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after-witch · 2 months

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Check Out Time is Eleven [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Check Out Time is 11 [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You're invited to a hotel for a warm meal and a place to sleep by a mysterious stranger. Soulmate AU.

Word count: 7100ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping, mentions of drugging, a really useless and non-philosophical reference to My Dinner with Andre

The red thread on his finger loses slack for the very first time in his life, and for the smallest of moments, Chrollo Lucilfer forgets himself. His steps falter, expensive, stolen shoes nearly scuffing on the sidewalk, and a startled breath quivers through his chest. His mouth gapes, ever so slightly.

In surprise.

In trepidation.

In realization.

The red thread was, had always been, attached to you. His soulmate. Whoever you were. The gentle tugging of the thread meant that after years of fruitless searching, you were finally somewhere nearby, close enough to reach. Probably, given the tautness of the thread, even within walking distance.

How lucky for him.

How unfortunate for you.

You were finally discovered. You were finally within his grasp, fingers itching, warm satisfaction blooming through his skin. How often had he ruminated over the fact that you had yet to belong to him? How often had he wondered what you would look like, how you would feel under his touch? And what you might do to him when he had you in person? Would he find himself changed, however slightly, as the others in the Troupe had been? Or would he mold you with his own presence, looming over you like a shadow?

The mere thought of you is enough to get his heart racing, bring a bead of sweat to his neck. It was so unlike him, and wasn’t that a thrill?

And then, just like that, the moment is over. He recollects himself and his mouth closes and his mind whirs back into focused gear.

He needed to find you, first thing. The rest of the logistics could come later.

His eyes track the movements of the thread, and without missing a beat, he turns on his heels to follow the direction of the movement. It was possible--no, highly probable--that you were close enough to reach on foot. Within the city, certainly, and he didn’t mind the exercise.

As he continues to walk, the cold gleam of the business district turning into rows of glitzy restaurants and downtown attractions, he’s glad that you weren’t too close. It gives him more time to think about what he wants to do with you.

The Troupe members that had already found their soulmates--and Chrollo feels a surge of pride in his chest, counting himself among them now, fulfilled in that goal--had taken on different approaches.

Some merely kidnapped their soulmates and kept them in secure locations. Simple, effective in terms of security, but that would ensure it would take him a long time to win you over. And he knows that he will do just that, eventually, no matter how he decides to keep you. Others took their time, attempting to strike up something of an ordinary relationship before revealing their knowledge of the red thread, and persuading their soul mates to come with them for safety (and romance)’s sake. Surely the more appealing of the two options, but it did come with the downside of expended time and energy.

What he would do with you depended on so many factors. Did you live in some stationary location, or were you prone to travel? What did you do for a living? Were you already in a relationship, some inferior partnership with someone who could never appreciate you the way that he could, as your only soulmate?

All of these questions circle heavily in his mind as he walks, following the thread that was becoming tighter and tighter between the pair of you. The ritzy downtown buildings were now gone, replaced by rows of old buildings that had seen better days. In place of fine dining were small cafes and diners that practically exuded grease, laundromats with blinking signs, and the occasional busted out window. The scores of people walking, gabbing, waving around fancy handbags were replaced by only the occasional person walking with clear destinations in mind, eyes in front.

As the thread becomes even tighter, it leads him down an alley that most people would have surely avoided. But he doesn’t worry about the glances of the people leaning up against heavy exit doors, or the people crouching on the ground with needles against their arms. He thinks about you. Will he find you here, perhaps, curled up in the arms of a drug dealer pumping you full of toxic chemicals that flushed you with endorphins and heat? Or you might be on the other side of the needle, pocketing cash and going on your merry way?

But, no. Perhaps not. Instead of leading him further into the den of seedy dealings, the thread brings him away, feet crunching on broken bottles, towards some type of fenced-in parking lot. Or it had been a parking lot, once

From a short distance through the metal fence, he can see burning barrels, tents, carts. The smells of cooking grills waft over, greasy foods, easy to cook outdoors. It wasn’t a new sight, in this city or otherwise. Chrollo had seen worse. Had lived worse.

And then, there--at the end of the red thread that weaved in between one of the fence’s metal honeycombs: you.

He sees you for the first time and knows, with a burning intensity that threatens to knock him over, that he needs you. He needs you now. He needs you always. You have something that he lacks and perhaps possessing you will give it to him.

Is this what the others felt, when they first saw their soulmates? Or is it something unique to you and him? Some unfathomable bond that has shaken him to his core? Not for long, of course, never for long. He regains his senses within moments and catalogs the feeling away for later analysis.

It’s you that he focuses on, now. And the fact he will have you, as soon as he decides on the where, when, and how. He wouldn’t be the leader of the Phantom Troupe if he wasn’t skilled at taking what he wanted.

Today what he wants is not a gallery of paintings or a rare gruesome artifact, but a person.

You.

What to make of you?

You’re standing in front of one of the burning barrels, rubbing your hands together. They look red and chapped, even from his vintage point. Behind you is a shopping cart filled with odds and ends. On the side nearest the fire, you had clearly laid out clothes over the edge of the cart--wet ones, from rain or maybe you’d had the opportunity to wash them. Your current ensemble is a simple hodgepodge. Clearly, you wore whatever was cleanest, whatever was warmest, whatever you could find.

He remembers such a living.

You appear to be on the outskirts, avoiding the groups scattered around the encampment. No one approaches you and you don’t approach them. A loner… by choice, or not? You wouldn’t be alone for long, if it wasn’t by choice, and in time you might be grateful for it. If it was by choice, well, there were ways to tame feral cats.

It doesn’t take much analysis to decide what to do with you, to decide how best to approach things. He’s glad that he wore something casual today. Just some simple slacks and a nice sweater. If he was overdressed, it might be more difficult. Not that he couldn’t manage it, but he enjoys advantages when he can get them.

With no hesitation, he walks through one of the ragged gaps in the metal fence and begins to approach you.

Your head jerks towards him the moment that his steps become even remotely close. He doesn’t mind. It’s only natural, especially for someone who has been living the way you surely have. There’s a tugging somewhere inside him--memory of himself and connection with you.

He smiles, not broadly, but in a way meant to disarm.

“Hello,” he says, stopping a few feet away from you.

You stiffen.

“I’m Chrollo,” he continues. His voice is undisturbed and calm. As if he was meeting you on a sunny afternoon in the park while you were both buying ice cream from the same cart. That might have been a more charming meeting, he muses, but this one can work to his advantage just as easily. “Won’t you tell me your name?”

You snatch your hands back from the barrel and step, refusing to turn your back to him, behind your cart.

“None of your business,” you say.

And oh, he thinks, it would be heaven if he could somehow bottle the first time he hears your voice and listen to it on demand. But he supposes, he has the rest of his life--and yours--to hear you speak.

“That’s all right.” He gestures towards you, the cart, your life. “I see you are in need.” You frown at him, but he continues. “How would you like to go somewhere warm?”

Your lip pulls back in a sneer and you move yourself on the other side of the cart.

“I don’t do that. Fuck off.”

Ah. You thought he wanted you to--well. It wouldn’t be the first time people took advantage of others in less fortunate situations. There had been enough of that in Meteor City.

“No, nothing like that,” he says, voice going soft. “I should have clarified. I’m a… missionary of sorts. I look for people in need and offer what help I can give. I’d like to buy you a hotel room for the week.” He notices your wary expression. “Or even the day, if that would be more comfortable for you. Somewhere you can get some safe sleep, a shower, something to eat. I wouldn’t even be there.”

He recognizes the look on your face all too well. Wariness. Suspicion. The face of someone who knows that people are tricky and greedy and cruel. That people will take things that they haven’t earned. Oh, yes-- he knows all of that so well, from both sides.

And he also knows how to get your guard to drop enough for him to accomplish his goal. Sure, mistrust is essential in an environment like this. But mistrust can always be overpowered when there’s something essential within reach. Like comfort. Or food. A warm place to stay, even if it’s just for a few hours. A private bathroom, a toilet, a tub.

“I don’t know,” you say, finally, having given him the appropriate stare down.

He nods his head.

“I understand. I would feel wary myself, in your position. It’s perfectly reasonable.” It is more than reasonable, he thinks, but you don’t need to know that. You just need to believe that coming with him will be worth your while, worth ignoring what he’s sure is a growing pit in your stomach.

“What I would like to do is accompany you to a hotel where I often book rooms for those in need. It’s a private room, of course. And I will pay for your meals.” He sees the gears turning in your mind at the promise of a bed. The promise of food. “I have my own room in the hotel, but it’s on a different floor, and I won’t have to see you at all,” he adds, and this is how he will make you step over that cautionary line. “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Everything is pre-paid on my card, of course, and you’re free to order whatever you’d like. What do you say?”

He lets his words hang in the air, wafting like smoke from the nearby barrels.

You wet your lips. You glance around at the people around you. A few of them have taken notice of Chrollo, perhaps as a mark, perhaps more; but he pays them no mind. He could kill them in a fraction of a second and whisk you out of here just as easily, if he needs to… But he hopes it will not come to that.

“All right,” you say suddenly, softly. “If… you’re just going to give me a room and feed me, then all right.”

Chrollo smiles. It is, he thinks, perhaps close to a genuine one.

“Wonderful. Follow me, if you please.”

The hotel is expensive, but thankfully not terribly ostentatious. Chrollo would hate to put you off by throwing you into some gilded lion’s den. But the hotel is more reserved, classy. Comfort and luxury without any of the ridiculous trappings that often come with them.

Chrollo does bring you with him to the front desk, if only to reduce the chances that the security will kick you out for looking out of place. And you do look out of place, but perhaps that’s for the better. It will make you appreciate what he’s going to do for you more, won’t it?

You’re quiet all the while, but that’s to be expected. You only hold tight to your backpack, where everything you hold dear has been crammed, and let him do the talking. A reservation is easily made under the guise that only you are to know the room number--you certainly don’t need to know that he’ll swing back and reserve the connected room next door--and the key is given without fanfare from the polite desk clerk who gives you curious glances but nothing more.

Chrollo walks you to the elevator, ever the gentleman, and hands you the key. You stare at it. The uncertain expression on your face is unbelievably precious, he thinks. He hopes he can see more of it before it inevitably morphs into shock and anger and fear.

“Would you like some new clothing?” Chrollo asks, after he pushes the button on the elevator for you. “I can have some sent up from the hotel’s boutique. I’ll tell the front desk, so they can give the concierge the room number. Ah, and I’ll need to know your size, if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want to buy me clothes?”

You almost splutter out the words, and he has to restrain himself from kissing you right then and there. You are terribly cute, and there’s a slight disturbing tinge to how much he finds everything about you enticing so quickly. The way you furrow your eyebrows at his question. The slight look of embarrassment, the twitch of your lips.

He needs you so much, and he’s only known you for a few moments.

You tell him your size, then glance at him before staring at the glossy metallic doors. “Um, I need something warm. No useless stuff.” Your head gestures back towards the hotel lobby, where a few women are walking on the arm of male companions, dressed in sleeveless dresses and likely heading for the restaurant.

“Of course.” Chrollo does not tell you that he can envision you wearing all sorts of useless things in the future his mind is creating, brick by brick. You would look heavenly in something strapless, something slinky. Something that hangs off your shoulders. He would drape a fine wrap over them, were you behaving enough to go out with him--no one else but him will be privy to such delicacies.

For now, though, he resolves to send you the clothes he knows you want. Things will be a little more seamless if your guard isn’t entirely raised.

The elevator doors open.

Chrollo steps aside, and gestures for you to enter.

“This is where I take my leave. I will let the restaurant host know your name, and you can order whatever you’d like. It’s on my card. Please, don’t feel the need to hold back.”

You take a step inside the elevator and ah, there it is. Just the slightest hesitation. The slightest jerk of your head as you look back at him. Do you feel bad, leaving him in a lurch when he’s giving you charity? Do you feel beholden to him in some way?

“I guess it’s okay if we share a meal. You’re paying for it, anyway. It’d be awkward otherwise.” You stare down at the elevator carpet as you say the words, and Chrollo realizes that he’s perhaps misjudged the gesture. Your sense of shame, maybe, outweighs your desire to be rid of him and his potential alternative motives for assisting you.

That might come in handy.

He nods, as you turn around and make brief eye contact with him.

“Well, then. How about we meet here in 5 hours for dinner? I can send something dressy to your room, if you’d like.”

You shrug your shoulders as the doors close, which is as good as assent in his view. The string on his finger rises with the elevator, but now there is no fear that he’ll lose you. The string, something which had been maddening in its slackness for so long, is now something of a treasure itself. A little leash, keeping you to him, wherever you go.

Which, for now, is your hotel room--meaning he needs to get moving. He won’t pick anything too flashy out from the boutique; something modest, something simple. There are delicate steps to take to avoid making you feel ashamed without offending your sense of dignity all in one go.

Thankfully--for you and himself--he’s attuned to such needs.

5 hours. That would give you enough time to take a shower or bath, to change into the fresh clothing he’ll send up, to take a nap. Perhaps you’ll stare out the hotel window at the view or curl up in the bed, rolling on the fresh sheets.

Five hours would give you time to freshen up and relax, yes. And it would give him enough time to get hold of Shalnark and procure anything he needs to make your removal from the hotel as smooth as possible.

The shower is running again. He doesn’t blame you. He remembers days where a hot shower was a luxury beyond imagining.

He keeps his side pressed against the door connecting your rooms--not that you know he is on the other side with a key to yours, of course--and holds back a contended sigh as he watches the red string on his finger twirl and shift with your every movement.

What are you thinking about? He wonders. Are you thinking about how long it’s been since you had a hot shower? Are you thinking about slipping the shampoo bottles into your backpack?

Perhaps more inviting… are you thinking about him?

He knows what’s on his mind, and has been for the last few hours now. You.

What were you like, deep down, underneath your layers and justifiably guarded stance? Maybe you liked to read, maybe you once had a dream of being a dancer before life went to hell, maybe you were shy, maybe you liked to get drunk and sing your favorite songs at full volume.

What would you be like, once you were fully his?

What do you look like, underneath all of your clothing? What has nature and nurture shown fit to bestow upon you, your skin, all those secret places you keep hidden?

The thread bobbles again. Are you stepping out of the shower soon, or still scrubbing yourself? You’re so vulnerable, naked and unawares, just a few feet away from him. The water running is a delicious sound to his ears, because he knows that you’re underneath it.

He imagines what you might look like naked. He imagines what sounds you might make, underneath him, gasping and--

Oh, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He smiles and shakes his head at the rush. He should slow down, yes. Slow down and savor it all.

He clenches both of his hands. In one is the duplicate key, in the other is a syringe. Both go into opposite pockets, awaiting their respective time to shine.

The dress that arrives at your door with a prim knock from a porter is not quite what you expected--which is a relief. You expected the stranger to send up something ridiculous. Something slinky and glittering, maybe with only a half shoulder.

But instead it’s a simple dress with a flared skirt, all made from dark blue fabric. The sleeves are elbow length, the neckline isn’t too low, and there’s a matching black belt to go with it. He’s even sent up a pair of nylons, which are something you haven’t worn since you were a little kid, desperately trying to mimic your mother’s fancy outfits.

He also--and maybe this is overkill--sent up a few pairs of shoes in different sizes, along with a transcribed note instructing you to call the front desk if none of them fit, or simply wear your own shoes if you are uncomfortable with it.

This stranger--Chrollo--is awfully accommodating. And kind. And considerate.

Which is exactly why, when the dress is on and your nylon-clad feet are resting in the shoes easiest to run in, you tuck your switchblade into one of the dress pockets for safekeeping.

Maybe he is just kind. Or he’s one of those people that makes themselves feel better by occasionally being charitable; he’s harboring some sort of guilt that can be alleviated, however temporarily, by buying a person a sandwich or two.

But maybe he’s not. You’ve known people who have been hurt or killed or sometimes worse by so-called charitable people. People that lure you in with showers and hotels, meals and clothing. People that slit your throat before or after they have their way with you.

Life was dark and life was shit, and you weren’t born yesterday. If this stranger had any nefarious intentions, you certainly weren’t going to walk into them like a bleating lamb.

And yet, and yet… some part of you wanted to believe he had good intentions. You’re not sure why, exactly. You weren’t the type to look on the bright side or always see the good in people--or at least, you hadn’t been that way since childhood. Yet something about this Chrollo made you hope that he was a good person. That you’d have a nice conversation and he wouldn’t do anything more than give you a nice afternoon and a place to sleep comfortably for a bit.

It was an almost primal feeling, which made it all the more stranger. Your gut feelings usually told you something like: this place is dangerous, this guy’s probably got a gun, that alley’s too notorious to use as a shortcut.

Your gut didn’t give you silly notions, like wanting to trust someone, hoping they would talk to you during dinner, wondering if they’d be pleasant to be around for longer.

At least, not before today.

“And the lady will have the cailles aux raisins.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Quail,” Chrollo says, allowing the waiter to take the leather-bound menu from his hands. As if your issue was with the choice of food--okay, you didn’t know what it meant, but still--and not that he ordered for you. “Stuffed with shallots, grapes, liver, and ah, I believe, some cognac, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s correct, sir,” the waiter says, not giving you a second glance--you didn’t even get a menu, which irked you, but considering you had nothing to pay with and perhaps the hotel staff knew it, it was a practical snub.

Your lips twist into a frown, although you suppose you can’t complain. The dish does sound good. Not that you’ve ever had quail. But it can’t be that different from chicken. Or duck. You had duck, once, as a kid. Your mother brought you to a hotel just like this for a Mother’s Day brunch and you sat at a table with an embroidered cloth and wore a pair of your mother’s white gloves, so that you would look extra fancy.

“I apologize,” Chrollo tells you. “I should have asked your preference first.” The strangest part is how sincere he sounds, like he really didn’t want to offend you. Like he actually might be interested in what you want to eat. Part of you can appreciate that, and part of you wants to finger the handle of your knife inside your pocket.

“It’s fine.” You shrug it all off. Because you can, and you choose to--but also because you’re famished and the smells wafting from the other tables is enough to make your stomach growl. “People usually don’t order things like this for me, anyway. If they do give me anything.”

Chrollo tilts his head slightly, looking at you like a particularly interesting painting on a wall. “No?”

You smile thinly. “Nope. I’m lucky if I get someone’s leftover fries from a fast food shop.��

“What a shame.” He places both hands on the table, clasping his fingers together. His gaze bores into yours. You look away, briefly, but find yourself wanting to look back. How odd. “I’m sure,” he begins, talking slowly, measuring out his words, “that must be demoralizing--to be treated as lesser-than.”

You can’t help the snort that comes out your nose, or the quick words that follow. “Yeah? And what would you know about that?” Your eyes rake over his outfit, your mind whirls over how much money he’s spent on you alone, as if it was nothing. A drop in the bucket. Some rich man playing with his money. Or daddy’s money, depending on the circumstance.

Of course, you expect him to get offended. You expect him to call you ungrateful and cancel the order and ship you out of here like yesterday’s trash. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has gotten angry that you didn’t play into their savior fantasies. Your muscles even prep to stand, your face goes stony, ready to block the anger that he’ll throw your way.

Only... none of that happens.

His face looks--it’s hard to describe, really. It’s almost like it glitches for a moment, and you see something you weren’t meant to see. You’re not even sure if he realizes it. And then his expression gets so remote and so quiet. He looks away from you for perhaps the first time, looking instead, at his hands.

“I know a lot about that, actually.”

It’s not offense in his expression but… sympathy? No, that’s not it either. You know “sympathy face” like the back of your hand, for all the good it does you.

It’s empathy. Trace, but there. A shared experience between you. Maybe that’s why you’ve felt inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt all day. Why you went with him in the first place, hunger pangs aside.

“So you’ve been…” You begin, but is there a need to finish. He’s been homeless, or something like it. Downtrodden. On the bottom.

He nods.

“Sorry.” The word comes out blurted but soft. Well, I’m an asshole, you think.

He smiles at you, a soft, thin thing--almost like a gloss that covers up his previous expression. “No, don’t be. You had no way of knowing, dear.”

Dear.

The word hangs between you silently, as if it’s being dangled on some sort of invisible string. He opens his mouth slightly--maybe to apologize--but shuts it when you don’t say anything. Instead, he simply blinks, and watches you.

Perhaps a minute ago you might have bristled at the nickname, might have sought to cut it right down, in fact. But for now, you brush it aside. He’s being nice--he knows what you’re going through. And sure, there’s some sort of guilt relief in his actions, but it’s not coming from the place of a rich man making himself feel better. It’s coming, you think, from a place of not just knowing where you’ve been but having been there himself.

Before either of you can speak, the waiter returns with your appetizer and despite the guilt in your gut, your hunger practically sings at the sight of the plate of bread and butter. It’s fancy bread, already cut, gleaming with what smells like garlic butter spread over the top.

The flavored butter is shaped like a rose and it’s only after you childishly dip your bread right into it and take a loud, chewy bite of the delicious goodness that you realize you’ve committed a faux-pas. There’s a tiny butter knife on the plate, obviously meant to delicately smear the butter onto your bread. And here you are, gnawing on the piece like some sort of medieval peasant during a bad harvest.

A pang of shame tingles over you. It’s a silly kind of shame--inconsequential, really. Who cares how you eat bread at some hotel you’ll never step foot in again in your life? But it lingers terribly. Until Chrollo picks up a piece of brand and dips it right into the butter, too, taking a chewy bite with far less graciousness than you imagined with his sophisticated appearance.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” He asks, not even bothering to cover his mouth.

You smile. You almost-snort. And the shame dissipates like ice crystals on a sunny day, as you and Chrollo both finish off the appetizer. He lets you eat more without saying a word, which you appreciate.

There’s a lot to appreciate about him, really. He’s been kind. He hasn’t been terribly condescending, dinner order notwithstanding. And he seems to know how to approach you with actual empathy and not just the sticky, coddling sympathy that most people do.

And you won’t lie--he is nice to look at. He even smells nice, but with the amount of money he had to spend on the clothing he sent up to your room, he can likely afford to buy expensive cologne.

If he notices you staring, he says nothing. Instead, he half-closes his eyes and appears to be deep in thought. Over… you? Or dinner?

He hums a bit under his breath, and you realize: it’s the music. It’s a delicate song being played by a small group of musicians set up on a stage in the corner. It’s familiar… your brain strives to catch up with your ears.

“You like this song?” You ask, because the silence has stretched too long, and the bread is now gone.

Chrollo opens his eyes and regards you with a sober smile. “Yes.” He pauses, then. “It’s--”

“Elgar's Chanson de matin,” you blurt, before he can. “I know it.”

His eyes widen, just a tad. Enough to show that he’s curious. A funny bit of pride thrums through you. It can be retribution for the quail earlier, you decide.

“You’re familiar with his work?”

You feel your cheeks heat up, even though you don’t get the sense that he asked to be cruel. He seems actually interested. Like he wants to know you. It’s nice, and confusing, and a little startling.

You nod, wishing there was more bread to break up the conversation. “What, you think someone like me can’t be interested in classical music?

“Of course not.” He answers swiftly, resolutely.

He reaches his hand towards yours and grasps it before you can think to pull away. It seems silly to yank your hand out of his, so you don’t. Even if the way he looks down at your interlocked fingers makes goosebumps dance up your arm.

His expression is so strange. He looks… lonely. And desperate. And relieved. But why?

Both of your gazes meet for one electric moment and for that moment, you feel like he sees you. And you see him. Not as clearly. But you see something inside him that is not quite on the surface. Something which does make you pull away, but not with distaste. You withdraw your hand from his slowly, like he’s a wild animal that you don’t want to startle.

The waiter, impeccable timing as ever, arrives with the main courses just as your hand makes its way into your lap.

And just like that, the spell is broken. Ripples of water dash whatever it was between you, and he’s speaking charmingly to the waiter, who appears swiftly again with a glass of champagne for each of you. You weren’t intending to drink, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt. It could calm your nerves.

Neither of you talk much for the rest of dinner. It’s not tense, exactly, but you can tell there’s something in the air. Questions unspoken, maybe, or just an awkwardness between two strangers who seem to both understand and misunderstand each other in equal measure.

The hotel’s restaurant begins to thin out after your main courses are taken away. A dessert menu is brought, and Chrollo orders a simple slice of cake for both of you.

Real vanilla bean frosting is on your lips when you ask your question. Quiet, but with most of the other guests gone, he has no trouble hearing it.

“So you were… homeless, before?”

You’re not sure why you need to know this. To confirm that he’s not some rich boy playing with his father’s money? To see how much he can really understand you? Maybe the champagne went to your head. You don’t normally drink, it wouldn’t be impossible.

His fork stalls as the question comes out. He glances up at you and there’s nothing offended or hurt in his eyes. He seems to weigh his answer before he gives it. It doesn’t really surprise you; he could be just as mistrustful of you as you are of him, couldn’t he?

“Something like that.” He rests his fork on his plate. “I suppose you are trying to decide just how much I can sympathize with your… situation.”

Heat floods your cheeks, and you’re grateful the water brought another glass of champagne that you can sip from to loosen the tightness in your chest.

If he notices your flushed countenance, he doesn’t remark on it. You like him better for it. He continues speaking, looking at you with a measured expression. Like before, his words come slowly and carefully, given to you with something akin to grace.

“Our situations were not exactly similar. I don’t find it terribly useful to compare them. Better in some ways, worse in others. Like anything.”

“Better?” You dab at your mouth with a napkin.

“Ah.” He seems to weigh his next words with even more scrutiny before he decides on them. “I had something you didn’t, which surely benefited me.”

“Which was?”

There’s something wistful in his voice now. It makes you lean forward over the table. With most of the other guests gone, it feels strange to talk so openly about clearly delicate matters. Chrollo mimics your lean, and while he doesn’t take your hands across the table into his, you get the feeling he’d like to, if you let him.

“Companionship,” he says simply. The word settles in the air like a brick that seems to land right on your chest. You blink and feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes. You really did have too much champagne, and this is all getting to be a lot. You start to lean backward when he speaks again.

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“No,” you lie. The shock of the question does make you lean back fully. Then, to be spiteful. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He only looks down at his hands and the empty spot where yours used to be, and then back at you.

Nothing more is said on the matter. He pays for the meal and leaves a nice fat tip for the waiter--who has, you think, been lurking nearby either to witness your drama or to make sure no one swipes his tip from the table--before escorting you back to the elevators.

Shame slams back into you while you’re standing in front of the elevator doors.

“I’m sorry.” Sure, he asked it first, but fuck--you hate being rude. If you were rude. It was hard to tell how Chrollo felt about anything. The champagne making your head fuzzy doesn’t help. Not at all.

He tilts his head a little. “What for?”

Your eyebrows furrow together. “You know, for asking… for being…” You wave your hands around a little. It’s too hard to put into words. You’re tired, you feel out of sorts, and you’re tipsy bordering on drunk. You can give yourself some forgiveness in a lack of coherency in this matter, at least.

Chrollo regards you for a moment before he shakes his head, scoffing a little as he smiles.

“For being yourself? Or at least showing some small part of it to me? I don’t mind.” He holds out his arm and you, unsteady champagne fuzz in your head, take it. “I’ll escort you to your room, if that’s all right. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go there alone.”

You should tell him that you’ll be fine. You should. But the champagne in your brain and the way you feel drawn to him--however slightly--makes “should” fly out the window. So you nod and let him lead you into the elevator, where the ride up makes you dizzy enough that Chrollo has to steady you carefully, and you mumble out another apology.

He only chuckles a little and helps you walk out of the elevator without stumbling over the threshold. Your room is just down the hall and he keeps a steady grip on you the whole way, even though you’ve told yourself that you won’t stumble anymore. It feels weird, to have someone so close to you; to smell his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin.

It feels weird, yes, but giddy too. He is handsome. And he did buy you dinner. And clothes. And he’s not as shitty as you thought he might be at first. The way he ate the bread in solidarity with you earlier--you can’t forget that, can you? It was… cute, even. If someone like Chrollo could be called cute.

Is it the champagne, the newness of this stranger-but-not-entirely, the rich disarmament that comes with a full stomach and freshly washed face? All of the above? Whatever it is, it’s got you thinking too much about Chrollo as he gently takes the key from your hand and opens your hotel room door.

A gentleman, he only sees you just inside before taking his leave, promising to meet you for breakfast in the morning--if you’d like.

You would like, you tell him, and the door shuts and locks swiftly afterwards. Chrollo’s cologne lingers in the air, or maybe it rubbed off on you from all the steadying he had to do.

The hotel room is just as you left it. Clean and pristine, smelling vaguely of lemon. Your duffel bags and personal belongings are shoved in the corner. Maybe you’ll try to read one of your books tonight, before you sleep? It would be the first time you read on an actual bed in ages. Maybe you could even call for room service? A little midnight snack? It’s not like Chrollo would mind, or at least, he probably wouldn’t. It’d be something small anyway, nothing wild.

Unless you wanted a bubbly nightcap.

Full of ideas, you take your giddy champagne self back to the bathroom to change into pajamas that he sent up earlier, humming Elgar’s Chanson, thinking about bread and quail and… Chrollo. The knife in your dress pocket gets left on the bathroom counter. It was silly to bring it, now that you think about it.

Still humming, you flop on the bed and grab the menu for room service. It wouldn’t hurt to order some extra dessert. And another glass of champagne. Maybe two…

You’re so out of sorts that at no point for the rest of the night, before your weary head hits the soft pillow, do you stop to wonder how Chrollo knew your room number.

There are few things Chrollo truly regrets in his life. One of them, he knows, will be that he couldn’t plant himself in this town for a few months in order to properly court you; to introduce you, gradually, to the concept of nen. To the knowledge that you were his soul mate.

But it can’t be helped. He has to leave tomorrow night, come hell or high water. And he certainly won’t let you drown here a moment longer. It’s for your sake. You’ll come to realize that eventually, just as you will--in time--come to forgive him for what he must do.

You’ll no doubt regret letting down your barriers in the morning. But if you hadn’t been so keen to trust in someone, to trust in him, then he wouldn’t have gotten to see something of the real you underneath all of that built-up survival instinct. And didn’t you see something of him, too? He thinks you did. Just a moment, a spark, but it was there.

You sweet thing. He could hear you humming through the door earlier; heard you order room service (champagne and desserts) and he regretted not having Shalnark swoop in during dinner to set up some security cameras.

The key to your room feels heavy in his hand. On this side, he is simply himself, staring ahead as the red thread of his soulmate leads away from him. But once he turns it into the lock and quietly opens the door, there will be nothing between you but sleep.

He opens the door and relishes in the way the thread sags even further downward. If only you could have seen how beautiful the thread looked during dinner, all tangled up as he clasped your hand in his. That’s how the thread was meant to look. Not tight and taut and unforgiving.

You’re fast asleep when he silently enters the room and unlocks the deadbolt so that Shalnark can help him remove you from the premises. Curled up underneath the covers, you look like you’re in bliss. It’s likely the first restful sleep you’ve had in a long time. Months? Years?

How awful for you, to wake up tomorrow and realize that you’re no longer in the hotel bed. And that he’s the one to blame for it. How awful for him, too, to lose his grasp on the tentatively pleasant and revealing evening you had together. But he doesn’t think you’ll be empathetic on that matter. Not for a while, anyway.

He sits down on the bed next to you and it takes a considerable amount of self-control not to curl up against you. It’s not worth the risk of you waking, although the tranquilizer in his pocket could be jabbed into your thigh early, if need be.

Besides… you’ll have a lifetime of nights together after this.

There’s no need to rush what is finally his to keep forever.

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere chrollo lucilfer #afterwitch writes

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woodnrust · 1 year

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I do nawrt get thiftbooks estimated delivery system. Wym the package that's literally in my town right now is supposed to be here by January 3rd, but the one that's in a totally different state at this moment is gonna be here by January 2nd. Hello??

#jelly.txt #like if i were to cut across the railroad tracks i would literally be right there at the post office.#and it's another 5 minute walk to the mail truck lot location from there #it couldn't possibly take another 4 days for them to deliver my package when it's literally a short walk away from my house

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

Note

Slides you a paper, simple lil request

Reader is talking to Dogday and not watching where their going, they nearly fall off a ledge but Dogday, catching them, decides they don't need to walk and will thus be carried.

Ps. Lil Dogday with legs idea ^^

Note || combining these two requests cause I can.

Sypnosis || your companion seemed to be very strong, carrying you in spite of your protests.

DogDay –

Being as it is, you were hurt. Badly enough as it is, he was beginning to get worried. On the off hand, you had done so much for him already, giving back his legs so he could walk and even freeing him way before that. Your body seemed to be sorely injured, yet you always pushed on. You always liked helping people and toys alike where you can, so as long as they were sane and not conceivable in the far off ends of pure insanity after being in the factory for so long.

DogDay was, in a way, very impressed with how you managed to get so far. But now, he simply wasn’t having it.

“I swear, ‘Go back to bed, you’ll feel better in the morning’ haha–” You wanted to continue, being so enthralled with talking to DogDay who was tentatively listening to you as you two had made your roundabouts yet other things had occurred. With a yelp escaping you, you slipped and fell.

“AH!” You closed your eyes, seeing you tripped off of a ledge. Suddenly, you realize that someone had caught you. DogDay, he held you close to his chest, as if he was fearing you would get hurt again. “Angel, you should take a break from walking for a while… ok?” DogDay had tilted his head slightly at you, as if he wanted to be sure you had heard what he said.

You nodded, a little caught off guard by this sudden change in his outward personality. As if he was taking on the role of a protective familiar member, it gave you a sense of nostalgia. You sighed as your head laid against his chest, noticing the fact one arm of his was cradling your legs, the other holding your back.

“Ah fine…”

CatNap –

The crash was terrible, leaving you on the tracks numb and in pain. You didn’t understand what was happening, only blacking out and leaving the realm of the conscious for a period of time (though seemingly it felt very long). Your dreams felt terrible, running away and trying to scrape by at every possible moment. Though it was relief enough when you realized you were just asleep, though one thing had remained strange however.

Were you… being carried by someone, you didn’t get a good look at the said body. You blinked your eyes, trying to tide away the blurriness ebbing at your peripherals. You cry out when you finally make the connection, CatNap, the one you had seen before all those years ago before being recalled was carrying you.

Like a kitten being carried by the scruff apparently? You couldn’t get a good look.

‘Gods… it hurts.’ you thought to yourself, knowing full well wherever that CatNap was carrying you was not going to be a good or even convenient location in any case. You were slightly panicked, but more put off by how heavily you could hear CatNap breathing. “You really need to work out..” You pause for a moment, feeling the pain sharp in your skin like thousands of thousands of needles rubbing straight in. “More often.” At this, CatNap paused, causing you to think he was probably surprised at your choice of words. Oh, the look on his face was one you most wished to see right now.

Though he had finally resumed, continuing to walk despite the fact he had just paused for a good minute or so.

You wonder if he was truly well intentioned at the very moment.

#poppy playtime #dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #poppy playtime x reader #catnap poppy playtime #catnap #dogday x reader #poppy playtime dogday #dogday #catnap x reader #uhhh yeah

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chanelrolls · 25 days

Text

milkman x gn!reader

genre: suspense, thrill, a bit of action

summary: you're warned abt the recent doppelganger sightings around your town while you're home alone, unbeknownst to yourself that you'd be attacked by one of your neighbours, the milk man, as the two of you play a game of cat and mouse.

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"have you been warned by the recent doppelganger sightings?", from the other side of the phone, your bestfriend's voice resonated through the line, whilst you're rubbing your hands with soap by the kitchen counters. you had just finished eating dinner with your pet, and you have been living alone all by yourself since your grandparents allowed you to take over their property.

you take note of your bestfriend's words, brows furrowing until your glabella meets. of course, you are aware of what a doppelganger is, but the sudden phenomenon of its existence leaves you perplexed. or maybe, your bestfriend is joking around again? "doppelgangers? where'd you even hear that from? so silly...", you wipe your hands with a piece of cloth, awaiting her response.

"hear? i witnessed it myself, y/n. it's on the newsflash, residents are being attacked by doppelgangers! some being injured and some in critical condition, as said. y/n, you should be careful—"

your attention abruptly shifts towards your main door, and to the windows that was situated in both sides. you almost swore you heard a faint noise from outside, specifically near your porch. you remained silent, a series of shivers running through your nerves. "y/n? are you there?", your bestfriend's voice came out as a background noise, as you slowly saunter towards the window, with every movement you make being precise and calculated.

just then, your heart nearly escapes out of your chest upon seeing someone's silhouette by the porch. you couldn't see much since the window restricted you from doing so, and otherwise, whoever the hell that is might see you. "girl, call 911 immediately.", you whispered to your phone. "what? what's happening!? you're making me worried, y/n!" you halt from your tracks when your eyes catch sight of a familiar delivery box that was resting near the silhouette's feet. it was the daily delivery milkman! strangely, he usually delivers you the milk jugs every 6PM, and it's already past 2 hours.

"nevermind... just make sure to answer your phone as soon as i call you."

"what? you haven't—", you cut your bestfriend's line on end, quietly placing your phone down. you hesitated for a few more moments, but the knocking on the door interferes with your trail of thoughts. you weren't sure whether you'd believe your bestfriend's warnings since you haven't heard of the news yourself (well, because you don't watch the news...) or just get it over with and receive the milk jugs as fast as possible.

you puff out a nervous sigh, your hand slowly reaching out for the doorknob — as your fingers touched the cold metallic surface, you twisted the handle, opening the door and facing francis mosses himself. as always, he held a lackadaisical countenance for someone whose job is as mundane as delivering milk jugs to the same locations each day. nothing really changed in his appearance... he had the same lifeless eyes, with dark and deep bags underneath. his physique is attuned by the same milkman suit paired with his silly little iconic hat on top of his head, plus, he's towering over you.

before you were able to say anything, he speaks up, "sorry for the late delivery." with a monotonous tone. you try to scrutinize any unusual differences in his physiognomy, to compare them to the previous times he made deliveries for you. as much as you wanted to ignore your bestfriend's warnings at the back of your head, your subconscious couldn't help but to act a lot more wary. you watched as his eyes locked onto yours, then momentarily shifting to the inside corners of your house. "will you perhaps... let me in?"

your breath hitched, what kind of question was that? no sane human would have the guts to ask a fellow you barely know something so outright and personal. "oh. 'scuse me for being rude, i've just been really thirsty and worn out, a glass of water would help...", he explains, his hand going up to gesture to his adam's apple, with a silent plea in his sleepy eyes.

"ah—", you promptly take the milk jugs from his hand, avoiding any eye-contact. "if all you need is water, i'll bring it out for you then. please wait outside!" you lightheartedly cheer, trying to shake off the tension building up in the atmosphere. but as soon as you turn your back on him, you hear a thud, causing you to instinctively look over your shoulder.

francis's hand is leaning against the doorframe, while the other is behind him. his eyes became peculiarly darker than a moment ago, steadily aiming at you, as his foot is almost beyond the doorstep. "i'd also need to wash a part of me, so i'll really appreciate it if you let me in?" his lips are slightly parted, exposing a bit of his teeth.

"uh-" your head then became messy with all of the incoherent thoughts flowing, and the only thing certain to you right now was how alarmed you feel.

"please?", added he, taking one more step forward, his fingers crawling from the doorframe and to the flat wooden surface of the door itself, to fully lean his elbow against the frame as a way to support his figure.

that's it. your survival instincts have been provoked, this was too far for an ordinary milkman to be acting like this- almost trespassing your personal space, at that. you run to the kitchen island, and as you do so, the sound of rushing footsteps behind you had your adrenaline skyrocketing its maximum. you frantically search for any possible weapon, thus eventually grabbing a paring knife to aim it towards the milkman's doppelganger.

his agility outmatched yours, when he wraps his hand around your wrist to twist your forearm, forcing you to drop your weapon onto the cold tiles. "no, no, no, not so fast—" francis cooed, but there's no way you would let yourself die in a situation like this, so as soon as he planned on doing his next move, you raise your knee to hit his crotch.

"gghk!" that painful strike from you elicited a grunt out of him, you didn't hesitate to take advantage of his agony and kicked him down to the ground once more. your hands desperately reach for the knife again, as if it was the only thing that could keep you alive (well, technically it is.) grabbing ahold of it and positioning the tip near his eye.

at this point, you were hovering on top of him, with your knees painfully pressed against the floor. on the other hand, francis is still wincing from the attack he had to endure, his elbows angled against the tiles to keep his torso slanted from it. "try to move, i'll stab your forehead."

if you were to be honest, you weren't sure of what you had to do next. but as of now, you were sure that you gained the upper hand.

milkman doesn't say anything, he keeps his eyes on yours, as if he plans on burning your eyeballs with just the ominous power of his stare. you watched how the corners of his lips formed a smirk, also as if to mock your attempts. "playing games now?" he leans closer, but within a blink of an eye, plunging forward to yank your arm away and pinning you down the tiles, reversing the positions. surely, you didn't have the upper hand anymore.

"how do you feel being beneath me? like this?", he says, his fingertips lightly coasting up the skin of your face. you feel his touch on your ears, you didn't understand what he was trying to do, and you still attempt to escape from his grip. however, francis had no intention of letting you go. his fingers leave your ear, moving down to wrap around your throat. his grip is firm, that you could feel his nails subtly digging into the flesh of your neck, and you're starting to feel light-headed.

"i politely told you to let me in. if you only did, then..." you gasp for air, but you didn't fail to catch how his eyes were already widened and his pupils were contracted. the expression plastered on his visage resembling a mad psychopath's. "then this wouldn't have happened to you."

just as you embraced yourself to face death, everything went black and dead silent. though you still felt the hand around your neck, but his grip loosened. it took the both of you long enough to realize that a power outage within the whole neighbourhood had occured.

you muster up the courage and strength to push him off of you while he was still dumbfounded from the blackout. scurrying away, you feel his hand grab your ankle, but you were quick enough to give his face a hit, so you crawl up bristling and ran around the house.

it was hard for you to see much, but the moonlight seething through the blinds was enough for you to catch sight of the living room materializing before your scrutiny in the dark. the first thing you did was to hide in the small closet near the TV, praying that the odds will favour you and somehow trick the milkman that you went somewhere else.

you made sure to keep yourself quiet, hearing slow footsteps as you try to process where it came from and where it led to. the reverbating echoes of the steps indicated that he was heading upstairs, to your relief. you carefully push the closet door and step outside, wandering your eyes around the vicinity. each step you made towards the main door had your heart hammering against your chest, but shouldn't you feel advantaged that the doppelganger is now upstairs? the presence of the milkman still lingered even though he's not to be seen anymore.

your hand clutches onto your chest, upon coming into the realization of having to call your bestfriend. but where was your phone? you couldn't remember where you last left it due to how much you've been panicking. "fuck, fuck. i need to calm down—"

just then, you feel someone's hot breath brush against your nape, and a strong sense of presence just right around nearby. you stop, breathing heavily as your hands begin to tremble. ghostly fingers crawl up to your arm up until your shoulder, and his breathing is getting slow on your ear. slowly, your eyes move to the mirror adjacent to where you were standing.

and then, you see him standing behind you. you take note of how the hat he wore moments prior was no longer on top of his head, and you could see that his hair is slightly disheveled from all the chase you've been doing.

"ngh—!", you squeak in surprise, but he was fast enough to cover your mouth with a hand. he looks at you through the mirror, and you look at how he had the same smirk from earlier. it was inhumanely impossible, but you swore to yourself that you could see a blood-red glint lurking beneath his irises.

"shhh."

he pulls your waist, forcing you to face him and your faces had never been this close before. the proximity makes your blood rise all the way up to your face, for some other reason you couldn't pinpoint out. you couldn't quite distinguish his features that much from the darkness, but you were able to see the shadows and the contrasts in his face.

"would you want to see my real form?", his eyebrows are tilted, creases forming in between. "it seems you do, you keep testing my patience." there was a subtle hiss through his whispers, as he pushes you down the nearest chair, pulling a groan out of your throat.

there was an undeniable tension jostling through and through, maybe even a sexual one, at that. from the amount of intimate physical touching that he's done on you, and the way francis's predatory gaze constantly skim through your body. while you're just right there, being helpless and facing no other choice but to submit. otherwise he'll use that larger knife in his hand on you, wait, since when did he have that?

"please..." you beg through gritted teeth, clutching onto the fabric of the sofa you're on.

"please." he repeats, mocking you with a pleading face that came much more convincing than yours. he's leaning forward, looking like he's the one hovering on you allover again.

you close your eyes, pursing your lips against one another. but as soon as francis makes yet another move, the wail of the siren pierces the tranquility of the neighbourhood, echoing off the silence. as the police cars prowls past, its pulsating hues of crimson and blue seeths through the windows of your house.

you open your eyes, is that the police? are they here to save you? all of the sudden, francis drops the weapon he's been holding, immediately kneeling on the ground and looking up at you, this time, with a genuine plea.

"no, don't make me go. please."

it's too late, the doppelganger has been caught. and the chase had now come to an end.

#milkman x reader #francis mosses #thats not my neighbor #milkman #francis mosses x reader

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8siangemini · 11 months

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Everything I Do Is For You (Miles Morales!Earth 42 x Reader!Spiderwoman)

Summary: You are SpiderWoman on Earth 42 and Miles is still the Prowler. The Prowler has a mission to kill Spider-Woman due to the high bounty on your head. For months now he has been tracking you down and has focused so much on tracking you down that he does not realize you are right under his nose. One evening when you followed the Prowler back to his hideout you find something you wish you never saw.

Word Count: 2,282

Author’s Note: Based on how Earth 42 looks and based off of the Prowler’s mask I am going the make SpiderWoman a little more cyber-ish. Hope y’all enjoy :)

“Fucking A” You say underneath your breath as you look at yourself in your full body mirror you had in your mirror.

You had an interaction with the Prowler earlier tonight and the beating he gave you took a number on you. Bruises on your arms, parts of your suit torn up, scratches and cuts on your face, and worse your backpack and gauntlets were fucked up. Your backpack was initially a project for your engineering class that Miles had helped you with that slowly became a weapon you used while fighting. The backpack was compact yet was able to hold yourself up by large metal spider legs. Your gauntlets were like claws but had the same function to spew out webs.

But due to the Prowler multiple legs on your backpack were broken and he had punctured a couple holes into your gauntlets with his own claw. That was until you were able to crush his claw while his hand was still in it. Your fight ended when you finally retreated before he could total your backpack. But luckily you are going to finally be able to find him.

“You think you won this fight Prowler?” You ask yourself.

You go to your desk that had multiple monitors on it and took off your gauntlets. You typed some things into your computer and pulled up a map and in the middle of the map was a moving red dot. You smile to yourself as you lean back in your seat and look at the dot like it was the proudest thing you had accomplished.

“Lucky for me, you ‘n I kept doing at each other’s gauntlets that you did not even notice the tracking device I embedded into your claw when I crushed your hand.” You chuckle to yourself, waiting for the red dot to stop to figure out where the Prowler hides out.

After a couple of minutes of movement the dot stays still. You smile to yourself and zoom out of the dot to figure out where the location is. You grab your mask again and pull it over your face and jump out of your window with just your webslingers, no backpack and no gauntlets.

You make it to the location and the only room that was still active with the lights still on was the one on the very top. You shoot your webs up at the railing and quietly and stealthily you land on the metal railing without making a sound. You peak inside through the windows and see the room was lit with a purple color. Gym equipment running across the window closest to you and at the end of the room there was a large connect web with a large map and multiple pictures of you.

You began getting scared. Looking on the web you begin seeing more and more accurate information laying on the board. Your age, the places you recently been, possible schools you go to, possible places where you would go as a civilian, and your nightly patrol routes. But the picture on the top of the board was what scared you the most. A printed out bounty poster of you. $900,000 on your head.

Just then two figures come into the room. The room was very dark but you tried your best to figure out who the figures were. Luckily the two stand under one of the brightest light sources in the room. Your heart dropped at the uncovered person, tall and slender, Uncle Aaron. Miles’ Uncle, in the same room as the Prowler. They were discussing something, like they were partners. They showed no threat to one another but you could still not believe what you were seeing, there was no way. Why would he be doing this sort of business? Then in front of him stood a slightly shorter figure, he was in the mask, the Prowler.

You carefully open the window quietly to try and hear what they may say. The Prowler’s claw was off laying on the table his actual hand was bandaged up with blood staining the gauges. Just then his mask begins to move, begins to open up. You stare with eyes wide open to make sure you see who the Prowler is. Your heart begins racing, eager to find out who the Prowler is.

Then your heart drops, breaks. As the mask disappeared two braids fell down, you knew those two braids. The mask completely disappears and there he stood, Miles, with furrowed brows. Your Miles, your boyfriend, but also your nemesis.

“You’re gonna have to take a few days off with that hand like that.” Uncle Aaron says as he helps Miles take off his jacket and shirt, leaving him shirtless.

“Yeah I know. What do I tell (Y/n)?” Miles asked which pirked your ears up. Miles exams his hand and you begin to feel guilty that you were the one to hurt your boyfriend so badly.

“Just say you cut your hand or some’.” Uncle Aaron quickly says. “You haven’t told her right?” He asks strictly and Miles just shakes his head.

Miles kept on looking down at his hand with his eyebrows furrowing and his eyes glaring down.

“I’m gonna get her, for sure. The next time I see her, I’m gonna get her.” Miles says with determination. His voice was laced with venom and determination, it shook fear throughout your whole body right down to your core.

“You sure as hell better. With that money,” Uncle Aaron says as he points at the bounty poster at the very top of the web. “You, your mama, and your girl could live in luxury. So you better get her the next time you see her or else the cops are gonna get suspious.”

Was he going to use the money for all of us? Is this where the money comes from whenever he gifts you one of your many pieces of jewlery or the multiple pairs of matching Jordan’s you two have? This was the reason why he never picks up your calls late at night whenever you wanted to call him while you were on patrol. This was the reason why whenever you came by his place to make sure he was safe after your nightly patrol he was never there. He was also patrolling too. He had a night life full of violence, violence you should have prevented as Spider-Woman. But in the end you had to admit it was him, the Prowler, that kept causing the violence and fear in Brooklyn.

Uncle Aaron goes to the claw and picks it up and begins to examine the damage you brought upon it. His eyebrows furrow but soon his eyes widened at the slightest bit, he found it. He plucks out a small red device crammed into the mess of the claw and looks at Miles. He holds out the small device to Miles with a pissed off expression, knowing full well on what it is.

“Miles!” Uncle Aaron yells. “Do you know what this is?” Miles just shrugs. “A tracking device Miles! A tracking device!”

Just then you shoot my webs at the top of the window and use your momentum to break through the window, landing in the center of the room. You place your hands on your hips as you turn your head back and forth to crack your neck.

“Let’s try this one more time, Prowler.” You say.

You begin webbing up Uncle Aaron down to his knees and you quickly knock him out cold with a punch to the jaw and his body falling limp to the ground with a loud thud. You web both of Miles’ shoulders and use your momentum to kick him in the jaw. For a couple of hits you kept on doing the same thing, using your momentum to kick him in various of areas until he finally caught your foot with his good hand. He yanked you down and pinned you down with his two knees digging into your two thighs, causing enough pressure to create bruises. His good hand tried to hold both of yours but you were able to keep on escaping for at least one of your hands to throw a punch at him.

You did not care that you were punching the shit out of your boyfriend, he wanted to kill you for a price. He wanted to kill you for money. The person you love the most wants to kill you. He also kept secrets and kept on telling lies to you. Yeah, you were doing the same thing but he was doing it because it was a violent and dark job. All of your glamorous and luxiorous gifts he gave you, you were know questioning if the bought those with the money from these dirty jobs. It made you sick to your stomach.

“You’ve been lying to me Miles!” You yelled at him as he kept trying to pin you down. His eyes widened at the slightest bit.

“How do you know my name?” He asks as he manages to finally pin you down properly.

“What? You wanna kill me? Kill the girl that bandaged you up when you were all bloody without asking any question?” You yelled as tears began to fall through your mask. Miles expression started to somewhat soften. “You gonna kill the girl that was there for you when your dad died?”

Miles slowly starts to reach his bad hand carefully towards the edge of your mask. Your breath started to quicken as his hand started touching your masked face.

“I thought you said that you would burn the world down just for your girl?” You say meekly as tears still start beading from your eyes.

“(Y/n)?” Miles asks and carefully takes off your mask.

Face sweating and bleeding and eyes full of tears. Miles stared at you with his eyes wide and mouth agape.

“Kill me Miles.” You whispered.

“What?” Miles questioned.

“Kill me!” You yelled. “If you want the money so bad then just kill me now!”

Miles looked so broken, so betrayed. He could not believe you kept a secret like this hidden from him. He slowly let go of his wrists.

“Yeah,” You started. “Doesn’t feel good does it? Knowing your amor has been keeping a secret from you for so long? Imagine how I felt about you just a couple of minutes ago when I found out you were the Prowler. Imagine how I feel knowing I was the one that hurt you.” You say with a voice full of pain but Miles stays quiet for awhile.

“Miles say something!” You demand.

“I wanted to do this job for you.” Miles whispers. You look at him confused.

“What?” You ask.

“I wanted to do this job so that I could plan our anniversary.” Miles begins to explain. It was true, your guys’ anniversary was now only less than a month away. “I wanted to plan a nice dinner with you, get you nice things, and give you money for your engineering projects you want to carry out.”

Now everythings just washed over you and all you could feel now was guilt and regret. You regretted the fact that you beat the shit out of Miles, you were mad at yourself that you were the reason he wanted to kill someone, just so he could get you some nice things.

“I-I am so sorry Miles.” You begin to apologize.

“Why are apologizing ma? I should be apologizing for getting you roped into this.” Miles chuckle and you could not help but laugh a little. He began to get up off of you and offered his good hand to help you up.

“For not telling you about,” You start as you wave your body over your tattered suit. “This.”

“Then I’m sorry for not telling you about,” Miles says as he begins to sit on the couch and spread out his arms to jesture to the apartment. “this.” You laugh a little as you scan the room.

“Prowler huh?” You say through a laugh as Miles smirks a little while he slouches into this couch a little, spreading his legs and adjusting his pants.

“Spider-woman huh?” He says with a cocky smirk.

You smirk back and bend down to give him a deep kiss. He places his good hand on your hip as his tongue roams your mouth. You pull away a little bit and go back to standing up with your arms crossed as you scan his body.

“I gotta admit,” He leans forwards and places his hand on your hip and draws you in to stand inbetween his legs. “Tu te ves hermosa mami.” (You look beautiful, Mami) which causes you to smirk and chuckle.

“Then I’ll have to admit,” You place your hands on his bare toned shoulders as you lean down and peck his lips. “I dig you in the suit.”

You two stay like that for awhile as you rub his neck and he squeezes your hip every now and then. An idea comes into your head.

“Why don’t we make a deal?” You ask him.

“What is it, mami?” He asks you which causes your stomach to flip.

“If you stop messing with me as Spider-Woman I’ll make sure you won’t get caught by the cops.” You proposed and Miles raised an eyebrow in interest. “I have connections and have a little,” You raise your hand up away from Miles’ neck and your hand begins to emit yellow electric sparks and glitches. “advantage when it comes to hacking.”

Miles looks up at you with a smirk and he guides your hips down to lower you to his level.

“You have a deal, mami.”

#spider man #spider woman #miles morales x y/n #spiderman #miles morales x reader #into the spider verse #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman spoilers #earth 42 miles morales #the prowler #prowler miles #miles morales

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lexyeevee · 11 months

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it's wild to see myhouse having escaped the orbit of Doom People, because so much of it specifically riffs on doom in a way that is laser-targeted at Doom People, to the point that i just wouldn't have expected it to be nearly as interesting if you don't pick up on that stuff

right from the outset, "my house" is even a recognizable genre, because doom was among the first approachable platforms for creating a 3D space, and if you give random people the ability to create a 3D space then many of them will just try to recreate their own house. (i want to say jp lebreton even made an effort to play through every house map on the idgames archive at one point, though hell if i can find it now.) there was in fact already a "myhouse.wad", from 1995!

frankly it's incredible that someone (or someones) put so much effort into this map and then had the gall to simply post it on doomworld as "myhouse.wad", because that is a thread title that guarantees the fewest possible people will bother to look. there are posts in the thread where people outright admit that they only checked because they were surprised how many replies a "my house" wad got.

so anyway, okay, the "classic" doom wad experience is that you download a wad, it contains exactly 1 map, and it has zero custom textures or music or other frills. most wads from the 90s are like this; if you're lucky you might get a bad midi rendition of a metallica song. nowadays there are texture artists and musicians and everything collaborating on full map packs, but "just a map" is still kind of the default mapping experience and is recognizable to anyone who's been around doom for sufficiently long.

and myhouse riffs on absolutely every aspect of this:

• the music is the MAP01 music, Running From Evil, which is just the music you get if you supply your own map in the MAP01 slot and do nothing else. so a ton of 90s maps had this same track as their background music, so everyone has heard it a zillion times. it is ingrained into so many people's skulls. subtly fucking with it is a great way to fuck with the player

• the house uses only stock doom 2 textures, or occasionally light modifications of them. again this is just what you get if you make a map and don't supply any other resources, so the stock textures are very familiar. only later, with sufficient poking around, does the map introduce new textures, which really help sell the impression of being swept away to Somewhere Else

• if you take the exit, you go to MAP02, Underhalls. this is the expected experience because doom wads replace what's already there — you're not really supplying a "new map pack" or anything, you're overwriting a map from the original doom 2 progression. (there are ways to fiddle with this now, but in vanilla doom 2, the level progression was hardcoded.) so the "ending" of a no-frills single-map wad is always, always to transition to Underhalls. the opening shot of Underhalls is practically like seeing the credits. so roping Underhalls into the experience is completely unexpected, because Underhalls is the sign that you've escaped back to regular doom

• the super shotgun is "hidden" in Underhalls, in probably the best-known super shotgun location in the whole game, because it's the first time you can get it

• incidentally Underhalls itself feels uncanny, because the player camera height is higher than usual to make the house's proportions feel sensible. (part of the trouble with exact recreations of real spaces in doom is that the camera is weirdly low.) i was actually convinced that myhouse included a modified Underhalls, but no, it's stock doom 2 Underhalls, it just feels off when you're slightly taller

but wait, there's more

• silent teleporters are a feature from boom, a very early doom derivative that added a number of helpful mapping features and is basically considered only half a step beyond vanilla. so shifting between two versions of a space without interruption isn't completely unexpected. it's only later that the portal use becomes more obvious

• although if you're especially canny, you should notice that the second version of the house shows both the upstairs and downstairs windows in full, which is impossible — doom cannot do room-over-room. (in fact this is accomplished with a semi-obscure zdoom feature called sector portals — essentially, the whole second floor and the space outside it are a separate area, and the "ceiling" of the yard becomes a view up through the "floor" of that second space.)

• swinging doors are a hexen feature (polyobjects) that gzdoom inherited. (heretic and hexen were modifications of the doom engine, and zdoom started out as a merge of all three codebases into something that could play all three games.) they might also be in other fancy engines (eternity?), but they are very distinctly not a doom thing. if you're deeply familiar with doom's limitations then they'll jump out at you immediately, but if you're looking at doom like it's any old 3D game then maybe not so much

• recreations of other humble real-world locales are also a somewhat common theme, and remind me in particular of Doom City, from way back in 1995

• a very common desire for players is to "uv-max" a map, i.e. reach the exit on ultra-violence with 100% kills and secrets. if you can't do this, the map is (reasonably) considered broken. it is comically impossible to do this in myhouse, and anyone with the skill to create the map would be acutely aware of this

• the extra weapon frames look to be borrowed from the well-known smooth doom, which adds extra frames for everything and is just pretty dang slick overall. so it's not merely "ho ho, got you, smoother weapons" but specific integration of another familiar project

• this might be reaching a bit, but mirrors are specifically a nightmare in zdoom's software renderer because they work by rendering all visible geometry as if it were physically present on the other side of the mirror — and if there be any actual geometry back there, it will also get rendered and you will have a big fucking mess. so a mirror in the middle of a room is a laughable idea. this is somewhat less of a concern now that the hardware renderer is basically the default, but it's still a spectre looming over the very concept of mirrors, so the way mirrors play out in myhouse is very funny to me

there's probably more, like, the way it intercepts noclip is a stroke of genius and not something i've ever seen done before. but i hope you get the idea

#doom #myhouse.wad

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deception-united · 21 days

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Let's talk about worldbuilding.

Worldbuilding is a crucial aspect of writing fiction, particularly in genres like fantasy and science fiction.

Remember that worldbuilding is a dynamic process that evolves as you write. Don't be afraid to experiment and make changes to your world as needed to serve the story.

Here are some tips to help you build a rich and immersive world:

Start with a Core Concept: Every world begins with an idea. Whether it's a magic system, a futuristic society, or an alternate history, have a clear concept that serves as the foundation for your world.

Define the Rules: Establish the rules that govern your world, including its physical laws, magic systems, societal norms, and cultural practices. Consistency is key to creating a believable world.

Create a Detailed Map: Optional, but helpful. Develop a map of your world to visualise its geography, including continents, countries, cities, and landmarks. Consider factors like climate, terrain, and natural resources to make your world feel authentic.

Build a History: Develop a rich history for your world, including key events, conflicts, and historical figures. Consider how past events have shaped the present and influenced the cultures and societies within your world.

Develop Cultures and Societies: Create diverse cultures and societies within your world, each with its own beliefs, traditions, languages, and social structures. Explore how different cultures interact and conflict with one another.

Flesh Out Characters: Populate your world with memorable characters who reflect its diversity and complexity. Consider how their backgrounds, motivations, and personalities are shaped by the world around them. (See my post on character development for more!)

Consider Technology and Magic: Determine the level of technology and the presence of magic in your world, and how they impact daily life, society, and the overall narrative.

Think about Economics and Politics: Consider the economic systems, political structures, and power dynamics within your world. Explore issues like inequality, governance, and social justice to add depth to your worldbuilding.

Show, Don't Tell: Instead of dumping information on readers, reveal details about your world gradually through storytelling. Show how characters interact with their environment and incorporate worldbuilding seamlessly into the narrative.

Stay Consistent: Maintain consistency in your worldbuilding to ensure coherence and believability. Keep track of details like character names, historical events, and geographic locations to avoid contradictions.

Leave Room for Exploration: While it's essential to have a solid foundation for your world, leave room for discovery and exploration as you write. Allow your world to evolve organically and be open to new ideas and possibilities.

Revise and Edit: Carefully review your worldbuilding to identify any inconsistencies, plot holes, or contradictory elements. Pay attention to details such as character backgrounds, historical events, and the rules of your world's magic or technology. Make necessary revisions to resolve any issues and maintain the integrity of your worldbuilding.

Happy writing!

#writeblr #writing #writing tips #writing help #writing resources #writing advice #worldbuilding #fantasy worldbuilding #creative writing

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letoasai · 9 months

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dp x dc Chronos part 2

Part 1 and Part 3

The Justice League sat in the Watchtower, some of them at least. The meeting was meant to be a quick one, only certain members in attendance to make sure they were all on the same page after the debrief of the last mission. Not all of them were necessary and most were usually busy.

Today Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash and Green Lantern were in the middle of wrapping things up when the alert sounded. The siren blared twice before the red lights in the corner of each room flashed in an emergency.

“What in the world…” Flash grumbled but was obviously the first to the controls to look for the problem. None of the main alarms had been triggered, none of the doors messed with. No unusual motion noted in parts of the station that were currently vacant. “Weird.”

“What is it?” Batman was next beside him, arms crossed as he peered at the screen with narrowed eyes.

“It’s the sensors.” Flash said. “We’re picking up some kind of interference.”

“Way up here? What kind?” Green Lantern asked, he’d moved to one of the wide windows of the viewing deck as if he would be able to see something approaching. As things were, there was nothing but the normal vastness of space with Earth to one side.

“No idea.” Flash said. “Never seen something like this before.”

“Any idea on a location?” Superman asked, appearing by Green Lantern’s side.

Flash just clucked his tongue, hitting buttons much faster than a normal person. It was almost an irritation that he had to wait for the computer to keep up with him. “I mean, there’s nothing exactly to track yet.”

“An anomaly then.” Wonder Woman said, leaning back against the conference table they’d all just been sitting around. “Something natural?”

“There’s nothing natural about this.” Batman said, tone skeptical as he gazed at the screens.

“Gonna side with that bat on this one.” Flash said, “It’s more like a warning before anything happens. Something setting off the sensors but nothing else? Feels like it was on purpose.”

Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “What, like something’s knocking before they make themselves known?”

Before anyone could even offer their opinion on what they thought of something so ridiculous, a spark of green ripped through the air like lightning. Just as quickly it spread out into an obvious portal. Every member of the Justice League sprang into position, circling the phenomenon to block it in from every direction. Things like this shouldn’t have been possible, but it wasn’t the first time an intruder had gotten creative to get inside the Watchtower.

Without any fanfare, a man stepped out. They presumed it was a man anyway. He was dressed in mostly shades of purple other than his leather boots and gloves. He was covered by a cloak and hood, but when he looked up, it was hard to say what about him was the most unsettling. The red eyes. The blue skin. The pendulum clock that set back into his chest so far that he could only be missing crucial organs.

“Who are you?” Superman demanded, quickly trying to assess if there would be a fight or not.

“How did you get here?” Batman said right after, gravel tone somehow more frightening because he was calm.

The intruder just gestured with his thumb at the portal behind him. “Thought it was rather obvious.”

“Your purpose?” Wonder Woman asked, looking relaxed but her body was tense and ready to react in a moments notice.

“My purpose?” He chuckled quietly. In his hand was a staff they’d almost missed before, the top of it cradling a clock. It seemed to be a theme given the number of watches and clocks he wore. “I’ve come to call in a favor. The Justice League owes me several.”

“We owe you? Ppfff. Yeah right. We don’t even know who you are.” Flash rolled his eyes.

The intruder turned to the Flash, his brow raised. “Speedster, with the amount of times you’ve dabbled in the time stream, you alone owe me your life a fair few times.”

“Time, huh?” Green Lantern looked him over. There were a lot of clocks... “Guess that’s your schtick.”

He chuckled again. “I go by many names, only one will be relevant to you today.” He turned his attention onto Wonder Woman who squared up under his gaze. If she was going to be his focus then she’d take him head on.

“And?” She arched a brow at him. “What name may we call you?”

He looked amused, red eyes filled with mirth. “You, Diana, may call me grandfather.”

The room stilled, the others looking around in varying degrees of confusion while Wonder Woman just paled.

“Chronos. God of time…” she muttered, making it very clear to the team what they were dealing with. A God.

“I go by master of time these days, but yes. I am that Chronos. I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn down but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.” Chronos said, the minute and hour hands on his staff moving strangely.

“You’re a god, and you come to us for help?” Batman asked, unimpressed no matter the glowers he was being sent by the others.

“You are the Justice League, aren’t you?” Chronos looked pleased. “Righting wrongs. Defending Earth. Justice is in the name and everything.”

He didn’t talk like a god. He didn’t even talk as formally as Wonder Woman herself tended to occasionally.

“Doing tasks for you is asking for trouble.” Wonder Woman muttered. She’d heard stories, so many stories.

Chronos shrugged. “Time is messy. Keeping it in line is difficult. Especially when there are those who mess with it who should not.” He was not above verbally throwing speedsters under the bus.

“What do you want?” Green Lantern asked, obviously suspicious but paying very close attention.

“Simple.” Chronos answered, still looking at his granddaughter. “You will take custody of your uncle for a time. He needs a safe place to rest and live.”

The silence that followed was loud, no one knowing what to make of that. Wonder Woman herself looked puzzled.

“Are you claiming a sibling of Zeus needs a babysitter?”

Chronos hummed. “He is my son though he holds no biological relation to your father, i suppose.”

“Then how is he her uncle?” Flash asked, with a hint of sass.

“You can ask Batman how it works.” Chronos mused, saying all he would say on the matter but that was enough.

Wonder Woman couldn’t fathom what kind of person her grandfather would see fit to adopt. “Are you going to tell me more?”

“Telling you more would imply you were agreeing to the task.”

She tsked. “None of your word games. I want to know what i could be walking into.”

Chronos never once looked threatened or put out, he did however, appear to look a few years older than he had when he’d first appeared. “He recently needed to be removed from his home for his safety. He can easily visit me but staying with me long term at this time is not beneficial to him for health reasons.”

Superman frowned. “Removed from his home? How old is he?”

“Sixteen. If that is all you need to know, i will fetch him. It may take some time for him to regain consciousness.” Chronos said.

“He’s been hurt?” Batman was frowning at the thought, looking more and more unhappy as the conversation progressed.

“I did say he was removed from his home.” Chronos said, almost flippantly as he stepped back into his glowing green portal. It remained open, everyone exchanging looks.

“Diana, is this a good idea?” Superman asked, willing to accept her judgment. Greek gods were more her wheelhouse.

“Chronos was a titan. Is a titan?” She frowned. “His power is immense for a being thought to be killed.”

“Something about him is off.” Batman agreed. “He was not worried at all. That is someone aware they have the upper hand.”

Wonder Woman just nodded her agreement. Chronos was the god of time. There was no telling what he knew. “I’ve never met him before.”

“Hell of a time for family reunions.” Flash snarked, heading back to the controls to see what readings they could get on the floating portal. It was obvious each of them wanted to study it in their own way. Scans and samples were first on their minds but it was clearly some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with.

It was almost a shame there wasn’t a single member from JLD currently in the Watchtower. They might have been able to provide answers.

Before much of anything could be done, Chronos returned, somehow looking several years younger than when he first appeared. In his arms was a lanky teen, cradled carefully as if he were fragile. He was equally a sight that left the League speechless. He wasn’t blue, in fact he looked more or less human other that the freckles that shined.

Superman was the one to immediately note they were constellation patterned.

His hair was a stark white that wisped and flowed as if he were under water. His clothes were strange, a detailed variation of an old hazmat suit, all done in black and white. Floating above his head was a crown that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be on fire or covered in ice. It bobbed back and forth and even did a slow flip in the air but never left the area about the boy’s head.

When no one uttered a word, Chronos took that as permission to begin the introductions. “Diana, this is your uncle. Danny Phantom. Son of the Stars. The Personification of Balance. The Ghost King. High King of the Infinite Realm.”

“He’s a king?” Batman frowned. “He’s a boy.”

“He could be both, Bats. He’s got a crown.” Flash chuckled softly.

Chronos shared his amusement. “I did say he was only sixteen.” The god paused for a moment as the teen twisted in his arms, his face pressed against Chronos’ shoulder and a hand lightly pressed against the door of the clock embedded into the man’s chest.

The fact that, even asleep, the boy was comfortable in the gods arms didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is he injured?” Wonder Woman asked. They’d gone over this already but he didn’t look actively wounded. He seemed to be sleeping only.

Chronos grunted once. “One form heals faster than the other. He needs rest, ambient ectoplasm which he knows how to get on his own, and food. He can answer your questions if he feels like it.”

“If he feels like it?” Green Lantern frowned.

“He’s the King.” Chronos’ lips twitched in amusement again. “If he decides to tell you more, or seek help, that is his decision.”

“Seek help?” Batman’s eyes were narrowed. “Seek help for what?”

Chronos approached and shifted the teenager into Wonder Woman’s arms. His crown shifted back and forth but never left the teen. The grip he had on the god wasn’t noticed until he tried to pull away and Chronos needed to carefully extract the boy’s hand.

Ignoring Batman, he pressed on. “He’ll need to follow up with his doctor by the end of the week. He’ll know how to do that. If he doesn’t, his doctor will come to him. That should be incentive enough.”

“Does he know you’re dropping him off here?” Superman asked, brows knitted together in concern. The heroes had been expecting a fight, not to be handed a royal teen.

“He has a fondness for for space, so you might want to let him wake up here.” Chronos said instead, ignoring that question too. He was growing older again, a short, white beard starting to form.

“How long will he need to be in my care?” Wonder Woman asked, noting the boy weighed very little in her arms. In sleep his features were soft, hopefully he was as sweet as he looked.

“Good luck.” Chronos said, staff reappearing in his hand now, turning back to the portal without giving her an answer.

“Hey! Wait!” Flash yelled but for once, he was too slow, the god and the portal disappeared.

Five members of the Justice League just stood in a mild stupor, their attention shifting to the sleeping teen.

“Well…” Superman muttered.

Wonder Woman looked at the boy, floating hair and crown moving in tandem. “I’ll set him down. We’ll see if he can answer any of our questions when he wakes up.”

“You gonna call him Uncle Danny?” Flash asked, not bothering to hide his smile.

Wonder Woman just ignored him and turned to stride off towards the med-station. -------------------------

------------------------- No idea at all if i’ll continue this. If anyone else wants too, go for it. ^_^

@markus209

#dp x dc #dc x dp crossover #clockwork #justice league #Looks like Wonder Woman is Danny's guardian now #Danny Phantom #wonder woman

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xhoneygirlxx · 7 months

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We’re Not Friends

Best Friend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

summary: Eddie is just trying to help when he offers to be your date to your sister's wedding, but with all the love in the air will you and Eddie be able to stay friends?

warnings: lots of angst. reader's family sucks. reader's mom makes a comment about her weight. anxiety attacks. reader has low self esteem. fluff. best friends to lovers. fake dating. modern au. (this is titled after an Ed Sheeran song and I also use another one of his songs in the fic, sue me). slight smut. allusions to sex. alcohol consumption. swearing. minors dni!!!!!!!!!! reader and Eddie are both in their 20's. no y/n used, reader is referred to as Birdie. skin color/ethnicity/body type is not mentioned. spelling errors/shitting writing, just pretend you don't notice lmao. also the venue is completely made up and so is the location if you couldn’t tell, im not that creative.

*if I miss anything plz lmk*

a/n: hi my loves!!!! this is one of the last fics on my birthday fic list!!! I want to thank all of you for being patient and being so so supportive of my work. I love you all so much!!! also I do go back to work on Monday so I'm going to try to get as many fics pumped out by the end of the weekend.

And that's why friends should sleep in other beds

And friends shouldn't kiss me like you do

And I know that there's a limit to everything

But my friends won't love me like you do

The turning color of the leaves create the prettiest backdrop, tall trees blooming with orange, red, and a pinch of brown. The ones that have already fallen to the ground get swept up under the wheels of Eddie's car, lifting up and swirling around in a pretty dance, and falling right back into place waiting for the next car.

Although the crisp fall morning is peaceful you can't help but feel like you're living a nightmare. As he soft hum of Eddie's playlist flows through the speakers, you're coming up with a plan to turn the whole car around.

So far you thought about faking an illness, one that would stop the whole journey in it's tracks, only to dismiss it because you couldn't put your best friend through that stress. The idea of pulling the steering wheel also came to mind but you quickly threw that out of the window, not wanting to cause injury to the innocent man next to you or anyone else. Your final idea was one you're sure you could pull off as long as you used all the power within your being. If you pushed your feet on the floorboard hard enough, you could poke them out like the Flintstones and stop the car that way.

Between science and logic, you knew that wasn't possible no matter how hard you wished it would. Instead you'll stare out the window, watching all the pretty trees dance in the wind while you push down the rising anxiety that's forming in the pit of your stomach.

"You good over there, Birdie?" The deep voice next to you shakes you from your thoughts.

Turning your head Eddie's already looking at you with a lopsided grin. His demeanor matches the landscape outside, relaxed and serene. As you look at him you wish you could trade places, be as pleasant as he is.

"Yeah I'm just tired." Trying to sell him your answer, you smile lazily at him even though your response holds more tension than a game of tug of war.

Turning his attention back on the road, you watch as the pavement moves on the darkened lenses of his sunglasses. Eddie looks pretty like this, even though you always thinks he looks pretty. Usually he would be a grump having to be up this early, but today he wears his smile like a badge of honor. The dark curls of his hair cascade down his back, while some falls over his shoulders.

He's wearing the same red and black checkered flannel he always does this time of year, the same one you said was your favorite three years ago and it still holds that title. Underneath is a plain black tee shirt, the only one he has that's free of any band name, and a dark blue pair of jeans that have no holes.

He's still the same Eddie, his rings still sit on his fingers and his pick still hangs from the chain around his neck, but it seems that he only gets prettier and prettier as time passes by - like the turning leaves that still hang on the branches of the trees that you drive by.

"I think you're worried about this whole wedding thing," His voice is unwavering, screaming "I'm right" like it always does. "I don't get what's so bad about an open bar and free food."

Although his point is valid, Eddie couldn't be more wrong than that. This wasn't just an event to get drunk for free and stuffed to the gills at no charge. This was your older sister's wedding, the same sister that was the apple of your parents' eyes. Veronica was your arch nemesis since birth, a rival that you had no option but to defeat in order to survive.

You were the outcast of the family, the black sheep if you will, and you had to endure eighteen years of nonstop torture because of it. Your parents, Christine and Tim, were nothing but successful. The doctor and his trophy wife, the star couple in your small community, that had two beautiful and healthy children.

However you were the hardheaded child, the daughter that didn't have a bright future, you didn't carry as much promise as Vee, and your parents made sure to remind you of that every day. So when you moved out three years ago, you made sure to distance yourself as much as you could. But when you received a pristine white envelope with a glamorous invite on the inside, you were roped right back into the hell hole you worked so hard to leave behind.

You could've just ignore it, faked that you were on a trip and couldn't make it but your mother pretty much threatened you into showing up. So that's how you ended up in the countryside right outside of Chicago, driving in Eddie's Toyota Corolla to the Jefferson Manner on a Friday at eight am.

"You're right, Eddie, I should be so thrilled by that. Thank you so much for pointing it out to me." It's snippy with a hint of malice, and your eye roll held enough venom to injure an army of men.

Whistling loudly, Eddie chuckles lightly. "Woah, killer. Relax, I was just tryna help." He's still soft despite your outburst, sweet like your pumpkin spice latte that sits in the cupholder.

Hanging your head, you inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. "I'm sorry, Eds. I just really fucking hate my family."

He switches his attention from you and the road, taking in your saddened features. Reaching his right hand over the console, he places his hand searches for yours and laces his fingers through yours, which you gladly except.

"Don't apologize for that, kay? That's a valid reason for you to not want to go, I was just trying to make you laugh." The sincerity in his voice wraps around you, easing the nerves that go haywire in your body.

His palm is warm like the coffee cups that sit in the cup holders, his voice is as calming as the trees in the wind, and his smile is just as pretty as it was the first day you met him. You're safe with him, the safest you've ever been in your life, and here in the front seat of his car he reminds you of that.

"They just make me crazy, s'why I don't like seeing them." You feel shy being vulnerable, refusing to meet his gaze by focusing on tracing the back of his hand with your free one.

Eddie doesn't mind, instead he reassures you with a quick squeeze of your hand. "If it makes you feel any better, Birdie, I like you a little crazy."

Dimples deep as the sea and smile still as delicate as a flower's pedal, Eddie looks like a painting that hangs in the Louvre. You want to capture this moment of him to have for the rest of your life, so no matter what you can always remember him just like this.

"You say that now." You tease and he eats it right up.

Looking back over to you, he shines his smile onto you, filling you up with the light of a million stars. "And I'll say it till the end of time." There's no tease to it, nothing but truth in the way he says it.

It turns you into jelly, the feelings that swim through your blood stream, and now you've become too sheepish to answer. You decided to trust your touch over your words, squeezing his hand the same way he did to yours, trying your best to communicate the feelings you hold secretly in your heart for your best friend.

The cobblestone driveway leading to the entrance of Jefferson Manner is, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. It is a straight drive to the property, but once you get closer, a large fountain sits in the middle where the arch of the circle driveway starts.

Different colored cars are already lined up, some you recognize and the rest you have no clue who they belong to. Either way it's pretty evident that Eddie 2018 Toyota sticks out like a sore thumb.

The same dread that you left 45 miles back, is now running through you again. Unintentionally, you squeeze his hand harder as your heart begins to pound in your ear and if it hurts him he doesn't mention it. Instead, Eddie gives you one, two, three squeezes and then lets you continue your attempt to stop the blood flow to his hand.

Pulling behind the Mercedes Benz S Class, he puts his car into park and then shuts the car off. Reading your expression the way he always does, he sits in the silence of the car with you until your features loosen up.

"You okay, Birdie?" Even though he knows you're not okay, you still appreciate him asking anyway.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself a few times, eyes clamped shut as you focus on your breathing pattern. Once your head is above water and your heart stops racing, you open your eyes back up to the real world.

Relaxing your shoulders, you let go of the grip you're holding Eddie's hand in. "I'm okay. I'll be okay." Despite answering him, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself of what you're saying.

Another brief pause goes by and Eddie continues to monitor you, sunglasses now removed so not only can he see you but you can see him.

Your gaze is unwavering, the thousand yard stare has fallen over you and you have yet to dig out of it. "Are you prepared for what we're about to walk into?"

The tone of your voice scares Eddie, the emotion being sucked right out of the words that you speak despite the feelings that battle in your mind that he doesn't know about.

"Honey, I'm prepared for anything as long as I have you." For a split second he winces, wondering if that was too cringy but when your face breaks out into a sweet smile he feels better.

The two of you get out of the car, retrieving your suitcases and dress bags from the trunk. When the door shuts you begin to count the steps it takes to get to the big wooden doors of the mansion.

You don't have to ask Eddie for his hand, he's already giving it to you and you gladly except it, gripping on for dear life the closer you get. Despite the beautiful landscape and the soothing sound of the running fountain, you feel like this is the soundtrack that plays before your imminent death.

The tall, thick, wooden doors sit menacingly in front of you, the skeletons of your past standing just right behind it waiting for your arrival. The ghosts that have haunted your dreams, the graveyard of your history, and the phantoms of your family, mingle and laugh right behind this door.

Eddie waits for you, not moving a muscle until you say so, and you silently thank him with a smile. Like a switch, he watches your face change from flight to fight mode. In a flash your looking over your outfit, brushing down the long black sleeved shirt that sits on your torso, and then straightening out the jeans that stick to your legs.

Your hair is the next thing you frantically fix, pushing it behind your ears and out of your face, letting it fall over your shoulders while doing so. Like a buzzing bee, you zone in on Eddie, fixing the collar of his flannel and then smoothing the material of his shirt. With out speaking, you pick off a singular piece of fuzz from his pants and then let it blow away in the wind.

Moving your hands back up to his chest, you center the pick on his chain. Then move his hair, fixing the ringlets that got blown around in the breeze. Once your satisfied, you move back to your spot next to him and sweep his hand right back into your hold. Releasing on more deep breath, you settle your pinched eyebrows and your determined eyes, and let the worst fake smile settle onto your lips.

The smile doesn't reach your eyes the way it usually does, your teeth push against one another so forcibly Eddie wonders if you'll shatter teeth, and you simply look like your in pain. Either way, you push open the big oak door and let yourself inside with him following right behind.

The lobby of the manner is everything you expected, high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and every single family member of yours gathered around sipping champagne and speaking to each other like a potential client.

Even though it's magnificent inside with the beautiful décor and lively plants, the sight of everyone in their gaudy outfits and cheap laughter makes it feel like an eternal hell.

Eddie must feel the way your shoulders tense because he's quickly leaning into you, his voice just a whisper in the shell of your ear.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay. You have me and I won't let anything happen." He reminds you, his smile is more sympathetic than anything.

Nodding your head you remain smiling, it's awful and it hurts even doing it but if you want to survive the whirlpool of piranhas, then you just have to fake it until you make it.

"If it isn't our lovely Birdie!" The sound of your mother's voice is like silk, smooth and confident, just like she always was. Walking over to you, she holds a champagne flute in her hand and you wonder how much the bubbling spritz cost your father.

The last time you've seen her was last winter, her million dollar smile outshining the Swarovski crystal tree decorations that sit behind her. Your mother has always been beautiful but her insides are rotten, ugly and maggot infested, all hidden behind the mask that she put on for everyone to see.

You gave up a long time ago trying to figure out her brain, finally accepting defeat to the maze that was her mind. Now when you look at your mother all you see is a shell, a hallow covering that has nothing to offer you other than it's pretty design.

Pulling you into a hug, you're hit with her scent. She smells like Dior and cashmere, the Chanel outfit that sits on her body scratches your skin, and the pearl necklace she wears jabs you right in your collarbone.

"Hello mother, thank you for inviting me to such a wonder occasion." You instantly revert back to your old accent, the same one your mother instilled into you from the time you could even under stand the English language.

A faux laugh comes from her bright red lips, "No need for that, darling, you're always welcome." Her manicured hand waves at you in fake genuineness.

The smile on your face continues to show and you hate to think it matches hers. Even with the sweet tone you use and the gentleness of your actions, the blood that runs through your body continues to boil the longer she stands there.

Eddie on the other hand stands next to you completely and utterly amused by your fake performance. The snort he lets out when you continue to use your "eloquent" voice is quickly covered up by a sniffle.

Like a vulture, your mother's eyes are quick to zero in on the curly haired man next to you. "Excuse my daughter for her bad manner of not introducing us, I'm Christine."

The minute her hand reaches out for a handshake, you're heart stops. This is the one thing that could make or break this whole trip and it was the only thing you didn't prepare your best friend for. Many years of your life, you were trained that a handshake is all it takes for someone to learn about you.

Without skipping a beat, Eddie simply picks embraces her hand like a prince out of a Disney movie and places a kiss to the back of her unwrinkled hand.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Christine, I'm Eddie. And might I say how beautiful you are."

He's all dimples and doe eyes staring at your mother, a true prince charming in his red flannel and jeans. His voice is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day, it's smooth going down your throat and it warms your belly better than any blanket can.

That warmth is now tingling your body, a frenzy of butterflies flapping around in the walls of your heart. It clearly works on your mother as well but unlike you she doesn't hide it very well.

"You're really the charmer, Eddie." It's flirtatious and alluring, the same voice she put on for every pool boy your father ever hired.

Annoyance and anger floods through you and you know that your eyes would be shining green to anyone with a trained eye.

While she clutches her pearls and eyes Eddie like he's a four course meal, you intervene into the conversation before it can continue.

"Where's daddy? I'd really like for my boyfriend to meet him." You bat your eyelashes like a pageant queen and your arm acts like a python wrapping around Eddie's, making a mark on what is yours.

"Oh you're father's around here somewhere, you know how he is." She dismisses, taking a drink from her glass and swallowing down the golden liquid quickly. "So how long have you and Birdie here been dating?"

"It's going to be two years next month. Isn't that right, honey?" Eddie turns to you and gives you a playful smile.

Looking back at him you hope he can see the misery that hides being your eyes, a white flag of surrender.

Your mother on the other hand doesn't care about your answer, that's why she didn't ask you. She's reading Eddie, trying to see how much she can push your so called boyfriend until she gets what she wants.

"Well that's just wonderful, young love is a beautiful experience. You have to be careful with Birdie here, she's known to leave the nest quickly." It's a jab, a spiteful and mean comment headed right for your gut.

Eddie doesn't miss the way you're lips falter for a second, the flash of hurt in your eyes. It kills him watching you stand there and take all the comments from your mother like stray bullets.

Turning his attention back to your mother, he gives her a smile, one that you would know as a wicked one but to a stranger would seem kind. "I don't think that will be a problem. Birdie knows where her home is."

It's a direct warning, a clear sign to your mother to not mess with you or what is yours. Just him sticking up for you like that makes your stomach twist in excitement, a feeling you've grown so used to over the course of friendship with Eddie.

"Well, I'm glad she finally found her place then." Your mother responds coldly, clearly hearing the bite in his tone. "Why don't you two go find your room and get settled in, rehearsal dinner is in a few."

Before retreating into the large crowd of family, your mother turns back to you in one more attack.

"Oh and Birdie, wear something that will hide that stomach. Don't want anyone to assume you've been knocked up."

Once you've found your room, you all but rush Eddie inside slamming the door behind you. In the quiet safety of your suite, you can relax your shoulders that have been sitting high since you've arrive.

"Jesus Bird, you weren't lying." Eddie says as he flops himself on the queen sized bed.

You don't respond, instead you squeeze your eyes shut and try to calm the heaviness of your breathing. Behind the darkness of your eyes, little twinkles of stars flash from how hard you have them closed, the swooshing of your heart continuing in your ears like angry waves of the sea.

Breathe in. This is temporary. Breathe out. This is not forever. Breathe in. I am safe. Breathe out. I am here.

You repeat this to yourself over and over again, trying to erase the cruel words of your mother and the images of disgusted family member's faces out of your mind. You're not sure how long you've been standing by the door until a hand grasps at your wrist lightly.

"Birdie," Eddie's coax goes unanswered, "Come on, Birdie."

Warm calloused hands travel to the plump of your cheeks, lifting your face up just enough that he can see you. Finally opening your eyes, you're relieved to be looking into the golden whiskey pools of his.

Smoothing his thumb over your cheek he doesn't say anything, just lets your breathing calm down. Here you are, in the nice room behind the shelter of the locked door, and he's here.

Breathe in. It's okay. Breathe out. You're safe. Breathe in. You are here. Breathe out. So is he.

It's enough to let your feet move on the plush white carpeting, while Eddie leads you to the bed with the tug of your arm. Sitting on the plush mattress on crisp linen sheets you're grounded, and with the heat of Eddie sitting next to you and his hand in yours, you're anchored.

The rehearsal dinner goes over well enough, the Irish mule helping with every single speech that's given and every horror story of your childhood that is told. Luckily for you, Vee didn't ask you to be in her bridal party so you didn't have to attend the actual wedding rehearsal, and even better you won't have to deal with her for the real thing tomorrow.

Eddie does great at dinner, he talks to your father who surprisingly likes him, both getting along over their love for vintage cars. Your soon to be brother in law and his groomsmen also get along with Eddie, they laugh and cut up most of the time while clinking beer bottles together. Not to mention every single woman there wanted to get into his pants, swooning at everything he said and giving him the 'fuck me' eyes while doing it.

You hated it, every single minute of it. Like always you were ignored, simply looked over until some story was being told where you were ultimately the joke of. Any time someone asked you what you were doing with your life, you were met with cringing smiles and snickering laughs.

Four separate times your mother commented on your dress, the way it fit, the price value of it, and how it really wasn't a good color on you. All of your sisters friends rolled their eyes and whispered back and forth while staring at you, aunts and uncles acted dumbfounded when you told them that you were a freelance writer for a small music magazine back in Indy, and your cousins made comments about how badly you look since the last time you saw them.

It didn't matter anyway, even if your sister asked how you managed to get a stand up guy like Eddie to agree to be with you, in front of all of the guests. You had to remind yourself that you were there for the free booze and food or whatever the hell Eddie said in the car on the way here.

This wasn't a popularity contest for you, it was simply you being forced to do something against your wishes because your mother said so. You asked yourself why you even listened to her in the first place while letting the brown liquor burn in your stomach.

Why was it so important that you even showed up here? Why did you have to come to the awarding ceremony of favorite kid when you knew you weren't going to win? Why would you even set yourself up for such failure just because your mom said so?

Well, you're answer came when a flushed faced Eddie was laughing with your grandparents at one of the round tables in the corner. His eyes crinkled at the sides and his head was leaned back so you had a clear view of the neck you loved so much.

Then you looked over at your sweet looking grandparents who laughed loudly at whatever was said. Your grandmother had her hands on her cheeks, shaking her head back and forth, and beaming brightly. Your grandfather smiled around his cigar, big round belly jumping with laugher, and his cheeks smooshing up against the frames of his big glasses.

You didn't come here to win a competition. You didn't come here because your mother threatened you within an inch of your life if you didn't. You didn't come here because you thought it would be fun.

You showed up because you wanted to prove to the people who doubted you for so long just how happy you were. You wanted to prove that happiness doesn't come from the amount of money in your account or how many rooms sit in your house. You came here because you wanted to prove that they were wrong, that the grass on the other side of the fence could be green too, and that someone who grew up differently that you could still do amazing things.

Eddie was someone that your father would've had you kicked out over bringing him home in high school. Eddie was the boy your mother would tell you to stay far away from. Eddie was the kind of guy that your sister wouldn't look twice at because of who he was.

But right now, during the beautiful dinner the night before your sister's wedding, your best friend/fake boyfriend has them all wrapped around his guitar calloused finger.

Not much has been said between you and him, especially when he was the man of the hour. You're not really complaining though, you're happy that he made a good impression with them. When the night began to settle into your bones and the alcohol started to make you tipsy, you slyly walked up to Eddie and tugged on his sleeve to let him know it was time to go.

On the walk back to the room, you sway slightly with every step you take, balancing on the walls with one hand while the other holds your strappy heels. When Eddie stops and turns to the door of your room, you all but smack into him with clumsy steps.

While he fumbles with key, you're in blissful content with your eyes closed. The kick of the lock and the turn of the handle doesn't even pull you out of your daze, instead you hold your arms out like a mummy and feel around until you find Eddie's clothed back.

You can tell Eddie is laughing by the large breath that passes through his nose and the tell tale sign of him kissing his teeth. Large hands wrap around your wrists, guiding you into the doorway that you can't see.

Your cheeks are warm, the smile on your face is permanent, and the buzzing in your heart makes you feel light on your feet.

"Alright mummy, lets get you into bed." Letting go of his hold on you, you feel him slightly brush past you to close the door. His voice sounds like the way stars look, sparkling and bright, twinkling all around.

You giggle, eyes still shut and your nose scrunched up. "M'not a mummy but I could be if ya want."

Putting your arms out, you lean back and forth on your feet to mimicking what you think is a mummy but looks more like a zombie.

"Baaaaahhhhh, I'm a mummy. Be very afraid." You deepen your voice, dragging the syllables of every word to make them come out slower.

Eddie must be entertained because the sound of a loud raspberry comes from where he stands, the clear sign of him losing the grip on the laugh he'd been holding in.

Cracking one of your eyes open, you hope to find him with rose cheeks and dimples flashing, the look you love so much. Instead you see him, beaming at you without the shine of his canines. It's an admiring smile, one where your eyes go all gooey and your smile is simple yet dipped with so much love.

Opening your eyes all the way, you let your arms down slowly to rest by your sides, a meek look painting your face.

"Did I do good?" You ask, even though you didn't really want his opinion.

"I think you're perfect." It comes out even, smooth like the hilltops in December covered in a layer of the purest snow.

The two of you sit there for a while, soaking up the glow of each other and letting it sink into your souls. For a moment you wonder if he feels it too, the spark that you feel whenever he's around. You wonder if he feels like crying simply because he loves you that much. You wonder if he wishes this whole dating thing wasn't just a lie and that it was true, the same way you wish it was.

Once the moment ends for him, he's clearing his throat to clear any lovesick daze that's left. "I guess we better head to bed, huh?"

Scratching at the back of his neck, you try with everything in your power to not look down where his turtle neck rode up, where the patch of mouth watering hair trails from his belly button to underneath the waist of his pants.

A part of you wishes you stuck it out longer, stayed in your seat at the dinner table just to see him in his outfit longer. He asked you to help him pick it out this morning and when you think back to it, you get flustered with thinking how domesticated it felt. Making him try on different shirts and jumping for joy when he walked out of the bathroom wearing a turtleneck he swore he'd never wear. The khakis you pulled out of his suitcase was the cause of so much laughter and the pink tinge that sat on the rounds of his cheeks.

God, he looked so good, especially with his hair pulled back and the dangled earring that sat in his ear, but now it would all be a memory for you to file away in the back of your brain.

Eddie had already started taking off his dress shoes, sitting on the edge of the bed bent over and messing with the knots that kept the laces together.

The smile that once held your lips high and proud, now weigh down in a sad frown. Even after the success of the dinner and proving everyone wrong, you are now brought back to the reality of what you and Eddie were. Just friends.

"Since I'm a gentleman and I can't see to get these shoes untied, I'll let you shower first." His voice comes out strained from how hard he pulls on the knotted strings.

You don't say anything, quietly nodding your head before shuffling over to your suitcase that sits by the closet. Grabbing a sleepshirt and some shorts, you go to move around the lanky man that can't get his shoes off no matter how hard he tries.

Without a sound, you kneel in front of him, placing your clothes somewhere off to the side. Taking his calf in your hand, you place his foot on your thigh. Delicately, you remove the first shoe and then the next.

"Y'didn't have to do that." It's quiet but not enough to be a whisper, still you shrug.

"I didn't but I wanted to." It seems so simple when you say it, even though deep down inside you wanted that last piece of your fantasy before it goes away for the rest of the night.

"Will you help me with my dress?" You ask him, standing on your feet and turning so that the golden zipper is facing him.

In the mirrored closet door you can see him and how he hesitates for a moment, shaky hands lingering in the air before they close in on the gold slider.

The sound of the metal teeth unlatching from one another fills the room, clouding the unrhythmic beat of your heart. You try to remember the feeling of him on the sacred part of your skin, the way his light touch tickles you and makes goosebumps rise. You want to memorize it like your favorite song, so that when you leave this place and the fake nature of this whole thing goes away, you still have something to think about on those bad days.

It ends too soon for your liking, his hands retracting right back to the sides of his body like a measuring tape. With the fuzz of your tipsy has now wore off but the sting of everything still remains.

Giving him a small smile and muttering a thank you, you hide in the bathroom where the sound of running water hides the muffled cries that leave your throat.

Waking up felt more painful than any hangover you've ever had. The pain of Eddie's bare back facing you was heartbreaking. You force yourself not connect the freckles that litter his skin or trace your fingers along his spine and shoulder blades.

It's a sight you've seen plenty of times and sharing a bed is something you've done more than enough that you're not uncomfortable. Yet your heart squeezes, wrapping itself up in the tightest loop so that it hurts to even breathe.

The sound of his soft snores only makes it worse, imagining what he dreams about and if it's you.

You use all of the willpower that's left in your body, marching over to the small kitchenette that sits in the corner of the giant room. Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you try to focus on the swirl of dark liquid mixing with the coffee creamer and how they mix together so perfectly. Without much of a peep, you slide the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and sit down in one of the plush chairs.

You look out over the mountains of colors, tracing over the lines of trees that go on for miles. Although pretentious, you think Veronica did an excellent job and choosing this location.

Sipping on the hot beverage, you watch the clouds in the blue sky go by, wondering what it would've been like if your sister asked you to be a bridesmaid. You imagine that the two of you would've actually gotten along and maybe even laughed together. You envision what it would've been like to have your mother compliment you in your gown and how it would feel to take a picture with your family where all the smiles were real.

Tears begin to burn the back of your eyes, falling rapidly like a fall rainstorm. The skin of your cheeks burn slightly from the heated trails of water that fall. You're sad and incredibly so. Within the first twenty four hours of being here, you remember how much of an outsider you really are to these people.

Even with the company of Eddie, someone that truly loves you, you still can't help but feel so fucking lonely. To put on the mask you wore for many year back on and pretend that the man standing next to you is yours to claim is harder than any other time you had to do it.

This time you weren't really faking it, the love that you showed to him, the happiness you felt with him was real, just the titles weren't. With the cool fall chill, your coffee has gone cold but your tears keep coming.

"You made yourself a cup of coffee but not one for me, and this is how I find out? That's just mean." Eddie's curly hair pokes out from the small gap in the sliding back door that he's created.

His eyes are squinted from the harshness of the morning sun but his cheeky smile is forever unwavering. Sliding a space big enough for him to go through, he stalks out onto the small space in his plaid pajama pants and a hoodie he must've thrown on.

Trying your best to cover up that you've been crying, you wipe the back of your hand across your cheeks, but Eddie still catches your movements.

Instead of embarrassing you, he sits down in the chair across from you and looks out over the balcony.

"You okay?" It's a simple enough question, one that you can answer with one word and he wouldn't pry for more information to not overwhelm you.

Sniffling, you shake your head yes and then move your gaze to where his is. "No, yeah, m'good. The view really does something for me." You say, chuckling just a bit at your own joke.

Eddie also laughs, only this time it's not as genuine as it usually is, just a hard exhale through his nose.

"Yeah, sure does." He agrees, letting his eyes follow the red and orange of the tree tops.

A calm silence falls over you two, only the sounds of the birds that fly and the ruffle of the leaves can be heard from where you sit. It's peaceful.

"You know, I really thought this weekend would be different." It comes out of your mouth as easy as the breeze that blows. Still your eyes stay trained out in front of you and past the mountains of trees.

Eddie doesn't respond but the hole that he burns through the side of your head with his eyes tell you he's listening.

"When I was little, I used to imagine the day Vee got married. I would fantasize that maybe one day we could be close enough that I could enjoy this day with her and we could be sisters for once." You exhale an uneven breath, moving your sights to the cup that still sits in your hand.

"I just wanted all of us to be a family for once. I wanted my mom to actually act like she liked me, for my dad to say that for once he was proud of who I was, and for Veronica, I just wanted her to say she's happy that I'm her little sister."

Just like that, every single thing you've carried since you were little is now out in the open, whipping around in the wind like the dead leaves. Even with the amount of burden that's been lifted, the pain still remains the same. It all hurts, stabbing you over and over again in the scars that you worked so hard to patch up.

Eddie doesn't say anything and for a moment you don't think he'll say anything at all. You watch him pull out the pack of cigarettes he had nestled in his pocket and place one in between his pretty pink lips.

Another second goes by and he's flicking the wheel of his lighter, shielding the flame away from the wind so he can light it. When the end of the smoke burns red, he takes a big inhale and then lets the cloud of smoke out.

"I know what I say won't matter," He starts before taking another drag of his smoke, "But these people don't fucking mean anything."

"They're you're family and I get that but they don't fucking deserve you, they never have. A fake boyfriend, a new haircut, or a cool job shouldn't define their love for you. They're shitty people who were blessed with an amazing person and they didn't even realize it."

Eddie looks at you the same way he speaks, with nothing but truth. You let the words settle in your mind, letting them soak in, in case you forget.

The tears that once ceased start to flow again, except this time it's from relief. It feels good that someone else sees your worth, to know someone actually holds value to you.

"It kills me that they treat you the way they do, that they can say all those things without batting an eye. I know why you asked me to come here and I know I have a job to do, but man do I want to rip them all a new asshole."

Although he speaks with fire behind the words, you have to laugh from the thought of the actions. The moment you giggle, his own smile forms.

"I hope you know that I love you and when everything is done and over with, we'll give them the bird." To make his point, Eddie raises his middle finger high into the sky.

Repeating his actions, you hold your own finger to the sky and smile happily while doing it.

Letting his arm fall back down into place, he pats the tops of your thighs and stands from the chair.

"That's my girl, now let's get ready for an open bar and free booze." Holding his open palm to you, he helps you up.

The wedding reception was what you thought it would be, drawn out and boring. The only saving grace of the whole thing was Eddie's commentary, the scruff on his face tickling you every time he leaned close to your ear.

A lot of the things he was saying was probably just to make you feel better but you did have to agree, the dress Veronica picked out was a bad rip off of Princess Diana's and it shouldn't have seen broad daylight.

You did however get choked up when the vowels started, not because you were happy with your sister but because you wish that were you and Eddie up there instead.

All and all it was okay, even though one of your brother in law's aunt's wore a hat so big you couldn't see past it most of the time.

The wedding reception though was beautiful. The décor of the manner looked exquisite against the maroon coloring of all the bridesmaids dresses. The tables had beautiful bouquets sitting in the middle and you can't help but laugh imagining your father cutting a check for all of them.

To much of yours and Eddie's delight, there is an open bar that is stacked high with pricey alcohol. Again you laugh thinking about your father having to pay the tab, which you and Eddie will be happy to run up.

So far this is the most the two of you had fun, both laughing and enjoying the company that's around you. The table you've been stuck at is also occupied by other family rejects that enjoy the titles they've been given.

Eddie's hand hasn't left your thigh, which you're more than happy about, and every so often he flexes his fingers squeezing the meaty flesh.

You feel good, the boost from the drinks and the feeling of your best friend makes you bloom like a flower in the spring. You watch as he talks to the people at your table and how his hand moves with enthusiasm. You trace the muscles in his neck and watch his adam's apple bob up and down when he speaks. Your chin sits in the palm of your hand as you watch him be himself like he always is.

He's so beautiful, he always has been, and in this moment he gets to be yours. You don't have to think about what anyone else thinks, you don't have to question how the two of you look from another's perception, because you know that your heart bleeds for him and it always will.

Eddie's your home, he's your best friend, and he's your person. You think back to what he said to you this morning and how he called you a blessing but you think he's wrong. Eddie is the true blessing. He's sweet, he's smart, and he's so fucking caring it's disgusting. Behind all the jagged features and dark clothes, he's nothing but a giant teddy bear that wears his heart on his sleeve.

"Birdie." He smiles at you, all goo and mush it makes your heart skip.

You hum in response, still sitting in the same position, looking at him as if he were a painting.

"You wanna dance?" He blushes, embarrassed by the request and you feel like you're back in junior high.

"You, Eddie Munson hate dancing." You say, scrunching your nose cutely.

Laughing loudly, he nods, "Yeah, I know, but I'd dance with you."

That breaks you out of your daze, breath catching in your throat. "O-oh, yeah. I'll um dance."

Again he stands, holding a palm out to you so he can help you up. Leaning you to the dance floor, you can't help but feel jittery despite the wine that you've consumed.

Once out on the floor, he pulls you into his chest. Strong hands grip your waist through the silk fabric of your red dress and you desperately try to fight the need that rises in your guy.

You stand stiff, unsure of what to do with yourself and Eddie's quick to help you, placing your hands around his neck where they lay contently.

He looks good tonight, even better than last night, and you hate how it makes butterflies flap around in your stomach. The black button up shirt sits nicely on his torso, wrapping his arms so deliciously you want to take a bite out of them. The black slacks he wears fit nicely and you wonder if he had them tailored and you have to ignore the want to undo the sleek black belt with a bright golden buckle that holds them up. Again his hair sits in a low bun and that silver chain peeks out at you from underneath his collar.

"I can't believe you asked me to dance to Ed Sheeran." You say breathlessly, still nervous with being this close to him.

Eddie snorts, lopsided smile forming on his lips. "What, a guy can't like Ed Sheeran and metal? That's gatekeeping, sweetheart." He teases.

Rolling your eyes, you try to ignore that tingle that settles in your cheeks. "Whatever you say, Munson."

"I'm serious, Thinking Out Loud was in my top ten last year." The two of you hold eye contact until you can't take it anymore, both bursting into laughter at his admission.

"That's something you shouldn’t repeat." You sputter at him and he laughs even harder.

"Hey, I like this song, okay?" He defends, still swaying back and forth with you.

Raising your hands in defense, you pull back on your clowning for the sake of your friend. Placing your arms back around his neck, you lean your head on his chest and try to hear the beat of his heart.

The scent of him floods your nose, cologne and smoke, whiskey and linen, and you wish you could bottle it to keep forever.

"Why do you like this song anyway? It's kind of basic." You mutter at him.

His shoulders lift in a shrug, and he takes a moment to respond. "Honestly, I like it cause it reminds me of you."

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you remove your head to look up at him.

"Wha'do you mean?" You mumble, eyes searching his for some sort of answer.

Looking bashful again, red tints his cheeks and ears in a blush. Sticking his tongue out to wet his lips, he hesitantly answers.

"I always felt like he said everything I couldn't, ya know? Everything I ever wanted to say to you, he put in a song."

It feels like the whole world stops, that time freezes and it's just the two of you. You're in shock and for some reason you can't wrap your head around anything he's saying.

"What?" You say harshly and again he shrugs, shying away from your burning focus on him.

"Reminds me of you and everything I ever felt about you. I always wanted to call you mine but if you hadn't noticed, I'm a chicken shit."

You don't say anything, instead you stare at him with your mouth wide open. Eddie starts to loose his cool, frantically flexing his fingers against the material of your dress, looking around at anything but you.

"Sorry, I - shit, I really fucked this up," He doesn't get to finish his sputtering apology because you quickly smash your lips into his.

His lips taste like brown liquor and chapstick, like love and forever, and you can't believe you waited this long to experience it. Two heart sync as one, two people fall together like the leaves outside, and anxieties are finally laid to rest.

You hate that you pull away first but the need for air is too much. Eddie bends enough so that his forehead leans on yours, both looking into each other eyes living in the moment of your blissed out hearts.

"Tell me if I'm being too forward but do you wanna get out of here?" He flirts and you respond simply by pecking his lips once more.

"Thought you'd never ask."

thank you all for reading!!! love you guys <3

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #honey's birthday bash #honey's holiday celebrations

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cntloup · 19 days

Text

You wake up in an unfamiliar room angst, kidnapping, thoughts of miscarriage, mention of torture, blood

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

You wake up to the buzzing of a semi-broken light and a thick damp oily smell filling the rusty old room.

You wince as you slowly move your neck, gradually gaining consciousness, feeling your ears ringing and a sharp stabbing pain in your head.

You struggle to open your eyes, even in the dim light of the small room, your vision slightly blurry from what seems to be sweat, tears and blood from a hard blow to your head.

You groan in pain and slightly jolt in your seat as you notice you’re tied up in an unfamiliar room.

Vague disturbing images prance around your mind as your eyes land on the various tools on a small table beside you and you shake your head to get rid of them but to no avail.

Then they slowly come together like the pieces of a puzzle and you remember. You remember all of it. The agonizing torture. And several blows to your belly. Oh god!

You dip your head to check your swollen belly, only to see the pool of blood beneath you.

You feel a surge of panic rising from deep within you and start to feel light-headed, from the loss of blood, or the thought of losing your child, you honestly don't know.

And you don't know how many days have passed. Are they even looking for you? Will he save you?

There are whispers outside the room, some foreign language, Russian probably by the sound of it and you can barely make out any words, but there's one word you fully understand... 'Ghost'.

At the base, there's a thick tension in the atmosphere. After Simon found the blood and no sign of you in the house, they started working on finding the possible kidnappers.

Simon is pacing the halls as they try to track down your captors and he's absolutely livid at whoever dared lift a finger on you, anxiety bubbling up inside him, gnawing at him to the point of being utterly unbearable.

You lower your head and shut your eyes again, acting as if you’re still unconscious after you hear footsteps approaching and the clicking of keys.

They put a sack over your head and carry you to the car and drive to an unknown secluded area so a doctor can see you as you struggle to keep yourself from sobbing and thrashing around to free yourself.

Simon makes his way to Price's office with heavy footsteps and slams his fist on his desk, snarling furiously "We both know who it is. If you don't order the raid now, I swear-" "We must act fast. Laswell called with the location of the warehouse they're headed to." Price cuts him off.

They place you on a bed while your eyes are covered and you don’t notice much else as a wet rag covers your nose and mouth.

There's only the faint sound of gunshots in the distance and muffled shouts and punches. And you can sense the ground quaking by what seems like the pounding of footsteps and you feel the rag being removed followed by a loud thud and a pair of strong arms lifting you as you drift unconscious.

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stargirllanaa · 2 months

Text

୨⎯ "Bad Liar" - R.C

❥ Masterlist

Warnings: NONCON smut, Dark!Rafe, Toxic relationship, abusive relationship, Domestic violence, mentions of drinking, rafes pretty bad as usual

Summary: You snuck out to hang with the pogue’s… bad idea. Idea is from a comment on this post.

A/n ✎: OMG thank you for 200 followers!! I started writing Rafe like 3 weeks ago but the overwhelming support has been so motivating <333 love you all sm! Please reblog and comment if you enjoyed!!! Btw my request are open again, don’t be shy ;)

Wc: 2.1k

18+ MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED!

You quietly entered your house, locking the door behind you. It was 2 am, and you had just driven home from the other side of the island because you had to sneak around to hang out with your friends. Your boyfriend Rafe didn't like your choice of friends, often calling them ‘dirty pogues’ and claiming that they were all ‘trying to turn you against him,’ and that pissed you off.

Just because Rafe had a problem with Pogues didn't mean you had to, and frankly, his reasoning for hating them so much was stupid; because of his issue with them, you were frequently isolated. Still, you wouldn't let Rafe stop you from having a social life outside of him, so you would sometimes sneak out late at night, go to the cut, visit your friends, and return home like nothing had happened.

You did feel guilty about going behind Rafe's back, but what could you do? You weren't going to cut all your friends off because Rafe told you to. It wasn't like you were cheating.

You made sure to cover all of your tracks. Knowing Rafe had your location, you left your phone at home every time you snuck out. You always left at night so you could text Rafe ‘goodnight,’ and he wouldn't suspect anything from you not responding, and you would always make it back in three hours at the most just to be careful. You knew if Rafe found out about you sneaking around, he would be furious; you had been disobeying his wishes for months and lying to his face.

As you crept up your stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible, you couldn't help but smile; even though you hated to admit it, you and Rafe never had fun. I mean, you two had ‘fun’ in his way, like going golfing, parties, ‘Rafe stuff,’ but you two would never do anything you wanted to do, and with The Pogues, it was the opposite; you got to get messy, get drunk on the beach even do girly things like braid Sarah's hair or have Kie paint your nails, things that you could never do with rafe. It was a relief to do something you enjoyed.

You opened the door to your bedroom, which was pitch black; you had turned all your lights out before you left; you felt around on the wall for the light switch, flipping it upwards. The lights momentarily blinded you, but you jumped when you saw the manlike figure on your bed. When your eyes finally focused, it was worse than what you expected.

Rafe was sitting on your bed, staring directly at you; his face was unreadable and emotionless, which was terrifying. Your boyfriend was usually expressive, the type to lash out when angry; you had never seen him this calm, and you certainly didn't expect him to be calm after catching you going behind his back.

You stood frozen in the doorway, unable to tear your gaze away from him or move. This didn't feel real.

“Where were you?” Rafe asked, breaking the silence; his voice was monotone, empty of emotion as he sat on your bed, just looking at you.

Your throat felt dry, and your tongue heavy with unsaid words. You struggled to find your voice and form a coherent response, and the utter shock and fear rendered you speechless.

“I don't want to repeat myself,” Rafe mumbled under his breath; he was allowing you to come clean and save yourself from whatever he had planned if he caught you in a lie.

“I was…” you blinked a couple of tears back, thinking of what to say. “I went to the gas station… to get some.” you looked up and then back at him, fidgeting with your hands. “snacks.” you lied, voice cracking from nerves.

Rafe smirked, slighting, breaking his calm facade. Did this amuse him?

“Right.” Rafe nodded, looking at his lap as if he was thinking about what you just said. “So you went to the gas station, right?” he asked, awaiting a response.

You nodded, but you couldn't stop the tears from glazing your eyes and your whole body from trembling.

“And you left your phone at home?” Rafe questioned you, head tilting slightly and his eyes narrowing.

You completely forgot that since Rafe was waiting for you in your room and most likely saw your phone on your nightstand. Your lies were falling apart before your eyes.

“I forgot-” You mumbled quietly, still standing in your doorway. You hoped you weren't loud enough to wake anyone in your house, but you were too scared to get closer to Rafe.

“Y/n,” Rafe muttered, pushing himself off the bed, now standing in front of it. “I'm done with the lies. Alright?” the blonde sighs, now talking with his hands. “I've been here for,” he looks down at his expensive watch, taking in the time. “2 hours,” Rafe admits, fist clenching to his side.

Your face fell when he said that, he had caught you; he had to know; there was no excuse or lie you could think of to justify why you were at the gas station for 2 hours in the middle of the night. Your heart started to beat faster, and your tears finally spilled over; you weren't just scared, you were terrified; you didn't want to admit to hanging out with the Pogues, but what else could you do? You had tried lying and failed, making the situation worse, and Rafe probably already expected the worst. I mean, you were sneaking out in the middle of the night. That would look like cheating to anyone.

“And I don't see any snacks either.” Rafe sighs as he combs his finger through his hair.

He was right; you didn't even think of that; you were a horrible liar.

“So I'm going to ask you one more time.” Rafe’s posture was stiff, and his hands were shaky, “where. Were. you.” his tone was sharp, and his breathing was speeding up as he waited for your response.

“I was at the chateau…ok?!” You blurted out loudly, quickly covering your mouth after realizing your door was still open. “John B’s place, it was me, Sarah.” his eyes rolled when you mentioned his sister, “Kiara, Pope, JJ.” You were now half whispering and hyperventilating simultaneously; your tears were prevalent as you told your boyfriend everything. There was no point in lying anymore, he had caught you, and he was pissed.

“We were just hanging out, and I'm sorry; I know I should have-” You were just saying anything that came to mind, trying to improve this situation, word vomit.

“Come here.” Your boyfriend mumbled, cutting you off; his voice was low and shaky.

You shook your head. ‘No,’ you didn't want to be anywhere near him right now; you had just admitted to lying to him multiple times and didn't want to face the consequences.

“Ok,” he shakes his head before running his hand through his hair again and saying something under his breath that you didn't quite catch.

Before you knew it, he was charging at you. You tried to run out the doorway, but as soon as you turned, one of his arms was wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his stiff chest, and with the other, he used his hand to cover your mouth in one swift motion before using his foot to shut your door.

“You were lying to me.” he hissed into your ear, pushing you against your wall, back facing him. “Calculating plans behind my back.” he used the hand that was around your waist to grab a chuck of your hair, forcing your head to snap to the side. “To hang out with dirty Pogues.” he was now gripping your hair so tight you felt it might come out of your head. “And probably sleep with them behind my back.” His voice didn't raise once as he automatically assumed the worst.

You couldn't deny his claims; his hand was over your mouth tight, your parents were right upstairs, and he knew that.

“How many times? Huh?” Rafe questioned you, pulling your hair back just enough to make eye contact, and when you looked into his eyes, they didn't look normal; they were dark. “How many times did you fuck those disgusting Pogues while you pretend to be asleep?” he was dead serious.

He slowly moved his hand from over your mouth, waiting for you to respond, but when you let out a loud cry instead, he quickly covered it again before slamming your head against the wall, which was also noisier than he expected.

In Rafe's mind, he couldn't accept the fact that you and another guy could just be friends, especially not you and a Pogue; in Rafe's mind, you 100% cheated on him, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He was disgusted; who knows where those pogues had been or who they had been in? They were filthy and grimy; who knows what you could have given him.

“You're disgusting.” Rafe whispers in your ear before flipping your body around to face him, stuck between him and the walls.

“I can't believe I trusted you.” His hand was now grabbing at your hair again, gripping the top of your scalp and using it as leverage to push you down on your knees in front of him.

You fought back, trying to stand straight, but Rafe quickly overpowered you. And before you knew it, you were kneeling before him like he wanted.

“I'm going to let go of you, and if you make any noise…” he paused momentarily, looking deeply into your eyes. “I'll kick your fucking teeth in.” he threatened, voice still shaking. “Understand?”

You nodded to the best of your ability with his tight grip on your hair and face.

When he let go, you tried your best to stay quiet, letting out little cries and whimpers, but not enough for him to fulfill his threat. The tears hadn't stopped since he'd caught you, and you were so fucking exhausted from all the fun you had earlier and now the pain, accusations, and tears. But when you looked up to see Rafe unbuttoning his pants, you couldn't keep quiet.

“No-” You protested quietly, as you started to hyperventilate, tears now fully clouding your vision. “Rafe-” You couldn't even catch your breath. You were panicking.

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe demanded quietly, but his tone was still harsh as he pulled down his pants.

“I can't breathe-” You were cut off by Rafe pushing your head, causing it to slam against the wall; you immediately rubbed the back of your head to soothe the pain as you cried harder.

Rafe was getting more annoyed with you by the second, jaw ticking every time he looked at you. He grabbed your chin roughly, pulling your face closer to his crotch.

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Rafe sneered as he used his other hand to pull his boxers down and begin stroking his cock right in front of your face.

You couldn't stop crying. You couldn't believe this was happening; just an hour ago, you were out with your friends, having fun, not even worried about your boyfriend. You had gotten away with sneaking out so many times already; how could you have known today would be any different?

“Open your mouth,” Rafe demanded as he held his cock right in front of your lips.

You tried to turn your head to the side, but Rafe wasn't having it. His grip on your chin got tighter and tighter until you tried to cry out in pain, but as soon as you opened your mouth, he got what he wanted.

His hand holding your chin was back on your hair as he guided your head up and down at a quick, harsh pace. Sounds of gags and rafes and low moans filled the room. It was music to his ears but traumatizing for you.

“Fuck y/n.” Rafe moaned out, “I'm gonna miss this.”

You were a little confused, but if you were being honest, you were barely listening to Rafe anyway, too emotionally broken to pay attention to whatever he was saying.

“Can't be with a bitch who would fuck a pogue,” Rafe grunted out.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Enjoyed my fic? Leave feedback! Comment/reblog!

Wanna see more? Check out my fic Sweet little lies.

Also tagging @necroflame (bc I lied about the post time to many times 😭) and @fabienne6656 for the idea!!! Thx bye..

#dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #dark rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark rafe x reader #obx imagine #dark!fic #dark!rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #obx fic #rafe imagine

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nexus-nebulae · 2 years

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well i seem to have just slept three hours

#big nap #ough.... shleeb #bro i fell asleep watching a mario kart video #so i had a dream about a zelda-themed kart game??#and it looked super cool #but none of it was specific Zelda locations that I recognized all i saw were Zelda characters #right before I woke up though it was like. we were all off the track just chilling #me and Several Links (and other characters)#but like i had this magic staff thingy for some reason #and we were fucking around with it #and something we did made it suddenly double in size #and i said 'oh it gets taller'#and then because i felt like choosing violence i added 'unlike link'#and the link from wind waker just looked at me and frowned lmao #i think wind waker link is possibly one of the youngest links? which is why he is Very Small in the games #but also it's funny to me to imagine he just fuckin stays that height

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propertyofhenrywinter · 8 months

Text

Long live the walls we crashed through

Max Verstappen x driver!reader

Summary: you are involved in a crash so horrid everyone assumes you couldn’t have survived.

WC: just under 2k

You honestly didn’t know what exactly had happened yourself. You remember when everyone was waiting for the rain to end, so the race could begin. Unfortunately, it didn’t look like the downfall was going to stop anytime soon. All drivers were instructed to wait on the starting grid, so you and Charles, who was starting P5 next to your P6, where keeping each other entertained by playing some stupid game involving a lot of hand gestures. “Okay, I’ve just received word they are going to try and start the race despite the wet conditions.” your engineer’s voice interrupts you while you here trying to gesture a horse to Charles. “What? In this weather? Are they sure?” What you really had wanted to ask if they were plotting to murder one of the drivers or if they were just plain stupid. You look over at Charles as you saw his body language change, you assumed he had just gotten a similar message. “They gave us some vague reasons about the fans waiting and keeping the fight for the championship as exciting as possible,” your engineer explained.

The race had started out boring, slow, and mainly wet. None of drivers really felt secure while driving so there were almost no overtakes, no battles for a better place, nothing to entertain fans. Not that you thought that mattered considering you were quite sure the track wasn’t even visible from the stands thanks to the rain. However, between lap 4 and 5 the conditions started to better and some battles emerged on the track and positions started changing. You had managed to overtake both Charles and George, leaving only a certain Aston Martin driver standing between you and a place on the podium. The weather was almost dry at that moment, but you didn’t realise, no, you were only focused beating Alonso and joining your boyfriend on the podium. (Because let’s be honest best-case scenario: he was first, again. Worst case? Second) What you also failed to notice was a red car behind you disappearing to pit for slicks, because his team was so sure it would stay dry.

Although what had occurred after happened in a blitz, you could still remember that part as well. The Ferrari driver had just joined the track again and was being separated from you by George, when suddenly, the rain came back. It didn’t start with a drizzle, no warning droplets, just from zero to one hundred faster than any f1 car could. You vision was now reduced to that of a senior mole, giving you indication about the location of the driver in front of you. Lucky for you, you were familiar with the track at this point, so you didn’t worry about crashing yourself, but an invisible man in front of you was plenty of worry. You could hear your radio turning on, but you never heard what your teams plan of action was.

Because unbeknownst to you Charles, his brand-new slicks, the rain, and a nasty sharp turn steered his car into the young Mercedes driver. It was only a slight, soft touch. Just a tick. A little nudge if you must name it. But in those bad conditions George started to spin. But before he had started to spin and before he had been touched by the Ferrari, he had shortened the distance between the two of you by quite a lot. So, when he spun it took less than three seconds to feel his car touch something again. Now this wasn’t a nudge this is where your memory gets a little hazy.

George’s car spun into you. You lost control as well. You went through a wall. You flipped upside down. The car broke in two. Fire. Lots of fire. You got out.

You got out. You don’t remember how you did it, but you lived, and you were standing next to the burning vehicle. Half in shock from what happened you couldn’t deter your eyes from the flames you were a part of moments ago. You stood there in complete stillness contrasting your team’s garage at the same time.

“Max please come in, red flag.” “Yeah, I thought I saw something in my mirrors. I saw some yellow tints. Was that fire? Is everybody OK?” “Just come in, please, we’ll explain then.”

Max jumped out of his car once he reached his team garage, where it was unusually quiet. “What happened? Why didn’t you tell me over the radio?” Max already started asking his questions before he had even pulled his balaclava all the way off, so his words sounded more like scrambled mumbles. Not that it really mattered; his team knew what he wanted to know. “Wait, why did only I get called in?” he asked once he noticed your car wasn’t on the other side of the garage, where it usually would be if you had to wait out a red flag. Max averted his gaze from the empty spot to the mechanics, who gave each other looks as if to say “I’m not saying it. You do it.” “Max,” he heard Horner trying to catch his attention. Normally the presence of the team principal would make him wonder what was bad enough that he had to intervene himself instead of sending someone else to deal whit whatever the issue was. Right then, however, he didn’t have to wonder. His eyes had caught the screens behind the engineers displaying a view of the track. This wouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary if it wasn’t for your car. Specifically, the back side of your car; he couldn’t see the front, but he assumed it must have gone through the barrier. “Along with you,” he couldn’t stop himself from thinking. Due to the fire, he couldn’t see or estimate the severity of the crash, but it did not look good. “You have her vitals, right?” he asked Horner, who had been tuning out ‘til now. “Well,” the principal began. “You’ve talked to her through the radio. Please. Tell me you know she’s alright.” Max said more as a question. At the lack of response his head started spinning. “We haven’t been able to contact her yet. No input about her vitals has come in since the crash.” Max stopped listening after that and just bolted to his driver’s room. Shutting the door behind himself, he was glad none of his team members tried to follow or stop him. Tears were already forming in his eyes while he turned on the small tv to be able to check on any updates regarding your crash.

Meanwhile you were already on your way to the team’s garage. You were surprised that no reporters intercept you on your way there, but you figured they were just focused on the crash site. You knew you should’ve gone to the medical centre first, but you felt fine and cared more to let everyone know you were alright. As you made your way trough the paddock, you start to wonder if people knew you got out of the car. They didn’t, you had no way of knowing this of course but at that time fire marshals were busy putting the fire out.

Max was watching them on the screen in his room, trying not to think about you in there. He almost threw up at the idea that you were still in there and that you might never come out, or that you might already be gone. He really didn’t want to, but he just couldn’t stop his mind frow straying to thought about waking up without you beside him, having dinner alone, never getting to complain about your shoes lying in the middle of the hallway again. His thoughts were about to make him physically sick when there was a nock on the door. He really didn’t want to be disturbed so he didn’t even bother responding. Another few nocks got ignored until he got fed up and shouted, “Leave me alone.” His request however got denied as a male voice sounded from the other side of the door. “We have an… update on the crash.” Max recognized the voice as one of the mechanics who was in the garage earlier. Although he was pissed off that he hadn’t been left to sulk in his misery alone, he was intrigued by the news, since there had been no new information shared on the broadcast he had been following on his TV. He also got scared, considering it was most likely that whatever it was it wouldn’t be good.

You were chatting to a still slightly worried Horner when you heard someone rapidly approaching you. You turn your head to see Max walking towards you with an unreadable expression on his face. “Hi,” you said softly right before he reached you. When he did, he just looked at you for a split second and then pulled you in his arms. He put is head in the crook of your neck, pulling you up to your tippy toes to reach it, and held his arms so tight around you that you believed it would leave a permanent indentation in your ribcage. “Let’s go somewhere more private,” you suggested, suddenly feeling the eyes of everyone around you burning in your back. “Okay.” Max said before almost dragging you into your driver’s room, considering it was a little closer by than his. He shut the door behind you and was back beside you before you could even bat an eye. “Are you alright?” he asks as he takes your face in both his hands. “I’m fine.” You pull one of his hands away from your face and just hold it. “You really scared me,” he said right before he pulled you in for a hug. “Well, I didn’t mean to,” you respond. “Just don’t ever do that again,” he says while he starts placing soft kisses on your face and head. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you scoff before pulling him in for a real kiss. You two stand there for a while, just holding each other, before you decide to rejoin the paddock.

“For a moment I really thought I killed you,” George confesses. Every knew you survived the seemingly survivable crash and the mood throughout the whole track was a lot less heavy than it had been a few minutes before. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that. Even if something worse would’ve happened I wouldn’t want you blaming yourself for a single second,” you explain. “It’s a risk we all take every time we get into that car and we’re all very much aware of it,” you add. “And it isn’t like I could leave anyway,” you smile. “why’s that?” George asks. “I mean who would play gestures with Charles before the races?” you look over at Charles before getting cut off by your boyfriend’s voice. “It’s not our fault you two won’t explain your made-up game to anyone else,” he protests. In response you and Charles give him a universal recognized obscene gesture while laughing to yourselves. While the conversation takes another turn you take some time realizing how lucky you are; not just for surviving the crash but for the amazing life you had. You wrap your arms around Max and lean you head against his upper body. “What is this for?” he asks but wastes no time in returning the gesture also wrapping his arms around you. “Do I need a reason to show I love boyfriend al of a sudden?” you playfully say. Max just smiles and says, “I love you too.”

Part 2

AN: So, this was my first ever fanfic so fee back and corrections are more than welcome. Also, I do have an idea for a part two so lmk if you would like that.

#max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fluff

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