#LONG AS I GOT A JOB YOU GOT A JOB UNDERSTAND?
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Will It Patch Your Broken Wings?
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Azriel is feeling insecure one night and cheats on Reader. She is absolutely devastated and wants nothing to do with him, but he is determined to show her how much he loves her.
Inspired by the love triangle in Taylor Swift’s betty/august/cardigan
Based on this request! 🩷
Warnings: angst, cheating, swearing
Word Count: 6.3k
Betty, I know where it all went wrong
Your favorite song was playing
From the far side of the gym
I was nowhere to be found
I hate the crowds, you know that
Plus, I saw you dance with him
Azriel tucked his wing in tighter as you led him through Rita’s, your hand in his, a bounce in your step. You loved it here: the energy, the dancing, the music.
Azriel, on the other hand, really only went along because he loved you.
The music was pounding in Azriel’s mind, overwhelming his senses. He could normally block it out and will his body to be loose enough to attempt to dance with you, but today had been a particularly long day in which he had to… secure information from some traitors.
He didn’t let his memory go past that, not when he was with you. But it had been a day. A terrible day.
You were dancing now, like you were born to do it, like you didn’t care at all who was watching. You turned to him, a bright smile lighting up your face, and he couldn’t help but soften at the sight, feeling comforted by your effortless radiance.
He would never understand why you had chosen him. He was thankful of course, but he was willing to admit the two of you sometimes seemed like an unlikely pair. You were bright and bubbly, lighting up every room -- a direct juxtaposition to his shadows, his darkness, his tendency to be stoic and silent.
Watching him stay completely still in the middle of the crowd, your face fell, and you sidled up to him, craning your neck to look him in the eyes as you got closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Are you okay? We can go home if you want.”
Azriel smiled faintly at you, dipping his head to give you a quick kiss. “Long day. You can dance. I’m going for a drink.”
You nodded, but still eyed him warily for a moment, gaze lingering on his swirling shadows, before turning back to the dance floor.
By the time Azriel got his drink (the strongest they had), you were fully engrossed in a song that he realized was one of your favorites. He watched as you writhed on the middle of the dance floor, swaying your hips, a bright smile on your face.
A male came up to you then, taking your hand and twirling you under his arm. You laughed brightly before moving away from him, dancing on your own once again.
Azriel couldn’t stop his heart from plummeting. That’s the kind of male she should be with, he thought. The kind that goes to a normal job and comes home without shadows or demons to chase away in his mind. The kind that can dance and twirl and laugh with you without a care in the world.
He watched as you danced and danced, occasionally dancing with a random male for a moment before moving on.
She deserves better than you. She always has.
His breath was coming faster and faster now, the music pounding in his ears, through his skull, all that heat from so many bodies closing in on him. He had to get out, had to stretch his wings, had to get out.
Azriel shoved through the crowd and burst through the doors, out into the cool night, stretching out his wings and breathing deeply. He cursed himself. He was normally better than this, better at maintaining his emotions, his panic. By the Cauldron, he was the Night Court’s spymaster and he couldn’t handle an evening in a nightclub with his lover.
Pathetic. That’s what he was.
“Are you okay?” a light, sing-songy voice broke through his rumbling thoughts.
He turned to see a very pretty High Fae woman. She was dressed a bit like Mor, he couldn’t help thinking, wearing a thin red dress that showed off all her assets, her light brown hair cascading down past her shoulders.
She gave him a look that he hadn’t seen, or at least paid attention to, from a stranger in a very long time.
He blinked. “Honestly? I don’t think so.”
Her lips slowly curved up into a sultry smile. “Anything I would be able to help you with?”
No. No, you cannot help me. I don't think anybody can.
She watched him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, before she tilted her head for him to follow.
And Mother save him, he did.
---
And I can see us twisted in bedsheets
August sipped away like a bottle of wine
'Cause you were never mine.
Your heart had been pounding, your body trembling, ever since you realized that Azriel was nowhere to be found.
Something must have happened to him. It was the only explanation. He wouldn’t just leave you without a word.
But, what could have possibly happened to the shadowsinger, in Velaris, of all places?
Your hand shook as you raised it to pound on the door of the river house.
Rhysand was the one who answered, shirtless, hair a mess. He looked very unhappy to see you.
“I need you to find Azriel,” you nearly shouted before he could scold you.
He sobered immediately, noticing your distress. “What do you mean?”
You explained to him what had happened, that he had seemed off at Rita's, that he told you he was going to get a drink, then vanished. You had assumed that he had been lingering on the outskirts of the dance floor, and didn't notice for quite some time that he had left completely.
“I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation,” he said soothingly. “Did you check your apartment?”
You nodded. He wasn't there, at the home he shared with you. “And the townhouse.”
Rhysand's violet eyes were contemplative. Hesitating.
“Can't you just…feel for him or whatever?”
He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Yeah. I can.”
“Then do it!”
Rhysand's eyes went unfocused after a beat, and when they widened again in surprise, you knew he had found him.
“What is it? Is he okay?”
“He's… at a random apartment. At least it's not one that I recognize.”
Your heart lurched. “What? Why?”
Rhys shrugged, his expression darkening. “Okay. Shit. Wait here, I'll go tell Feyre what's going on and take you to him.”
Rhysand came back a moment later, now in his normal black attire, and winnowed you in front of an apartment complex not far from Rita's. You had certainly never been here before. The silence was agony as you followed Rhys up the stairs, to the door.
He glanced back at you, a question in his eyes. You shook your head and he knocked, the sound rattling around in your skull.
You heard shuffling, giggling, and then.
Then.
A woman answered the door. A beautiful woman who was wearing Azriel's shirt.
A woman who was wearing your lover’s shirt and nothing else.
Your knees nearly buckled. You tasted bile in your mouth. You were going to be sick.
She cocked her head to the side. “Yes?”
Rhysand was deathly still, his power rippling from him, darkening the doorway. You remained behind him, but you had to know. Had to know for sure.
So you peeked around Rhysand's shoulder, further into the woman's apartment.
And saw Azriel, bare chested, lying in her bed, the sheets bunched up at his waist, his wings drooping on the ground, his hand tucked under his head, staring at the ceiling, like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You barely had time to spin around before you entered your stomach in the hallway.
---
The worst thing that I ever did
was what I did to you.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Az?” Rhysand's voice boomed from the door the woman had just answered.
Hearing such a familiar voice in such an unfamiliar setting was initially what shocked Azriel enough that he nearly fell out of bed.
Then it hit him.
Rhysand was here.
No no no no no no--
Azriel scrambled up out of the woman's bed, frantically searching for his pants and tugging them on.
“I-”
“Don't answer that.” Rhysand spat, and it was then that Azriel realized Rhys was holding you upright as both of you lingered in the doorway.
His heart stopped working. His mind stopped working.
He said your name, but it came out more like a croak.
You were trembling in Rhysand's arms, tears sliding down your cheeks.
What had he done what had he done what had he done--
Azriel took a step forward, but you recoiled, and he knew you would've fallen to the ground if Rhysand hadn't been holding you.
You looked… afraid of him. Not just hurt, not just disgusted, but actually afraid.
He said your name again, his voice and his heart breaking, but you turned to Rhysand and said in the smallest voice he'd ever heard, “Get me away from him.”
Rhysand shot you one last withering glance before he winnowed out of sight, taking you with him.
It was silent for a moment, until the woman said, “If I'd known you were such an asshole, I never would have done this.”
Azriel sank to his knees and wept.
---
You drew stars around my scars
But now I'm bleeding.
Back at the river house, Feyre was holding you as your body continued to shake, silent tears continued to fall, while Rhysand paced back and forth, rage radiating off of him.
“Azriel?” Feyre asked, wide eyed. “Our Azriel?”
“He's certainly not mine anymore,” you sniffed, and Feyre winced, shooting you an apologetic glance, holding you a little tighter.
“I can't believe it,” Rhys said, still pacing in the spare room where they had set you up for the night. “I cannot believe him.”
There was a knock on the door of the house and you froze. You all knew who it was.
You looked at Rhys, your eyes pleading.
“I won't let him in,” he said, his expression softening as he turned to you. “I'll ward the fucking house against him if I have to,” he growled, mostly to himself, as he retreated to send him away.
You leaned further into Feyre, grateful for your friends.
For his friends, you realized. His family.
They were on your side now, but you knew where their allegiance would ultimately lie.
In losing Azriel, you would lose your family, too.
Sobs racked your body then, and Feyre held on tight, settling her cheek on the top of your head.
You thought of all the walls Azriel had broken down around your heart, all the promises he had made about love and forever. All the broken pieces of you that you had let him see, that he had helped you heal.
But it was all a lie.
You couldn't stop seeing it -- the woman, naked except for his shirt; Azriel, naked in her bed.
You wept and wept until there was absolutely nothing left of you.
---
A friend to all is a friend to none
Chase two girls, lose the one.
Azriel had come to the river house twice a day for the past three days.
Each time, Rhysand opened the door, molten hot rage in his eyes, and told him to leave, that you weren’t ready yet. Azriel couldn’t blame him.
He knew there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say to make it better. To make you better. He could try to explain what he had been feeling that night, but it wouldn’t matter, not really. It was all excuses, and he knew it.
Azriel had destroyed everything. And now he just had to watch as his world burned down.
Letting out a shuddering sigh, he knocked on Rhysand’s door, expecting to see his pissed off brother again, but it was Feyre who appeared.
He had never seen his High Lady look so disappointed. He hated that it was directed at him.
“How could you do it?” she said, crossing her arms, leaning against the doorway.
Azriel felt tears prickling his eyes, and willed them not to fall. “I never felt like I deserved her,” he said quietly.
“Well you definitely don’t now.”
He winced. “I know. I just -- I want to see her. How is she?”
Feyre furrowed her brow, furious. “How is she? She hasn’t left her room since she got here. Elain’s been forcing water down her throat so she doesn’t shrivel up and die, that’s how she is.”
Azriel swallowed, trying to steady his shaking hands. He felt like he was drowning. He wished he would, if it meant that it would make you stop feeling like that. “Do you think she’ll talk to me?”
She studied him, her mouth a hard, thin line. Finally, she turned, heading inside and he followed her, his knees wobbling.
When they made it to your door, she knocked softly, saying through the door, “He’s here.”
Azriel held his breath until the door opened, slowly.
And when he saw you, he couldn’t breathe. You looked… devastating. Your eyes were red and swollen, you were pale, your hair was a mess.
It was his fault. He had done this to you. He felt sick.
Your eyes were hollow when you looked at him, like you didn’t feel anything at all.
“Do you want me to stay?” Feyre asked you quietly.
You shook your head, your eyes darting away from Azriel. Feyre shot him a warning glare before she reluctantly went down the hallway.
You turned, moving to sit on the bed that looked like it hadn’t been made in days, every movement you made looking wary, exhausted. Destroyed. Your eyes were fixed on your hands in your lap, unwilling to look at him.
Azriel lingered just inside the room, feeling uncomfortable in his skin. He longed to hold you in his arms, to kiss your pain away.
He said your name, willing you to look at him. You flinched.
It felt like a punch to the gut. Azriel wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
“I am so, so sorry,” he rasped.
You shook your head, not looking up. “How could you do this, Az? How could you do this to me?” Your voice cracked when you said his name.
Tears started to fall down his own cheeks as he said, “I… don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I saw you dancing with those males, looking so carefree, and I didn’t feel like I fit into that part of your life. I’ve always felt like you deserved someone better than me, someone… easier.”
Finally, you looked up at him, and he wished you hadn’t. Your eyes were full of fury. And hurt. He had never seen you like that before. “You cheated on me because I danced with some guys for two seconds?”
“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Azriel tried.
“You think I wanted somebody like them? Somebody easier?”
Azriel opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I thought--”
“I wanted you,” you spat, and he recoiled at the hurt in your voice, at the pain in your eyes that he had put there. “All I ever wanted was you.”
He couldn't breathe. His voice came out weaker than he had ever heard it, “I'm sorry. It was a mistake, I'm a miserable, miserable fool. I want you. You're all I want.”
You laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “How can you even say that after what you did?”
“I know, you’re right,” he sighed, raking a scarred hand through his hair, his shadows dancing around his arms. “It doesn’t make sense, what I did. It was stupid and awful, and the worst thing that I’ve ever done, and I am so so sorry,” he said, taking a step forward, reaching his hand out to take yours.
“Don’t touch me,” you spat, wrenching your hand away.
He blinked, taking a step back, his heart in his throat.
“You said you loved me,” you said, your voice now barely a whisper, as if all your energy had been completely drained. “You said you wanted to be with me forever. Did you ever mean any of it?”
“Of course I did,” he said softly. “I still do. I love you. I want you.”
You sniffed, putting your head in your hands. “Well. You should’ve thought of that before you fucked her.”
He blanched at your tone, at your language. He didn’t think you’d ever said that word before, at least not around him.
“Please,” he said, his voice breaking, as he knelt down in front of you, trying to meet your eyes. “Please, what can I do? What can I do to fix this?”
Your eyes rose to meet his. You took in the sight, the shadowsinger kneeling before you, begging for your forgiveness. “You can’t fix it,” you said, seething. “You left me. You abandoned me at Rita’s. Do you have any idea how that felt? I thought something horrible had happened to you!”
Azriel tightened his jaw. He hadn’t known, hadn’t even thought about--
“And then to see you. With her. In her bed,” you broke off, looking at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling, he knew.
“I’m sorry.” It was all he could say. His tears were flowing down his cheeks now and he hastily wiped them away, not wanting to take his eyes off you for fear that you would vanish.
After a long moment, you leveled your gaze on him again. “Would you have told me? If I wasn’t worried sick, if I had just gone home, and waited for you to stumble on in, would you have told me? Or would you just keep acting like everything was fine, knowing that you had just betrayed me?”
Azriel swallowed hard. He thought about the guilt he had felt immediately, how he was contemplating what the hell he was going to tell you as he was staring at that ceiling before Rhysand had knocked. “I would’ve told you,” he said, his voice husky. “I was going to tell you.”
You scoffed, shaking your head, looking anywhere but him. “I don’t even know why I asked. How can I trust anything you say?”
“I don’t know. But it’s true,” he said, shifting on his knees, wishing he could reach for your hand.
Hiding your face in your hands, you said, barely audibly, “I hate you. I hate you for doing this to me and making me feel like this.”
Azriel’s heart finally shattered completely. He knew he would never be able to put the pieces back together, as long as he lived. He had done this to you, his beautiful, bubbly, happy love. Reduced to this. To hating him. And he couldn’t even blame you.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”
“Stop saying that,” you cried.
“It’s true. It’s all I’ve got. I won’t try to make excuses, I’m just … I’m sorry. And I love you. I’ll never stop loving you.”
You sniffled, and took your hands away from your face, looking to the ceiling once again, like you were steeling yourself to say what you were about to. “I never want to see you again,” you said, weakly. “You can have the apartment. Elain and Nesta are packing my things right now.”
Azriel shook his head, his panic rising, “No, no, you don’t have to--”
“I do,” you cut him off. “It’s done, Az. We’re done,” you rose off the bed and went to the washroom, looking unsteady on your feet. “You can go now.”
You shut yourself in behind the closed door, and it was five hundred years of will and training that carried his legs out of the river house, and out of your life forever.
Azriel took to the sky, flying and flying, the wind biting at his skin, at his eyes. He kept picturing your heartbroken expression, the words you spoke to him.
He didn't stop flying until he made it to the depths of the Illyrian mountains, where he knew he would be well and truly alone.
Spotting a flat section nestled between several mountains, he landed in the snow, barely stopping long enough to punch the mountainside. It was stupid, he knew, he was more likely to break his hand than blow off any of this steam, but he had to do something to stop this pain, this panic, this despair that he could blame on nobody but himself.
He had lost you. He had lost the love of his life forever because he couldn't overcome his fears. He had been so scared that he wasn't good enough for you that he made sure that it was true.
Grunting, he punched the mountainside over and over again until his knuckles bled, and then he punched it some more. Tears froze on his cheeks, the wind chilling him to the bone.
Az was dimly aware of someone landing behind him, so hard it shook the ground beneath his feet. He kept punching.
“You're not going to solve your problems out here,” Cassian called to him.
Finally, Azriel halted, turning around to face his brother. “You know, we have better things to punch,” Cassian added.
Azriel scowled, sinking into the snow, exhausted.
Cassian strode over to him, plopping down a few feet away, hissing at the cold now sleeping through his pants. He studied Azriel, seemingly waiting for him to speak.
“She hates me,” Azriel whispered finally. “She said she never wants to see me again.”
Cassian sucked a breath in through his teeth. “Fuck.”
Azriel could only nod sadly.
“You know she didn't mean it. At least not the second part. She loves you.”
Sniffing, wiping at his eyes, Azriel groaned. “I don't know if she does anymore.”
“She does,” Cassian said quietly. “I know she does.”
After a beat of silence, Cassian asked, “What are you going to do?”
Azriel shrugged, watching his bloody hands start to heal. “Well. I could either hang around, keep apologizing, and piss her off more, or… leave her alone…”
“And piss her off more,” Cassian added.
A dry laugh escaped Azriel. “Exactly.”
Cassian was quiet for a moment, seemingly pondering how to help him.
“I’m not giving up on her,” Azriel finally said, with more conviction than he felt. “I just… I don't want to make it worse.”
“Az, I hate to tell you this, but I don't think it could get much worse,” Cassian said, grimacing.
Azriel just sighed, stretching out his wings behind him.
---
I knew I'd curse you for the longest time
Chasing shadows in the grocery line.
Seeing Azriel again, seeing him beg on his knees for your forgiveness, seeing how hollow his eyes looked, how his shadows were so unrelenting around him, had absolutely wrecked you.
It was another few days until you had the courage to leave the river house at all.
Azriel had come back to the river house several times, but you had your friends send him away. You couldn’t bear to see him again.
Feyre and Rhysand had checked on you frequently during your stay at their house, consoling you, cursing Azriel’s name right along with you. Rhys had even loaned you what you needed to get your own apartment, on the other side of Velaris from the one that you once shared with Azriel.
That part seemed to make it final, somehow. You could almost convince yourself it had all been a dream until you made your way to your new, empty apartment, without a trace of the love that used to be yours.
That empty apartment wrecked you all over again, and as you looked around it for the first time, your body folded in half, arms wrapping around your stomach as your body racked with sobs.
You had started to regret insisting that you do this part by yourself.
It was really over. Azriel really cheated on you and it was really done.
You knew it was time to start distancing yourself from Azriel’s family. They had undoubtedly been on your side this whole time, but even Rhysand and Feyre were starting to change their tune slightly. You know he loves you still. You know he’s a good male. You know he’s so sorry.
You understood where they were coming from, really, you did.
But that didn’t make it hurt less. What you needed was to hate him. It was the only way you could ever bring yourself to move on, to start living your life again.
You had been solemnly unpacking for a few hours when there was a knock on your door. You stiffened immediately. Rhysand and Feyre had said that they wouldn’t tell Azriel where you lived, but maybe he had figured it out?
“Relax sweetheart, it’s me,” Cassian said on the other side of the door, and you did relax, if only slightly. You hadn’t seen him since before this all started.
Reluctantly you let him in. He was sauntering, wearing that easy smirk he always donned. You couldn’t decide if it was comforting or annoying.
Cassian whistled as he looked around. “Nice place.”
You settled on the couch, tucking your feet underneath you. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes softened as he walked closer to you, then perched next to you on the couch, not quite relaxed. “I wanted to check on you.”
“You can report back to Azriel that I’m just as pissed as ever,” you grumbled.
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Cassian said quietly.
Skeptically, you turned to face him. You were sure he would be the most likely to take Azriel’s side.
After a moment, Cassian said, “If it’s any consolation, he hates himself probably about as much as you hate him right now.”
“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse,” you admitted.
Cassian sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Did you mean it? That you never wanted to see him again?”
You shifted, hugging your knees to your chest. “In the moment I did. Thinking about seeing him now… it breaks me apart. But, thinking about the rest of my life completely without him…”
“That breaks you apart too?” Cassian offered.
You nodded, tears stinging your eyes.
“Okay, look,” Cassian said, turning so he fully faced you. “I’m going to tell you something. You’re my friend and he’s my brother, and I love you both, so I need you to know I’m not trying to convince you of anything, I am merely giving you information. Okay?”
“O-kay…”
He took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts, before he continued. “Azriel has always felt like he was inferior. The way he was raised… he carries that around more than a lot of people think. He often thinks that he isn’t good enough for people, but especially you.”
“How do you know?” You knew that Az still dealt with a lot from his childhood, but he wouldn’t often voice those things to you. He had mentioned something about not feeling good enough when you saw him, but you weren’t sure what to make of it.
“He mentioned it to me a few times, that he didn’t feel like he was the kind of person you should be with. You’re so bright and bubbly, he felt like you deserved somebody who was the same.”
You rested your cheek on your knee, trying to digest the information. “But… he must have known I never actually felt like that, right?”
Cassian shrugged. “On a good day, maybe. But deep down I think he always had it in the back of his mind: that fear that he wasn’t right for you.”
“He should’ve told me,” you said quietly.
“I agree. And I’m not saying that it excuses what he did, but that day…it was a hard one for him. What he had to do in the Court of Nightmares.”
Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even thought about that.
“Well, he should’ve told me that too.”
Cassian nodded. “Yes. He should have.”
You groaned. “I hate this.”
“I know,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. “I’m sorry.”
Cassian let you cry on his chest for a long moment before he said, “hH wants to come see you, you know. He doesn't want to give up on you.”
When you didn't respond, he said softly, “Just think about it.”
Days later, all that Cassian had said was still ringing in your ears, even as you walked through the market when it was the busiest.
Despite everything, it hurt your heart to think that Azriel had ever felt like he wasn't enough for you. And you were still so hurt at what he had done and what you had seen, but it at least made more sense now.
You hated this feeling of loneliness that followed you around wherever you went now, rooted so deeply in you that you were scared it would never go away.
Azriel had been so good to you for so long. Was one mistake really worth throwing everything away?
Every time you had the thought though, you remembered the sight of him in her bed and wanted to scream or cry or kick something.
Suddenly, as you were nearing the edge of the market, you swore you saw the wisp of a curling shadow out of the corner of your eye and stiffened. This hadn't been the first time that you thought you glimpsed Azriel's shadows or wings in public since it happened.
But, no this time it was real. And he saw you too.
You willed your feet to move, but they wouldn't. You couldn't tear your eyes away from him, from this man who had loved and hurt you so completely.
Azriel approached you like you were an injured animal he was trying not to scare away. Your heart thundered in your chest.
“Hi,” he said in what you knew was his gentlest voice.
You couldn't bring yourself to speak. Still, after everything, you missed him. And seeing him now… it was too much to bear. Yet, too much to walk away.
“I'm sorry,” he said softly, his eyes swimming with pain and affection. His shadows were on full display, despite the fact that they usually shied away from the sun.
“You've already said that,” you murmured, still rooted to the spot.
“I know. And I'll keep saying it every chance I get. If I knew where you lived, I'd send you flowers or a book or dinner from that restaurant you love every day and I'd tell you I'm sorry and that I love you.” His voice was shaky in a way you had never heard from the shadowsinger.
“You would not,” you said, trying to sound angry but it just came out weak.
“Of course I would,” he said, risking a step closer to you. “I would do anything to take your pain away. You have to believe that.”
You did. You did believe that he meant it. But you didn't know if it would be enough.
For a moment you let yourself gaze at the man you once trusted with your whole heart. He looked thinner, like he hadn't been eating enough. His eyes were still hollow, dark bags beneath them. Even his wings drooped slightly. He might look even worse than you did.
And yet, you could still see the beautiful, sweet shadowsinger you had fallen in love with so long ago.
Finally you said quietly, “I'll tell Rhys he can give you my address.”
Those hazel eyes sparked with hope. And love. Definitely love.
---
The only thing I wanna do
Is make it up to you.
When you went out the next morning, there was a book left at your doorstep with a note attached.
It was the newest from one of your favorite authors. Your lips formed the tiniest smile.
The note read:
I couldn't start my groveling with something too cliche, so I went straight for your romance novels.
I've never told you this, but I always love when you tell me about the books you’re reading. Your entire face lights up when you do. And you know I love a fairytale ending.
I hope you have a good day today.
I'm so sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry for hurting you.
I love you so much. I always will.
-Az
You couldn't help but laugh a little by the time you got to the end. As if anybody else would be writing you this note.
The next morning when you stepped out your door, there was a pastry from your favorite cafe in a to-go bag. On the bag was a note:
I'm really hoping you'll find this in the morning so it's still good.
If not, you just come let me know and I'll drop everything to get you a fresh one.
I miss you.
My life is a nightmare without you.
I'm so sorry.
I love you.
-Az
And so it went. Every morning, rain or shine, Azriel would leave something that he knew you would love, with a note, always ending in some version of I'm sorry. I love you.
It did warm your heart that had turned so cold. The dedication alone was enough to prove to you that he really was sorry for what he did.
Yet, every time a note would make you laugh or cry so much that you wanted to run to his arms, you were always stopped by that image that plagued your mind. By the fact that he did what he did and no amount of little gifts would change it.
Months passed, and to Azriel's credit, the gifts, and more importantly the notes, kept coming. Your bedside drawer was completely full of them. And there may have been a night or two when you missed him so desperately that you would read them over and over again until your eyes burned and you had no choice but to cry yourself to sleep.
You would sometimes lay awake at night, picturing him coming up to your door. Several times you wanted to wait up for him, to listen for his footsteps, to pull him into your apartment, forget everything that happened and just be happy again.
But you never had the nerve. You were terrified of going through it all again.
Until one day, there was no gift at your door. No note. No sign of him anywhere.
Your heart plummeted. Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? Injured on some mission Rhysand sent him on?
Or had he finally given up on you?
It wasn't until that moment that you were willing to admit to yourself how much you had been relying on those notes, those little pieces of him.
You went through your day in a daze, devastated all over again.
It was early in the evening when there was a knock on your door. For a moment, you hoped it would be Azriel. You hadn't actually seen him for months. But you quickly realized it was more likely to be one of your friends, who still came by, despite what you had initially thought.
So, the breath was knocked completely out of you when it was indeed the shadowsinger waiting on the other side of the door.
His handsome face, his soft expression, on his face made you want to weep. You missed him so much.
Azriel smiled somewhat shyly as he gazed down at you, holding a paper bag in his hand. “I'm sorry it's late. Rhys has got me scouting out some things, and I didn't get back here until now. I brought dinner,” he said, holding it out to you.
You recognized it from your favorite restaurant. With shaking hands, you took it from him, spotting the note attached to the outside.
I'm sorry. I love you.
I'm sorry. I love you.
I'm sorry. I love you.
Over and over again it was repeated, taking up the entire paper. You placed it on a table inside before your gaze flicked back to him. He was watching you closely, his wings tucked in tightly behind him.
“I thought you gave up on me,” you whispered.
His timid smile fell. “Never,” he said softly. “I'll never give up on you. I love you so much.”
Tears brimmed your eyes and all of a sudden, you knew you couldn't take it anymore. You didn't want to hate him, you didn't want to dwell on the one awful thing that he had done. You had a drawer full of wonderful things that he had done.
“I love you, too,” you murmured, the tears spilling freely down your cheeks now.
A sound that sounded distinctly like a sob escaped Azriel, and he wrapped his arms around you, crushing you into his chest. “I never thought I'd hear you say that again,” he sniffed, his hand cupping the back of your head, kissing your temple.
After a long moment, he took your face in his hands, gazing at you for a moment before he slowly kissed your tears away. You laughed lightly and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you so softly, like he was afraid you would break.
“I love you,” he murmured against your mouth. “I love you so much.”
You pulled back long enough to gently brush his tears away. ��No more secrets. If you're struggling with something, you need to tell me.”
“I know. I'm sorry. No more secrets.”
“And nobody else. Ever.”
He winced. “I'm so sorry, love.”
“I know you are,” you said softly, cupping his cheek in your hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
You rose to your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.
At last, you had found your way back home.
#acotar fic#acotar one shot#acotar x reader#azriel x reader#acotar#azriel one shot#azriel#azriel acotar#azriel x you#azriel angst#acotar angst#acotar fanfic#angst#angst with a happy ending#request#azriel fanfic#acotar azriel
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wet dreamz || sim jaeyun x reader
note: 18+ mdni!! y’all know the song lol changed it up a lil for the story tho :P this turned out longer than i expected and maybe needs a part two (??? lmk) also this is my first time writing full smut so i hope it’s not too bad and that y’all enjoy anyway okayy gn :3 not proofread sorry!!
this had honestly never happened to jake before; waking up in his bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked.
he just couldn’t help it though.
you hadn’t even noticed him before you got partnered up for a project. but him? oh, his eyes were on you the second you walked through that door on the first day of class.
how pretty you looked laughing with your friends. the sweet smell of your perfume as you walked past. the way you always got the answers right when you got called on. it started off so innocent, just a little campus crush.
after you became partners, everything changed though. the project went perfectly, of course, with both of you acing the class it was easy. but after it was over, you didn’t go back to sitting with your friends like jake thought you would. you stayed there, right next to him, every day.
you became friends. you exchanged phone numbers and you hung out quite often in the library or student center. the more time you spent together, the more jake’s want for you grew.
jake just didn’t understand how you could be so effortlessly perfect for him though.
you, on the other hand, knew exactly what you were doing. you’d observed jake long enough to know that he’s probably never made it past second base with a girl.
the way he’d turn red when you’d scoot over touching your thighs to his. the way his mouth went dry when you’d lean over his desk in a very low cut shirt. even the way he’d stare at your lips after you applied your lip gloss.
all the things you purposefully did to get his attention. because obviously how could you not go after him, he was just your type. sweet, nerdy guy who was also extremely hot.
and so far, you were doing an excellent job at it. but you were getting a little impatient with him, so you decided to tell him about this loser guy who took you out the other day. and fuck it, you decided to slip it into the conversation that he couldn’t even make you finish.
you smiled when the text bubbles appeared and disappeared over and over again. how cute.
jakeyjakey: don’t let someone like that take you out again.
you: ikr. need to find someone who can get the job done…
jakeyjakey: if you gave me the chance y/n, i’d show you a great time.
it definitely wasn’t expected but who were you to complain when this is exactly what you wanted. so you let him know that your roommate would be gone visiting family this weekend & that maybe he should come over…
so he went to bed that night, thinking about the weekend coming up. thinking about you.
and he had a sweet, sweet dream. it was so realistic too. the way your pillows smelled like you as he laid back on them with you on his lap. how soft your thighs were as his fingers grazed over them. your eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, and your voice so quiet he could barely hear it over his heartbeat.
he felt the coil in his stomach tighten the second your lips were on his. you tasted like strawberries (or at least that’s what he thought you’d taste like because of your pink gloss).
you held his face gently as you kissed him. and your tongue slipped inside his mouth so easily when he let out a deep moan for you. his eyes squeezed shut as he felt you grind down on him. your pace speeding up the longer his lips were on yours.
“jake,” you panted, he didn’t know he could want to hear your voice more but you proved him wrong with the way you sounded right now. “can you touch me?”
he could’ve came right then but he took a deep breath to compose himself and nodded, his eyes not leaving yours. he dragged his hands up your thighs and under your skirt, stopping at your ass to give it a squeeze to which you let out a whine.
giving his confidence a boost, he kept going up with one of his hands, pressing down on your lower back to close the small distance between your bodies and grinding up into you.
he broke the kiss to look down between your bodies and saw your hands working on unbuttoning his pants. he didn’t know how his breathing could become even more ragged but it did. especially so when he felt your cold hands pull his cock out of his pants, and he had to look away. he squeezed his eyes shut trying to focus but how could he with your delicate hands stroking him so perfectly.
“jakey, you said you’d show me a good time,” you said, looking up at him with those irresistible eyes of yours. fuck, fuck was all jake could think as he rolled you over, positioning himself between your legs.
“i know i did, angel,” he whispered by your ear, placing a kiss right below it. he reached under your skirt, then pulled your underwear all the way down your legs. “i’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”
he lined himself up quickly, not wanting to look like he’d never done this before. then he leaned down for a quick peck making you smile into the kiss and hearing that pretty little laugh he loves to hear. now he could push in gently and it was easier than he thought it’d be.
there was still resistance though because you were tight. so tight he had to drop his head down beside you and just breathe for a second. he could honestly just stay here forever, his cock buried so deep in you. he loved the feeling more than he expected.
you placed a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, your other hand soothing his arm that supported his weight above you. and he wanted this you always, every day, never wanted to hear you talk about another man again.
so he started thrusting into you, slow but hard thrusts. with you squeezing his arm, pulling on his hair, and moaning out his name, he was a goner for sure. “yes, that’s what i wanna hear,” he said, lips on yours as he kissed you again.
he kissed on your neck, and brought his hand down to rub circles on your clit just like in the videos he studied for you. he never heard your voice this loud before, couldn’t believe the way you looked with your head thrown back as you came around him.
he was close now too, knew his thrusts were getting sloppier. but you wrapped your legs around his waist, lifting your hips to meet his thrusts. “god, you’re so good for me,” he whined.
“i’m so close,” he said, kissing you again as you put your arms around his neck. then he heard you whisper something that he didn’t quite catch, he leaned in closer so you could repeat it.
“babe, please come in me,” you whispered. and that’s all it took for him to come undone, a moaning mess as he filled you up. he was panting at this point, trying to regulate his breathing.
and unfortunately that’s exactly how he woke up. in his own bed, heart racing, covered in sweat, and pants soaked. only one thing, or more specifically, person on his mind.
#heart4gyu#violetsblog#sim jaeyun#jake sim#enhypen#kpop#enhypen x y/n#enhypen x reader#enhypen hard hours#enhypen x you#enhypen oneshots#enhypen drabbles#enhypen imagines#enhypen jake#jaeyun x reader#jake hard hours#jaeyun imagines#jake x reader#jake hard thoughts#jake smut
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Steve Harrington needed hearing aids.
He wasn't born needing them. In fact, he was just about as healthy as a young man in his social class could be. But numerous head injuries eventually led to gradually worsening hearing loss, leading him to needing mostly useless hearing aids.
His damage was so severe he actually needed cochlear implants but his parents kicked him out of their house and off of their insurance plan when he got caught kissing his teammate back in high school. With his minimum wage job and splitting rent with his roommate Robin, he currently did not make enough money for such a luxury.
So he did the next best thing: he learned ASL.
It was free, other than his time invested, and Robin was the one to suggest it. After all, she was already fluent in five languages and had been in band for twelve years. If anyone could teach herself and a hard of hearing person to sign, it was Robin Buckley.
The only bad part was, they were the only two who seemed to know the damn language, leaving Steve to strain to hear or read lips lest he get (mostly) silently yelled at by some deranged customer.
So when he spotted a guy around his age with long, dark curly hair and perfectly round black glasses with side shields, he knew he had to act.
He knew what it was like to have people gloss over the fact that you exist, or even berate you for it; so he took a page out of Robin's book.
He learned braille.
Sure, technically Steve could still speak to the boy, but wouldn't it be more special if he could read what Steve wanted to say?
So he practiced and practiced until he was happy, bringing the card to work where his crush appeared to be a regular.
As Steve sees him walk in, he knows today's the day.
⠓⠊ ⠊ ⠁⠍ ⠎⠞⠑⠧⠑ ⠎⠕⠗⠗⠽ ⠊⠋ ⠞⠓⠊⠎ ⠊⠎ ⠺⠑⠊⠗⠙ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠚⠥⠎⠞ ⠺⠁⠝⠞⠑⠙ ⠞⠕ ⠎⠁⠽ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠁⠗⠑ ⠗⠑⠁⠇⠇⠽ ⠉⠥⠞⠑ ⠁⠝⠙ ⠊ ⠺⠕⠥⠇⠙ ⠇⠊⠅⠑ ⠞⠕ ⠁⠎⠅ ⠽⠕⠥ ⠕⠥⠞ ⠕⠝ ⠁ ⠙⠁⠞⠑
Hi I am Steve sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you are really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date
Steve is giddy when he wanders over to the boy in dark clothes. He had on black jeans that are ripped at the knees, a Metallica band tee, a leather jacket, and a denim battle vest. He's perfect. He's hot.
Steve's footsteps must be louder than he expects because the object of his affection immediately turns in his direction.
"Hi," Steve greets as he presses the thick stock paper into his hands.
The boy angles his head down with a frown as he traces an index finger over the raised dots, before looking right at Steve behind those dark frames.
He takes them off, and Steve learns after so long that his eyes are brown.
"I'm sorry," his crush says, Steve recognizing those syllables easy enough, "But I can't read this. What is it you're trying to say?"
But now that response is too much, Steve can't keep up. All he knows is the card he worked so carefully punching little holes in with a special tool he had to buy was now being pushed back into his hands.
Steve doesn't try to answer, he just wants to get the hell away before his tears spill over, but a hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks.
He tenses, squeezes his eyes shut and braces for impact, but when a familiar hit doesn't land on his face, he cautiously opens his teary eyes to find him staring right at Steve.
"Are you okay?" He asks, but Steve can't be quite sure if he's checking on him or asking if he's gay.
Steve's own frown appears on his face as he points to his ears.
"Can't hear too good."
His mouth drops open, rushing to spiel something Steve doesn't catch. He must realize this because he's taking Steve's card back from him now as he mimics writing something with raised eyebrows.
Steve nods his head, more confused that the guy he thought was blind seemed to be understanding him perfectly.
He fishes out the little pad of paper and pen he keeps with him for moments not quite like this, passing the two items over.
He scribbles for a moment before letting Steve read what he's written in big loopy letters.
Hi, I'm Eddie. Sorry, I can't read braille. What did you say?
Steve furrows his brows.
I thought you might know it. Aren't you blind?
Eddie shakes his head with a little smile.
The glasses? I have killer migraines. Never go anywhere without them.
Steve smacks himself in the face. He's been such a fool!
Eddie taps him to gain his attention once more before handing him the notepad and pen.
What did you say? I'd like to know :)
Steve worries his bottom lip.
Hi I'm Steve. Sorry if this is weird but I just wanted to say you're really cute and I would like to ask you out on a date
He's nervous as he hands it back, but Eddie's wide grin and eager nod does wonders to knock back those worries.
I thought you'd never ask, Steve.
#Some steddie au to soothe soul#canon typical violence for Steve tho#eddie's migraine wear inspired by my migraine wear#we wear sunglasses inside bitch#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#steddie ficlet#hard of hearing steve harrington#steddie au
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Red Summer | Ghoap x F!Reader | Slasher!AU
After breaking up with your long term boyfriend you take a job working as a camp counselor in Northern Vermont. Seven weeks of swimming, volleyball, archery and hiking. There's even a hot lifeguard. It seems perfect until you find something evil is lurking in the woods
Tags: Slasher AU, Ghoap x Reader, intro chapter, nondescript reader, dark fic
Chapter 1: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
5.5k words
It smelled like Summer. Ozonic and earthy, carried into your car by the breeze as you drove North through winding roads. Montpelier was two hours behind you now.
Despite the eighty degree heat, Vermont was lush and green. Only a couple more miles of shaded forest roads before you reached camp. At least you hoped so. Your maps app had been slow to load the last twenty miles.
The place was North, nestled between the border of Canada and the New Hampshire state line. It was gorgeous though. Anytime you thought about moving out of New England to somewhere cheaper the next season changed your mind. The trees just didn’t look as pretty in fall or the snow as splendid in winter. You just wished it was cheaper.
Suppose that’s why you took this job, as much as it didn’t appeal to you. Camp counselor for seven long weeks, the pay was shit but your food and board came free. After a bad breakup you didn’t have time to find a new lease so your life was packed up into a rented storage box with anything valuable shoved into the back of your car.
A friend of a friend recommended it. She’d been working here for years, attended for even more. She was an old money New Englander. Boarding school outside of Boston and all that. She was nice though. Got you the job over any qualified candidates. It wasn’t nepotism but whatever it was called you wouldn’t complain.
Your car dinged. Low gas. Shit.
Scrolling quickly through the map you saw a gas station up ahead. You’d just make it… hopefully.
You let out a sigh of relief as you pulled into the station. It was older with dusty windows and sun-faded posters for cigarettes.
A piece of paper was taped to the pump.
“Reader broken. Pay inside” scribbled in sharpie.
You sighed and headed inside.
It was dusty inside too. A couple aisles of brightly packaged food and walls lined with fridges filled with beer and soda. The man behind the counter glanced up from his book when you walked in.
He was handsome. Black with dark, short cut curly hair and big brown eyes. Much too handsome to be working in the middle of nowhere. He’d look more fitting in the corner of a bar, buying you a drink. He smiled up at you and your heart might have skipped a beat.
“Pump three? How much?” He was English… strange.
“Just…uh… ten bucks.” You stumbled out.
“It’s the accent,” he chuckled. “It throws everybody off the first time.”
“It’s a strange place for an Englishman to be, I guess.” You swayed awkwardly.
“I go to Middlebury. Easier to get a summer job than fly home.” He shrugged.
“Understandable.” You weren’t an expert on Vermont geography but you swore the college was on the other side of the state.
“Ten on three.” He said, nodding his head towards the window.
“Oh yeah. Thank you.”
“You still got to pay, love.”
“Oh fuck, yeah. Sorry… uh… Kyle.” You read his name tag before digging through your tote bag, finding the last bit of your cash.
“No worries. What brings a girl like you out here.”
“I’m working at the camp.”
“Weldon lake, right?”
“Yeah. First time… I’m going the right way, right?”
“If you continue up the road. There will be a sign when you need to turn.” He handed you your receipt.
“Thank you.”
“Hey!” You were half way out the door when he called. “Stay alive out there. Heard the campers can be down right evil.”
“I’ll try!”
The rest of the journey was smooth, there was a sign just like Kyle said. Another one after that taking you down a long gravel drive and into a dirt parking lot. A couple other cars were there already.
You made sure everything important was locked up in the trunk before grabbing your duffel bag and tote. You hoped you brought enough sunscreen.
The sun was warm on your back as you made your way up to the main building. Two other girls were hanging around on the porch. They each wore matching white baseball shirts with red sleeves and trim, each labeled with STAFF on the back.
“Hey, you’re Sophia’s friend, right? I’m Janie.” She jumped down from the porch fence. “I love your braids by the way.”
You’d done your hair before leaving, figuring it’d be easier to keep clean braided than fight for limited shower time.
“I’m Natalie,” The other girl greeted. You introduced yourself, thanking Janie for the compliment.”
“I think your cabin is next to mine. I can take you over once you check in.” Janie said.
Check in was easy enough. Sign a couple more papers, show off your ID to prove you were you and get your cabin assignment, key and two staff shirts. Tomorrow was orientation before the campers arrived Monday morning. Tonight was for getting to know everyone.
“So, where’s this cabin?” you asked, walking outside.
The girls grinned and led you down the path. Everything seemed to branch off from here. They pointed out where the dining hall was just past the main office next to the nurse’s station.
“Don’t expect much. They’re still recovering from when Covid almost killed this place.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. They had to raise fees and a bunch of parents freaked out. Guess an extra hundred dollars really threw all the millionaires off.” Natalie laughed.
Next was the pool, fully fenced in and surrounded by two tennis courts and two basketball courts on either side.
“Hey lasses!” A man called from the pool, leaning over the chain link fence. Natalie rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Who’s the new girl?”
He had a thick Scottish accent. Lots of transplants for the area, you guessed. He was also handsome. Muscular with a dark mohawk and light eyes. He was shirtless with very short and tight red shorts on and a silver whistle around his neck. He was dripping water over the ground.
“You say that like you aren’t also the new guy, Johnny!” Natalie called, clearly annoyed already.
“Nat hates him.” Janie giggled.
“It’s been three hours and he’s already tried to fuck half the counselors. He’s a dog.”
“One I’d put on a leash.” Janie laughed.
Johnny walked over, still dripping wet. His crocs squeaked with every step.
“Johnny,” he grinned, holding out his hand to you. You introduced yourself as he shook your hand excitedly. He had a tattoo on his side, up by his ribs. You couldn’t see all of it but it looked like a heart with someone’s initials in it. S and something else, you couldn’t tell for sure. “Beautiful name for a beautiful gal.”
Your cheeks felt hot as his blue eyes traveled over your body.
“It’s going to be a fun seven weeks with all you bonnie lasses around.” He grinned. Nat looped her arm around yours.
“Down dog. We still have half the camp to show off.”
“You know where to find me. Pool looked like the lake when I got here.” He raised his hands up as he walked backwards towards the pool again.
“Come on, before we lose Janie.”
“He’s hot!” She defended.
“You just like him because he got your name right on the first try.”
“He’s intelligent too!”
The cabins were next. Ten white painted buildings split in half with about eight beds on each side and a shared bathroom in the back. They formed a circle around a fire pit with log benches.
You had cabin room 14. Janie was the building next door in 15 and Nat with 16 sharing with her. They took turns explaining everything.
“Your bed is the only non bunk and the chest underneath locks so anything you don’t want the campers to find should go there.”
“Basically all your shit. I had a copy of Crime and Punishment stolen last year. Fucking Crime and Punishment like any of these kids could read Dostoevsky.”
“Showers are in the back. Hot water is sparse so if you want some, move quick and early.”
“Breakfast is at 8. Coffee tastes like shit unless you pour half a pound of sugar in it.”
“You can vape just outside but if you smoke you gotta ask your neighbor counselor to watch your kids. At least thirty feet away or they’ll snitch too.”
“Weed is only for days off because they'll either snitch or demand you share. That goes for kids and counselors.”
“Days off are randomly assigned but you should get one every other week.”
“I don’t recommend sleeping with other counselors but if you must, go to your car.” Natalie said.
“We’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is in an hour. You can meet everyone else then.”
“Thank you guys for everything.” You felt overwhelmed just a bit.
They left, still arguing about Johnny. He was cute but the break up wounds were still fresh. You didn’t want to sneak around either. You weren’t a teenager anymore.
You haphazardly dumped the contents of your duffle into the lock chest before shoving it back under the bed. You had seven weeks to organize it.
The bed was okay. A plastic covered mattress with an old sleeping bag. You should have brought your own pillow. Maybe a Target run on your next day off whenever that was.
The ache in your muscles from driving all day hit hard the moment you sat down.
There was a knock on the door.
“Hey sleepyhead!” Sophia came in. You rubbed your face as you woke up. Out the window you could see the sky looked darker, a blue summer evening. “I’m glad you ended up coming.”
“Yeah. Thanks for getting me the job.” You stretched, your shoulders cracking. “It’s nice to get away.”
“I’m sorry about you and Ale.” There it was. She was nice but always craved gossip.
“It’s okay. Just wanted different things.”
You shrugged. It wasn’t a bad breakup, no arguing, just a slow and painful demise. He’d even offered to let you stay with him when the lease ended and he found out you didn’t have a place to go. You chose this instead.
“Well, let’s get you something to eat. The food is incredibly mediocre but I heard a rumor that the lifeguard has beer and weed for the fire pit.”
She was not wrong about dinner. Hot dogs with a slice of Kraft cheese melted on top with a bag of chips as a side.
You sat with Nat, Sophia and Janie.
“There are my lovely ladies!” Johnny sat down, forcing his way between Cel and Sophia. Nat looked like she wanted to kill him. “Coming out to the lake tonight? Hope you all brought swim suits or birthday suits.”
“Jesus Christ.” Nat groaned.
“I think we’re gonna have an easy night. Some of us had long drives.” Sophia motioned to herself and you. “Just some girl time.”
Johnny pouted.
“Fair enough but I do expect all of you at the bonfire tomorrow.” He pointed at all of them, even Nat. “Especially you new girl.”
He got up and jogged off to another table of girls.
“Am I allowed to call him a slut?”
“What happened to dog?” Janie asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Dogs can be trained.”
You all laughed. You’d been worried that you wouldn’t fit in. All the other girls knew each other for years at this point. Janie and Sophia had been coming here since they were kids. Nat met Janie in high school and got a job as a junior counselor with her the first chance they got.
It wasn’t a super attractive job and the pay was shit but it looked good on resumes and college applications apparently. Showed responsibility. Most of your experiences with camp were from horror films.
The sun was still out as the four of you walked back. Sophia was your cabin neighbor, taking care of room 13. It’s where you all gathered.
Sophia and you sat on her bed while she did your nails.
“Red looks nice on you.” It was a bright cherry red. She’d picked it out, saying they should all match.
The evening was spent talking and laughing. You asking questions about camp life and getting advice from the other girls.
You had friends back home but you were glad you fit in so fast. Any anxiety and fear for the Summer slipped away as the sun set.
“I’m beat.” Nat yawned. It was almost midnight now. Janie agreed and the two wandered off back to their cabin.
“I’ll head back too. Thank you for being so welcoming, Soph.”
“Absolutely! It’s nice to get fresh meat every once and a while. It can be tough with the kids so some people get jaded. I hope you have fun this Summer and if you don’t you can blame me.” She laughed.
The air was cool on the little porch out front. Most of the other cabins had their lights off by now and the center was lit up with fireflies, neon yellow dots.
There was an orange dot out towards the back of one of the cabins across the way. A cigarette. The man smoking it seemed larger than any counselor you’d seen but it was dark and he was half hidden behind the building. It was Johnny’s cabin, you think. He was big.
He waved and you waved back. He dropped the cigarette and stamped it out. The little corner fell dark and you went into your side.
You didn’t realize how quiet the world could be as you curled up in your sleeping bag. No hum of electronics or cars. No people yelling above or below you. Just the stillness of the stars.
It was an early morning. Johnny was running around the circle of cabins playing music to wake everyone up. He was shirtless again and his shorts seemed shorter than the day before. You wouldn’t complain.
“So why did you choose this wonderful vista as a summer job?” Johnny asked, jogging up next to you as you made your way to the dining hall.
“Needed a break. Get out in nature for a bit. I grew up in the suburbs and just broke up with my boyfriend so I guess I wanted to breathe for a bit. You?”
“Running from my previous life of crime.” He smiled. “Nah, just also trying to get away. Was military back home, knee injury did me in. Didn’t know what else to do. Hiked part of the Appliachian trail. You know, it's the same mountain range as the Highlands. Felt like I had to see them. Haven’t really felt like going back home yet.”
“You hiked alone?” You raised an eyebrow. You knew that it was one of the longest and hardest trails in the country.
“Had a mate with me but I’m on my lonesome now.” He opened the door for you. Sure, he was boisterous but he seemed harmless one on one. Maybe a little dogish but he wasn’t going to hump your leg unprompted.
“Shirts are needed in the dining hall, Mactavish!” Sophia called. He held up his hands in surrender before fishing out a cropped muscle tee that had been shoved into his pocket. It was a nice change of pace to be around a man that wanted to show off his own skin rather than try to get girls to show theirs.
You told yourself before you got here that you wouldn’t look for that kind of distraction. It wasn’t worth it, especially not this early. You could look though. No harm in that.
Bacon, Eggs and self-serve cereal was today’s breakfast. You joined back up with the girls from last night. Orientation was supposed to take up most of the day so they encouraged you to grab a couple pieces of fruit and a protein bar.
“Only fill up your water bottle in here. There are fountains elsewhere but I think they taste weird.” Said Janie.
You were put in a group with Johnny, Sophia, and another guy named Warren. He and Sophia were long term counselors so they gladly took on the role of being you and Johnny’s tour guide. Johnny had been hired because of his lifeguard training so he already knew the layout of the lake and pool. You were scolded for not having proper shoes for hiking.
“What’s your size? I might have an old pair in my car.” Sophia offered. “If not I think there’s an L.L.Bean like two hours away. We can go on our next day off.”
You weren’t sure if you could afford brand new boots so silently hoped that Sophia did have that old pair and they fit.
“Don’t want ya getting blisters all summer.” Johnny said. He was doing the hike in crocs but apparently did have boots back at his cabin.
You didn’t do the full trail but Warren pointed out the different routes and how difficult each one was and which ones kids could do by themselves and which ones they couldn’t. The fields were next. A soccer field and baseball field were across the way from the cabins. It was a loose definition of each. One was a huge patch of grass and the other a diamond of dirt. Both looked a little off size wise. There was the sports supply shed that had all the equipment in it. Only a couple counselors had keys to it.
“People kept using it inappropriately.” Sophia smiled.
There was the art building, the rec hall, a path leading towards the archery field and riflery field.
“Riflery?”
“Yeah. We used to teach kids how to shoot. Mostly clay pigeons but it was one of the programs cut after Covid,” Warren explained.
“Shame I missed it. Could have taught the kids trick shots.” Johnny joked, pretending to aim a rifle backwards over his shoulder.
The horse stable was also closed. Too expensive to have horses here for even half the season.
The Lake was the last part of the tour. It was on the other side of the road so to get there was an underpass to get there. It was large enough for five adults to walk side by side comfortably but the yellow light from the lamps gave it a sickly vibe.
It ended a little ways before the beach. There were several rows of Kayaks and another shed filled with life preservers and paddles.
“Wow Johnny! You cleaned it up well.” Warren clapped him on the back. For a moment Johnny looked irritated that he’d been touched but he shoved that emotion out of the way to make room for his usual excited self.
“Yeah. Cleaned up the best I could.”
“It looks great, Johnny.” You were impressed. He’d even sprayed the kayaks down, bright clean plastic in a rainbow of colors.
“Yer making me blush.” He laid a hand over his heart.
The lake was gorgeous. Cream colored sand feeding into sapphire waters. You could just see the beach on the other side, a small empty dock with a path leading into the woods. The camp side had a floating platform about thirty feet into the water.
“Campers have to swim there and back to pass the swimming competency test.” Sophia explained. “If you can’t swim on your own you’re stuck in the buoyed area.”
There was a ten by ten foot area cordoned off by buoys, keeping to the shallow end of the lake. Made enough sense. No one wanted to fish a dead kid out of the water.
“Let’s head back. We don’t want to miss lunch.” Warren clapped his hands together.
The four of you made the trek back to the dining hall. You did feel like blisters were starting to form on the back of your ankles. You’d have to put band-aids on them later.
The rest of the afternoon was spent going over itinerary for the following week. Campers would arrive tomorrow between ten and six. It was a day mostly planned out for settling them in with an inaugural bonfire that night. After that it was seven weeks of regular old American camp adventures.
You went back to your cabin the moment you had free time. Your ankles hadn’t started to bleed but they were bright red and throbbing. You applied the bandaids and grabbed another pair of socks to wear the rest of the way.
There was about an hour and half before dinner and final orientation from the camp managers, who, you had been told, often made themselves scarce throughout the summer to avoid having to do their jobs. You settled on top of your sleeping bag. A nice breeze came in through the screen door. Janie had told you that it was the best way to keep the building cool.
You thought about Ale. His smile and deep laugh. How he’d wake you up in the morning with kisses to the back of your neck. How he loved your hair and ass. How he’d whisper in Spanish to you. You still had the English/Spanish dictionary he gave you shoved in a box back in the city. You missed him. Your cowboy. He would have been so disappointed to hear the stables were closed. Maybe you’d call him after all this. Ask to work something out.
You drifted off daydreaming about the scent of his cologne.
“Bonnie! You’re gonna miss dinner!” Johnny was knocking on the screen door. Maybe Nat was right in being annoyed by him all the time.
“I’ll just miss it.” you sighed, rolling over on the bed.
“You never know which meal is your last. Best not to skip any! C’mon or I’ll drag ya myself.”
You would have thrown a pillow if you had one. How did he always have so much energy?
He jogged literal circles around you on the way to the dining hall.
“How are your feet?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“You were limping on the way back to the cabins earlier.”
“Oh…yeah just blisters.”
He tutted at you.
“Got to get you some good shoes soon.”
Dinner was the same hot dogs as the previous night with a bonus of a bowl of lettuce, cherry tomatoes and a slice of cucumber.
There was an excited energy in the room. Most people who’d snuck in alcohol or drugs said tonight was the best night to use it all. An unspoken competition of who could drink the most and still function when the first campers started to arrive. It could be fun, you mused. You were never a big partier in college and what was this if not a perfect chance to make up for that.
The boys built up a nice fire, each poking and prodding their own side with their favorite stick. You sat on one of the log benches next to Sophia and Janie. Johnny was across the fire, his arm around the waste of another girl counselor. Ceilidh you think it was. Pronounced like Kay-lee, she’d said. Pretty name, Gaelic. Made sense for him to go after a piece of home.
“Glad he’s finally left us alone.” Nat chuckled.
“I think they’re cute.” Sophia said. You pushed down the twinge of jealousy you felt seeing her giggle at his joke.
Warren came around with a cooler filled with a hodgepodge of beer. He was his fraternity’s president and one of his responsibilities was to get rid of any extra at the end of the term to avoid trouble. Dry campus issues.
You grabbed a Modelo. Ale’s old go to and one you’d gotten used to drinking. It left a familiar warm feeling in your stomach.
You drank, you danced, you ate s’mores, you laughed with your new friends. The stars seemed so bright and clear out here. Janie had you all lay out on your backs in the grass nearby as she pointed out each constellation.
“That’s the big dipper and above it is the little dipper but Draco is the constellation between them. If you guys tell me your star signs I can point it out for you.”
There was laughter nearby and you glanced up to see Johnny and Ceilidh sneaking in the dark towards her cabin.
You had another beer. And another. Maybe one more after that.
Someone offered you a hit off a joint so you did that too.
The four of you were laughing and stumbling back to Sophia’s cabin. You had no idea how late it was. The fire was dying out. Warren said he would make sure everyone got back inside all right. The designated driver of drunken counselors. He was a good guy.
You found yourself laying on your side on one of the empty beds. Sophia and Janie were on her bed, half asleep against each other. Nat and you were talking about your childhoods.
“I broke a bone three years in a row, each time in May. I missed field day every time. My mom once pulled me around in a wagon so I wouldn’t feel left out,” She laughed.
“How did you break so many bones?”
“Catholic school where the playground was just a parking lot. I was a wild kid. I broke my arm tripping and falling against the priest’s car. I dented it too. I thought I was going to hell.”
There was a shrill noise. Loud and stomach dropping. A scream cut off. You and the other girls all jumped to attention. It was silent except for the crackling of the fire outside.
“Fisher cat.” Janie said, trying to convince herself.
“Or a fox.” Sophia added.
“Did you guys hear that?” Warren said, coming in.
The four of you nodded.
“It sounded close. I’m gonna check it out.”
“By yourself?”
“One of the other guys is gonna come with me. It’s probably just an animal. If you see Johnny tell him to go check on everyone. I want a headcount before we all go to sleep.”
You all watched from the window as Warren met another guy holding a flashlight and a baseball bat. Sophia turned on the porch light. They disappeared between the cabin’s across the way.
“Johnny and Celilidh went off together. Should we try to find them?” Sophia offered.
“Maybe we should just stay here. Safety in numbers.” Janie answered.
“Safety from what? It was just an animal.” Nat insisted.
“Didn’t sound like an animal.” You thought. No one else would say it but you were all thinking it. A slide show of clips from horror films played through your mind.
Four sets of eyes darted around, looking out windows and the front door, waiting for some masked killer to seep through the walls.
Bang!
You all screamed as Johnny flew through the door, clutching his stomach.
“We have to go now!” He grunted. Blood was pouring between his fingers.
“Oh my god. What happened? Where’s Ceilidh?”
“Dead… fuck.. She’s fucking dead. Fucker came in through the window in the bathroom. I tried to fight him off. I’m sorry.” He gulped. “We have to go now!”
“You’re bleeding. Please let me look.” Janie reached out and he pushed her hand away.
“Don’t have time. We have to go. Get my car keys. I can fit us all.”
“What about everyone else?” You asked. There was so much blood, it was dripping on the floor now.
“I don’t know… when..when’s the last time you saw anyone?”
There was another scream from outside. Silence took you over again.
“Please… we can get out and get help but we have to go now.” Johnny pleaded. His bright blue eyes were watery and his tan skin was stained red down his legs.
“I’m going.” Sophia said, grabbing her backpack. “Fuck this. I’m not fucking dying like it’s a movie. We’re all going. Johnny, do you need help?”
“No, I can manage. I need to get my keys though.”
“I have mine. We can just take my car. It’s an SUV.” Sophia urged, crouching down to look out of the door.
“No…no…I…I uh…I have a gun in my car.”
“You brought a fucking gun to camp?” Nat’s jaw dropped.
“Old shotgun. It works. I’m trained for this. Get to the car and I… I can kill him.”
“You’re bleeding out, Johnny.” Janie cried, reaching for him again and once again being pushed away.
“Come with me.” Johnny looked at you.
“I…I…I don’t know.” You were shaking. It didn’t seem real. Too cliche. A real life spree killer running around the woods of a Summer camp. Sophia was right, you didn’t want to die like it was some movie.
“He knows I’m weak. He’ll go after me first. We’ll get my keys and if he shows up… you take them and run.”
“You..can’t sacrifice yourself.” Your voice warbled.
“It was my job to do that. If I can’t die saving my country, I’d like to die saving a group of pretty girls.”
Johnny was pleading. He seemed to know he couldn’t do it on his own. You thought about Ale saying you needed to stand up for yourself more. You never did. You didn’t stand up to bullies in high school, rogue professors in college or shitty demeaning bosses. You didn’t even stand up for yourself when Ale said he wanted a break.
Nat was saying how you should all just run to Sophia’s car. She had her keys. Sophia was agreeing. Janie was crying silently.
“I’ll go.” You forced the words out like vomit. It was that or actual vomit.
“Okay.” He almost smiled. “Sophia, turn off the lights. We’ll give you a signal when it's safe to come out. Then we all run to the parking lot.”
“What’s the signal?” Janie sobbed.
“I’ll whistle.”
You were shaking so much you worried you’d fall right down the front steps of the cabin. Johnny was in front of you, shoulders hunched up, his eyes darting everywhere. Sophia turned off the lights, leaving the two of you in near darkness. The fire was nothing more than orange smoldering logs.
“You seem like you’ve done this before.” You said quietly, finding yourself holding the bottom hem of his shirt.
“Like I said. It was my job.”
You walked on your tiptoes, trying not to make any noise. Your heart cried for the others. Even if you didn’t know them. You didn’t hear or see anyone. Maybe they all got out? They escaped already…or the killer was chasing them deeper into the woods.
You didn’t want to die. In the movies it always seemed so prolonged. The stabbings and bleeding out. Johnny had been hurt and he was still going on, trying to save you and everyone else.
“Stay here. I’ll go check to make sure it's clear.” He said. You’d made it to his cabin, whole body still shaking just on his porch now. Your heart leapt into your throat as the door creaked open.
“Be careful, please.”
He winked at you before heading in. You picked at the skin around your nails, a nasty old habit that you tried so hard to kick. You could forgive yourself for this relapse. It seemed an appropriate time to scratch out anxiety.
The step behind you creaked. Any light from the fire was blocked out. A arm wrapped around your neck and pulled you flush with a wall of muscle. You screamed for Johnny as a knife cut into your stomach.
It hurt worse than you thought it would. He was stabbing you over and over. All those movies and none prepared you for the sound that came from being stabbed yourself. The rush of blood in your head. You kicked and scratched the best you could, catching the gap of skin between his gloves and sleeves. Flesh caught under your nails and tore. The knife cut sideways across your stomach. Something wet and heavy hit the floor by your feet.
“Fucking cunt.” The man growled. You could have thrown up if it didn’t feel like your stomach had been torn open.
You hit the porch face first, no strength left to even try to hold yourself up. Blood pooled in your mouth. He stepped around you and in the corner of your eye you could make him out.
Large, well over six feet and bulky with large shoulders. A half skull mask covered the top part of his face. His head was buzzed. He had a hunting knife in his hand and it dripped your blood onto the wood and onto your face.
“Johnny!” Your killer called. You’d doomed him too. He could have gotten away. Johnny would die and it would be your fault. They all would now and it was your fault.
You closed your eyes as the throbbing subsided. You didn’t want to listen. He was so nice. He didn’t deserve it.
You didn’t deserve this.
You closed your eyes and let yourself slip away.
You heard music. Loud obnoxious music and singing from an off key baritone scot.
You opened your eyes and you were in your sleeping bag in your cabin. It was Sunday morning again.
Shout out to @ceilidho for being an inspiration to me to write darker fics and letting me use her name for a counselor.
#ghoap x reader#ghoap#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#dark fic#slasher!ghost#slasher AU#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#modern warefare 2#cod modern warfare#ghost soap#soap mactavish#horror au#ghost x soap#ghostsoap#soapghost#red summer
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F1 Grand Prix of Miami | Media Day
May 02, 2024
When he [Adrian] started at Red Bull, he was incredibly important for the success that they have. I think over time, his role has changed a bit. And I think a lot of people don't understand what he was actually doing. I don't say he wasn't doing anything - but his role has evolved. A lot of, you know, good people came into the team that has strengthened that whole department. Of course, I would have preferred him to stay, for sure. Because you can always rely on his experience. Just as a person, he was a great guy to relate to. He was very bright, very smart. And he would also talk to the driver. And then he would interpret that into the car. And he would try to imagine himself driving. But I also really trust that the technical team that we have outside of Adrian is very, very strong. And they have basically shown that for the last few years how competitive the car is. So on the outside, it looks very dramatic. But I think if you actually know what is happening inside the team, it's not as dramatic as it seems.
What has been the impact on you personally, this year so far. The allegations made against Christian [Horner] and now Adrian departing because of those allegations.
Well, I think all of these things a couple of years ago would have been a bit unexpected. But, I think it's always very important to remain calm and focus on your job. Know who you're working with. Feel comfortable. And at the end of the day, we need to have the fastest car. That's what I always demanded. That's what we finally got a couple of years now. And, we have a very strong technical team that are part of the team still for a long time. So, yeah, basically, it goes on like it was going.
Have you tried to talk to him? Convince him to stay?
I don't need to convince anyone. Because at the end of the day, if someone really wants to leave, they should leave. That's also what I wrote to him. We talk. I mean, it's not like suddenly you don't talk anymore. But if you think that is the right decision for yourself and family, or you seek a different challenge or whatever, you have to do it. At the end of the day, F1 is a shark tank. Everyone thinks about themselves at the end of the day. I know that. I’m not stupid. So that’s fine.
Are you surprised that he was able to negotiate an early release from his contract to potentially leave and work with one of your rivals?
In a way, I'm also not surprised. Because we respect him a lot. And we will always be very, very thankful for what he has done for the team, you know, over all these years. And that's why I think, yeah, I mean, I'm not talking for Christian. Remember, because at the end of the day, he has to discuss that with Christian about how the release terms and stuff are done. But I'm not surprised. Because I think, in a way, it would be maybe also a little bit unfair, you know, to try and just put him on gardening leave for a very long time, just thinking back at what he has done, you know, for the team. So, I guess there's, you know, there's mutual respect between two parties.
Would you like to see him stay?
Yes, for sure. But he says to me that he wants to seek a different challenge. Anyway, he's done so much for the team. It's not like he joined, hasn't achieved anything, and then leaves again. He's done so much that we're very appreciative of that. And then, at one point, it's been for, you know, how many years? Like 19, 20 years. So, if you then at one point say, like, that's enough, I want to do something else, that's fine as well. But you cannot deny that we would have probably preferred him to stay.
Do you think he's able to cause trouble when he's signing for a different team?
I think always, you know, with a person like Adrian, with his experience and, of course, the knowledge that he has from our team, it should be an advantage. But, on the other hand, at 26, again, you know, everything is very, very new, very different to how the cars are now. [The earliest he would] potentially join another team is in '25, then normally the cars are already designed for that year. That is something that you don't know how much influence he can have. But, for sure, with new regulations, if he would go somewhere else, with his knowledge, you know, he can bring a lot.
Are you afraid more people will leave?
I mean, I cannot speak for everyone else. At the moment, I think everyone is happy with their roles in the team. And who knows, maybe with Adrian leaving, what it will do to the team. It might not always seem negative, you know. And this is not something bad towards Adrian, but you see that in a lot of different companies, sports, sometimes. You know, when somebody has been part of the team for a long time, and then suddenly they leave, it's not always a negative thing. Maybe it promotes young talent. Of course, there will never be another Adrian, but that's what's fine with it. So, it's very important to appreciate what he has done. For us now, it's very important to just work with the people that we have available, and they are very good at what they do.
So, you’ve not been offered a contract for 150 million euros [Mercedes]?
At the end of the day, even if, let's say, that were the case, money is not going to be the differentiator for me to go somewhere. I'm happy with what I'm earning. It's about performance. Because I know myself that if I will be driving for P5 or P6, you get quite grumpy with yourself. So, it's always about performance at the end. I mean, everyone knows that, Toto also knows.
So, when he says that he is waiting for you. It’s quite a strange comment.
I think everyone should always be optimistic and hopeful in things. But at the moment, I can say that I'm optimistic with the team because I believe in the project that we have, with everyone involved. But at the end of the day, in sports, but also in life, we don't know what's going to happen in the future.
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With You, Even When I'm Not
Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader
Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.
Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort
Word Count: 5.5k+ words
A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...
Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”
You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”
Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.
- 8 Hours Ago -
Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.
“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.
“What do you mean?” you counter.
“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”
“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”
“Sure.”
Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.
“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.
“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”
You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.
“Have a good one,” you tell him.
“Be careful,” he replies.
You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.
“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.
“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”
Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.
“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”
“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.
“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.
“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”
“Oh. Uh, should we-“
“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”
“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”
“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”
“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”
Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.
“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”
“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.
“I’m counting on it.”
“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.
“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”
You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.
“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.
You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.
“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.
He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.
“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”
“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”
“What’s going on?”
Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.
“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”
“Why?”
“Ferguson was released.”
“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.
“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”
“Yes, sir.”
You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.
As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.
You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.
There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.
It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.
“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”
“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.
“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”
“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.
“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”
“We should find him,” Lucy says.
“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”
“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”
“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs.
“What now?” Lucy asks.
“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.
“Get out,” Ferguson demands.
He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.
“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.
He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe.
“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”
“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”
Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.
“You will never beat him,” you say.
“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.
He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.
Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.
“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.
He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.
“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.
“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”
“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.
Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.
“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”
“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”
“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.
“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”
Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.
“Tim,” you call out when you wake.
“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.
He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.
“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.
“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”
“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”
Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.
“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.
You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.
“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.
“You stopped him last time,” he answers.
He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.
“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”
You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.
“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”
He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.
“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.
He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”
“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.
Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.
“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”
“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.
He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.
“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.
“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”
The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.
“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.
He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.
“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”
“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.
You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.
“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”
“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.
He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.
“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”
Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.
“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”
He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.
“34831,” Tim says.
“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”
“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”
“What’s the number?”
“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”
“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”
“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”
Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.
“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.
“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”
“Don’t question it.”
“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”
“Then we’re back where we started?”
“Exactly.”
“Tim, what does that even mean?”
“She’s still here. They both are.”
Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.
“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.
“Thank you,” Tim whispers.
Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.
“Tim!” you yell.
Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.
“Tim, please,” you whisper.
“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear.
He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.
“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.
“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.
Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.
“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.
You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”
Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.
“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.
“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”
Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.
“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.
As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.
"Bradford!” Janssen calls.
He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.
What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.
“Tim,” you whisper.
Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.
Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.
“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.
Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.
“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.
Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.
“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”
When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.
Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.
“I need to go get backup,” he says.
“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.
You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.
“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”
“Tim, please.”
“Can I yell?”
You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.
“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.
Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.
“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.
He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.
“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”
You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.
“Thank you,” you say.
Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.
“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.
Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”
“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”
“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”
Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.
“It hurts,” you say softly.
“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.
“There’s a ladder?”
Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.
“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.
“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”
Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.
“Hold on,” he instructs you.
“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”
Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.
“Please just get me out of here.”
Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.
With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.
“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.
“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”
Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.
“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”
Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.
“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.
“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.
He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.
You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.
“It’s I love you backward, right?”
Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.
“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”
“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”
“I’m-“
“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”
Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.
You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.
“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.
“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”
Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.
#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader#tim bradford x fem!reader#tim bradford x y/n#tim bradford x you#tim bradford fic#tim bradford imagine#tim bradford the rookie#tim bradford#requests#fem!reader#the rookie abc
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How was to be in a gay relationship (klaine) on screen?
“It was fucking awesome man. I mean the main thing here, like not because I’m trying to be blasé about the obvious thing in this question because we are saying that this is a gay relationship, nowadays, we just call it a relationship on tv, but to contextualize it, a gay relationship on mainstream Fox Network, that’s a pretty cool thing to be a part of. I often equate my relationship to that whole experience to Slumdog Millionaire which is, if you are familiar with Slumdog Millionaire is a kid that gets ask a bunch of questions and he just so happens to have the experience to answer this very specific things, now being cisgender straight kid you go 'oh oh what? are you going to allow this guy to talk gay shit?', I’ve been so culturally queer my whole life, not because I’m trying you know, actually, I was gonna say not because I’m trying to be cool but I’m gonna erase that, is because I am trying to be cool. All the sh— in my life that I have tried to emulate, learn from and be inspired by are one hundred percent queer as f—. It was in queer communities that I’ve found people that I idolize, that I want to be, to learn something from. And I’d say that’s a gross generalization, that’s a lot of things and a lot of people. But I grew up in San Francisco in the ’90s. I watched men die. There was an awareness of the gay experience that was not a foreign concept to me. So, it was a narrative that I cared deeply about. I wasn’t like a f— saint or like 'I’m the man for the job', they hired me and they said, 'You’re the guy,' and I said, 'Okay, I’m the guy I will do my best, I will do my best to talk about it in the way I believe and a way that I’m passionate about'. So in many ways I’m glad that it was me because it was a thing that I really like showing up for and it meant a great deal to me that it meant a great deal to other people. Because when people say they were affected by that show or that relationship, it’s not because of me, it’s because of that relationship on a TV and the risks that people took to put that on TV and most important of all it took the people watching it to have the "aptitude" for seeing beyond what was maybe given to them in other avenues of culture. People of all ages, all spectrums of awareness say, 'I didn’t grow up with a show like that and it was a really meaningful thing for me to see,’ and I go ‘I didn’t grow up with a show like that’ and that would’ve been very meaningful for me too, you know?, regardless of the fact that I’m a straight kid. That has value. For anyone who’s been an underdog, we all know, in any shape or form — sexual, religious, biological, whatever — it has value because there’s going to be a lot of people who see that and go, 'Okay, I can now understand this in a context that maybe I wasn’t able to before'. So short story long, what was it like? It was a fucking privilege and I love talking about it and I’m so grateful I got to do it." - Darren Criss at the Chicago Comic & Entertainment Expo Q&A | April 27th, 2024
#i'm in a fucking rage rn#a transcript of what darren said at the c2e2#because y’all fucking suck for being stupid and only reading all those clickbait headlines with words out of context#and jumping to conclusions#instead of listening to what he ACTUALLY SAID#stop twisting his words#stop blowing things out of context#all that makes perfect sense#his whole worldview has been shaped by queer culture#so yes he IS culturally queer#and he fucking embraces it#he is grateful for that#and shows himself as an ally#what’s wrong with that?!?!?#he isn't taking advantage of the community#and he didn't make claims about his sexuality#so back off#and as a member of the community i'll tell u#that if something as simple as him painting his nails with bright colors#or him being comfortable surrounding himself of queer culture offends you#thats a fucking you problem#hope that one day we will stop going after the only few cis straight guys that are actually really trying to be good allies#and embrace our community and culture like this man does#⋯⋯⋯⋯#chicago comic & entertainment expo#c2e2#darren criss
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I also have another one for Remus. Just the reader kinda feeling down(can you tell I’m not doing that great rn but anyways) she doesn’t want to let anyone in because she doesn’t want anyone to try and fix it because there’s nothing to fix it’s a down moment. But Remus surprises her with some snacks and blankets and is just there. No talking no nothing just simply being there. I know this one would be hella short I just need some comfort (or it could totally be Remus plus marauders) thank you and again no rush 💕
hi sweetness! sorry this took so long! Remus x fem!reader
cw: tooth rotting fluff, hurt/comfort
422 words
You would never admit it, but you were wallowing. You hoped that you were doing a good job at hiding it, but you also knew that in your tired state, your facade was likely sloppy. You were slumped on the couch, forearm held dramatically over your eyes like a damsel-in-distress painting. Sitting in the complete silence of your living room. You didn't even pretend to be watching anything.
In typical circumstances, you would seek out Remus for comfort. It didn't feel fair, though. Remus is a fixer. It's not that he doesn't understand the need for emotional support. He absolutely does. It just really affects him when he feels helpless. If Remus could take every bad emotion, every negative feeling, off of you and onto himself, he would do it in a heartbeat. That's just him. So, you knew you couldn't put him in that position. There was nothing to fix. It was just a bad mood, brought on for no apparent reason. So, no matter how tempting it was to slink into the kitchen and collapse into his shoulder, you wouldn't. You would wait it out until this feeling passes.
Even though you knew that Remus was likely sitting at the bar counter, nursing a warm cup of tea. His usual blend, the one that has begun to have a calming effect on you like some strange pavlovian response.
And even if you knew that the sweater Remus had shucked on today was very, very, soft. And that his hair was particularly fluffy today. You sighed, tucking your legs up onto the sofa with you. You were curled in on yourself when your boyfriend quietly stepped into the living room. His footfalls were so silent that you didn't notice his presence until a blanket was being draped over you. It was wonderfully toasty, straight from the tumble dryer. You dropped your arm from your face, looking up at him pitifully.
"Scoot over, baby dove." He near whispered as he set a steaming mug of cocoa onto the side table. You made room for him on the couch, letting him under the blanket. You made no moves to lean on him. But you didn't protest when he wordlessly pulled you close, urging your head to lay on his chest. He smelled like pure Remus. Stale smoke, coffee, and parchment. Slightly masked by woodsy cologne. You sighed again, but this time it was closer to a satisfied hum. He buried his face into your hair.
"Just rest m' sweet girl. I've got you."
#marauders fanfiction#marauders#marauders fandom#remus lupin x reader#remus x reader#remus lupin drabble#remus lupin#remus lupin fic#remus lupin fanfiction#remus lupin one shot#remus lupin hurt/comfort#remus lupin fluff#fluff#hurt/comfort#marauders era#anon ask#lily’s asks#anon request
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helloo this is my first time in a while requesting so if this doesn't make much sense then that's whyy
could I please request peter parker with an s/o who does competitive cheer as a sport, and gets hurt a lot because they have a lot of main parts in routines (like tumbling nd holding girls up nd stuff), peter is always concerned for them cuz they r always hurting something but he also loves seeing them perform at comps and stuff
if you want a better understanding of the sport u could research! but thanks in advance <3
pom-poms and bruises | peter parker
a/n: your request was great, no worries! i did do my fair share of research, but lemme tell you, my knowledge on cheer (or, like, any sport) is mad limited. if i got some information incorrect, i apologize in advance! i took... creative liberties (?) and changed some minor details - instead of competitive cheer, it's high school cheer. enjoy the fic, and i hope i did this request it's justice. sorry this took so long!!
summary: peter can't help but worry seeing you all bruised up, but no matter what, he's your biggest fan.
warnings: the ouchies, innuendos to sex
pairing: fem!cheerleader!reader x peter parker
word count: 1.8k+ words
"oh jeez," peter sighs, rubbing his thumb over the bruise on your cheek. it was a blue-purple, indicating that it was fresh. "what happened?"
you wave him off, grinning, "you know how it goes, battle scars and all."
"scar?" he cocks a brow.
sighing, "battle bruise isn't half as badass."
"right, i forgot the most important thing is proclaiming our dominance in the social hiearchy of the big ol' globe. and obviously not our physical health."
"you wouldn't understand, baby. it's a full time job."
gently, peter pushes you up against your locker. leaning in to whisper, he says, "i wouldn't, angel? best believe i've got battle scars of my own."
"ugh. so not the same. not everyone has the luck of getting to be a human-spider."
"yeah, okay, luck."
"you seriously cannot complain," you deadpan. "that bite did you favors! like, down there, you grew at least- mmph-!"
peter covers your mouth with his hand, "we are not having this conversation."
"it was a compliment! i mean, it's not like you sucked before or anything. i'm just saying it... improved... you."
"somehow, this isn't going the direction you think it is."
"oops. i didn't mean to hurt your over-inflating ego."
"first off, if anyone has an ego that needs to be kept in check, it's you."
"don't blame me," you tell him, "blame the girls," you're referring to your cheer team, pinching his cheeks. "but... maybe i can compensate with a kiss?"
he feigns annoyance, "i suppose." in response, you lean in for a kiss, melting at his touch.
peter kisses your bruise as well, letting it linger for a moment longer. "does it hurt?" he asks.
"barely," you shrug, leaning in for more, but he isn't quite focused on that at the moment. giving you a look, he softly pokes your cheek, to which you wince.
"right. barely."
"don't be a worry-wart, worry-wart."
"i'm not! 'm just concerned!"
"puh-lease," you scoff. "you come back worse! remember that time you broke and entered into my bedroom, then proceed to bleed out onto that cute new rug?"
he looks down, epitome of cute puppy. "yes," peter says, guilty, "i do."
you pat his stomach, nuzzling your nose against his. "see? so you have nothing to worry about. me, on the other hand," you trail off.
"nah. you don't have anything to worry about either, angel."
"watch me worry anyways," you snort.
he pinches your cheeks, and you swat his hands away. "watch it!"
"you're my intellectual property."
"oh, so you're objectifying me now?"
"wait- no! no, of course not!"
"lemme me just say right now, may would not be happy."
peter groans, shoving you away.
"no!" you giggle, "i'm sorry! i won't snitch!"
he peeks an eye open, turning his head just barely to look at you. "fine, i guess," peter pulls you back.
"hey, petey?"
"hm?" he asks, nuzzled in your neck. there's just a few minutes before class starts, and he wants to make the most of it.
"are you coming to the game? it's my first year of being captain, and, well, it'd be cool if you came." suddenly you're more bashful than giggly, and he's quick to assure you.
"are you kidding me? of course i'm coming. i'm not missing the chance to see my girl shine.
"you sure? because i know you don't care for foot-"
"shhh," he presses his palm to your mouth. "yeah, i hate football, but i just to happen to love y- god!" he exclaims as you lick his hand, but in your defense, what did peter expect?"
"you put in on my mouth!"
peter narrows his eyes at you, "vermin."
"see you tonight?"
"see you tonight," peter replies as the bell rings. with one last kiss, you part ways.
your hair was done, two yellow and blue bows to tie the look together. midtown theme eyeshadow was painted on your eyelids, with stars dotted on your cheekbones. you have your cheer uniform on, and you're basically jumping with how giddy you are.
part of you is nervous, because you don't want to mess this up. every year, a senior is picked to be captain, with a junior as a mentee. not only do you have to set a good example for the junior this year, but you have to wow everyone.
checking your makeup one more time, you grab your purse, heading out to the car.
by the time you get there, your teammates are already stretching. on the other side of the field, football players are warming up. last year, liz was captain, well, before she moved. then she got replaced by gwen.
you knew liz and peter... okay, so you weren't completely sure, but they had something. some part of you wanted to be better than liz, entirely for peter. you know it was silly, but you felt like you had something to prove. some families are already in, which is funny, because there's an hour to the game.
it's normally parents and friends of the cheerleaders/players that get here before most people, but there are some occasions.
peter's here, you know that. you haven't looked for him yet, but as you get up, you scan the bleacher. finally, you spot a curly, brown-haired boy (it helps that he's waving like crazy) and his aunt. you blow a kiss to them, grin present of your face.
tasha, one your girls, taps your shoulder, "we're gonna run our routine a couple times, okay? just before the game starts." you pull your eyes away from may and peter, nodding at her.
the familiar music of your routine starts playing. the first part's easy, synchronized movements, shoulder-to-shoulder.
as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.
their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.
as you launch yourself into the backflip, you feel your body twist off-axis. the ground rushes up to meet you, and with a sickening thud, you land flat on your face. a gasp escapes your lips, the sting of impact radiating through your jaw.
the cheers falter for a moment, but your teammates are quick to react. they rush to your side, concern etched on their faces. you sit up, momentarily stunned, but the pain quickly makes itself known.
just as soon as it's there, it's gone, leaving you slightly sore. "i'm okay!" you call out, lopsided smile on your face. the first person you look for is peter, who's already heading towards you.
gently, he moves everyone away. "jesus, are you okay? what'd you fall onto? your head? wait, are you dizzy? lightheaded? nauseated?" peter grabs your by the chin, hurry to inspect everything on your face.
"baby, baby," you say, cradling his hand. "i'm okay, i swear. i might've bruised something... like my ego," you joke, smile on your face, but he is not amused.
"no? okay. well, honestly my jaw is too, or will be," you point to the left side. "'s red?"
"yeah," he winces, "it's gonna leave a nasty bruise." you're sure it's not as bad with makeup on, but you can't be sure.
"does anyone have concealer?" you call out.
jenny, a girl that's your shade nods, "yeah! i'll grab it!" she tosses it to you, and you catch it perfectly.
peter presses his lips together, "so no concussion?"
"because i caught it? to be fair, that was mostly luck."
his eyes widen. "but no! i don't have any concussions!"
peter tilts his head, "icepack?"
"nah. i'm good, really."
he hesitates, "okay. be careful though, seriously." you don't feel like hearing a lecture right now, so you nod quickly.
"i will, i will!"
"because i swear-"
"you won't have to! i'm all good. now leave," you joke, "you're embarrassing me. if i wanted to be smothered, i would've asked for my mom."
he blows a raspberry at you, and gives you a quick kiss. "be careful," he repeats, "and good luck!" he jogs back over to may, and you watch him leave.
jenny giggles as you brush yourself off, "you guys are so cute."
blushing, you murmur a thanks. quickly, you grab your phone to cover up the forming bruise. and there's not really time for another run-through.
all you can do is hope it won't happen again.
there's a small dance at the start of the game and some other here and there, but it's not anything crazy. what is crazy is halftime.
as you get into your position, you fidget. "you'll be great," one of the girls tell you.
"thank you," you smile.
"yeah, no, you will," says another.
you don't feel super ready, not after that fall, but there's not much you can do about it.
the song, louder than before, echoes through your eardrums, a roll of excitement passes through you. no matter how anxious you are, you'll always love cheer.
it's your safe place.
the music swells, and you launch into a series of cheers with your teammates, your voice ringing out in perfect unison. as the routine progresses, you feel the familiar rush of adrenaline. you spot the base of the pyramid, their arms outstretched, and with a deep breath, you allow yourself to be pulled upwards.
their grip is firm and reassuring as you climb, hand over hand, until you reach the apex. a split second later, you're soaring through the air, launching into a full backflip.
you twist perfectly, landing with a confident thud back in the waiting arms of your base. the crowd erupts in cheers, and you beam, the thrill of the successful stunt coursing through you.
you did it, and everyone's squealing. peter's not that far from where you are, and you can hear him shrieking; "that's my girlfriend!"
you grin at him, and he whoops again.
the rest of the game flies by, and you finish the last routine. midtown ends up winning 20-17.
peter scooping you up in his arms, spinning you around. "that was awesome! seriously, like, mind-blown! and you didn't fall this time!"
may comes up beside him, hugging you, "you did fantastic, sweetheart. freaked me out with that fall, though," she chuckles, and you kiss her cheek. "my bad," you tell her, rubbing the back of your neck.
"hey, pete, hun, i'm gonna head out, okay? hospital shift was crazy."
you frown, "was it late?"
may sighs, "two a.m. to five p.m."
"oh, may, you should've gone home to get rest!"
"and miss my lovely girl's big night? you're crazy."
"aww," you coo, hugging her again. "sleep well, okay?"
"oh, please, i'll be knocked out like a baby." you laugh as she leaves.
"we should totally get ice cream," peter says.
"ooh, yes!"
"wait, don't you have an after party?"
"i'd rather spend it with you," peter pecks your lips. "and, we can have extra dessert," he winks.
you frown in confusion, "like cupcakes too? can we get cho- oh. oh! i really, really like that idea."
"good. i'm gonna let you know how badass of a girlfriend you are."
"why don't we skip straight to the second dessert? switch things up?"
taglist:
@whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod @one-piece-frvr7 @477strberry
#spiderman#peter parker#peter parker x reader#fluff#angst#tom holland x you#peter parker x you#tom holland#tom holland x reader#peter parker imagine
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Cowboy Sweetness
Fandom: Helluva Boss
Pairing: Striker x Reader
Type: Headcanons | Fluff
C/TW: none other than the fact that it's kind of long cuz I love Soft and Fluffy Striker so much <3
In which Striker is soft with Reader ♥︎
omg my baby girl Striker ૮꒰ྀི >⸝⸝⸝<꒱ྀིა thank you for the request @/newleaf92 (tag bc of an oopsie) REPOST BC LAST ONE GOT SHADOWBANNED
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Striker is not a soft guy, that's just a fact. He's ruthless, cruel, arrogant, prideful, and rough. And he intends to stay that way-not that he thought he could be anything else. Until you came along.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Things were understandably slow at the beginning of your relationship. These feelings and this type of relationship was very new to him. On top of that, he cared about you a lot so he was determined not to fuck up at some point. But even at the beginning, when he seemed repulsed by affectionate acts and words, he was still soft. He was aware of this because again, he cared about you a lot and knew he didn't wanna fuck up-or "fumble it" as some people nowadays say. So he tried to show subtly that he cares about you as his partner.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Which was by holding doors open for you, cleaning himself up a bit before visiting you, and when walking with you his tail would be rounding you from behind-a subtle way to keep you close and protected. He is a wanted man after all.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He still does those things even now, as long as you've been together by now and as more comfortable he is being affectionate and sweet with you-but theirs so much more now.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ When he teaches you to ride Bombproof, if anyones near and you're wearing something with a skirt, he'll take off his hat to cover your behind as you mound or get off Bombproof. And the entire time he's teaching you, he's got a hand on both you and the horse. Gotta keep ya steady and that won't be possible unless Bombproof is also steady. Afterwards, only if you're alone, he' help you off Bombproof. He actually feels quite prideful of it. Look at him, helping his partner off Bombproof with his hands firmly on your waist. If you thank him with a kiss on the cheek he's gonna be smirking all proudly.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Loves it when you lay on his chest. You could be snuggled up on the couch or the bed, doesn't matter, as long as you're both comfy he needs you to be laying your head on his chest. It makes him feel like he's your protector and that you need him. Both is true.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He takes care of ya when you're sick. Will sleep on the couch until you're 100% better. He can't risk getting sick due to his job so unfortunately you'll be sleeping apart for several days. It bothers him more than he'd ever admit. He didn't know when it happened but at some point he grew used to sleeping with you next to him every night and kind of relies on it to sleep good.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Which takes us to when he's out on a job. His time away from home varies from job to job. Some hits can be done and over with over a course of a day, others can take several days-weeks even.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ It's hard on both of you, but you both hang onto little things to keep the other close, theoretically speaking. He's very careful about it though because the last thing he wants is the wrong people finding out about you. Being with him already puts you at risk, like it or not, you guys need to be a secret-he insists.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Most dates are private. For safety reasons and plus come on, some couple alone time is always good. Some dates he'll take you to a place he found while out a job. It's usually some place secluded. He always makes sure to check around before bringing you there however, just in case theirs any dangers lingering about that he should deal with-or for your sake, avoid all together.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ His favourite dates are when he can just relax with you. Sure you guys can do that at home, but the change of scenery is nice sometimes. His favourite date so far is when you guys went to a large tree and just sat underneath it. Usually you always lean on him when you cuddle and lay together, but that time he was the one on you. His head on your lap as you ran your fingers through his white, rough hair. His hat he had tipped over his head to hide eye tired eyes from you.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "Striker~ You're falling asleep."
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ "I'm relaxin my eyes, darlin'. Ever hearda relaxing?"
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He fell asleep.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Oh well. I recommend not teasing him about it later because he will make sure you don't comb your fingers through his hair again for a very long time.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ He needs the sleep though. He works on his own schedule, which isn't bad per say, but his sleep schedules all over the place. Sometimes he'll sleep only a few short hours and sometimes it'll be like 14 hours. I'm not kidding. He does make an effort for you though because you're his darlin'! Especially since he's gotten to the point where he needs you there to sleep good.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ So you let him sleep for a little while. Not too long-don't wanna ruin his sleep schedule even more.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I love soft striker so much, I always think about holding his hand and that's it. Just holding it. He'll let you, usually sitting behind you so you don't have to see his flushed face.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Panics when you cry. He'll immediately rush to you and try his best to sooth you. It was very awkward when it first happened, it still is awkward but it's kind of different now. I don't know how to explain it but an improvement is I guess what we'll call it.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Even if you're the one fussing over him when he comes home injured, once he notices you getting teary eyed, he's quickly apologizing. What for? Who knows but stop crying you're freaking him out :(
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I feel like Striker's the type of guy to have a special way of saying I love you to you. He isn't a man of words so all his affections are done via action. I can think of a couple ways he'd say 'I love you'. Got the usual gentle hand squeezes, thigh squeezes, ect,. Sometimes they get...sweeter though. A sweet kiss on the lips-not a peck or heated kiss with the intent to go further. Just a sweet kiss then gazing into your eyes before he goes off to do whatever it is Striker does lol 💖
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ The first time he said it though? Weirdly enough was after an argument. He asked you to get him some water before he left on a hit and you came out with a cup of ice and said "wait". He would've been annoyed-and he was for a second-but then he started chuckling and pulled you in for a hug. "I love ya, darlin'!"
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Random soft Striker moment: you were baking and Striker was being oh so helpful (he wasn't, he was just hanging around to be near you) leaned in close to press a kiss to your head.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Come on-if he did that to me I'd instantly be so in love like omg ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა I already am in love but like I'd fall so hard I'd have no choice but to dig
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ In my head, Striker and his s/o is the Grumpy x Sunshine ship trope-aka my favourite ship trope ♡
The request was asking for Striker being soft with that one person but due to an error and a fumble on my keyboard, it published way too early. Sorry about that
૮꒰ づ˶◡﹏◡˶꒱აづ
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Here's a little Yelena Drabble idea for you if you're interested. 😊 The reader is having a remote interview on their laptop, and they're nervous. Yelena is standing in front of them out of view of the interviewer, encouraging them and trying to make them smile.
Drabble || You Worry Too Much!
Pariring: Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader (Platonic)
Summary: Yelena tries her best to make you less nervous and stressed during an important interview.
Fluff
Warnings: None, this is not corrected or proof-read | 0.6K
AC: I hope it's okay I write this as a platonic fic, I haven't written one in a while and I thought this would be a great idea to do so! I hope you enjoy! x
10:15am the time read on your laptop as you sat patiently in the zoom call waiting room, all your notes and possible question answers sat on one side of you while a glass of cold water sat on the other side. In 15 minutes you were able to have an interview for a new job. It was time for a change, time to leave the cafe that you worked tirelessly at just a few blocks away from your apartment.
You were having a quick read over the notes in your notepad when Yelena let herself in with a smile on her lips and a coffee in one hand. "Good morning" she greeted, placing the coffee next to the glass of water beside you.
"Yelena? W-what are you doing here? Did you forget that I have a really important interview today?" you asked with a worried tone.
"Nope, I didn't forget" she replied, making her way to the sofa, "You've been stressed about this interview all week, I'm just here to keep you company" she added as she sat down and grabbed one of last week's trash magazines that sat on your coffee table.
"Could you please just go wait in my bedroom?" you suggest, not wanting her to distract you.
"Don't worry, you stress too much!" she chuckled, "I won't distract you....much" she added with a playful smirk.
You didn't have time to respond to your best friend as the screen on your laptop changed and you were greeted with a middle-aged man in a business suit.
"Good morning Miss Y/L/N, thank you for join me today. I know we spoke over the phone last week but it's nice to put a face to voices" the man smiled, "I'll try not to keep you long" he added. He seemed a little more laid back than all your past interviewers, it helped a little take some of the nerves you were feeling away but not enough to feel completely comfortable and confident.
"Smile" Yelena mouthed, using a small wave to get your attention.
You gave the man the generic fake smile and thanked him for taking the time to interview you for the position. "I like to get the harder questions out of the way, so, why don't you tell me why you think you would be great for this position" he said.
Your eyes glanced over to your notes, "I believe that I am a hard worker, I love working with others and meeting deadlines. I have a high attention to detail and..." you started, pausing for a moment to look back at your notes. Yelena shook her head, "very reliable" she mouthed slowly so you could understand her.
"I'm very reliable and I find great satisfaction in organising and filing. You'll find that not only am I fun to be around, I will get the job done. I am always willing to put myself out there and help others, I love sharing ideas and I am always trying ways to gain more skills in many different areas" you added.
You felt confident in your answer and saw that Yelena was giving you a thumbs up which also reminded you to smile.
As the interview we on, Yelena helped here she could, mouthing words for you to use and always reminding you to keep giving a smile here and there. With every moment that passes you slowly but surely became more confident within yourself, your eyes caught the message that was writing on your coffee cup, "you've got this" with a little smiley face quickly made you thankful for Yelena letting herself in.
"Well, I think that's all on my end. You should hear back from me by the end of the coming week, thank you again for time" the man smiled.
"Thank you, I appreciate this opportunity" you replied, giving the man one last smile before he said goodbye. You closed your laptop and looked up at Yelena, "Thank you, I can't believe you really helped me feel more confident" you spoke.
"Like I said, you worry too much! Now grab your coffee, I'm starving" Yelena replied.
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The Friend of my Friend
Fandom(s): Percy Jackson & the Olympians
Summary: Being a teenager sucks. Being a clear-sighted teenager sucks even more. But nothing, nothing in the world, sucks more than being a teenager hated by the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Specially when you don't even know why.
(Or: Rachel has a massive crush on Annabeth).
Rating: G
Words: 2600 (such a beautiful round number)
AO3 link
Rachel turned away as Percy dropped by the wall beside her. The only light they had was that of his bronze sword, faint in the oppressive darkness, but still, she didn’t want to risk him reading her expression.
Percy Jackson could be obtuse but he was a good friend, he would recognise her misery straight away.
“She’ll come around eventually,” he whispered.
Rachel sighed. So much for keeping her thoughts to herself.
She tried to find the sleeping form of Annabeth Chase, but she could only hear her deep breaths. She’d fallen asleep a while ago. And thank God for that, the last thing she needed was the daughter of Athena listening to Percy’s tactless remarks.
“She hates me,” she murmured back. “I have no idea what I’ve done!”
That wasn’t true, Rachel told herself. She hadn’t stopped staring at Annabeth the whole time she’d spent with her and Percy on this damned quest.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t choose to find her attractive, she just did!
But it didn’t seem to matter. Clearly the girl was repulsed by Rachel’s attention.
It frustrated her, if she was honest. It wasn’t as if she’d made Annabeth uncomfortable. She hadn’t made any moves or anything, but she knew some people were just like that.
“Chiron says she can be possessive about her friends,” Percy told her. “That she has trouble letting people into her life.”
Rachel shrugged. She wasn’t convinced. If Annabeth didn’t like people, she’d treat Rachel plainly, but not in such a mean way. Being distrustful was one thing, but being completely rude was another.
Percy studied her expression. “Go to sleep,” he said. “I’ll take the first watch, I’ll wake you guys up later, yeah?”
Rachel didn’t argue. She was exhausted. She couldn’t understand how demigods went on and on with barely any sleep. Still, it was the most interesting summer she’d ever had, and probably ever would.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Rachel saw the pegasi fly off as she dragged her feet towards the closest subway station, and felt the heaviness of loneliness settle into her. The way an adrenaline rush passes and leaves you feeling worn-out and light-headed. She realised, embraced suddenly by reality, that she would have to face her mother and father, who would likely not be pleased with her unexplained disappearance.
As she boarded the train, attracting more than a few wary glances, she thought about the last minutes with her new group of friends –if she could even call them that–.
Percy had been kind, as always. Rachel was impressed that he’d memorised her phone number. It looked as if he could actually talk to those horses. That was, in Rachel’s eyes, the best of his superpowers. She had always wanted to talk to animals.
The young boy, Nico, had intrigued her. He was tiny, couldn’t be more than eleven, she wondered whether it was normal for demigods to be left to their own devices in sixth grade. The kid had seemed powerful, stubborn, resilient… if a bit rough around the edges. She tried not to compare him, hungry, and a bit wild, to a boy talking his mother’s ear off in the seat in front of her.
Rachel got off at the next station and breathed in the not-very-clear Brooklyn air. There was a construction site on her way home. They were building a huge apartment block, dust blew over towards her, making her sneeze.
She felt bad for Grover. She didn’t know him much, but she had been fighting her causes for as long as she could remember. Reaching the end of a lifelong quest to feel you failed must be terrible. It wasn’t as if his job was over, even if Pan was dead –gone, faded–, Grover had been given the seemingly impossible task to save green spaces by the same deity he’d been searching for his whole life!
Rachel felt a moment of raw anger against her father and the people like him. Could they not see the irreparable damage they were causing?
She kicked a stone hard. It banged against a light-post causing a couple of pigeons to coo indignantly.
They flapped their wings, attracting the attention of a golden Labrador passing by. His owner, a big man with soft eyes, stopped to pat the dog’s head.
He reminded her of Tyson. The image of him calmly approaching the pegasi, stroking their necks and talking to them in soothing tones was almost enough to dissipate the irritability she felt.
But then she remembered Annabeth.
God, she had barely even looked at Rachel as she was about to leave. She glanced her way for a fraction of a second with a face full of distaste and that was it. Simple and effective, Rachel hadn’t dared look her way again after that.
She shook her head. It wasn’t fair to blame Annabeth. If it had been a tough day for Rachel, she could not imagine how utterly nasty it had been for her.
Rachel didn’t know the whole story with Luke. Whether he’d been a brother to Annabeth, or a friend, a mentor, a crush. Whatever the story was, Rachel knew he’d been important to her. And he had let her down, time and time again.
It was hard not to follow into Percy’s anger when Annabeth had defended Luke so passionately. Luke didn’t deserve shit, much less the unconditional support of Annabeth Chase.
Rachel sighed. In Annabeth’s eyes, Rachel herself didn’t deserve that affection either, that much was clear.
She stood in front of her front door. She took a giant breath before knocking twice. She looked awful, she felt even worse, and to make her future even bleaker, she was facing her parents’ wrath. Not worried anger, born of care. They’d be upset because she’d used her father’s name to get that damned chauffeur to drive them around Denver.
Haldane, their butler, opened the door. To his credit, he looked only a bit bemused.
“Welcome back home, Miss Dare,” he said simply.
Home… that was one way to call it.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Rachel was excited. After almost a month into the school year, she had finally convinced Percy to go bowling with her.
She knew this fantastic 80s-themed alley with smoothies to die for. And it was not too expensive, she knew Percy wasn’t comfortable being invited everywhere.
She was waiting for him by the door.
She’d picked her outfit to go with the decor. A pretty sweatshirt in strong colours that she was proud to say didn’t match her hair at all, and straight-legged, high-waist overalls to give it a final retro touch.
She was keeping an eye out for a teenager on his own –with a high probability of collateral monsters– so she missed Percy’s arrival completely.
Somebody poked her shoulder, making her jump while she turned, which resulted in a clumsy ballerina flip that would’ve ended with her on her ass if it wasn’t for Percy’s quick reflexes.
“Elegant.” A dry voice offered from the side.
Rachel’s attention, which had been focused on apologising to Percy, snapped to the side.
She was there. Annabeth Chase was there. In all her tomboy, I-don’t-care-what-you-think-of-me glory.
Rachel’s feelings turned surprised, annoyed, and joyful in the span of a second. Her cheeks were burning, but to hell if she would let this girl —the woman of her dreams or not— make her look bad in front of her friend.
“I was aiming for dramatic,” she replied. “Elegance is overrated.”
Percy smiled. Annabeth rolled her eyes.
Once inside, Percy looked around with interest. Rachel knew he liked the vibes, he was a hopeless fan of The Breakfast Club, Back to the Future, and a bunch of other cliché 80s movies his mom had shown him.
“I’ll go get us set,” Annabeth announced as they went in, leaving Rachel and Percy to get in line for their shoes.
“Why did you bring her?” Rachel asked once they were out of earshot.
Percy looked confused. “Because she’s a friend. You said it would be nice to go out more and meet new people.”
“Right,” she didn’t want to tell him Annabeth didn’t count as new people because they both did, in fact, know her. “And did she know I was coming?”
He blushed.
“I told her on the way!” He said defensively.
No wonder she’d been so angry.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
As far as Rachel’s summers went, flying into a warzone and immediately having her pilot fall asleep was almost as bad as seeing nature fade into oblivion the year before.
She panicked, yelled, clutched the pilot’s seat, shook him roughly, yelled some more, and accepted she’d die a grotesque death squashed between the helicopter’s cabin and a skyscraper.
Only after having reached that phase of despair, did she hear a loud tapping outside the window, prompting her to look out and see…
“What the hell?”
Annabeth Chase’s floating form appeared on the other side of the door, her head bobbing as —Rachel tried to look out without feeling dizzy— her pegasus' wings flapped. Behind her, like a loyal puppy, Percy Jackson held on for dear life.
Shocked as she was, Rachel missed Annabeth’s enraged expression and subsequent screaming.
Rachel shook her head. With the noise of the helicopter and the erratic boom-boom of her heart in her ears she had no idea what the girl wanted.
Annabeth and Percy pointed at the door and disappeared from view as they dodged the helicopter’s propellers.
Finally, Rachel understood.
She forced her wobbly legs to drag her to the side of the cabin and struggled with the lock.
After several seconds in which her mind —not working well that day, obviously— reminded her that Annabeth would think her a useless idiot if she couldn’t so much as open the damned helicopter door, she heard a thump as something —someone— slammed into the outside of the copper.
Annabeth had jumped off the pegasus and was holding on to the handle with all her strength.
Rachel pushed hard and managed to slide the door open, to grab Annabeth and to pull her inside without catapulting herself off the flying vehicle —a feat she considered heroic by itself—.
“Took you long enough,” Annabeth gasped as a greeting.
She didn’t seem afraid of their imminent death, which was very cool. Instead, she looked annoyed as hell.
“I—” Rachel looked around, finding some excuse. “And the pegasus?”
Annabeth looked worried for a second but she schooled her expression. “Percy will take care of him, he’s good with horses.”
Rachel nodded. “I don’t know how to fly this. The pilot fell asleep as soon as we got into Manhattan.”
She grunted as affirmative, pushing poor Phillips off his seat, and taking his place.
She pulled a lever, pressed some buttons, and the copper stabilised.
“Wait,” Rachel said. “You can fly a helicopter?”
She shrugged. Despite facing away from her, Rachel could see her smirk in the reflection of the windshield. “It’s not that hard.”
Rachel was about to differ but Annabeth made the goddamned thing descend so quickly her ears popped. She threw herself on her seat and put her seatbelt on.
Once safely on the ground, having landed in the middle of Fifth Avenue —which was unnervingly still—, Annabeth got off her seat and stretched.
“That was fun,” she said.
Then she jumped off the helicopter.
Rachel slowly moved her trembling legs to the open door. She held onto the handle and looked down.
She thought of Phillip, and pushed him off the helicopter with her.
They landed with a thud and, immediately, Rachel tried to find her bearings.
She saw Percy and Annabeth discussing something a few feet away; Percy with an awed expression Rachel could relate to, and Annabeth looking particularly pleased with herself.
“You saved my life,” Rachel said, only a bit sorry for interrupting them.
Annabeth flexed her shoulder, as if it hurt. “Yeah, well… let's not make a habit of it. What are you doing here, Dare? Don't you know better than to fly into a war zone?”
“I—" Rachel glanced at Percy, trying to convey that they had to speak alone. She didn’t want to say that out loud, she was afraid it would offend Annabeth. Instead, she said: “I had to be here. I knew Percy was in trouble.”
“Got that right,” Annabeth scoffed. “Well, if you'll excuse me, I have some injured friends I've got to tend to. Glad you could stop by, Rachel.”
Rachel sighed. It was the worst time in the universe to be thinking she wanted to be liked by a girl who had never so much as been neutral to her existence.
She dropped down on the curb and put her head in her hands. “I'm sorry, Percy. I didn't mean to… I always mess things up.”
And she was about to mess them up even worse when she told Percy her weird Force-vision had told her he wasn’t the hero. The hero of what? Rachel had no clue. But it wasn’t Percy.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
It was boiling hot by the time her dad’s chauffeur was to pick her up in a gas station nearby Camp.
Rachel had promised she’d go to that stupid finishing school, and she always kept her promises.
Which meant she was now saying goodbye to her new friends and to the new world she’d become part of.
“You'll do great,” Annabeth reassured her as she hugged her.
Rachel tried not to blush. She was the Oracle now, and couldn’t think about hot people.
Still, it had been such a relief that Annabeth had warmed up to her at last. She’d been worried about invading her territory, after all, the daughter of Athena had been at Camp for ages, who was Rachel to invite herself into her turf?
But it didn't seem to bother her. If anything, she looked quite overjoyed about Rachel’s new job.
Rachel bit her lip before replying: “I hope you're right. I'm a little worried. What if somebody asks what's on the next math test and I start spouting a prophecy in the middle of geometry class? The Pythagorean theorem shall be problem two… Gods, that would be embarrassing.”
Annabeth laughed, which made Rachel smile. Making Annabeth laugh was hard these days, what with everybody still mourning their losses.
“Well,” she added, “you two be good to each other.”
Annabeth smiled ruefully, but Percy looked at her weird.
“What do you mean?”
Rachel shared a look with Annabeth.
“Nothing,” Rachel said. “Forget it.”
Percy tilted his head. “But—”
“Let go, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth said, blushing slightly. “It’s awkward to have to explain.”
Rachel was a firm believer of not clarifying things if it made the matter worse, but clearly Annabeth wasn’t, and neither was Percy.
“Oh,” he said, giving Annabeth a shrug. “Because you think it’s funny that she dumped me without even dating me?”
Annabeth blushed harder.
Rachel said, “What?”
“Yeah, when we were in Olympus, remember?” Percy asked. “Sorry if it was a secret, I just thought it was ridiculous, a bit pathetic for me, but funny after it happened.”
“No,” Rachel shook her head. “I remember that, but I wasn’t dumping you.”
Annabeth waved a hand, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t owe us any explanations, it’s okay that you liked him.”
“Him?” Rachel couldn’t believe her ears, nor the bemused faces both Percy and Annabeth had. “I didn’t have a crush on him,” she argued. She pointed at Annabeth. “I had a crush on you.”
“Oh.”
It was safe to say Rachel had never, nor would ever, see Annabeth look so astonished in her entire life.
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Stolas & Loona should have friends
(something I feel would work well for their characters)
I feel like Loona's and Stolas' character would really benefit from giving them friendships. Relationships that could help to humanize them, make them more sympathetic or help to develop/change them as people.
For Loona it makes sense to go into that direction because this huge part of her character is dealing with the fact that she grew up sheltered and never had someone who really cared for her. Blitzø is the first real parental figure she has in her life and she is often pretty cruel to him because she never learned to interact with others who genuinely wanted to be kind to her.
I think giving her more of a social life and potential friendships like we kinda got to see in the Beelzebub episode is something they are working up to with her character, though I find it weird that we didn't really get to see her in the new s2 trailer (or in any of the last 5 episodes for that matter). It seems like Loona wont have any focus on her which is dissapointing because right now her character is in a state where she is still pretty unlikable and comes off as just rude more often.
The show had three good opportunities to give Loona someone to be friends with. First one was Tex which didn't work out because she had a crush on him and even after meeting his girlfriend being defensive and jealous rather than realizing that maybe they'd be better as just friends. Second one could've been Beelzebub (if you ignore the fact that she's the one organizing the pounds for hellhounds) but she is Tex's girlfriend so Loona immediately doesn't like her. And lastly Loona and Octavia, who they were kinda setting up as having a sister-like bond in "Seeing Stars".
But Loona and Octavia have never interacted after that as far as we know. Like I said, Loona basically hasn't shown up in a relevant way for 5 episodes now. It could've been small stuff even. Like maybe in "Western energy" instead of having the stupid nursery subplot it could've just been mentioned that Loona and Octavia are hanging out while Stolas is on his meeting with Stella and Andrealphus. Or just see them chilling together in the background of some episodes.
Giving Loona friends would give her someone she could share her feelings with and that could make her less toxic because she can get her emotions out in a non destructive way. She needs someone who isn't Blitzø, someone who is closer to her in age and someone who will understand her and help her with socializing. And in my opinion that someone shouldn't necessarily be a love interest either. We already have so many romantic/sexual relationships in HB and rarely see relevant friendships which I think is a huge missed opportunity, especially in Loonas case.
And for Stolas, giving him a friend would maybe show more of the sympathetic aspects of his character. Right now I don't like Stolas at all and I don't see a reason to either. He forced Blitzø into a sexual relationship so he can do his job and then starts to whine about Blitzø not loving him back. Knowingly or not, he made great use of hells classist system and basically neglects his daughter as well in the process (though the show will tell you that he actually cares a lot despite us not really seeing that on screen).
What pisses me off most about his character is that they don't acknowledge him being a terrible person. I don't care if he's bad as long as the show doesn't try to woobify him out of nowhere. If they pointed out what he does and he would recieve consequences that aren't treated as unfair or mean i'd like him a lot more because then they could also genuinely show him becoming a better person. A characterization similar to Rex Splode from Invincible would really do wonders for him (I've only watched the show for Invincible so I dont know if/how they move his character forward, but so far I really like it).
Anyways, giving him a friend or something could also help. HB tries to make a big point about people having layers and showing that someone who does harmful stuff can still have sympathetic sides to them. Stolas' problem is, that the only focus he ever gets is in relationships where he is acting bad. I already mentioned how he treats Blitzø and with how hard they're pushing them as a couple they're showing Stolas to be pretty terrible in retrospective. We also don't really get to see how hard he apparently cares for Octavia. Giving him a relationship that shows the sympathetic sides to his character could be done by making his relationship with Octavia be actually good. Like showing them hanging out, actively interacting in positive ways and basically making him a great dad but bad partner sort of guy. Giving him a friend would also work as I said. Maybe Asmodeus could've been that or just a new character. Something that makes him more sympathetic because we get to see a positive side to him with how he cares for this other person.
I really hope they put some focus on Loona again because I kinda care for her and I think dealing with what she has going on could be nice and cute. And for Stolas idk. It might already be too late to make me not dislike him. He is just way too far into being victimized already for me to assume that i will sympathize with him anytime soon.
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I Got You. - OC Backstory
pairing: COD OC!Victoria "Whiskey" Callahan x MootOC!Rosie (platonic)
words: 3.3k~
cw: canon-typical violence/talk, attempt at military accuracy, espionage, government conspiracies, paranoia, mental breakdown/issues, physical/health neglect, flashbacks.
August 6th, 2023.
2139 hours.
Comrie, Scotland.
Whiskey's splayed out on the bed. She snaps a picture that catches only her tired eyes, knit eyebrows and poofy brown hair in the darkness of the room, before typing some random caption and shooting it off to Meabh.
It was typical for them to text through Snap. It was the only social app Whiskey kept after she left home 5 years ago. Her phone was void of other apps other than food delivery, youtube, her e-mail and Snapchat.
At the top of the screen, a pop-up appears, announcing the arrival of a new e-mail on her inbox. A Facebook one, from an account she long abandoned, along with her abandoning all other social medias. And yet, the name 'Holly Willi-' cut off by the character limit had her raising a brow.
Tapping at the notification, her e-mail client opened with an automated e-mail from Facebook alerting her that Holly Williams had sent her a direct message. Now that's new.
Holly Williams... That was one of dad's cousins. From Grandpa Willie's side of the family, if her memory served her. She remembers family dinners and barbecues spent together, her big Irish-American family getting together for the 4th of July, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas.
She hasn't seen her 'Aunt Holly' (even though the woman was really her first cousin once removed) since before she went to university nearly 13 years ago. What could the woman want now?
Clicking on the link, she's taken to the Facebook client page on her browser and after trying, failing, and reseting the password of her account, she clicks the DM tab and opens the message:
Hi Vicky dear, it's your auntie Holly. Hope you're doing well. I heard about your papa, my condolences. I hope it's not a bother but I reached out to your mama to talk to your daddy about some military things and she sent me your way because she said you're in the navy. I see you haven't uploaded anything in a few years so this might not even reach you but I could use your help very urgently and I'm frankly desperate. If you see this, is there anyway you could call me at this number? It's very important!!! Thanks. Aunt Holly x
Her brow scrunches. Since when does Aunt Holly need to talk about the military? Isn't she a professor? Whiskey clicks on her profile and checks her job listing. Right, she's a History professor in NYU. So what's this? Is this for some research study of hers?
But then again, she said it herself that she's desperate... And the tone of her message isn't the most uplifting one... She sounds like she's really in need of her help... And Whiskey has never been good at being heartless. Sighing and scratching her head, Whiskey sits up in bed.
She copies the number from the DM and calls it, hearing the repeated beeping of the call attempting to connect as Simon comes up the stairs and into the bedroom, sweatpants close to falling off his hip and wrapped in a warm sweater.
He raises a brow at her as she's holding the phone to her ear, signaling vaguely to indicate it's an important call, so he takes a spot beside her, with an arm around her waist.
"Holly Williams." The older woman greets on the other side, her voice professional, like she was waiting for a work call.
"Hey, Aunt Holly, it's Victoria." Whiskey murmurs, her southern accent suddenly triggering full-force, like it hasn't in over three years.
-
August 20th, 2023.
1321 hours.
Yonkers, New York.
"When you get there, please, you need to understand, she's... she's not herself."
Victoria climbed out of the Uber and popped open the trunk, pulling out her black suitcase, and thanking the driver with a nod and a wave before he drove off.
Then, she stood in front of the brownstone townhouse, eyeing it up and down, with inquisitive eyes, before taking a deep breath and climbing the front steps to the stoop.
"She hasn't been the same, not after Alex passed away."
The doorbell rings inside the house for a few moments, before the door opens and a pale face regards her from the other side, strawberry blonde curls disheveled, eyes heavy with dark circles.
"Hey, Rosie..." Victoria greets gently. The woman knew she was coming, Aunt Holly having warned her. "It's me, Victoria... Vicky, remember?" She asks in a soft tone, hoping she's not too far gone yet.
"Vicky..." Rosie says softly as she regards the slightly shorter brunette with wild, crazied eyes but eventually nods and unlocks the door all the way, letting Victoria inside.
"When you see her, please... be kind to her. She's really struggling..."
Victoria remembers the last time she saw Rosemary. Victoria had to have been 16. Rosie had just graduated from college, and it was the summer. At the time, she always dressed in bright colors, a hippy style, with Birkenstocks galore... She was very put together, healthy, pretty. They weren't the closest cousins in the world, but they spent time together during the holidays; Rosie taught Vicky how to do her hair to keep her curls healthy; they spoke about boys...
Before coming here, Victoria had even checked her cousin's Facebook page, finding an old album of photos from family gatherings that included the two of them, when they were much, much younger (and happier). It had been so long since they last saw each other... She needed a refresher on her cousin's appearance...
But now, as she's getting let into the house, she realizes Rosemary looks like shit. Somehow, worse than Victoria had expected when her mother had reached out and told her all about the state she is in. Paranoid, manic, depressive and reclusive, Aunt Holly worrying her only daughter was schizophrenic. Her hair looks greasy and matted, and she seems like she's lived in the same outfit for multiple days, maybe weeks. The house reeks. She reeks.
"Nobody can get her out of the house... And she's not taking care of herself..."
The house is dirty and messy, take out containers and paper bags of food delivery strewn about, the trashbag in the kitchen overflowing, the laundry basket in the laundry room too. Every picture frame in the house has blue, yellow, or pink post-its over it, the mirrors as well. Victoria follows her cousin across the house, each step she takes crushing some trash, or nearly tripping over a clothes pile. She's dangerously close to becoming a hoarder, it looks like...
Victoria has to force herself to take a few deep breaths through her mouth and not her nose, so that she doesn't get sick. She knows it would not be helpful in her cousin's state.
Rosie's able to push some trash off the couch to make space for the two of them to sit, though she keeps a large gap between herself and Victoria, probably ashamed of her smell, or appearance, or doubting that she can trust her...
"Every time I try to talk to her... It's like I'm talking to a crazy person... She's my daughter, I love her, but she needs help..."
"Your mom told me some of what's been going on." Victoria begins as she sets her hands on her lap and looks at Rosie with her best attempt at showing empathy and kindness.
"What'd she tell you? That I'm going crazy? I'm not, you know?" Rosie says defensively. "She thinks I'm losing it, and that I need to be committed, but I don't." She assures the brunette.
"Well, no, that's not what she said." Victoria lied. Yes, it had been 100% what Aunt Holly had said when they met up the day before, after she picked Victoria up at the airport, having bawled her eyes out behind the wheel.
"Then what did she say?" Rosie asks directly, her brows knitting together in anxious worry, her hands already trembling on her lap.
"To be honest," Victoria continues, choosing her words carefully, "I didn't understand most of it... I think it'd be best if I heard it from you. Can you tell me what's been going on?" She asked in earnest.
And tell her, Rosie did.
For the next three hours, Victoria heard her ramble and ramble, more and more and more.
About Alex, about his missions, about how Rosie always worried he'd die in the field, how they pronounced him dead in 2019 but she never got to see a body, only his dogtags, and his grave is empty... Victoria thought that was pretty normal, average even... it was the normal treatment for soldiers who died in ways that made it so their body couldn't be recovered... Like during an explosion.
But then Rosie went on and on about how she feels like she's being watched, stalked, surveilled, how she gets stopped by cops too much, and keeps seeing the same faces around the places she usually goes to like Target or Walmart, how there's a van parked outside 24/7, how she's sure that there's cameras and microphones around the house... And it was all being too much.
"She thinks she's being stalked, watched by the govenment, and like they're out to get her."
"Rosie... why would the government be doing such a thing?" Victoria asked her in earnest once she paused in her rants.
"You're not LISTENING!" Rosie complained, her body already having started to shake in distress as she retold everything to her cousin.
"No, no, I am listening. I'm just trying to understand." Victoria replied in an attempt to soothe her and gently took her hands in hers, which caused Rosie to tear up.
"It's NOT the government, it's the CIA!" The blonde shrieked and sniffled, trembling beside Victoria. "Alex was an agent... he..." She trailed off and shook her head. "Nobody tells me anything, I tried calling, nobody tells me!"
Victoria sighed and carefully scooted closer, taking a breath and daring to wrap an arm around Rosemary's form, in the gentlest of ways. "That tends to happen a lot, you know? They... well... when a soldier dies a gruesome death. They close the cases and put high clearances in place so that it doesn't shock the family." The brunette said.
"She's in complete denial, Vicky. She's living in her paranoia and delusion..."
"No!" Rosemary argued. "He's not dead, Vicky, he's not! Whatever... Whatever happened, they're covering it all up! They- he's not dead! They didn't even tell me how he died! Not even if it was heroic or anything!" She wailed as a hiccuping sob rattled her and shook her form against Victoria's side.
Victoria sighed and looked around the room. She was not equipped to deal with this. She half wished that Simon was here. He had dealt with people in altered states of mind, his brother, especially...
"You need to help me, Vicky... You're my only hope! You have to find out what happened. You know people, right? My mom said your mom said you're in the Special Forces! You know things?!" Rosie whined in a pitiful tone, her big blue eyes glued to Victoria's, and making her own hazel ones soften.
"I'll try, Rosie... But even I don't have that high of clearance..." Victoria replied in a soothing tone. "But I promise I'll try."
Victoria meant it. Her cousin might be mental and delusional, but, at least, Victoria could poke around a little bit and see if she could at least find what happened to the body...
"Where did you say he was sent to?" The soldier asked with a cocked brow, her hand gently rubbing Rosie's arm and shoulder in her best attempt at being comforting.
"In the Middle East... Urzikstan, I think..." Rosemary replied and looked up at Victoria. "You're going to look into it, right?" She pleaded.
Victoria nodded. "Of course I will." She replied and smiled at her, trying not to let the feeling of instant dread that was growing in the back of her mind from showing on her face.
Urzikstan... Price and Kyle were just there last year... Working alongside the militia there.
"Now... how about I help you give this place a tidying up... and you go take a shower, and try to relax, hm?" She offered.
Rosie's face began to flush a bit, with the sudden reminder that she had been neglecting herself and probably smelled so bad... And here was Victoria hugging her. "I probably should..." She trailed off and began pulling away from the other woman.
The brunette let her go and nodded. "Call me up when you're done, I'll help do your hair, how's that?" She offered and smiled kindly at Rosie.
Rosemary gulped and nodded. "Yeah..." She got up, beginning to shuffle out of the living room. She stopped by the door and turned back to look at her cousin. "Thank you for this... for everything..." She said gratefully.
Victoria shook her head. "Don't thank me. That's what *family*'s for, right?" She asked, though the word family, one she hadn't used in a while, left a bitter taste in her mouth. Rosie nodded and then disappeared back upstairs.
Once Victoria heard the bathroom door upstairs shutting with a loud thud, she bounced up off the couch.
Whiskey mode activated and she began looking around the room, pulling out her cellphone and turning on the flashlight to shine it off any hidden nook and cranny, like behind the TV, and inside the A/C vents.
1. 2. 3. 4. 5.
Five fucking cameras, just in the living room and entryway alone. She doesn't want to imagine how many more are hidden throughout the house.
It seems that Rosie isn't as delusional and crazy as Aunt Holly thought...
Approaching the window, Whiskey pulls the blinds aside and pears out through the gap, pushing her back against the wall, looking up and down the street. She notices the white van parked a couple hundred feet away, advertising a dry-cleaning service. She knows immediately that that's where they operate from.
She almost wants to go over, with her pistol in hand, and scare them off. But she knows better than to fuck with the Agency... And, even more so, when she's not here as Whiskey, but as Victoria. As a civilian, with no armor, just a red halter top and jeans and boots, coming to visit her cousin.
Huffing, she shakes her head and closes the blinds again. "God damn it..." She murmurs, already feeling her own paranoia rising and her hackles rising. She's going to need to pull some strings to find out what in the hell went so wrong in Urzikstan 4 years ago that now an innocent civilian is being surveilled.
With another sigh, Victoria turns and looks around the room, noticing all the trash and, with a deep breath, she sets down her belongings on the cleared couch and enters the kitchen to seek out a pair of gloves and a trash bag.
This is going to be a long fucking day.
-
August 20th, 2021.
0209 hours.
Victoria lies sprawled on the bed next to Rosie, the two girls staring at the ceiling.
It had been hours upon hours of tidying up and cleaning, but the house was finally clean, the trash taken out, and Rosemary much less disheveled.
They lay together, side by side, holding each other's hands, more for Rosie's comfort, which Victoria has acquiesced to. Victoria has a handle of bourbon in her hand which both her and Rosie occasionally take sips from.
"So you got married...?" Rosie murmurs and rolls her head toward Victoria. She's groggy, a mix of the alcohol, a full belly, a warm shower, a couple of melatonin gummies and the whiskey.
"Mhm." Victoria replies as she glances at Rosemary. "I didn't expect you to still be with dick boy." She quips.
The comment is funnier than Rosemary expected it to be, probably because of the state she's in, but she starts cackling aloud, snorting delightfully at it.
"Oh my God, I forgot he damn near showed his dick to grandma Patty while coming out of the pool." Rosie groans and shakes her head. "God, Alex was so embarrassed, he never wanted to go back!"
"That's what he was embarrassed of? Not that stupid fuckin' pube-looking mustache of his?" Victoria's comments, absolutely roasting the man, the alcohol having loosened her lips. "Did he still have that when he left for Urzikstan?"
Rosie once again has lost her mind belly laughing at the scathing comments her cousin made about Alex. Oh, how she needed the laughter.
"Noooo! It filled out. He had a nice thick mustache by then..." She replies and shakes her head, a soft smile on her lips.
"Well, at least there's that. I guess he outgrew his bad fashion choices." Victoria comments before she leans her head up to take another gulp of the bourbon on her bottle.
"Oh no he didn't!" Rosemary complains and suddenly seems to get a burst of energy, leaning forward to look at Victoria right in the eye. "He has the American flag tattooed on him!"
It's Victoria's turn to laugh, nearly choking on the drink, and causing the sweet, smooth alcohol to slide down her chin as she laughs. "Fuck off, no he doesn't?!"
"He DOES!" Rosemary insists. "And a bald eagle too!!!" She adds, which causes them both to laugh more, cackling at the ridiculousness. "I'm serious! Looked the eagle in the eyes once while he was balls deep in me.... You've ever tried getting a dick out of a dry pussy?"
This causes both girls to giggle again, nearly rolling around on the bed, tears forming in their eyes.
"God, and you married that man? He's been a fucking dork for decades now, Rosie!" Victoria complains.
"In my defense, we were drunk and in Vegas, okay?"
"YOU GOT MARRIED IN VEGAS?!"
"You know what?!" Rosie protests and points at Victoria. "We're talking too much about my marriage. What about you?" She asks in an accusatory tone.
Victoria rolls her eyes. "Don't change the subject just because you can't admit you have bad taste."
"Oh shut it!" Rosie nudges her. "You're avoiding the topic too!"
"Am not!" Victoria retorts. "I'm also married to a dork. But, unlike you, I have taste."
"How much of a dork are we talkin'?"
"Has a half-sleeve that's just straight up war motifs. Atom bombs, skulls, bullets..." She trails off. "And he wears a skull mask when he's out shooting terrorists."
"He WEARS what?"
Victoria shakes her head. "Don't make me say it again." She scrunches her nose, mock cringing.
"And you want to talk shit about me marrying Alex? You married, what, an emo?" Rosie quips as she tosses herself back on the bed, laughing again.
Victoria joins her, covering her eyes with her arm and giggling away, properly so, for the first time in three years. "God, we have bad taste, don't we?" She murmurs.
"You think it runs in the family?" Rosie asks with a playful tone and giggles again.
But this time, however, Victoria doesn't laugh. Instead, her eyes squint in suspicion and she suddenly sits up in bed, looking off into the distance.
How much of a coincidence would that be? Her husband, who is legally dead, who faked his own death and operates under an alias...
And her cousin's husband... who Lord knows what happened to him... But the CIA has their eyes on her, even though he's dead, so there's no reason to...
What if it really is a cover-up? What if he's only legally dead, just like Simon?
"What?" The blonde beside her asks in a gentle tone, eyebrows knit together. "Vicky, what's wrong?" She prompts, worried.
"...Nothing." Victoria replies as she lays down again after a long moment of silence. "Just realized I have to call Simon and ask him something..." She replies dismissively.
for @lyralein - told you she'd get more than that.
and also @crashtestbunny , @superhero-landing , and @loveandplanet bc you love Whiskey and Ghost
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Written in the Stars
Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader
Summary: You are a believer in fate but after getting your heart broken, you had stopped believing it. Until you met Joe. Suddenly, it got you questioning if fate is real or not.
Author's Note: Part 3! :) Comments and suggestions are always welcome btw! Enjoy!
Wordcount: 3.7K
part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten - epilogue
“So, how come you live in New York and not in London?” You asked Joe.
It had been several weeks since you officially met Joe and ever since then, he would come by the bookshop whenever Wes also visited Sara. Whenever he wasn’t filming, he would try and get the chance to come by and see you. You also have been busy with work so sometimes, you would come home and see Sara with a smile on her face. You would know then that Joe had come by the bookshop.
“Joe was looking for you today.” She would tell you.
“Oh?” That was all you could manage to reply all the time.
Getting to know Joe better the past several weeks has been great. You learned a lot about each other. You both had so much in common like how you both love Friends, dirty martinis, and visit different restaurants all the time. You both hate fussy eaters, and you both would judge Wes all the time because he was picky when it came to food. Not only that, but Joe was able to make you laugh and feel happy all the time. You couldn't really describe exactly the emotions that you were feeling when you were around him. All you knew was that you felt safe and comfortable with him. You felt like you could be yourself and despite your fears of getting too close with someone again, you felt like he could really understand you.
You both sat at the small table in the lounge area of Sara’s bookshop that Saturday afternoon. Sara had been telling you to come by the bookshop because Joe had been visiting and every time he came by lately, you were too busy working, and Sara knew he wasn’t there for the coffee and the books.
Joe took a sip of his coffee and replied, “Rue wanted to move to New York for her career, and we wanted to be together, so I moved in with her. I just wanted her to be happy.”
You nodded your head in understanding. “And how long ago was that?”
“Two… Three years?” Joe replied. “Wes came a year later because he was given a job opportunity here.”
“You did everything for her.” You murmured.
“Yeah,” Joe looked down at his empty mug. “Quite a bit mental, isn’t it?”
“No, I think that you just really loved her, and you wanted her to be happy.” You gave him a reassuring smile. “Love makes us do crazy things sometimes.”
Joe chuckled softly, nodding his head. He wasn’t quite sure either as to why he kept coming back to the bookshop ever since he had met you. The more he was getting to know you, he could feel this pull towards you. It was like ever since then, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the sound of your voice.
“Hey, mate, are you going to the bookshop?” Joe asked Wes one day.
Wes couldn’t help but pause in his tracks towards Joe’s front door. Wes had stopped by Joe’s apartment to drop off some things he borrowed and right before Wes could leave, Joe had asked him the same question every time he had seen him for the last month or so. Wes couldn’t even keep count anymore.
“You know you don’t need me to go to the bookshop, right? You could literally get a lift and go there by yourself.” Wes teased his best friend.
“I was just wondering.”
Wes laughed, shaking his head at his best friend’s excuse. “So, tell me… What is going on with you two.” Wes crossed his arms on his chest.
“Nothing.” Joe shrugged, but Wes had given him a look. “I don’t know. I mean she’s funny, nice, and—”
“Pretty.” Wes cut him off.
Joe smiled, “Yes, she’s well fit, but that’s not it. I feel like she understands me, you know? I’m not sure if it’s because we both met at the worst night of our life, but I just feel this pull towards her. I can’t really explain it. I… I enjoy talking to her.”
“You like her, mate.” Wes chuckled, squeezing Joe’s shoulder. “Why don’t you do something about it?”
“Because I don’t want to scare her away like what I did with Rue.”
“Listen, Rue cheated on you. She only used you for fame.” Wes patted Joe’s back. “This time, you actually found someone who’s genuine and doesn’t care if you’re famous or not.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Joe shrugged.
“C’mon, let’s go see them.”
Joe grinned as he grabbed his coat and followed Wes out the door. The bookshop was quiet for a Saturday afternoon. There were only a couple of people reading and drinking coffee. The moment Wes and Joe entered the shop, Wes’ eyes immediately caught Sara’s. She was rearranging some books on one shelf, and Joe’s eyes immediately caught you. You were on one of the tall wooden ladders, putting new books on the top shelf.
“Hey, Sara, can you hand me the last stack of books?” You called out, but Joe saw how Sara was already distracted with Wes on the other side of the shelf.
Walking towards where you were, Joe grabbed the stack of books that were sitting on the cart and handed them to you. You turned to reach for them and saw Joe grinning up at you.
“Hey!” You smiled, grabbing the books. “Thank you.”
Joe watched you fill the rest of the shelf before he held out his hand to you. Taking his hand, you climbed down the ladder and smiled at him, giving him a hug.
“What are you doing here?” You asked.
As if you really didn’t know.
You knew the exact answer as to why Joe was here.
“I just wanted to hang out.” Joe shrugged.
“What’s a man gotta do around here to get some coffee?” Your conversation was interrupted by a familiar voice.
You closed your eyes for a moment and smiled before turning around to see an old Chinese man sitting at one of the comfortable chairs with a book in his hand, and an empty mug that was sitting on the small table next to him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cheng. I’ll be right with you.” You said.
Mr. Cheng was a regular customer for two years already. He would come in to drink coffee, and read, and he was always teasing you and Sara. He told you and Sara one day that you both reminded him of his two daughters that were currently living in Chicago. He has always been really nice, and he tends to tell both of you many stories from his adventures before.
As you made your way to get him some coffee, you saw Joe was already walking towards you with the pot of coffee in his hand. He poured the coffee on Mr. Cheng’s empty mug and handed him some cream and sugar. You couldn’t help but smile and watch Joe for a moment, interacting with the old man.
He was really kind.
Then, your eyes lingered towards the book that Mr. Cheng was reading.
“A book about fate, Mr. Cheng?” You asked, nodding towards the book he was holding. “Do you believe in that?”
Mr. Cheng finished sipping his coffee and said, “Do I believe in it? It happened to me.”
Just in time, Sara was passing by when she heard the conversation and said, “Oh, you got to tell her about that. She believes in fate.”
You snapped your head at Sara, looking at her with wide eyes. “I don’t anymore.”
Joe furrowed his brows, watching you and Sara argue. “Why not?” He asked.
You turned to face Joe and opened your mouth, but you didn’t even have words to explain. How could you explain to Joe that your ex used that reason just so he could get with you? How could you look at him and not feel stupid over that?
“The red string of fate.” Mr. Cheng interrupted the three of you.
Sara smiled at you and walked away. Mr. Cheng pointed at the sofa that was across from him. “Come, sit.” He told you.
You sat on the sofa, while Joe leaned against the bookshelf and stood behind you with his arms crossed on his chest. You were a bit interested as to what Mr. Cheng was going to tell you both, and Joe was feeling the same. He didn’t even believe in fate, but he wanted to listen and see. Maybe his mind would change.
“The red string of fate is this invisible string connected between two people who are destined to meet. The string may stretch, it might tangle, but it will never break. It said that this string is attached to our pinkies” Mr. Cheng explained.
“And this happened to you?” You asked.
You watched Mr. Cheng nodded his head and leaned forward to slip his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it and slid out a small photo from one of the pockets.
“This is a picture of my wife.” Mr. Cheng explained, handing you the photo.
A young girl was standing in the middle of a garden park, posing next to the beautiful flowers. The picture was in black and white, but you were sure that the flowers were colorful by just looking at it. The young girl had a big smile on her face, and everything in the photo just looked beautiful.
“She’s only 19 there.” Mr. Cheng smiled, remembering his wife. “Do you see this boy?” He pointed at the boy that was passing by behind her. “That’s me. She was on vacation with her family in Hong Kong at that time, and I was out with my family, spending some time together.”
You immediately gazed up at Mr. Cheng with wide eyes. You were stunned. You looked over your shoulder and saw Joe had leaned forward towards you. He was also looking at the picture that you were holding and his lips curved into a smile as soon as he looked at you. You felt your stomach turn as you turned your attention back to Mr. Cheng. He took out another photo from his wallet and handed it to you.
“This one was taken two days later at a restaurant.”
You stared at the picture. It was a picture of Mr. Cheng smiling and looking at his mother, who was blowing out her candles on her cake. Then, your eyes lingered in the background. The young girl was there again. You could only see her side view, and she was sitting a few tables away, but you knew it was Mr. Cheng’s wife.
“That’s… That’s her.” You pointed at the young girl and watched Mr. Cheng smiled and nodded his head.
“It was my mom’s birthday. We were celebrating it and somehow, her and her family were in the same restaurant as us.”
“How… How did you guys meet then?”
You felt something in your stomach that you couldn’t explain, and you were kind of nervous about the answer to your question. Mr. Cheng slid out another photo from his wallet, and he handed you a photo of two men and two women. They had their arms around each other, and they looked so happy. Mr. Cheng and his wife looked a bit more mature in the picture.
“That’s two years later. We met at a college party through our best friends.” Mr. Cheng stated. “Her best friend had dated my best friend, and they introduced us to each other.”
A small gasp came out of your lips, feeling your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t move. You just sat there and stared at the picture of the four of them. Was Joe thinking the same thing as you right now? Or were you being delusional and stupid again?
“I, myself, never believed in fate until my wife showed me this picture of her in Hong Kong, and I found this picture of me in the restaurant. Right there and then, I knew that it was real. That we were meant for each other.”
You had stopped breathing.
Everything was all sounding too familiar, and you knew that it was a similar situation with Joe. You told yourself that you didn’t believe in fate anymore after Carter. After he had used that belief just to be with you. You had since then told everyone that it was not real. The truth was that deep inside of you, you knew you still believed it. Now, after hearing this story, you were questioning every single thing in your life. Every encounter. Every event.
Turning back to finally look at Joe’s expression, he was also a bit stunned. He hid it better than you did, but you could see it in his eyes. Both of you stared at each other for a moment, as if you two were thinking the same thing.
“You two had an encounter, didn’t you?” Mr. Cheng interrupted the both of you.
Looking back at Mr. Cheng, you felt your cheeks flushed as you cleared your throat.
“It was just once… It was just probably a coincidence.” You said.
“Three times, actually.” Joe corrected.
You nodded your head and agreed. “Right, three times.”
“How did you two first meet?” Mr. Cheng asked.
“Um… We met a year ago at a restaurant. He was proposing to his girlfriend, and I thought my boyfriend was going to propose to me.”
“But my girlfriend rejected me, and her boyfriend broke up with her. Then, we ran into each other at the mall the next day.” Joe added.
“And then, we saw each other again just about a month ago.” You looked down at your lap, playing with your fingers.
Mr. Cheng leaned back on his seat and took another sip of his coffee before saying, “You know, sometimes when certain things end, we get angry and upset over it, and we don’t realize that sometimes, it ends because the universe has a better chapter for us to begin.”
You stared at Mr. Cheng for a moment. Everything in your mind was still trying to process everything that you just heard. Everything Mr. Cheng was telling you right now was making you all nervous. Swallowing every feeling that you have, you smiled and got up from the sofa.
“I think you have a little too much coffee, Mr. Cheng.” You chuckled softly.
“Mr. Cheng never has too much coffee.” He replied as he sipped his coffee again.
You grinned, shaking your head. “Well, thank you for telling us your lovely story.”
“It was beautiful.” Joe smiled at the old man.
As you walked away, you tried to organize every thought you had until Mr. Cheng said something else that made you stop in your tracks.
“Sometimes we don’t realize that the right person has been under our noses this whole time.” Mr. Cheng called out as you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him.
You went back to stocking the shelves again. You were stuck in your head. You didn’t even pay attention to your surroundings anymore. You didn’t even realize that Joe had followed behind you.
“That story was romantic, wasn't it?” He said.
Snapping out of your thoughts, you turned to face him and asked, “Do you actually believe in the red string of fate?”
Joe stared at you. He knew his belief that he didn’t believe in fate. He thought people just chose each other, and they just work for the relationship. Joe did that with Rue. He knew he gave everything up for her, but he didn’t realize that he was also losing himself by giving it all. He thought that if he worked hard to make the relationship work, it would work. He never realized until now that sometimes, the more he held onto Rue before, the more he was hurting. He didn’t realize that sometimes, people really weren’t meant to be in someone’s life and that sometimes, people were meant to lose someone so that the universe could open the right door for them. Joe couldn’t help but think how some people didn’t even realize that. He, himself, didn’t either.
Until now.
So, did he believe in fate? Now, he did.
“Yeah, I actually think that it’s real.” Joe replied.
You raised your brow at him. Joe believing in fate? Was he just saying that to make you feel better?
“Don’t lie to me.” You retorted.
“I’m not.” Joe stated. “I’m going to be honest with you, I didn’t believe it at first but after hearing Mr. Cheng’s story? I think that it’s real.”
You didn’t say anything as you went back to your little work and stock books on the bookshelf. You didn’t want to hear anymore of the subject, and Joe could see the frustration in your eyes. As he stood there playing with his fingers nervously, he tried to change the subject. Joe tried to find the right words to ask you the question he had been wanting to ask you, and the real reason why he actually came to the bookshop today.
“So, um…” Joe cleared his throat. “There’s this Halloween event downtown…”
Was Joe trying to ask you out?
You looked over your shoulder and saw him nervously standing there in front of you. Just like you noticed before, he hid it well but for some reason, you could just tell.
“Oh?” You said.
“I was wondering if you’d like to come with me?” Joe asked.
You just thanked your little stars that your back was turned to him because Joe would probably immediately see the excitement in your eyes. You bit your lower lip, holding in your smile before turning around to completely face him with a stern casual look on your face.
“Like as your date?” You asked, crossing your arms on your chest.
Joe could feel his heart skip a beat as soon as you said those words and oh god, why did he suddenly forget the whole English language?
“No, I mean yes! As… As my date.” Joe stuttered, pursing his lips. “I know Sara and Wes are gonna go. So, I was wondering if you’d like to come.”
Joe was cute when he was nervous.
You couldn’t help but smile and nodded your head, “Sure, why not? But you’re picking the costumes.”
You saw how Joe’s eyes sparkled, agreeing with what you said. “Okay, deal.”
You smiled as Joe picked up some books and helped you stock them on the shelves. Both of you didn’t even work for Sara, but you both tend to enjoy helping her around the bookshop. You weren’t sure if it was because of the comfort of the bookshop that it gave you or if it was also because hanging out with Joe made you feel safe and warm. You just couldn’t explain it.
The delicious aroma of the pasta that you cooked that night was filling the whole apartment as you and Sara sat at the dining table and ate. Friends played on the TV as the background noise, while silence filled between the two of you.
“Do you believe in the red string of fate?” You finally asked Sara the question that you have been wondering in your mind since your little conversation with Mr. Cheng this afternoon.
Sara gazed up at you, and she smiled as soon as you asked the question. Sara had known for a while now that you would be interested in that story the moment she heard it from Mr. Cheng. Sara always teased you about your belief about fate, but you knew that she always had believed it too.
“I believe in fate, yes.” Sara answered. “Not just for love. I think that we are destined to meet certain people in our life. Just like you and me.”
You smiled at Sara’s little comment. “Who knew a German girl would meet a girl who lives in the US and become best friends?”
“Exactly.” Sara agreed, sipping her glass of water. “I think you and I were also destined to meet, and I think that’s so beautiful because I now couldn’t imagine my life without you.”
You held back the tears that were welling up in your eyes as you reached for Sara’s hand. She truly was the best best friend anyone could ask for. She was right. You and her were connected in some way and were bound to meet even if she came from across the ocean. Fate had brought that two of you together because you two were destined to meet and be in each other’s lives. Ever since then, both of you made each other better every day.
“Me too.” You smiled, squeezing her hand lightly.
“And if you’re thinking about the similar situations that you have been experiencing with Joe, I think you shouldn’t overthink it. I think you should just follow what your heart says. If Joe is truly meant for you, then he is for you. No one else could take that away from you because you two are destined for each other.”
You gasped softly as your jaw dropped on the floor. Sara really knew your mind.
“Who said anything about Joe?” You argued.
“Please! We both know it’s about Joe!” Sara laughed.
You let out a laugh as you took a piece of your sourdough bread and threw it at her as she nudged it with her elbow.
“Hey! Don’t waste my bread! I baked that from scratch!” Sara exclaimed, laughing together with you.
“That’s what you get!” You stuck your tongue out at her, throwing another piece as laughter filled the place.
Though, you agreed with Sara. You kept overthinking it ever since you heard Mr. Cheng’s story. You should just go with the flow because in all honesty, you did like Joe. You weren’t too sure if you were ready to take another risk out there because you knew you were scared that you would get your heart broken again but at the same time, you knew now how you should be treated. You knew you wouldn’t let anyone treat you the way Carter did with you.
You weren’t sure either how Joe really feels. You wondered if he was also not ready to be in a relationship again. All you knew was that when you were with him, you felt happy and comfortable. Whatever you two have, you didn’t want to ruin it.
**********
@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles @readergf
#Joseph Quinn#Joe Quinn#Joseph Quinn x Reader#Joe Quinn x Reader#Joseph Quinn x You#Joe Quinn x You#Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader#Joe Quinn x Fem!Reader#Joseph Quinn Fanfics#Joe Quinn Fanfics#Joseph Quinn Fics#Joe Quinn Fics#Joseph Quinn rpf#Joe Quinn rpf#written in the stars#blairrwaldorfs#part three
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Don't Go Blindly Into the Dark
Summary:
To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?
Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?
Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus
If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)
Content warnings for this chapter: blood, violence, knife violence, threats, weapons
AO3 link
Chapter 10 - Kaz
Kaz cracked his knuckles, surveying the blood splattered across his gloves. The man in front of him whimpered, leaning as far away from Kaz as his restraints would allow. His nose was broken and spewing blood faster than one of the ugly city fountains outside the exchange. Kaz’s clock was ticking down - he was supposed to meet Inej in only a few minutes, and he needed to get back to the Slat yet.
“Are we done here?”
He opened his mouth, only for more thick, black blood to spill over his lips and drip down his face, bubbling in the corner of her mouth. Kaz sighed.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Money by next week, you skip town and I put a bullet in your skull. Nod if you understand,”
He nodded.
“Good,”
Kaz turned on his heel and snatched his cane back from Anika, who was standing in wait next to him, and they began to pace back together.
“What time is it?”
“Almost five bells,” said Anika, before shoving her little fake-gold watch back into her pocket, “How much does he owe you?”
“A little north of three thousand kruge. You would know that if you read the paperwork I gave you,”
Anika shrugged, and Kaz rolled his eyes. No wonder anyone else ever got anything done around here.
Almost five bells. He was going to be late - he’d have to forgo the Slat and go straight to meet Inej.
“There’s a line of credit waiting for you at the Crow Club,” he told Anika, “Keep the tables busy. But I need you to stop and update the old man first - and tell him I’m changing some of the shift schedules,”
There was a particular bruiser at the Club that Kaz wanted on a new pattern, so he could see if he was right about him - Big Bolliger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of coins, tossing them to Anika; her money for tonight’s job, which seemed more than generous considering she threw two punches then just stood there holding his cane.
“Tell Jesper he has a line of credit as well, but only for the Crow Club. He wants to wander off and get himself into deep shit again I’m not digging him out of it,”
Anika nodded and turned away, as Kaz began to make his way to the meeting point to see Inej. Halfway between East Stave and the University District would be the Financial District, but there was no safe place to meet undetected in the area and Inej could traverse the city much more quickly and subtly than Kaz could, so they were to meet in the Barrel - far South, below the Staves, where the tourists were fewer and the drinks were cheaper, if you cared about that. Kaz wasn’t drinking tonight and he sincerely doubted Inej would be either, but it was hardly a suspicious meeting place for two Barrel rats to wander into a rowdy bar even if they didn't order anything. The hope was that it would be busy enough no-one could overhear them, and far enough away from their usual haunts for anyone to try to do so anyway. By the time Kaz arrived, bad leg complaining at every step in the sudden turn the weather had taken to this damp, drizly misery, Inej was already inside. Kaz nodded to the barkeep and waited for two waters to be placed in front of him, then slid into Inej’s otherwise empty booth. Only when he planted the glasses on the table did she look up.
“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,”
“I was delayed,” he replied, picking up his water without making eye contact.
“I can see that,” Inej murmured, and Kaz realised that her gaze was focused on the blood splattered across his shirt.
He sighed - he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Inej’s righteousness tonight. Or this morning, actually. Dawn was just beginning and the distant, dreary sun leaked through the clouds and crawled over the window sill to vaguely illuminate the booth Inej had chosen. She always chose somewhere with a window, if it was an option. Kaz looked up and saw the sunlight catching in her oil black lashes, fanning lightly over her cheeks as she lowered her eyes to the table and collected one of the discarded menus laying between them. The sky was pink and yellow and golden orange, and when she glanced back up Kaz could see the reflection of it shimmering in Inej’s dark brown eyes. Even the pale, dreary sunlight could turn to glitter in her eyes, like stolen stars shimmering at him across the table. He tensed.
“Well?”
“Well, all the food here looks terrible,” said Inej, sighing and dropping her menu back onto the desk, “I love Nina but she's a terrible cook; I need real food. But in other news, we have a problem,”
“Problem?”
Inej drummed her fingers against the desk, eyes still flicking through the disappointing menu.
“I’m not sure local fish is as appealing as they think it is,” she mused, “I’ve seen the water here; there’s nothing good living it,”
Something about the environment of the city? Kaz didn’t have time to crack codes Inej was making up on the spot. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but just as he did she glanced up at the other patrons of the inn, then went back to idly skimming through the menu. Kaz followed her gaze, and his eyes found a Black Tips tattoo sitting at the bar. Dammit - it was a good job Inej was paying attention, because apparently Kaz wasn’t.
“Maybe that’s because they’ve taken all the fish out. What’s the problem?”
“That,” she said, turning over her menu to look at the drinks, “The fish is gone,”
Kaz almost choked on his water.
“Excuse me?”
Inej looked up.
“You lost the target?” he hissed, leaning forwards over the table.
Inej’s eyes flashed so briefly that Kaz thought he might have imagined it. He flexed his fingers over the crow’s head of his cane as he leant back again, attention flicking towards the thug at the bar. The bruiser wasn’t looking in their direction but that didn’t mean he didn’t know they were there, and if he’d seen them he’d surely recognised them. It wasn’t an unimaginable thing for them to be here and it wasn’t an unimaginable thing for this to be a coincidence, but Kaz didn’t trust coincidences. Neither did Inej, but fate and rotten luck were a debate for another day.
“Oh, they do cocktails,” she smiled, “I didn’t expect that,”
Something out of character had happened - rotten old inns at the bottom of the Barrel didn’t serve nice cocktails and rich kids with question marks on them didn’t just disappear - and Inej hadn’t been ready to respond to it. Kaz sighed, then begrudgingly took the bait.
“Are you going to order one?”
“I probably shouldn’t,” she mused, lightly, “the last time I had something as strong as these my head ached an entire week,”
He’s been missing for a week.
“A week?” Kaz spat, struggling to control his tone.
“Well I thought maybe it was just illness,”
He missed a few days of classes, but people get ill and when they get ill if they’re rich enough they stay at home. It wasn’t worth reporting on.
“But now I’m quite sure it was something else,”
Something else is going on - something more sinister?
“So I had a good think about what could have caused it,”
Scoped out the house, probably the university offices too, just looking for news.
“And I decided the solution was probably to quit drinking,”
Kaz frowned. Had he followed that one right?
“You mean-?”
“Withdrawn,” she dropped her menu and lifted her glass of water to her lips, “Completely out of nowhere; no word of anything since. I felt completely rotten, I’ll tell you, holed up alone in my room and didn’t speak to anyone for days,”
There was a pause. Kaz nodded, slowly.
“There’s nothing I want to eat here,” said Inej, standing up, “We should go back to the Crow Club,”
Kaz stood, leaning heavily against his cane. His leg was grateful for the brief reprieve but Inej was right; they needed to move, so they could lay this out properly and so they were out of here before that Black Tip got ideas. Only they were too late for that.
As soon as they both stood up the bruiser turned towards them, a wicked dagger gleaming in his palm. Kaz sighed as several other patrons came to alert along with him, all drawing their weapons. The rest of the inn either panicked, fell completely silent, or both. Mostly both, actually.
“What business?”
The bruiser at the bar grinned.
“Not business this time, Dirtyhands,”
“Everything’s business,” Kaz said, catching Inej in the corner of his eye.
He didn’t risk a nod, but she didn’t need any more signal than that fleeting moment of eye contact.
“And as flattered as I am that you’d go through all this just for us,” Kaz pretending to swallow a false yawn, “It’s been a long night. If you’ll excuse me,”
He took a step forwards, smiling at the sudden intensity that took hold of the motley crew surrounding him. They actually looked a little afraid - he was down by at least five men, his chance at a head count had been brief and the odds were about to swing in his direction but it was a fair estimate, and was yet to draw a weapon. And they were afraid.
“You ain’t going anywhere,” snarled the thug who’d moved away from the bar to close in on Kaz, apparently some sort of ringleader to this group of clowns.
“I don’t know what your boss is after,” Kaz said coolly, “but you can tell him that he won’t get anywhere by having me killed - first and foremost because I have a nasty habit of coming back from the dead. And secondly-”
Kaz’s cane whipped around the back of the bruiser’s legs, finding pressure points in the the back of his knees to bring him stumbling to the ground whilst Kaz grabbed his arm and thrust it backwards until he felt the shoulder popping out the socket. The dagger clattered towards the ground and before anyone could draw breath Kaz’s good leg had come down on the handle so it spun upwards and he could catch it midair in his free, gloved hand. He pressed the blade against the bruiser’s throat.
“- because I don’t take kindly to threats. What’s your name?”
Silence. Kaz pressed the blade closer to the bruiser’s neck, so it just began to break the skin.
“What’s your name?”
“Velthuis,”
Kaz smiled, slowly.
“Even if you manage to kill me today, Velthuis,” he crooned, leaning closer, “you’re starting a war with the Dregs. You really think the Black Tips would survive such a proposition? Because I’m not sure they would,” he tightened his grip on the dagger, and Velthuis released a slight, pained yelp, “I’m definitely sure that you wouldn’t,”
He released him, and stepped back. Kaz had no more intention to start a war with the Black Tips than they did with him; he wasn’t going to kill one of their own in the middle of a busy inn with their own gang members watching, whether he could plead retaliation or not. If they were going to have to fight their way out of this, he needed this skiv to draw first blood.
“He don’t want you dead,” blubbered Velthuis, shaking his head, lifting a hand to the bare scratches Kaz had left on his neck as though they were an open, gaping wound, “Not yet, anyway,”
“What does he want?”
“Information,” he spat, “He wants the-”
Velthuis stopped, looking around and finally realising that Inej was no longer standing next to Kaz.
“Where did she go?”
“Who?”
“I - the Wraith, she was -”
A body thudded to the ground behind Kaz. And then another. And then another.
They were still breathing, he was quite sure, but they’d be incapacitated for some time. Kaz smiled as he watched the horror spreading across Velthuis’ face. He stumbled to his feet, trying to back away from the sudden carnage, and fell straight into Inej’s knife as she appeared from the shadows behind him. He cried out as she grabbed his shoulder and leaned over, a second knife now pressed against his throat in as many minutes.
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she breathed, “But you can tell your boss I’m not interested,”
“Let’s move,” said Kaz, turning towards the door.
She forced the bruiser to his knees and patted him lightly on the head, then walked to the door with Kaz following in her wake.
#don't go blindly into the dark#six of crows#grishaverse#crooked kingdom#leigh bardugo#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#kanej#wesper#wylan hendriks#wesper fic#wesper fanfiction#pre canon#canon divergence#soc fanfiction#nina zenik#soc fandom#soc fic#matthias helvar#six of crows fandom#six of crows fanfic#six of crows fic#grishaverse fanfic#grishaverse fandom
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