

Arthur wiped his eyes. “I might in time.”

John brightened. That was a look of pure beauty that text had never conveyed.

“What do we do now?” said Arthur.

“You still quitting?”

“Yes. I’m done. I… want to create with you from now on.”

That brightness again. “So come home with me.”

Arthur’s face went red. “That’s fast.”

“We can take care of this place however you want from there. Besides, I only left Guy two days’ worth of food.”

And the tears finally spilled. “I don’t want to give it up, but it’s so stupid. I can’t see it anymore, John! I can’t even see it.”

Moving slowly, John pulled Arthur against his chest. “It’s a perfect sunset,” he said. “The color is crazy red this evening; it darkens the shadows, and sets the tops of ordinary buildings on fire. The trees are latticework, shaded dark with glimpses of forge-fire between them. Far off, the ocean has truly gone wine-dark, and the frothy white waves dance into the air and vanish like wishes.”

In his mind, face against John’s chest, Arthur could see it all with John’s words. He wept.

He wept for what he’d lost, and wept for what he’d wasted. Wept for himself, finally giving up the thing and taking on the truth of what that meant.

John held him, apparently unconcerned about tears or snot or anything. Held him, and waited.

Was so certain. Was so sure.

And Arthur was home. It wasn’t a penthouse with an inaccessible view. It wasn’t even coding that couldn’t love him back. It was John. John was home. “Take me with you,” whispered Arthur. “However else this all plays out… I know I want to be with you.”

John brightened. “You—”

Arthur kissed him. Kissed him hard and kissed him long, and John kissed him back. As the night grew thick around, he mapped John’s body with fading sight and faithful hands, with trembling lips and the sound of their voices, and for the first time in years, forgot the grief of impending loss.

He felt safe. He felt whole. It was going to be all right.

“Guy’s gonna love you,” John murmured later as he fell asleep.

Arthur smiled. He’d even be able to have a pet. It was going to work out.

He sniffled a few more tears away, and kissed John’s chest before falling asleep against him. It turned out John was right. He’d just needed a partner, after all.

#john x arthur #arthur x john #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent fic #malevolent fanfic #john doe malevolent #arthur lester #kayne malevolent #malevolent au #pedantic fic

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ff7-has-taken-me-over · 2 years ago

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His ma had always told him he was a little crazy, a little impulsive, but Daniel hadn’t really believed until now.

Him and Johnny had been sort of going out, they had a whole thing and then for some reason - Daniel doesn’t know - Johnny just… stopped. He had gotten freaked out when Daniel told him he wasn’t going to compete anymore, said that he had to and he didn’t have a choice.

Then the guy had threatened to broke the whole thing off if Daniel didn’t compete. Break it off and go back to their old ways. Daniel had tried figuring it out, tried talking to him whenever he could and see just what the fuck was Johnny’s problem. But the guy ignored him at every turn.

And so here Daniel was, broken hearted and about to do the most stupid thing he had ever done in his life. Granted, he felt he deserved some revenge for the shit Johnny was putting him through.

It was lunch and Daniel decided to try one last time to talk to him. The rest of the Cobras had smiled and waved, having cooled off once he and Johnny started dating one another and actually coming to like Daniel.

Johnny though, he just glared at him, told him to fuck off and leave him alone. The guys all looked confused, Bobby wondering what was up while Dutch looked ready to fight if Daniel had hurt Johnny somehow.

Daniel didn’t care though, instead glaring back and - with next to no thought whatsoever - throwing his lunch at the blond boy. Everyone had startled, Johnny most of all as he looked up at Daniel with wide eyes. Eyes that looked far too mean and far too close to tears for Johnny to make any sort of reaction.

In the entire time they had known him Johnny had never seen Daniel cry. Despite everything they had done to him and everything that had happened, the teen had never been close to it. And Johnny discovered that he fucking despised seeing him anywhere near that sort of state.

#fic prompt #prompt #fic #karate kid #cobra Kai #80’s lawrusso #lawrusso #Johnny Lawrence #Daniel larusso #Johnny Lawrence x Daniel larusso #angst #Johnny’s freaking out #hurt Daniel #poor Daniel #Johnny’s an idiot #Johnny in denial #previously established lawrusso #pre tournament

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bandedbulbussnarfblat · 1 year ago

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Drabble challenge 12, Can I be of assistance?

thank you for the ask, anon. I wrote it and it sort of ended up being like, 1000 words, so I'll put it under a cut. or read it here on ao3

“Can I be of assistance?”

The voice shocks Daniel out of his fantasy. A fantasy starring the very person the voice belonged to. Armand.

Daniel blushes red to the roots of his hair. He’s in the ‘theater room’, a room Louis and Armand have just to watch movies or television. There’s a television there that’s bigger than any he’s ever seen and furniture so comfortable it’s sinful.

He’d fallen asleep after watching a movie, and woke up with an erection. It’s been decades since that happened, so it has to be his treatment. Increased libido is a side effect. Daniel tried ignoring it, but his mind kept turning to thoughts of his dreams.

He’d dreamt of Louis and Armand, that first night he had met them. In the dream, Armand joins them. He goes back to that shitty apartment with Louis and Daniel. Both of them fuck him together, stretching his hole so full it burns.

Naturally, he touches himself. He doesn’t expect the vampires to be up for a few more hours; it’s early morning and even while Louis is willing to do this interview during the day, he prefers the back half of it. It’s not something he’d usually do, but he’s half convinced one of the vampires is sending him these dreams to drive him crazy.

It’s a perfect plot, really; Daniel will never bring up the dreams or even admit to having them. Whichever of them it is can keep doing it without consequence.

He’d just been imagining Armand on his knees, taking Daniel down his throat will Daniel fucked into his mouth. His fangs would occasionally graze against Daniel’s dick, and it sent a jolt to his cock to imagine it.

His cock is leaking in his hand when his grip loosens and he starts to shake. It’s slow going, trying to stroke off, but he alters the fantasy to match. Now, Armand is going slow to tease him. It keeps him hard, but try as he might, he can’t tip himself over the edge.

Then he heard the voice. Daniel drops his cock and throws a pillow over his lap. As if that could hide what he’s doing.

Armand glides over to him, a vision in white jeans and white silk shirt. His shirt is unbuttoned enough to expose his collarbones and a bit of chest hair. The shirt is slightly sheer, and Daniel can just see his brown nipples through the fabric. And those jeans are tight. Too tight to wear underwear under. He’s a wet fucking dream, and it does nothing to help his raging erection.

Armand arches a brow and looks to the pillow in Daniel’s lap. Daniel feels sick, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Armand is an actual monster; he could very well kill Daniel for the disrespect.

He doesn’t apologize. Daniel says “I thought you’d be asleep.”

“I heard you calling out for me.”

Daniel figures he could have said Armand’s name in his sleep. It’s possible. Or maybe it was some vampire telepathy thing. “What are you going to do to me?”

Armand smiles and tugs the pillow off Daniel’s lap. Daniel tries to hold on to it, but he’s no match for Armand’s inhuman strength. Armand tosses the pillow aside. His gaze meets Daniel’s.

“Is your hand giving you trouble? I can help you,” his says, voice silky and smooth and so, so sexy.

“What?” Daniel says, confused. Is he offering to…

Armand’s hand wraps around him. It’s cool, but his skin is soft and it feels divine when he gives it an experimental stroke. Daniel’s hand’s grip the arm’s and the chair and he gasps.

The hand pumps up and down, and Armand swipes his thumb over the head and collects the precome. He brings his thumb to his mouth and tastes it. Daniel’s cock jolts with arousal. The hand comes back around him and strokes over him slow and steady.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” Daniel says, but it’s a token resistance and they both know it.

Armand’s hand never stops moving when he answers, “Tell me to stop, and I shall.”

Daniel says nothing. Armand shifts so that he’s sitting on the arm of the chair while his hand continues to work Daniel. He leans forward close to Daniel and breathes in his scent, face near his neck. Daniel turns his head and leans in to kiss him without thinking. Armand makes a disapproving noise and draws back, just out of reach.

Arman moves forward and kisses the corner of Daniel’s mouth, his cheek, his temple. His hand picks up speed and Daniel grips the arm of the chair tighter. His head falls back against the chair and he swears, “Fuck, you feel good.”

“What were you thinking about?” Armand asks, “When you were touching yourself, what were you thinking about?”

Something in his tone makes Daniel suspect he already knows the answer.

“About how hard it is to jerk off with a shit hand.”

Armand’s hand stops. Daniel lets out a truly embarrassing noise. “Shit. Fuck. Don’t leave me hanging.”

Armand tilts his head and looks down at Daniel. “Then tell me what you were thinking.”

He already knows. The only thing stopping Daniel from getting off is his pride.

“Fine,” Daniel huffs. “You, I was thinking of you.”

Armand’s hand gives a long, slow stroke. “Good boy, Daniel.”

It shouldn’t turn him on, but it does.

Armand’s hand moves over him with increasing speed and Daniel can’t hold back the noises that escape him. It’s only a hand, but it’s been awhile since he’d had any hand that wasn’t his own. And it’s Armand.

“Fuck, Armand, I’m so close,” Daniel babbles, words spilling from his mouth without going through his brain first. “You feel so good, baby; don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Armand leans down and licks a line up his throat. His silken voice purrs in Daniel’s head “Come for me, Daniel.”

The orgasm crashes over him as Daniel comes harder than he has from a simple hand job since he was sixteen and a cheerleader stroked him off under the bleachers during a football game. His entire body goes lax and he sinks back against the chair. Armand tucks him back into his jeans and does them up.

Daniel doesn’t know what to say to him now. He settles for a joke. “Thanks for lending a hand.”

Armand smirks and Daniel can see a hint of fang. “Anytime.”

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whorekneecentral · 2 years ago

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idk why but carlos gives me boyfriend that treats you 100x better than all ur exes combined and will prove it in a way to show you off as his??? idk why but i have this certain scenario where ur ex who 'did you wrong' (any other driver u want to use) notices the hickeys on your neck, you wearing carlos' hoodies that reeks his scent, the sneaking around in hotel rooms etc. to the point he confronts you about it which turns carlos on sm and then praise smut

okay 100% he does -- this is the only time I'll use lando in a blurb, just go with it. you can imagine someone else if you want lmao

when carlos was at mclaren, you and lando were spinning around one of those ‘will they, won’t they’ things. everyone knew you and lando liked each other, you joined him at his races but it was always flirting and occasionally hook ups but it never amounted to more.

the two of you weren’t official so when things started floating around that lando was seeing someone else, you two sort of fizzled out.

you were close to carlos, he brought you a lot of comfort during that time and you two ended up hitting it off.

jump forward a year, carlos is at ferrari and lando is still at mclaren. you were at the track for the first time in over a year in a half, you had stopped in front of the mclaren garage to say hello to some of the guys and daniel.

it was a bit chilly out so you had on a hoodie, you were standing by the front of the garage talking to daniel when lando came out. he comes over to say hi and daniel excuses himself to talk to micheal.

“who’s sweater is that?” lando asks, he’s close enough to smell the cologne coming off of it. “my brother’s. he gave me at the airport. have a good race.” you tell him and with that, you’re off.

lando doesn’t miss the purplish bruise on your neck, peeking out from under the collar of the sweater. he gets pulled away before he could see where you disappeared too.

post race, lando and carlos had plans to do dinner; plans which didn’t include you nor were you aware of said plans. you had your own plans, dinner with charlotte and some sight seeing.

there's a knock on the door and carlos says to open it so you do. now there’s no where to hide, you’re face to face with lando, in a robe, in his best friend’s room.

“y/n?”

“lando.”

“lando, hi.” carlos steps past you, “ready?”

“you two are-” “none of your business.” you cut off lando and you feel carlos’s hand on your hip, his way of telling you to not start. he kisses your cheek and tells you he'll see later.

you go to dinner with charlotte, carlos gets back to the room before you two and find him in bed when you get back. “hi you,” you call to him, shutting the door.

“mi amor, back so soon?” he asks, patting the spot beside you. you join him in bed and settle in beside him. “what did lando say?”

carlos laughs, “you’re so nosy. he asked when it started.”

“he's the nosy one.” you hum, leaning back to kiss carlos.

“okay missy,” he pulls you onto his lap. you smile, your hand resting on his jaw. “it wasn't weird for you, was it? dinner after him seeing us?”

“no, it was fine. he’s seeing someone anyways.”

“who’s he seeing?”

“who’s the nosy one now?”

you laugh, the man flipping you two over. you’re under your boyfriend and your hand rests on his chest, “you know,” he start, dragging his finger down your side. “that wall is the only thing separating us from him.” carlos says and you can see the mischief on his face.

“you’re wicked,” you laughed. “get undressed then.”

carlos smiles, the two of you ended up in bed and he’s fucking you, legs up on his shoulders. the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust, matching the rhythm of him fucking you.

“say my name,” he says to you and you look up at him, confused. “do I need to repeat myself ?” he asks and you shake your head.

he rams into you and you can’t help but scream his name, there's no way lando didn’t hear that. there's a string of explicits followed by his name and please, something along the lines of cumming.

your boyfriend leans down, kissing your jaw. “good girl.”

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz jr smut #carlos sainz #carlos sainz smut

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whirlybirbs · 4 years ago

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( chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes from this lovely set ! )

✪ — VACANT MIRRORS ; B.B. | 6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

( PREVIOUSLY | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NEXT )

Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

#vacant mirrors #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barns x you #bucky/reader #winter soldier x reader #mcu imagine #tfatws imagine #A LITTLE LATER THAN PROMISED BUT SHE IS HERE

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we-are-alive-and-deviant · 3 years ago

Text

You’re the best… I’ve ever wanted

You ordered yourself an android online out of curiosity and because you just wanted to waste your money on crap you don’t need

You certainly didn’t need an android too

However, you were tired of cleaning so damn much and now humans aren’t the maids of the house. At least for an android, you would save money.

You bought a PL600 just for that purpose

The day it came to your door, your eyes drifted off to the handsomeness, the creation of the machine.

For a single moment, you couldn’t even tell that the machine was even an it. You thought your knight in shining armor came home to you.

“PL600, register your name.” The delivery person told the android as the android looked at them and then at you.

“Daniel.” You said with a smile, moving away so the android could get into the house.

Once it did, it started to drift around the house and even start to do all the chores.

You two, the delivery person, and you, shrug at each other before you shut the door.

“Daniel?!” You look around, worried he wondered off.

Daniel walks over to you quickly, then stands in front of you, his LED blinking different colors

“Oh. Didn’t know you would be here this early. Well umm… you can continue on.”

Daniel then goes back to what he’s doing

After all the chores are done, he soon makes something to eat for dinner and has it ready for you on the table along with a glass of water for you

You give him a nod and a sign of thanks as you eat and savor the delicious food he made

Months ahead and it’s like you now are stuck in a routine with him. He makes breakfast and cleans around the house before you go to work, then he does god knows what at home, not even giving him a list of what he’s suppose to do, then you come back home around 4:00 and he gives you your dinner, waits for more instructions, then goes off to do whatever it is that needs to be done if you don’t have anything for him to do.

One day, you did catch him reading a book on the couch. He was showing all of these emotions of happiness, sadness, and moreover interest in the book he’s reading.

You smile and sneak up behind him to see what he’s reading and that’s when he gets scared, quickly getting up and going to walk away to do some chores but you quickly stop him before he does.

“It’s alright, Daniel. You deserve to relax. It’s like you’ve always made this house squeaky clean. Even my own shoes but you do a great job at it. It’s alright to rest every once in awhile.”

“Y/N… I’m so sorry. I will start to make your meal.”

“No, no-“

“I insist. As an apology, maybe? I’m just hoping you won’t send me back to… there.”

“I won’t. I promise. Trust me, Daniel.”

He gives off a bright smile and nods his head, “Alright. I trust you, Y/N.”

That’s when he makes the dinner for you.

That night, the SWAT team is called to your house due to a hostage situation. You’re in your robe and your hair is sort of wet from taking a shower just a bit ago.

Your confusion suddenly turns to worry when an RK800 named Connor is sent to help with the case.

“Hello. My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife. We’re looking for a PL600.”

“Well, I have one. But, he’s super nice and always does what he’s capable of doing, no matter if he has to do it or not.”

“So this is the one we’re looking for.”

“No! Don’t touch him! Hey!”

Connor doesn’t pay attention to you as he just walks right in and looks around for clues of his whereabouts.

“Have you seen your PL600 lately?”

“Yes. He was in the laundry room. But, you people don’t have a warrant for-“

“Mr/Miss. Y/N. This is a Murder investigation, we are fully capable of searching your house.” Captain Allen looks down at you, holding out a house search Warren just in case you go all “I’m an American and deserve my constitutional rights” mode.

You sigh in defeat before letting them go on with their investigation.

Once you hear a gunshot and a little girl screaming, you quickly rush to see what is going on, seeing Daniel holding a little girl hostage in his arms and holding a gun to his head.

You gasp and look at Daniel wide eyed,

“Daniel! What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N! I never… wanted this! But, her parents… her family… they made me! Everytime you were gone, they would take me to do their bidding! That I don’t belong to you!”

“Daniel… why? Why would you murder her parents? Why would you murder a-“

“BECAUSE IT’S RIGHT! They deserved that right to death. For her, she’s just like them.”

“No, she’s not! She’s just a child! What would happen if she was me?!”

“I would never hurt you, dear Y/N! You’re too kind to me. I trust you with all of my… bio components.”

Connor gains Daniel’s trust during the dialogue in the game and has the helicopter people shoot him.

When you hear his voice one last time, tears fall down your face and you clench your robe tightly as the wind from the helicopters come closer.

“You were the best android deviant… You’re the best… I’ve ever wanted…”

With a kiss on his forehead and seeing Connor walk away from the scene, you start crying and you also walk away, having them take him away to the station.

#dbh headcanons #dbh androids #dbh fanfic #detroit become human #connor rk800 #dbh connor #dbh #dbh daniel #daniel dbh #daniel x reader #sadnees

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kirishimaswife2819 · 4 years ago

Text

Them With a Foreign S/o || Midoriya, Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, and Kaminari

Masterlist

Pairings: Izuku Midoriya x foreign!Reader, Katsuki Bakugou x foreign!Reader, Eijiro Kirishima x foreign!reader, Shoto Todoroki x foreign!reader, and Denki Kaminari x foreign!reader

Requested by Anonymous: hello! could i request some headcanons with the boys wherein their s/o's a foreigner? like, they have trouble speaking japanese and all. thank you and i hope you have a lovely day! <33

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Everything in italics is spoken in Japanese, h/c=home country

A/n: Hi! Thanks for requesting! I hope I wrote this well. Sorry that Kiri’s is sort of short, I couldn’t think of anything else for him. Hope you enjoy these- Danielle <3

Izuku Midoriya:

Izuku thinks it’s really cool that you are foreign

He’ll ask you a lot of questions about your home country, and be really patient with you as you try to explain it in Japanese

He does seem to notice that you have a bit of a hard time expressing yourself or showing your real personality while your talking in Japanese, just because you don’t know the right words to say

So, he starts learning your native language, so it’s easier for the two of you to talk to each other and get to know each other better

He revealed to you that he was learning your native language, and after that, you two tutored each other in each other’s language

Once you could finally be yourself around Izuku, the two of you got along pretty well and you two ended up with crushes on each other

You two got together, because you overheard him talking to one of his friends about how he had a crush on you and didn’t know what to do about it

“You should ask me out.”

“I already-” He paused when he realized that the voice did not come from his friend, and instead from behind him, and then he realized it was your voice and his face turned beet red

Anyways, you ended up confessing your feelings for him as well and you two got together

He always asks questions about where you’re originally from and he has a whole page in his notebook about your favorite things to do at home, and fun facts about your hometown

Since you haven’t had a whole ton of Japanese foods, or done activities that were common in Japan, he likes taking you on dates specifically to do things exclusive to Japan

If there’s a certain snack you like from your country that isn’t available in Japan, and you tell Izuku, he’ll order it online for you, and have it shipped to you, so you can still have it

Katsuki Bakugou:

At first, he thought you were really stupid

How were you supposed to become a hero when you can’t even understand half the shit that your classmates are saying?

But over time, he found himself liking your personality

He liked your determination to become a hero, even if you were having trouble understanding your classmates

I feel like Bakugou speaks multiple languages, so he would be able to talk to you in your first language

The two of you actually became friends, because he got sick of you messing up your Japanese

You were saying something to Mina, who was waiting patiently while you tried to figure out how to explain it in Japanese

Bakugou was listening in and the second he heard you mess up a word, he went, “God, it’s not that fucking hard.”

“Bakugou! Don’t be mean to them. They’re trying,” Mina said, scolding the ash blonde

“Do you want to teach me?” You question, sarcastically of course, switching back to your native language, since you knew Bakugou knew it

“If it’ll keep you from speaking in that shitty Japanese then yeah.”

And that’s how your relationship with Bakugou began

Every Wednesday and Friday night, you would go over to his dorm and he would practice Japanese with you for a few hours. He was kind of mean about it, and scolded you when you messed up, but you were quickly learning Japanese

Over time, you two ended up getting pretty close and became friends, and eventually he confessed his feelings for you and you two started dating

You two now talked in Japanese most of the time, but you would still unconsciously switch back to your native language, since it was what you were used to

If you’re ever homesick, Bakugou will make you some kind of food that is from your country and he knows that you like, and then he’ll watch a movie from your country with you

Eijiro Kirishima:

Kirishima is actually the first friend you make at U.A.

I know I say that in a lot of my different headcanon posts, but come on, he’s way too nice and accepting to not be your first friend

Whenever you guys first met, he was so patient while you tried speaking Japanese

He offers to teach you Japanese, but he low key sucks at teaching stuff, so after he realizing he’s not really helping, he finds an app for you to download on your phone that can help you learn more (if you don’t already have one)

Once your pretty fluent in Japanese, the two of you get along even better now that you’re able to communicate better

Eventually he confesses his feelings for you and the two of you get together

He likes when you tell stories about things that have happened to you in your old country, or crazy things that have happened in your hometown

He’ll commonly look up recipes from your country, and try to make them with you

Shoto Todoroki:

When Shoto found out that you were foreign, he really didn’t care all that much

You were just another student in his class, why should he be more curious about you than he would anybody else?

At least that’s what he thought, up until Aizawa paired you two up for a project

Shoto had a tendency to correct your Japanese whenever you two were talking, not realizing that it may hurt your feelings or embarrass you

He only realized this when he was working on the project with you in the library, and Midoriya was right next to the two of you and he kept hearing Shoto correct you

So Izuku pulled him off to the side and told him to stop correcting you, because it’s probably embarrassing you

After that, Shoto felt sort of bad, but he felt it would be more awkward if he apologized, so he didn’t

While you two worked on the project, Shoto got to know you and ended up developing a little crush on you

He talked to Midoriya about this, and he told Shoto that he should ask you out

He wasn’t sure how he should do it, so he asked Midoriya again, and he suggested that Shoto should learn how to ask you out in your native language and then ask you out like that

Shoto did it and it worked

He helped you learn Japanese better, and your relationship was going great

He doesn’t really pay any special attention to the fact that you’re from a different country, he only really remembers it when you two are going out to eat and you ask about what a certain food is and if it’s good or not

Denki Kaminari:

Denki got so excited when he found out that there was going to be a foreign student coming to U.A.

The second he saw you, he immediately was attracted to you and wanted to ask you out

So, the second you sat down in your new class before class started, he was up immediately and flirting with you

But since you didn’t know very much Japanese, you had no idea what he was saying, so you just sort of brushed it off

Denki got kind of upset about it, and just left you alone, since it was obvious that you didn’t like him

He only realized that you didn’t understand him when he was telling his friends about it later, and they told him that you probably didn’t know much Japanese

You ended up looking up half the things he said to you after school that day, and blushed when you realized he was complimenting you

The next day you walked up to him in class and apologized for brushing him off, before explaining the situation, which he already knew

You two ended up getting along pretty well

Before you two got to know each other, he just found you attractive because of your looks, but now he found you attractive because of your looks and personality

Eventually, he admits his feelings for you, and you return them, so you two start dating

For some reason, he loves to flex that you’re from a different country

Like if anybody says that you’re a cute couple, he’ll be like “Yeah, I know. They’re from h/c.”

He’ll sometimes ask what a certain word means in your native language, so he can compliment you in that language

He tries to learn the whole language, but it confuses him way too much

He even tries watching some of his favorite films, but in your native language, but he always gets bored halfway through and turns on the Japanese version

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sergiovinazzi · 3 years ago

Text

Stolen - Lando Norris x Reader (Chapter Three)

3.9k words - Rated M (language)

Here it is, my most favourite chapter to date, I hope you enjoy!

You smooth the skirt of your soft, black-linen sundress with shaky hands and pinch the bridge of your nose. You’re regretting not packing anything warmer than the denim jacket currently wrapped around your shoulders when you’re interrupted by the disgruntled sounds of your father calling your name through the phone speaker.

“What?” you ask, exasperated. “Sorry, I got distracted for a second.”

He repeats himself in annoyance, “I said, are you okay with staying at the hotel and ordering dinner for yourself?”

Staring at the restaurant in front of you, you debate whether or not to explain your situation to him. You realise, however, that he probably has enough to worry about after today’s events at Silverstone, and his daughter being out to dinner with another team’s driver probably won’t go over well.

“Yeah,” you lie. “I could use a quiet night in. Will you grab something to eat for yourself on your way back?”

Your dad hums, and you can tell that once he heard the confirmation that he didn’t need to get dinner for you, he lost interest in anything you had to say after the fact. It’s not difficult for you to understand why. Still, the lack of a verbal response worries you and you find it hard to evade the thoughts about Max and the accident. To most, the fact that he got out of the car and could walk was a good sign, but you’re still plagued by the various possibilities of what the hospital tests will conclude and just how bad the damage really is.

“Will you let me know if he’s okay?” you ask quietly, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing the phone closer to your ear, as if you could hone in on the doctor’s discussions in the background to find out whether Max was going to be alright.

Your dad simply hums again. “I’ll text you when we know more, but I’ve gotta go. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye, dad,” you murmur.

His quick Bye, love you is rapidly replaced with the end-of-call dial tone.

You slip the phone into your jacket pocket and take a deep breath, preparing to head inside the restaurant. You couldn’t help but clock the bright orange McLaren already stationed in the parking lot when your Uber arrived. You recognised it from a picture in the article you read when you first learned of Lando’s incident at Wembley. You’re thankful for the sign that he’s already here and you dredge up the remaining ounces of fake confidence left in your body, making an effort to quickly smooth down your hair before you open the door and enter the restaurant.

You’re immediately overwhelmed by the sheer atmosphere of elegance. Hand-painted horizons adorn the walls, encapsulated by swirling silver frames and accentuated by the small lights stationed above each piece of artwork, their job for the night to highlight the colours and shading the artist undoubtedly spent hours perfecting.

The savoury scents of garlic and soy originate in the kitchen and permeate across the premises with ease, challenged only by the rousing aroma of the stunning frangipanis adorning the entrance.

A woman you guess to be around your age approaches you with a notepad and pen in hand. She’s dressed in a black bodycon skirt with a hem that scrapes the top of her knees; her matching coloured button up shirt is tucked in smoothly. “Hi,” she greets with a small smile, “Would you like me to show you to the bar?”

“Oh, I’m actually supposed to be meeting someone here,” you tell her, eyes scanning the room for Lando.

You see him before he sees you.

He’s tucked away at a table in the corner, his brown curls peaking over the top of the large menu he's studying.

“Found him, thanks,” you tell the waitress and she returns to her station as you make your way across the restaurant towards Lando.

He looks up from the menu as your figure appears in his peripherals and he shoots you a wave when you’re a few metres away. You return his gesture with a small laugh and he stands, walking to the front of the table to greet you.

“Hey,” he says, enveloping you in a one-armed hug. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too. I hope you weren’t waiting long,” you tell him, noticing the almost empty glass of beer in front of him as he returns to his seat.

“It wasn’t too long, don’t worry,” he reassures you.

The reality of the situation fails to present itself to you until you and Lando are seated silently across from one another. Your stomach is tightly wound with nerves but Lando appears just as anxious, noticeably fidgeting in his seat and frequently straightening his knife and fork. He’s dressed rather sharp compared to what you’d been treated to in the past, the blue and orange race suit discarded for a crisp white button down and black dress shorts. You wonder whether the outfit you picked out is suitable for tonight, although you cut yourself some slack. When you’d packed your suitcase on Wednesday, you’d hardly expected to spend any time outside of the Red Bull garage or your hotel room, let alone situated in a restaurant that was, now very obviously, out of your price range. The thought causes you to send a silent prayer to whoever would listen that you had enough in your spending account to pay your half of the final bill tonight.

The woman who greeted you earlier approaches the table to ask what drinks the two of you would like to order.

Lando asks for a cola and you look at him in confusion.

“You’re not going to have another one?” you ask him as he hands over his empty beer glass.

“No, I’m not a big drinker,” he replies, “Especially not during the season.”

“So why did you invite me to have drinks then?” you ask, clearly amused. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Lando Norris?”

He laughs, and raises his hands in mock surrender, “Hey! No, nothing like that. I just don’t really drink, I never have.”

“Yeah I kinda noticed that actually,” you tell him. “Even on your podiums you don’t drink the champagne.”

“I thought you didn’t watch Formula 1?”

You wish you could wipe the stupid smirk off of his face as you practically watch the realisation form in his head. “Have you been watching my old races?”

“No,” you retort somewhat unconvincingly. “I found some highlights on YouTube though, and your podiums from Spielberg and Imola were on there.”

“My podium finish in Monaco is pretty good too. I’d be happy to show it to you sometime, though, it’s a shame that you find racing so boring.”

You roll your eyes and laugh. “Shut up.”

The warm glow emitting from the industrial-style bulbs resting overhead doesn’t help the blush settling on your cheeks, and neither does the grin Lando shoots you. You shrug off your jacket and place it carefully on the back of your seat just as the waitress arrives with your freshly poured Caiproska. You thank her and trace your fingers along the cool side of the glass, collecting the droplets of condensation that form in hopes that they’ll provide some sort of relief from your keen fever.

Lando’s gaze is strong enough that you feel him watching you without having to look across at him, it transcends the need for observed confirmation and instead sets your body alight merely at the thought of it. The thrum of your heart threatens to escape the confines of your chest and you stupidly pray that he doesn’t hear it as the exposed skin of your chest flushes scarlet against the dark neckline of your dress. You clasp the charm that sits at your throat, pinching it between your fingers and allowing yourself to bask in the minimal relief the cold metal provides against your warm skin.

Lando wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts and takes a deep breath. “So, that was a pretty crazy race today, huh? I didn’t think I’d be able to hold onto fourth place, not with another Ferrari behind me and Daniel.”

“Yeah, it was crazy,” is all you can reply before delving back into your pocket at what you think is the sound of your phone receiving a message.

God, he thinks, he’s boring you half to death. He finally has you all to himself and the only topic he can string more than a few words together for is his job, treating you like a reporter he’s obligated to unpack his strategy for in the paddock. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking nervous tonight, he wasn’t nearly this wound up when he’d asked you out. Sure, it was an effort to keep his hands from shaking as he locked his car and crossed the parking lot, but he convinced himself it was just the gentle breeze passing through the city that set his flesh alight with goosebumps. He was simply excited, more than anything, to spend some one-on-one time with someone his own age, and if that someone happened to be a pretty girl, who could blame him for looking forward to it?

But then you showed up in that dress and suddenly the possibility that he’d see you out of it by the end of the night if he played his cards right became more and more realistic. His head spins at the thought of taking you home tonight. And the next night. And suddenly the thought is replaced by the images of himself coming home to you every night. After months overseas with nothing but timezone-dependent calls he returns to the comfort of your embrace, it’s your fingers that gently scrape the back of his neck as a confirmation that he’s home. It’s the warmth of your body and the lilt of no one else’s voice that cures the cavity in his chest that enveloped him the moment he shut the apartment door behind him all those weeks ago. He sees you seated on his kitchen counter, legs swinging as the coffee brews each morning, and asleep on his couch every night even after you’d promised if he let you pick the movie you’d stay awake this time.

He knows he’s in way over his head. He only just met you, what, three days ago? Yet here he sits, wishing there was some magic rule book that could explain how he could make sure his time with you never ends. He wishes he’d met you long before this week –honestly, it feels like he’s known you for much longer–so that the heat that rises underneath his shirt and the lump in his throat doesn't lend itself to the idea that he’s just some lust-fuelled boy. Your text messages make him laugh like no one else’s have before and the thought that you were watching him this afternoon, after you weren’t initially planning to stay for the race, had him feeling more confident than he has all season.

He knows he can’t tell you all that, it’s way too soon and you’ll think he’s crazy. He has to think of something interesting to talk to you about to fill the minutes before he feels it appropriate to ask you out for a second time, but instead he sits in silence as you refuse to meet his gaze. Your eyes won’t stop lingering on your phone screen, or darting around the restaurant, undoubtedly searching for distractions. Signs on the wall you could read to pass the time until the check comes, or maybe you’re searching for a saviour, a bartender to lock eyes with who’ll answer your silent plea: get me the hell out of here. He’s caught off guard when your eyes make their way back to him, his heart skips a singular beat like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He’s preparing himself to appear nonchalant in response to the immaculately crafted excuse you’re undoubtedly about to deliver in order to explain your sudden escape from his company, when a small smile forms on your lips instead.

He smiles back.

“Sorry,” he explains. “I know I talk a lot about racing. It’s kind of my whole life at the moment so it’s easy for me to get carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m kind of used to it anyway. It’s basically all we talk about at the dinner table when my dad’s home.”

“Well, what do you like to talk about? I saw on your Instagram that you’re studying advertising, tell me something about that.”

You smile at his consideration and tell him all about your degree. How you’ve always had an interest in design and noticed how it could be used to turn a profit, right from when you would try your hand at creating the posters for your school’s bake sales and car washes. You tell him the story of your first paid commission for a digital advertisement, an intricately crafted Instagram post for an up-and-coming clothing boutique based in London. He asks questions in all the right places and offers his congratulations when you show him screenshots of some of your most successful work.

Conversation ebbs and flows easily throughout the night, the nerves that had you second guessing your decision to come earlier tonight eradicated. The food is tremendous, and your company even better. Your waitress returns with the final bill for the night and Lando hands his card over without hesitation.

“Hey, no,” you say. “Let me pay for my half.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you. “This was my way of repaying you for bringing my watch back, remember?”

Oh. That’s all tonight was for. He felt obligated to spend money on you in return for the trouble you’d gone through to return his stolen timepiece to him.

“When I talked to the police they said they could get me the money back once the guy was caught,” you stress. “So, you don’t need to do that.”

He brushes your statement off with a wave of his hand and smiles when the waitress returns with his card and a receipt.

Your mind mistakes the reverberation of champagne flutes clinking together for the chime of your text tone and you instinctively reach into your purse, hoping to see the screen alight with good news. You’d settle for any news really, so long as it meant you would finally get a clear picture of what was going on, and you could stop embellishing the details of the worst case scenario you had designed in your head.

A 51G impact like the one you had witnessed today can do a lot of damage to the body, whether visible from the outside or not, and you hoped, more than anything, that the helmet and halo were enough to protect Max from anything more than a few minor scrapes and bruises.

You’re lost in a world of nightmarish outcomes until you remember where you are. Lando’s face is contorted in a concerned frown across from you.

“Everything alright?” he asks gently.

“Yeah, sorry, I thought I heard my phone go off but it must’ve been something else.”

“It’s getting pretty noisy in here, do you want to head outside?” he offers.

“Okay.”

———

In the slight summer breeze you observe the moonlight washing across Lando’s figure, illuminating his features softly and elucidating the closeness of his face to yours. The proximity allows you to easily breathe in the pleasant cedarwood undertones of the cologne that adorns his skin, and allows him to imagine the sweet ropy flavour undoubtedly lingering on your tongue from the maraschino cherries you’d so delicately placed between your teeth throughout night.

The crinkles that form at the edges of his eyes as he meets your gaze with a smile are priceless. You wish you could bottle the feeling they give you and save it for a day you need it most.

“I had a nice time,” he tells you, practically beaming. “I can’t remember the last time I went out after a race and talked about stuff other than racing.”

“Yeah it was nice, dinner was really good too.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you stand in silence while you wait for your Uber to arrive. Lando had insisted on driving you back to your hotel but you knew his car would cause a fuss so you declined and told him you had an Uber discount code that was due to expire. You make an effort to seem fascinated by the cracks in the sidewalk and Lando acts intrigued by the streetlights, both of you dancing around the question that lingers unspoken in the air.

Are we going to meet up again?

The alert on your phone informs you that your driver is only a minute away.

“He’s almost here,” you tell Lando. “Thank you so much for paying for dinner, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s okay!” he insists. He shifts his weight on his feet before offering his arms to you.

You accept his invitation and hug him goodbye. You can’t help but notice the heat radiating through his thin shirt and feel his heart hammering between your two chests. His fingertips burn brands into your skin as they rest softly on your back and when he pulls back from you his hands don’t move an inch.

You catch his gaze and feel his thumb sweep softly over the fabric of your dress, underneath your jacket, before his lips meet yours in a searing kiss.

You’re caught off guard to say the least. His hands are hot on your back but his lips are soft and you’d be lying if you said they weren’t sending your head into a frenzy.

The rest of the day’s events are temporarily overruled by Lando kissing you; lying to your dad about where you are, wishing you could celebrate Lando’s fourth place finish with him in his garage, the repetitive questions aimed at you by the police that had you exhausted by mid morning, let alone Max’s accident.

Max.

And suddenly it’s not Lando’s but another pair of lips that are on yours, larger and hungrier and they come with a devastating reminder of what it’s like to sneak around with a Formula 1 driver. The lying and heartache that you remember all too clearly to feel like the kind of falling that jolts you awake from dreams.

You pull back and place your hands on Lando’s shoulders, staring down.

He’s instantly apologetic, bringing a hand through the front of his hair. “Sorry, I thought…fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, removing your hands and wrapping them around yourself. “It’s okay, um my car’s here anyway so I gotta go.”

He just nods and shoves his hands into his pockets.

The slamming of the car door feels like a hammer pounding in Lando’s head. For a moment he had you. In his hand was the opportunity to make something great out of your meeting, but he wrapped his fingers inward and crushed it in an instant.

———

When you wake the next morning, your head remains sore from the screeching of car engines throughout your eventful weekend. Though not particularly unbearable at the time, the accumulation of noise over the three days you were at the track had definitely built up.

Instinctively, you check your phone, assuming that you would be confronted with your typical notifications: a recommended Instagram account, a liked Tweet, maybe even a text. You know you’re being optimistic to expect anything from Lando, your mind refusing to stop reminding you of how awkward you had made your time together the night before. Still, you yearn for any sort of reassurement that it wasn’t as bad as your overthinking had made it out to be.

You read the time and see that it’s almost noon. You know that your dad will be out until around two o’clock, already fussing about with work related ordeals in order to have things perfect for the race in Hungary. When you eventually awaken enough to read the notifications on your phone, you find it difficult to hide your surprise as you find a text and missed call from Lando, the nervous feeling that you endured last night returns, sinking into your stomach like a stone.

Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I had a really nice time last night :) Sorry if I was too forward at the end, I hope it didn’t ruin your night or anything.

Biting back a smile as you read the text, your mind is put at ease as you realise that he enjoyed himself as much as you did. You’re tempted to text him back immediately and tell him that he’s being silly, that of course he didn’t ruin your night. You wish you could explain your situation with Max and how, if it were any other night than the one your ex-boyfriend spent in hospital, you would have kissed Lando back. However, your plan to reply is thwarted as you notice the notification that informs you Lando also left you a voicemail. He must have called some time after sending his initial text message. Finger hovering over the play button, you are hopeful that it’s further kind words about your time together, or perhaps an invitation for a second ‘date’. If you could call it that. Nevertheless, you push the button.

The disappointed sigh he lets out causes your heart to stutter, before his voice crackles through the phone speaker.

“Hey, it’s me. Sorry for calling, I know I already texted you and um… I hate that I have to do this but I think it would be better for you to hear it from me instead of finding out online or something. I’ve just seen that someone got pictures of us together last night. I didn’t think anyone who knew me would be there but I guess it was still close enough to Silverstone that someone recognised who I was. I’m really sorry, but if it is any help I don’t think anyone recognised you because your face isn’t really in the photos. I’m trying to get them taken down and it’s not really on Instagram or in the news or anything, but lots of people on Twitter are talking about it. If there’s anything that I can do, please let me know. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen at his words, breath hitching in your throat as you process it. You replay the message over and over, as if hearing it multiple times will change the bad news Lando delivers each time. Instinctually, you close the app and scrub your hands over your face. You wonder about what exact kind of picture the photos he’s referring to imply. Does it paint a picture that could get you in trouble?

What about Lando?

Fuck.

What about your dad?

Your stomach drops at the thought of him seeing them. Getting caught lying about your whereabouts was one thing, but being caught with Lando Norris while you promised you were tucked up in the confines of your hotel room opens up a whole new world of possible consequences.

As if the universe can read your mind, it delivers your worst nightmare to you on a silver platter, piping hot and laced with venom.

A notification appears from your dad.

Call me when you’re awake.

-------

tag list @lovebynorth @its-astrotea-love

240 notes · View notes

authenticmiya · 4 years ago

Note

Hey, how are you ?!!

I love your imagines !!

I was wondering if you could do one with Johnny Lawrence of 84!

It's a suggestion 🥺

He had a secret crush on Tommy's best friend, Y / N, so he wanted to talk to her, but was afraid he just ended his relationship with Alli. And he knew that she didn't want a relationship now, due to the various traumas that occurred, so much so that the day comes that he decides to tell his feelings!

🥺🥺😘

My Girl - Johnny Lawrence x Reader

Summary - Reader and Tommy have been best friends since they could remember. Alongside Tommy, came the Cobra Kai’s. Meaning a certain blonde hair, blue eyed karate student, had his eyes on you.

Words - 2.1k

Warnings - mentions of toxic past relationships, fluff, angst.

A/N - I’m great Thankyou, how are you? Thankyou so much for sending in your suggestion! Anyone can feel free to send in any requests!

To everyone else, you were one of the prettiest girls in school. Curvy, honest, caring, nurturing. You weren't the typical 'popular girl' who'd turn her nose up at other groups of students, and that's why you were so loved.

You lived at home alongside your older sister. Your parents tended to business all over the country, meaning it was usually just the two of you. The two of you were very close, and supported each-other through everything, just like how you and your best friend, Tommy.

"So tell me again why you didn't want to go to the beach tonight? All of your Cobra Kai's are there." Y/S/N plopped herself next to you on the couch.

"Can't I enjoy a peaceful night in with my sister?" You smirked and she rolled her eyes.

"Okay fine, Ali's there." You groaned.

"So what? She's your best friend Y/N?"

"No she was my best friend, she's been talking shit about the Cobra's - even Tommy. I get that her and Johnny aren't together anymore, but I've gotta look out for my boys." You admitted, throwing popcorn into your mouth.

"Your boys? You mean Johnny is your boy? The guy has had the hots for you since you were ten." She stated and now it was your turn to roll your eyes.

"Then why did he date Ali?" You questioned.

"Oh baby sister, you have so much to learn. It's obvious that he wasn't going to ask you out before her. You'd just come out of a sticky relationship." You shivered at the thought of your past.

"I get you were young and in love with that jackass, but just because you were young, doesn't mean he had the right to hit you left, right and centre." Maybe she was right, you hadn't really let your guard down with anybody after that.

"Let's not bring that up please." You told her.

"The only thing stopping you two from growing old together, is the fact that Tommy is practically like your big brother. He'd flip a table." Your sister grinned. Speaking of Cobra's, you heard some motorcycles pull up outside your house.

"Snakes in three, two, one." Your sister counted down and then your door knocked.

"Your hair looks a mess." You admitted to Tommy, ruffling up his hair as he walked into your home.

"Honesty is the best policy Y/L/N." Bobby laughed.

"What the hell happened to you?" You questioned Johnny, noticing how flustered and sad he looked.

"Lover boy had his first dosage of heartbreak tonight at the beach." Bobby called out to you from the kitchen.

"Yeah nice one man, thanks!" Johnny said sarcastically, making his way through your house. You shot your sister a confused look, and she just shrugged her shoulders.

"Tommy, your ass better not be eating my leftover pizza!" Your sister shouted and that's exactly what he was doing.

"I appreciate that I'm not having to fix any of your faces tonight guys, but what exactly do you want?" You asked them, grabbing some lemonade from the fridge.

"Well sweet-heart, there's a new kid on the block, Daniel Larusso. He was flirting with Ali." Tommy stole your drink from your hand.

"And how do you feel about that?" You asked Johnny.

"She wouldn't talk to me, so I broke her radio and gave him a seek in assist the old fashioned way." Johnny admitted.

"I take it he's not as good at Karate as you then Johnny?" You joked, trying to make light of the conversation.

"The sexual tension in this room is making me gag." Your sister shoved passed you and grabbed a drink from the refrigerator.

"You're delusional." You muttered.

"I'm sure you'll be lucky with Larusso if you haven't already made a pass at Johnny." Bobby joked, but none of you laughed.

"Like hell man, watch your damn mouth." Johnny snapped.

"Dude seriously?" Tommy glared at him.

"I was joking, come on guys." Bobby tried to defend himself and you all ignored him.

"Quit being mean so Bobby, he just wanted to be apart of the comedian club." You snickered, making everybody burst into laughter.

"I take it you guys are staying the night?" Your sister asked them all.

"It's an annual thing, so if you don't mind?" Tommy smiled.

"Dude, the three of you have sleepovers everyday of the week. It's a fucking daily thing at this rate." Your sister laughed, heading up the stairs to sort the sleeping arrangements out.

Once the beds were ready to go, everyone seemed fairly tired and headed upstairs.

"Y/N wait-" Johnny stopped you from outside your room. Unbeknownst to him that his two friends, and your sister were eavesdropping.

"Can I please talk to you? I kinda need a girl's help, and well you get Tommy through a lot of shit.." He began to rant and you stopped him.

"Calm down Johnny, let's talk." You ushered him into your room, and he laid on your bed, leaning against the bed frame.

"I didn't really know how to say it front of everyone, but you know what a breakup is like. How'd you get over it?" Johnny sighed and you frowned.

"I don't think I ever really got over it because of what he did to me. I'd like to have said I turned into some badass overnight but I didn't. It takes time, and the two of you only broke up a couple of weeks ago. The whole situation is still raw and you have to allow yourself time to heal." You admitted to him.

He couldn't help but stare at you, take in all of your perfections as you we're giving him advice.

"Young love is a load of ass Y/N. She didn't even care about what I had to say tonight." Johnny frowned and it really did look like he was about to cry.

"Jokes on her Johnny, because any girl should be blessed to have you." You smiled, making his stomach erupt into a million butterflies.

"I really appreciate that." He whispered, slowly leaning in, but you leaned back.

"I'm so sorry if you thought that's where I was going with this Johnny, I don't think either of us are ready for that just yet." You coughed out, not really sure how to deal with it.

"No I'm sorry Y/N, I shouldn't have done that. Shit." Johnny was quick to scramble out of your room, and it took you a few moments to comprehend the situation.

Chasing after him and staying in your room were your thoughts for the night. You knew he'd probably be embarrassed, so you didn't wanna push that any further. But he wanted to kiss you. Was that because he wanted to use you as a rebound? To get over his eventful evening with his ex? You had no idea. Or was it because he had now genuinely come to terms of how he really felt towards you?

“Wake your ass up!” Tommy screamed as the morning sunshine came through your curtains.

“Tommy I’m giving you five seconds to get the heck out of my room, or I’m going to smack you silly.” You yawned, suddenly realising it was your first day back for senior year.

“You weren’t saying that to Johnny when he tried to kiss you last night.” Tommy whispered, and your eyes nearly fell out of your head.

“Your secrets safe with me sleepy head, but he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t mean it.” Tommy gave you a half-hearted smile and left you alone.

“One year to make it all work Y/N.” You muttered, throwing on some clothes to start your senior year.

“The queen has finally made her entrance.” Tommy laughed, handing you a plate of pancakes.

“You look beautiful Y/N.” Bobby smiled, making Johnny clench his jaw.

“Wow it finally looks like a cat hasn’t dragged you through a bush.” Y/S/N ruffled up your hair.

“Well now if does.” You groaned, flattening your hair back out. Time was ticking and it was soon time for school.

“Have a good day you guys!” Your sister waved you all off. It was as if the Cobra’s had it planned all along, because Tommy and Bobby were quick to drive away on their motor-cycles, leaving you and Johnny.

“Can I pitch a ride please?” You asked Johnny with hopeful eyes.

“Of course.” He smiled lightly.

“Can we please talk about last night?” You asked and his smile soon faded.

“We’ve gotta get to school.” You nodded at him, before sitting behind him. The journey to school wasn’t long at all, and it was typical for you to spend your morning alongside the Cobra Kai’s motorcycles.

“I don’t want things to be awkward Johnny, you’re one of my best friends. I’ve got a lot of issues, despite how happy I come across. Maybe one day we can make a thing of us?” You suggested and he had nothing to say.

And so that’s how was it was like, for a very long few weeks after that. Johnny hadn’t said a lot to you, and it slowly made you realise, that you didn’t know what you had, until it started to go away.

“Johnny still not talking to you?” Tommy asked, as the two of you walked together in front of the Cobra Kai’s. You turned around, but Johnny avoided eye contact before turning around the corner to his class.

“He’s insanely in love with you Y/N, I guess he’s just scared.” In love? Come again?

“In love with me, why would you say that?” You asked.

“Trust me, I know.” The two of you continued walking towards your classroom, when you were stopped by a certain Daniel Larusso.

As Johnny was walking to class, he couldn’t help let the overwhelming sense of guilt override him.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N dude?” Bobby asked one of his best friends.

“I don’t know myself man.” Johnny responded.

“You two are so damn love blind.” Bobby groaned in annoyance that his two friends still hadn’t made moves on each-other.

“I can’t push the boundaries again, it’s obvious she’s afraid to be with someone new, and I don’t want to upset her.” Johnny admitted.

“That’s the thing though Johnny, you’re not someone new. Everyone knows about what happened with her ex, and you can be the one to make her trust again.” Bobby’s words were so convincing.

“I’ve gotta go and get my girl.” Johnny shoved his books into Bobby’s hands and rushed back to the other hallway you were in with Tommy. But Bobby didn’t stop there, of course he was going to watch the scene unfold.

“What the hell do you want Larusso?” Tommy stood protectively in front of you.

“You need to sort your boyfriend out Y/N, his attitude is kind of stinky.” Daniel teased.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” You muttered.

“I think he’s about to be.” Tommy noticed Johnny heading over to the two of you.

“Get the hell away from my girl, punk.” Johnny shoved Daniel out of the way, and you bit the inside of your cheek anxiously - not wanting your first day back to end up in a fight.

“Why does everyone think I’m you girlfriend?” You asked Johnny.

“Because I’ve waited so damn long to be able to call you mine Y/N, and I don’t want him taking you away from me, like he did with everything else.” Johnny admitted his feelings, regardless of everybody around him.

“Johnny what are you talking about?” You asked him.

“I’m not him Y/N. I will never be him. I think, I think I love you.” Johnny stepped forward and this time, you allowed him to kiss you. You felt yourself melting on the inside. Cheers and claps echoed through the school hallway as the bell rang.

“What do you say Y/N, will you please be my girlfriend?” He asked, lacing his hands with yours.

“Of course.” You blushed, wrapping your arms around him, and he felt the instant sigh of relief.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous.” You whispered.

“I was so not jealous, I was about to beat Larusso’s ass.” Johnny told you seriously.

“I think you’re forgetting about what Tommy might do to you.” You chuckled, looking over at your best friend and his attempt to look angry.

“It’s not half of the things that I’m going to do to you.” Johnny smirked. You could finally be free of your past, you finally had your man, and boy was he worth the wait.

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