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fanwarriorfictions · 1 month

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Not Again- Part Three

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: The inner court has many questions about Y/n and her world. Missing home even more, all she wants is to fly and clear her head, luckily, her babysitter indulges her

Series Masterlist

-Part Three-

Azriel knew this was going to be a long day from the moment he woke up. Surrounded by his shadows who would not shut up for three gods damned seconds. She’s awake, awake, awake, upset, won’t eat, upset. The little busybodies had snuck off while he slept, and apparently they were very concerned about the state of the female next door for whatever reason.

He found himself dressed and in the hallway waiting for any sign of her, when he didn’t receive one in the ten minutes he’d stood there he’d finally crossed the hall and knocked three times on the door.

She was still in there, he knew that from the way his shadows kept trying to slip through the cracks towards her. And he could feel the shield of air she’d placed around the room, hiding the sounds of her approaching footsteps.

The door swung open and Azriel couldn’t explain why his breath caught in his chest. The house had gifted her new clothes, the traditional night court style that Amren preferred to wear, in the deepest darkest night court black. The silk cropped shirt hugged her curves, and the flowing high waisted pants left a small sliver of skin on display. Beautiful, pretty, black suits her. His shadows whispered again and again and again, he was about ready to lock them away for a moment of peace.

“Here to take me to the dungeons yet?” She asks, lifting her arms towards him as if expecting cuffs, amusement glittering in her eyes as she watches his eyes lift from her waist, “what’s on the table today? Just some light interrogation? Maybe a bit of torture?”

“Breakfast actually,” he replies dryly, “the others will be here shortly.”

“Well that’s no fun,” she pouts, dropping her arms to her sides, “lead the way then, shadowsinger.”

The title rolls off her tongue, that accent swirling and dripping with charm. A small smirk on her lips as she notices his hesitation, turning his back on her still felt like a bad idea, even though he didn’t glimpse a single dagger on her, he’s sure she wouldn’t need it.

She seems fine, less tense than the night before, a mask of cool amusement and charm, yet his shadows seem concerned, upset, they’d whispered all morning. As they walk he keeps one eye on her, taking in the way she examines every surface, every turn, every nook and cranny. She was mapping out the halls in her head, memorizing the ways out, smart. If she wanted to she could shift into that magnificent hawk form and fly through the halls and off the balcony before he could even try to catch her.

They turn into the dining room, Rhys and Feyre already sat at the table. The table set for several people, Azriel assumed the rest of the court would be here soon, Cassian flying them up from the River House. Elain would stay back with little Nyx, her mate there to protect them both.

“Good morning,” Feyre says, voice reserved yet kind, “I’m Feyre.”

Y/n grants her a small smile, bowing her head slightly in greeting. She doesn’t say anything, opting to examine the room around them like she’d done in the halls, nervous. She didn’t let it show on her face, but Azriel could tell, could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Please, sit,” Rhys says, gesturing to the seats across from them, “the rest will be here shortly.”

“Should I be worried about that?” Y/n asks, her tone is light, that cool amusement hiding the faint look of panic that flashes through her eyes.

Azriel’s shadows writhe at his sides when he sees that look, something about it settles wrongly. She had nothing to fear from them, but how would she know that? Strangers who had found her vulnerable, who had tried to look into her mind, who she knew next to nothing about.

Feyre laughs lightly, “no, no, of being talked to death perhaps, but I swear, no harm will come to you.”

That seems just good enough to Y/n to coax her to sit across from Feyre, her eyes glance warily at the foods laid out between them and instead of filling her plate like the High Lord and Lady across from her she simply leans back in her seat and watches. Azriel takes the seat beside her, pointedly filling his plate with mounds of eggs and bacon and bread with jams.

She won’t eat, eat, eat, eat, she needs to eat. Shadows angrily whisper in Azriel’s ears but he forces them away as he hears the sounds of his family grow closer down the hall, Cassian’s booming laugh echoing into the room. He can see the moment Y/n tenses, her body readying for a fight that would not come.

“A rambunctious lot you’ve got here,” she says coolly, that mask of indifference slid into place.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Rhys sighs.

Cassian is the first to come through the door, followed by Nesta who rolls her eyes at her mates back.

“Is this the female who handed Azriel’s ass to him?”

The tension in Y/n’s shoulders slip every so slightly and Azriel feels himself relax too. He was prepared to leap inbetween his family and her, to protect which one he wasn’t sure.

“You say that like it’s such an impossibility,” Mor says as she and Amren step through the doorway, “I’ve seen plenty of females hand you your ass, Cassian.”

“But it’s Az,” Cass laughs, “Mister dark and broody spymaster caught off guard by the second female falling on his lap.”

“She did not fall into my lap,” Azriel sighs, “she was in the-“

“Whatever,” Cassian interrupts, waving his hand, “close enough.”

Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, recognizing them for what they were, a way to break any tension, to make this seem like a simple breakfast instead of the interrogation it was sure to become. One glance at Y/n told him she wasn’t buying it for one second.

Her eyes travel over them all, stopping briefly on Nesta as their eyes lock. Both females had that cold stare that could freeze oceans. Though she’d given back a majority of the cauldrons power, it still lurked behind Nesta’s steely eyes, that silver fire rolling in warning. Y/n looked just as lethal, those cold eyes almost glowing with the power lurking below her skin, wether it was ice or fire, Azriel wasn’t sure he wanted to find out which she’d use first.

Nesta seemed satisfied with whatever she saw in Y/n’s eyes, grabbing her mates hand to drag him to their seats beside Feyre. Mor slipped into the seat beside Azriel, Amren taking the seat beside her.

“Well,” Rhys says with that charming grin, “now that everyone is here I’d like to introduce our lovely guest, Crown Princess of Terrasen, Y/n Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.”

“Now that’s a mouth full.” Mor whistles as she piles her plate full of sweet pastries and fruits, “lovely to meet you, Princess.”

“Y/n will do.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the fangs,” Cassian says when her sharp canines peak through her lips.

Azriel keeps one eye on the female next to him as he pretended to be interested in the food on his plate. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, her mask not slipping despite the eyes weighing her down.

“What is this place?”

Rhys raises a brow at her, “would you like to eat first before we get to the nitty gritty?”

Y/n nods towards the food, “I’d like to know exactly who and what I’m dealing with before I accept food from fae I don’t know. Didn’t anyone ever teach you stranger danger?”

Eat, eat, tell her to eat. Azriel tries to quiet the shadows, getting annoyed with how insistent they were. As if she heard them, Y/n glances at him, frowning at the little wisps that stray to close to her.

Rhys looks ready to give her a sarcastic response but Feyre rolls her eyes and butts in, “you are in Velaris, the heart and soul of our territory, the Night Court.”

“You’re the leaders of this place,” Y/n states more than asks.

“High Lord and Lady, few of many on this continent,” Feyre nods, “how’d you know.”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of royals,” Y/n shrugs, “Queens and Kings, Lords and Ladies, Emperors and Empresses.”

That peaks everyone’s interest, Azriel can feel the curiosity in the air. When Quinlann had arrived, she’d been at war with the Asteri, the ruling power of her world, despite having kings and queens, they all answered to the immortal, intergalactic parasites, as Quinlann had put it. She and her mate had succeeded in ridding their planet of the monsters, but who knew where else these creatures lived.

“What is your home like?” Mor asks, the question seemingly harmless, but depending on the answer could bring a whole world of consequences.

Y/n examines her, not missing the hidden question beneath is your world a threat to our own, “much like your own it would seem. We’ve been at peace for the last 25 years. Until a gate opened up and ripped me away from my family.”

There’s the briefest change in her then, that mask slipping just enough that Azriel recognizes it, grief. She’s upset, homesick, won’t eat. It made sense now, she’d said she’d been with her father when the gate had taken her, when she’d been dumped onto a foreign land surrounded by strangers she couldn’t understand. She must have been terrified.

“Before you ask, I have no idea how or why the gate opened, or why it took me,” she continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible. None have been opened since the lock was forged during the war.”

“War?” Cassian’s brow raises in question, “what lock?”

It seems to set her back into a memory, her eyes not entirely focused on the male who’d asked, “the war against the Valg. Demons from another world who liked the taste of ours. The fight against them spanned over centuries, over multiple wars, my ancestor was able to lock the King away with a stolen object not meant for her to use, but for that there was a price demanded from the gods who’d made the lock in the first place, an heir of her blood to forge a new lock, to open a gate and send them to their true home, my mother. Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, she almost died paying their price, and in the end they betrayed her anyway.”

Anger simmered in her eyes, Azriel could feel heat radiating off of her, that fire under her skin wanting to come out.

“What became of them?” Rhys asks.

She takes a moment to rein that fire in and then she meets the High Lord’s eyes, “she killed them all.”

A silence ripples through the room, her mother had killed her world’s gods. Were they like Midgard’s asteri, Prythian’s daglan, or maybe their own kind of nightmare.

“She locked the gates, fell through time and space, through hundreds of worlds, guided back by my father who would not let that mating bond slip through his fingers. When she’d come back, she had a fraction of her power left, the power that could end the valg Queen and King and save them all.”

“How did they win?” Nesta asks in the quiet that follows.

A smile, not a smirk finds Y/n’s lips and Azriel’s shadows dance towards her. He barely keeps them in check, one resting on the edge of her chair before it was reined back in. He catches the curious look sent his way by Rhys. He’d surely hear more of that later.

“My Aunt Yrene,” she says, “a healer, the valg were vulnerable to their touch, she took the evil shriveled soul of the valg King and turned him to nothing but a black stain on the floor. We put a rug over it.”

A surprised laugh slips out of Mor, “please tell me it’s hideous.”

“The tackiest thing I’ve ever seen, they let me paint on it as a child. It’s covered in bad stick figures of my uncles.”

They’d asked her questions until it was nearing lunch time. Cassian had about fallen out of his chair when she’d told them of the witches and their wyverns. From the look in Amren’s eye, Y/n knew that if she’d ever met Manon, the world would tremble in fear.

Rhys had been particularly interested in her mother’s journey through worlds, he had an uncanny feeling about it that he couldn’t quite explain. Feyre and Nesta had been shocked to learn that her mother was half human. Mor had asked her millions of questions that she could barely keep up with.

During it all, Azriel had been silent at her side. No questions on his lips but she could see the wheels turning in his head, could almost hear the whispering shadows that danced closer and closer to her every chance they got. She’d felt one drifting over her elbow for a moment before Azriel had glared right at the curious little shadow and it flew back to his side.

They’d slowly stopped their questioning and then they left one by one, Amren had left to look into this worlds knowledge on Wyrd markings and gates, Cassian and Nesta had said something about a training session, Rhys and Feyre needed to go relieve the third Acheron sister from babysitting duty and Mor had desperately wanted to see her nephew.

And just like that, it was down to Y/n and Azriel. She assumed he was still on babysitting duty, despite their apparent trust in her. She didn’t blame them for being cautious, Wyrd knows she’d not let a single one of them out of her sight if the roles were reversed.

Y/n stood stretching out her sore muscles, an involuntary groan slipping past her lips as she lifted her arms above her head. They’d been sitting there for hours and her body still aches from the events of yesterday.

“You didn’t eat anything,” his cool voice startles her, deep and slightly gravely.

She glances down at him, noting the way his eyes drag up from that small sliver of skin at her waist. The clothes we’re comfortable, yet much more revealing than anything she’d been used to. She can’t help the smirk that rests on her lips as she looks down at the handsome male, she could get used to clothes like this.

“I’m not hungry,” she shrugs, moving through the room, glancing towards the huge windows that showed the vast city far beneath them.

“You haven’t eaten since you’ve been here,” he says, eyes tracking each of her movements.

“Oh? And how would you know that,” she looks pointedly at the shadows, “I thought I told you to keep wandering eyes to yourself.”

He simply shrugs, “they do what they want.”

“Clearly.” She turns towards the door, “are you to play babysitter all day? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

She’s out the door before he’s has the chance to reply. The place was massive, she’d memorized the walk from her room to the dining hall, but the amount of halls that laid around told her she’d only seen a small portion of what the place had to offer.

“Would you care for a tour?” Azriel’s suddenly standing to her side.

“Babysitter and tour guide,” she snarks, exploring down the hall, “A double threat.”

“I’ve been told to keep any eye on you.” He looks down at her, “and that’s what I plan to do.”

“Oh I have no doubt about that.” She turns into a large living space littered with comfortable looking couches and chairs, a doorway leading to a balcony against the far wall. “I’m sure you’re a male who takes his duties very seriously.”

She moves towards that door, towards the open air beyond, Azriel following close behind. She could feel the wind beyond, begging to caress her wings, she’d shift and fly for hours and hours, maybe she could fly home.

“You could make this easy for both of us,” he says, letting a shadow block her path, “and quit trying to run away from me.”

“Now who said I was trying to run away,” she flashes an overly sweet smile over her shoulder, one that she can tell gets under his skin.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he almost growls, “but if you choose to make this harder than necessary, I have no problem tying you to a chair.”

She snorts, “Kinky, but no thank you, I’m not interested.”

He doesn’t respond, that carefully crafted expression not shifting an inch, though his shadows give him away. They writhe around him, reaching for her and pulling back over and over, like he was trying not to strangle her.

“Tell you what,” she says, “I’ll stick around you like glue if you let me go for a quick flight.”

She doesn’t hide the longing glance she gives the balcony, whenever she was stressed or upset her and her father would go flying, they would fly until she was ready to talk about what was eating at her, or until she tired herself out and he would take her home and tuck her into bed just to go fly the next morning. Y/n couldn’t think of a time she’d been more stressed than now, stuck in a foreign world with no way home, surrounded by powerful fae who she didn’t trust not to bury a dagger between her shoulders the second she turned around, depsite how kind they had been.

“Fine.”

Her eyes meet with warm hazel, surprise not hidden on her face. She would’ve thought he’d fight back harder, keeping her here, where she couldn’t fly away was safer, easier. But he’d agreed, and she gives him the first genuine smile she’d had since she’d arrived and says, “Thank you.”

He nods once, “after you.”

She’s out the door in seconds, shifting with a flash of white light, and diving over the edge of the balcony towards the city far far below.

Azriel was regretting his choice to let her fly, simply due to the fact that she was so damn fast. Despite the chill in the air, she flew over Velaris with such speed, the air biting his wings as he tried to keep up. She zigzaged over the city, following streets up and down, from the cliffs of the house all the way to the open mouth of the Sidra. They flew over the bridge into the Rainbow, the artists quarter and almost like an invisible string tugged her towards it, they ended up at one of the many amphitheaters.

Music of practicing artists flowed out, preparing for a concert later that evening, there was no single melody, a mesh of different tunes that somehow melded together into a new song of its own.

Y/n landed on a high wall of the amphitheater, that flash of light, and then she was sitting precariously on the edge, as if there wasn’t a steep drop directly behind her to the streets below. Azriel landed next to her, carefully sitting down with a comfortable distance between them. It felt wonderful to rest for a few seconds, letting the sun warm his wind chilled wings.

He watches her, the way she leans towards that music as if she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. There’s a longing look in her eyes, a sadness that cracks that carefully constructed mask to pieces. Azriel wants to comfort her, he’s overcome by the sudden need to fix whatever is wrong, but he was never good at that, so he just sits beside her, mouth firmly shut.

“One of the first things my mother did after the war was rebuild the theaters,” she says quietly after several minutes, “my earliest memory is sitting in the Queen’s box, they’d written a symphony about the final battle, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can still hear the horn that signaled my mothers arrival.”

Azriel listened carefully, “Your mother seems to be a brave warrior.”

“She didn’t have a choice but to be,” Y/n whispers, “Most of my family didn’t.”

“You seem to be a warrior yourself,” he says, “were you given a choice.”

Her eyes don’t stray from the players below, “Yes and no, my parents insisted I train, they wanted me to be prepared for anything, I wanted to anyway, mostly because I wanted to grow up to be just like them. My father is one of the strongest fae warriors in the world, Rowan Whitethorn, soldiers talk about him around camp fires like he’s a myth. He and my uncles, his cadre, oversaw my training. My mother too, she’d once been a renowned assassin, I’d begged and fought with her to teach me everything she knew until she got sick of me and relented.”

He could see that, the way she struck fast and quietly during their first encounter, she moved with the grace of a dancer, struck with the strength of a warrior.

“Quite the family,” he says, searching for anything to lighten the mood, something Rhys or Cassian would say, “I’m sure bringing home boys was interesting.”

She laughs, and he can’t help but enjoy the sound, “you have no idea, not only do you have to impress my parents, but also the kings and queens of several nations. I made the mistake of bringing a boy home when Manon was visiting from the witch lands. She tried to introduce him to Abraxos, I don’t think I ever saw him again.”

From what they’d heard of the witch Queen, Azriel hoped the boy had just fled the kingdom, instead of becoming dinner.

She goes silent, and a shadow whispers in Azriel’s ear, she wants to go home, sad, very sad.

“Would you care to eat now?” Azriel asks, raising to his feet, “I know flying works up my appetite.”

She flashes him a saccharine smile, one that does its best to hide the pain but it can’t hide her eyes, “are you asking for a date? I thought I told you I’m not interested.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the slight twitch of his lips, “Trust me, Princess, you’re not my type either.”

She climbs to her feet, and Azriel finds that stretch of exposed skin at her waist as she turns to him, the scent of pine, snow, and embers drifting towards him on the wind.

“I’m everybody’s type.” Her tone lowers, dripping with charm, the kind that could make men and women crawl on their hands and knees. “Think you can keep up this time?”

Without warning she jumps off the back of the tall amphitheater. Azriel has a brief moment of panic, shadows whipping out to try and catch her, wings flaring as he goes to dive after her. Then, brilliant white light blinds him for a second, and that red tinged hawk shoots past him, letting out a cry that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

He swears, jumping off that ledge and shoots into the sky behind her.

#the shadows are my favorite characters by far #I like the term busybody to much #Azriel doesn’t know how to deal with feelings properly #I need them to banter more because it gives me life #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin

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kudossi · 10 months

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Tigerclaw and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Senior Warrior Position AU

In a world where deputies can only be named after their first apprentice has been granted their warrior name, Tigerclaw struggles to keep an apprentice alive long enough to earn their name.

or, a comedy-tragedy AU in which having an apprentice isn't enough — you have to see them to their warrior name, and Tigerclaw cannot fucking get any of his goddamn apprentices to live, damn it.

—

It starts out mostly normally, except for the fact that Tigerclaw hasn't gotten any apprentices to their warrior name, and he needs that so he can accomplish his (very noble, of course) kitty genocide goals. And also be the supreme leader of the world or something. Darkpaw died stupidly, he hasn't had a chance since, and now he's got some tiny thing that's afraid of his own shadow.

Well. It'll have to do.

So naturally this man is so protective over Ravenpaw that Ravenpaw barely even leaves his sight. Firepaw and Graypaw think that this is adorable. Look how much Tigerclaw cares about his apprentice!!

Ravenpaw, of course, is fucking terrified and also slowly losing his mind, just in a different way.

—

"Redtail assigned us to go on a patrol to Snakerocks." "OH NO HE DID NOT. WE'RE STAYING IN THE SANDY HOLLOW WHERE IT'S SAFE."

"Nothing matters more to me than making you a warrior, Ravenpaw. Nothing." And the terrible thing is that Ravenpaw is sure he's being sincere.

—

Ravenpaw disappears and Tigerclaw nearly fucking has a conniption because the timing was all RIGHT and he was going to finally get the position AND HE NEVER GOT HIS DAMN NAME FUCK.

"Do you think I could convince the elders that Fireheart was my apprentice?" "Fireheart was Bluestar's apprentice, as approved by StarClan. You're going to have to wait for the next litter to be apprenticed."

So he begs and begs and gets Cinderpaw and then she accidentally falls into the trap he'd set for a better deputy candidate at the Thunderpath. Fuck.

—

Well. Time to resort to drastic measures.

"I was thinking that Darkstripe would have been a good name. Because he had dark stripes." "Again, Tigerclaw, it's admirable that you loved your apprentice so much, but I cannot grant him a name." "Are you sure?" "Honestly, Tigerclaw, I'm not sure he ever would have gotten a name. Missing quite a few feathers from his nest, that one..." Fuck. The worst part was that she wasn't even wrong.

— Swiftpaw and Brightpaw get mauled by the dogs he set up to happen like right after he got the title and they sprang it before and he's like FUCK NOW WHAT DO I DO WITH THESE DAMN DOGS? His world domination plans literally never come to fruition because he cannot keep his apprentices alive/in the clan/his own.

— "Brightheart counts. She HAS to count." "Actually, Cloudtail took over her training…" [demented noises]

—

Turns out that Ravenpaw is alive and no one — no one — in the Harper Collins Extended Universe is happier than Tigerclaw.

"You're alive! …You deserve your warrior name!" "Actually, I've come to peace with my name and my way of life. I have no need for a—" "GET YOUR FUCKING NAME RIGHT NOW RAVENPAW OR SO HELP ME STARCLAN—" "I know you really wanted Ravenpaw to become a warrior," Barley says gently, "but he's made his decision. It's very kind of you to acknowledge that he deserves it, though. You must have been so close as mentor and apprentice." Tigerclaw's eye twitches. "Yes. Close. Very... close." —

He finally, finally retires as an elder after his plans go absolutely nowhere for years on end. And maybe StarClan is still like "Brambleclaw would be chill actually, we can forget that pesky little law" and Tigerclaw is sitting there like "excuse me what the actual fuck?" —

But at this point Tigerclaw is about as dangerous as Ashfur without a freak forest fire. Which is to say about as dangerous as using a leaf as a weapon. Which is, incidentally, how Darkpaw managed to get himself killed in the first place.

—

"Is this the Dark Forest? This has to be the Dark Forest. It doesn't look like Thistleclaw described it, but it must be. This Clan is all an elaborate punishment meted down by StarClan for my sins." "Tigerclaw, sir, I'm just here to help you with your ticks. See? I have the mousebile right here." "…Yes, thank you, Alderpaw." — Graystripe joins him in the elder's den and he's like, "You know, Ravenpaw thought you were up to some… scheme, back in the day. Crazy, right? You've been a model Clanmate as long as I've been alive." [muffled screaming] "Huh, what do you think that is? It sounds almost like someone killed a rabbit, but they know not to come this close to camp…"

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heejayy · 3 months

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Soft Life!

Warning: none

Pairing: Gojo x black reader

A/n: this was highly influenced by the influx of soft black girl aesthetic. There’s a little rant at the end, don’t mind me.

Some may label you a gold digger, claiming you're with him for his money, and others may claim you've played life smartly, but one thing is certain: being Gojo's wife was the easiest thing you've ever done; this man asks for and gives you anything you want.

You met Gojo as a college student working a part-time job. Going to school and juggling job was challenging, but you made do with what you had. He liked your dedication and hard work, and he found your independence attractive. But if you were to stay with him, no woman would spend her life working when he could easily provide and care for her.

Gojo is a man that doesn’t ask you for a thing he’s just a giver. He makes you feel secure in every aspect of life, but if you decide you want to do something on your own, he’s ten toes behind you.

In your free time you love staying home and looking online for new treats to make your husband when he’s away at work. You’ve had so much free time you started making videos for your social media accounts and they blew up overnight.

People love watching your get ready with me’s, you go shopping, cooking, working out, couple's trips, makeup routines, anything you post they love.

Besides your social media activities not having to work every day really opened your schedule, instead of being too tired to do anything after coming home you have time for all your favorite hobbies plus more. Reading, yoga, gardening, painting, knitting, hell sometimes all you do is lounge around and take bubble baths. (Gojo loves coming home to a happy and well rested wife.)

But with the positive comes the negative, the ones who don’t like you or is very jealous of your lifestyle love to call you a pretty dumb housewife who has nothing better to do. Someone who’s thrown her life and career away to cater to a man but in reality, that same man caters to you. Do people think you’d take care of a man who does nothing for you?

In your opinion you love who you’ve become as a woman and a wife, you’ve never been happier even Gojo sees it.

©heejayy 2024 — any reposts or translations of my works are strictly prohibited unless granted permission.

Side note this is a little bit on the serious side: Although this is for my black girlies, all the girlies can read 🤷🏾‍♀️

I'm not sure if it's just me, but I've grown tired of the 'Strong Black Woman' trend. Now, don't get me wrong, I like strong independent women because that's how I was taught, but being perceived as overly independent makes black women appear as if we don't need anyone and can do everything on our own, which is how people treat us. Like babes…we are human with emotions. They will go help and praise a non-woman of color before helping us. It's quite harmful; they already treat and compare us to men. And when a black girl tries to break out from that image, she is dragged back down, which is disgusting.

You don’t have to be rich to be in your soft era! Put yourself first, be kind to yourself, don’t let anyone tear you down, you are worthy of love, the things you can’t control don’t let it stress you out, pray and read the Bible more (if you’re religious), let go of negative people, ITS OKAY TO ACCEPT HELP, it’s okay to be quiet or confident which ever one fits you, prioritize peace, just be you don’t change or try to fit in.

#ask heejayy #x black reader #jjk #jjk x black reader #gojo x black reader #gojo x fem!reader #jjk x black!fem reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #heejayys opinions #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

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chocsra · 9 months

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"Gentleman, you say?"

15! Chuuya x reader

Reader is implied to be fem!, could still be gn!

Warnings: swearing, alcohol

Contents: your mafioso roomate being annoying, fifteen era, mafia! reader, pre-relationship, idiots in love, teen romance, fluff, ooc? chuuya (idk)

Sorry for grammar! Not proofread!

Working in the Port Mafia wasn't so hard.

You were granted a new family, money and status. There were a select few members who were noteably young, as young as teenagers. This was mainly because of the gifted, limiting manpower into making criminal organizations choose children as their subordinates.

You didn't really mind it--being a kid in the mafia. It had it's ups and downs, yes, you did murder; but what would you have been really doing if you tried to live as a civilian as a gifted?

One thing you didn't like though--even hated, was the Port Mafia dormitory.

Constant parties, the overwhelming scent of alcohol and cigarettes in hallways, and don't start on the drama. Your only source of peace was the empty unit next to yours--at least that gave some sort of silence in the dreadful nights of Yokohama. Cramped in the tight apartment that secretly held mafioso teenagers, ones which the other residents thought of as school delinquents.

Until that asshole took it; the short ginger boy with a permanent scowl on his face, the boy who had the best style you had ever seen. And you hated it. Ever since you were fifteen, he and his smelly bandaged friend would storm into his apartment; have the loudest arguments--no, fights in the middle of the night.

Before, if you couldn't sleep, a nice cup of hot milk and basking in the night's breeze would do the trick. Now, there was a 50/50 chance he was there smoking on the balcony next to you, alone or with that annoying mummy boy.

It's been a few months since then, and you were sure that he hasn't even recognized you once as his neighbour; and it pissed you off, considering the amount of sleepless nights he caused you. It was safe to say you had one-sided-beef with the boy who used screaming as his fight or flight response.

And because finding someone absolutely insufferable meant asking numerous people about them, you asked a few of your subordinates who were into drama about said boy, eager to learn more information about him. Because he pissed you off, is why.

"Oh, you mean Chuuya? He like, used to be the King of the Sheep before he joined the mafia, I'm pretty sure." Your friend chided, you and a few other girls were standing in front the doorframe of Kouyou's office, all surrounded in a circle. "Really? That's wild." You scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. "Yeah, and the guy who recruited him is that emo guy; he's supposed to be Bosses successor, right?" She asks, twirling a strand of her hair. "His name is Dazai, and yeah. They're called 'Double Black' or something." Your other friend joined in.

Just as you were talking, a tall woman with ginger hair and pale skin stepped out of her office; her elegent hands clasped together under her pink kimono.

"What are you girls talking about?" The woman questioned, her hair tightly held up by long gold pins. "[Y/N] was just asking about Chuuya, sis." Your friend replied, you scoffed in response. "I was just asking because he's an annoying neighbour!" The other girls laughed. "Oh, Chuuya, I was recently requested to take him under my wing." Kouyou responded, revealing more information. "Actually? What do you think of him?" One of the quieter girls asked enthusiastically, the woman only chuckled in response.

"He's quite the gentleman, I'll say."

Kouyou's words only echoed in your ears as you lay in bed, a pillow ontop of your chest. "Gentleman.." You repeat, staring mindlessly at the ceiling. "Gentleman my ass!" You kick the wall next to your bed to no avail, tightly wrapping your arms around the pillow. "If he was, he would've seen how tired my eyes are from not sleeping.. and finally shut the fuck up.." You mutter with heavy eyelids. It was around 2 am. And it was one of those quiet nights, thankfully; but you still had trouble falling asleep.

As you were about to finally drift off to sleep, cradling your pillow in your arms; a loud strum of a guitar sprung you awake. It sounded like a electric guitar, and the person playing it had a shit ton of energy. A sultry voice sang melodically as loud waves of music crashed from his guitar. You had an idea of who it was.

Storming out of your cramped apartment, only in a thin t-shirt along with loose shorts, you scrammed over to Chuuya's apartment door angerly. "I swear to God.." You curse under your breath, the damn guitar still audible. Closing your fist, you firmly knock on the boy's door.

Knock, knock

The fast-paced strum of a rock song quickly stopped, light footsteps could be heard behind the steel shaft, before he finally unlocks it.

"Yeah?" The boy cracks the door open, he had his short ginger hair down; and he wasn't wearing the black fedora and choker like he usually did. A red and white electric base guitar slung lightly over his shoulder and stomach, the cord connected to the bottom, leading to what you assumed was his bedroom. Chuuya was wearing loose black sweatpants along with an oversized white t-shirt. Even though the boy was small and lean, you couldn't help but notice the exposed muscles on his forearms. 'Shit.' You cursed at yourself, before meeting his stormy blue eyes once more.

"You're so damn loud all the time, can't you play that at another time of day?" You huffed, crossing your arms. "There are people trying to sleep." It wasn't the safest option to yell at a criminal who had possible connections you had no idea of, but you were also a criminal, and would definitely kick his ass if he tried anything, right?

Chuuya looked at you with a slight frown, but you were right in the end, so he sighed and ran his lithe fingers through his ginger locks. "My bad." He mutters, feeling a bit embarrassed. "That's all you can say?" You murmur, you felt a little bad, but he was the waking cause of your terrible eyebags. "You could be a little more quiet next time." You add on, looking off to the side.

"Yeah, I know. My fault." The redhead said, apologizing begrudgingly. You only sighed and assured it's okay now before you soon left. Knowingly storming off into your apartment as the boy watched you with guilt yet irritation on his face.

Although the next morning, you rubbed your eyes and opened the door to take out the trash. Only noticing a small box infront of your doorstep with a yellow sticky note on it, you crouched down to properly read it.

'Sorry we had to meet that way, neigbour. Take this as a peace offering.

- Chuuya N.'

As you opened the box curiously, it was homemade packaged bento, along with a small corgi made out of rice on the side. The stupidity of it made you laugh a little. Even though his handwriting made you question if he knew how to write at all before this; a smile still crept on your face as you took the box and note inside.

"Quite the gentleman, huh?"

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #15 chuuya #bsd chuuya #bsd x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #pm dazai #teen romance #romance #fluff #15 light novel bsd #bsd fanfic #chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd fifteen #dark era bsd #Spotify

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theaceace · 6 months

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When Burgess summoned Dream, instead of Dream being completely cut off from the Dreaming, instead the magic pulled all of Fawney Rig into the soft places at the edge of the Dreaming, so like Dream still can't get out of the circle and his subjects can't get in but the Dreaming suffers much less and crucially, he still has access to some tiny fraction of his power

So now the whole house and everyone in it is sort of tied to the Dreaming and there's just oodles of magic coming off it, and the house in the Waking and the house in the Dreaming exist sort of superimposed over each other. Like you can be in one and sort of be aware of the other but you can't really flip between the two

And I want the whole thing to operate on a sort of combo between Aladdin in the cave of wonders/Orpheus leaving with Eurydice rules where it's said that if you enter the house in the Dreaming side and manage to find the Dream king, he'll grant you the thing you've been dreaming of, but the catch is you have to believe you have it. You have to leave the house without checking. So Burgess asks for Randall, but he turns to look almost before they're out of the basement because if he were Dream then he would pull a trick (TBF it wasn't actually Randall, just a dream of him, but Burgess couldn't tell the difference anyway because he was a terrible father and you can't change my mind). After that, he never managed to find the basement again. Never even manages to find the dream house again, only the waking one, although he goes mad looking for it

But like. Someone else asks for riches and the Dream king says they can be found the guy's pocket or whatever, but he can't feel anything? There's no weight there, no shape, his pocket seems empty (it isn't when he checks, but as soon as he gets out of the house, yelling about his triumph, it's gone and the house is mundane again)

Alex, who doesn't ask for anything until after the death of his father (and after he murdered Jessamy) asks for peace. For safety. The Dream king says nothing, and Alex lives the rest of his life in the Dreaming version of the house, too scared to step outside in case whatever peace he's found in his personal prison vanishes

Ethel never makes it to the house in the Dreaming . She takes what she wants from the waking, and when she leaves she doesn't look back once

Time passes, and more and more people find their way to Fawney Rig, but as Dream himself said, the great stories always return to their original forms, so no one succeeds because that's how it goes

And then. And then Hob. Hob who finds his way to the house just looking for an answer. Looking for something he can do to make sure his Stranger is there in 2089, because otherwise he might lose his mind with the what-ifs. So he finds the house, and he meets Alex, who hasn't set foot outside the front door in over 80 years except it's a little hard to feel sorry for him when Hob realises why. He meets Paul, who lives solidly in the waking, and hasn't been able to convince Alex that it would be worth it to leave with him. He finds his way down to the basement, finally, and there he finds his Stranger

And at first he thinks? It's a trick? Because isn't that sort of what this place does, it tricks you? But he speaks to Dream, and he gets the rest of the story from him, and the only thing Hob wants to take from this place is Dream. And he's like I want to get you out of here, but I can't because you're trapped in that circle (which for reasons unknown to the author right now but probably has something to do with the nature of dreams and stories can't just be broken like a regular spell circle) and I can't do anything about it and Dream is all you know the story, Hob Gadling. It is a more powerful magic than the binding. Leave, and don't look back, and trust that I am following

(Dream knows the story. He's sure he knows how it ends. But he also knows that it has to be played out, that he has to give Hob this chance - he finds himself, as he follows, weeping silently for his son and Eurydice)

So then there would be the agonising climb and return through the maze of the house where Hob almost looks back a bunch of times, and eventually he makes it to the door and steps out into the bright sun of the waking, and -

End title

#Dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #On today's episode of 'fics I have so vividly in my head but Simply Cannot Put To Paper'#Have some more angst. Still on the house #Haha get it? On the house? Ey?#Never mind #Trying this again because the formatting went wonky when I first posted it sorry folks

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qvnthesia · 14 days

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in action. (a tbb hunter one-shot)

a hunter/jedi!reader (afab) fic.

the pitch: seeing hunter in action inspired a different flame in you, one that you wanted everything to do with.

a/n: okay look — i know i know i was supposed to update my tvd fic but IT’S HUNTER COME ON this man has captivated my heart my soul my body my legs—*ahem* anyways, i hope you enjoy this fic! dedicated to @/xajnie on tbbtwt, thank you for fuelling the hunter admiration <33 i’ve had to change the plot 4 times — FOUR TIMES (fuck writer's block) — so, once again, i hope you enjoy this fic!

word count: 1, 426

theme/warning: fluff, and references to smut. implied enemies to lovers dynamic. reader is an adrenaline junkie <33 (yes i’m projecting yes i’ve become a whore for this man yes i’m not ashamed) — putting an 18+ warning just to be on the safe side 💗

You were staring.

Here’s the thing—Jedi weren't supposed to stare like that. They were supposed to observe, analyse their environments and maintain peace and harmony accordingly.

Granted, you had spectacularly failed at that mindful endeavour when you had stormed through the Zygerrian stronghold. You cut through hordes of clankers with a brazen and bold strut, freed civilians fleeing behind you for cover as you advanced forward. You supposed your lightsaber would have yielded some ‘yielding’ results from the enemy, but your master’s warning about your thrill-seeking tendencies rang in your brain, and you were too late. Now enslaved to the cruel species, you didn't have much of a leeway, much to your amused chagrin, with a shock collar saddled around your neck, sharp electric cords having forced you on your knees with your bound wrists lying between your legs.

Now, however, you weren't regretting being bound at all.

There was a reason the clones had more advantages than the Separatists. They were men, they were alive, they were people who had thoughts and dreams of their own. Every trooper you had been graced with the privilege of serving alongside with had their own quirks, distinguished by their own art, moral and valour.

The sargeant was more.

As the de-facto commanding officer of the Bad Batch, Hunter had had his initial doubts about you. He was a man who wasn't used to deferring his leadership, especially not to someone who had gone from Captain to Commander to General within a span of months. But you were a Jedi, and he never voiced his doubts even though you could still feel the bitter edges of his annoyance and his purposefully positioned distance reduced to nothing but professionalism and workplace discipline.

You thought that being a Jedi, you’d stick to the military civility and get the job done.

But the Sargeant made it hard to be a stickler for the rules.

You centered yourself in the Force, ignoring the deep tug from your pulsing womanhood as Hunter battled a horde of Zygerrian slavers, hand-to-hand.

This wasn't the first time you’d watched him fight. Sure, he fought for the good of the Republic, but you’d be lying if you said watching him kick ass wasn't a scrumptious treat for your sore eyes.

Aside from the clankers begging for mercy, he spared none as he sank his knife into the droids. His pauldrons strained against his biceps as he wrapped his arms around the commando ones until their circuitry sparked and fizzled into haphazard disassembly. There were moments where it was just comfortable silence, you working on your lightsaber again while he kept twirling his knife until he sheathed it under his forearms and got up to receive the latest mission briefing. Your veins always swam with his every move, your gaze drinking every smug tug of his chapped lips as he gave a two-fingered salute and decimated battalions, his fingers curling in the exact way you’d imagined him inside you.

It was as if the war suddenly ceased to matter, your Code rendered obsolete within a span of seconds as he brgan filling your thoughts. His breath mixing with yours, fingers tangled in his hair, all resistance forgotten, his skin on yours, bodies joined, his light inside you, rendering you delirious and needy with pleasure. His smoky voice filling your ears with the filthiest of murmurs as he claimed every inch of you, gazing down upon you with a dark, heavy-lidded stare that he’d directed at you whenever he disagreed with you and your near-suicidal yet successful strategies.

You’d committed his every move to your memory. It wasn't hard to forget, being sensitive to everything down to the molecules around.

It was then you sensed it, panic flooding your limbs as a yellow whip cracked the air.

“HUNTER—”

Your warning died, lips parting in sharp, rippling surprise as the whip curled around Hunter’s arm. The electricity travelled up his body, and you struggled against the bonds, being hit with electricity tailored to make you kneel.

That’s when you heard it. A low growl. The strangled primal voice ripping out of Hunter’s throat as he stood up on his two feet. Your mind practically exploded as you stared openly, mental shields frayed from something between pain and admiration, the kind inspired by a promise of the forever you’d sworn not to chase.

Gripping the blazing whip, Hunter yanked the Zygerrian man towards him, stopping an imminent collision as he bent the slaver’s wrists with a painful wrench and delivered a sharp kick to his chest, careening the scum across the dark bridge of the facility until his body collided with the console and fell to the floor with a useless crumple.

You let out an exhale, relieved. Your legs were trembling from the exertion employed from resisting being beaten into submission. But you stood up on your two feet, shaky.

“Right on time, huh?”

You met his helmet, stark, and sighed again.

“Okay, I know you're mad and yes, I should’ve take the offer for backup—”

You’re cut off as his helmet hits the ground with a thud and he makes straight for you. Before you can say anything, his fingers rip off the collar your neck and undo your restraints.

“Hunter—”

Your confusion muffles into shock as he pulls you towards him and brings your lips into his.

Your heart nearly explodes, its pace picking up as your eyelids instantly droop shut, your palms pressing his chest plate, arms snaking around his neck until your fingers threaded through his dark locks. His fingers grip under your thigh, feet shuffling until he pins you against a wall, his solid body trapping yours under his heat. His mouth slants over yours, and he groans into the kiss as your tongue meets the hot wet of his mouth. Your back digs against his hands as they roamed across the expanse of your robes.

He was so close to you, so unbearably far away with the layers between as you snaked one leg around his waist and his length pressed against you. You arched your back at the contact, flames igniting up your body as you grinded against him, the lines between need and want blurring so intensely between your desires to be one with him and have him stay just like this.

His hands cupped your face and he flinched. Your brows stitched together as he drew back, hurt tautly woven on your face.

Hunter probably sensed your emotions, he always did, always on the lookout for something different, something hopefully not life-threatening. He simply held out a hand now coated with your blood. His eyes roved over to the bleeding gash from the side of your face, and he let out a weary sigh.

“When will you start listening to me?”

“Now where’s the fun in that, Sarge?” you grinned.

“Tsk,” his other hand traced the edge of your jaw until his thumb pressed your lower lip. “Don’t tempt me.”

Your grin grew wider and you let out a breathy laugh, your tongue flicking out to give his thumb a lick. A thrilling shiver ran down your spine, your mind hazy with your victory, once his intense brown-grey eyes refocused on you.

“Call it a favour, Hunter.”

He hummed, “What if I don't see it as a favour, Mesh’la?”

Your smile melted, the fire in your blown-out eyes sparking brighter, your gaze flickering between wonder at the use of that endearing term.

A handful of seconds passed between the two of you, and a smirk tugged at his lips.

Your scent had been on him the entire campaign, driving him into absolute overdrive everytime he watched you cut down enemies with your saber and decimate battalions as if you were cutting through butter and not fighting an intergalactic war. But today, he’d had trouble fighting against those slavers with the thoughts that were running in your head and driving him wild. He’d felt the weight of your gaze on his soul, the curiosity turning into animosity masking your passionate frenzy. And he would be a fucking fool if he didn’t admit not a day went by where he hadn’t thought of doing things to you that turned your bratty self into a whimpering, moaning mess all over him.

He noted your evidently aroused state, the warm blood rushing beneath your skin, and the wetness pooling your trousers.

This was going to take a while, and Hunter wasn't going to waste a single second of finally getting to have some action with you.

thank you so so much for reading! please do point out any grammatical mistakes if there are any. this is the first time i'm writing for hunter so i hope you enjoyed this fic!

if you'd like to be added to the hunter tag list (since i do have a shit ton of fics planned—this man has a chokehold on me as bad as hayden does), drop a comment below! reviews are extremely appreciated 💗✨

this fic has NOT been cross-posted to my ao3. any/all forms of plagiarism will not be tolerated.

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peakyltd · 7 months

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Hidden Secrets

John Shelby x female reader

A/N: This is the first time ever I wrote smut because I wanted to practice, so all feedback and tips are welcome!

Warnings: Smut (18+) Minors DNI 🔞 Non protected, p in v, light dirty talk, teasing, light dom/sub, a bit rough at some point, swearing It's my first try at any kind of smut so please keep that in mind 😂

Words: 5.6k

The soft sunlight peeked trough the gaps of the curtain, waking her in the process. She felt John's bare body safely pressed against her back, his arm loosely resting on her hip and his calm, soft breathing tickling on her neck.

She carefully stretched her limbs, not wanting to wake him up until she realized she might did it anyway. A soft groan left his mouth and his arm wrapped around her body to pull her closer into his chest. A smile appeared on her face as she closed her eyes once more. She knew she had to go but his touch made her feel at home and spending a little more time in his bed, wouldn't hurt anybody. Her mind wandered back to the night before, it was one like no other and she wished it could've lasted forever.

They had met early in the evening at their usual spot, far enough from anyone to see them. He was waiting for her with a cigar in his mouth, leaning against the wall, surprising her with her favorite wine. They shared a few, quick kisses before they went on their way to their favorite place. A place were they knew they would be alone. It was peaceful, surrounded by trees and the flooding water of the small stream nearby was the only thing that could be heard.

"What did you tell your parents this time?" John wondered as he removed his coat and cap before he sat down in the grass next to her. "I said I was going to spend the night at a friends house. They didn't question it further." She answered while watching John, who opened the bottle of wine.

He turned to look at her, a grin on his face. "They didn't question it because in their eyes you're such an angel." He chuckled. "If they'd found out you sneak off with me, you'd never set a foot outside ever again." A giggle escaped her mouth. "Well, I should keep up the angel attitude then, I wouldn't want to miss out on spending time with you." John smirked as he put the bottle down, making sure it didn't fell over before leaning back on his hands to look at her. "Nothin' to keep up if you are one already." He leant closer to her face and kissed her softly.

She didn't necessarily wanted to hide their relationship but they had no other choice than to see each other in secret. Both their families weren't fond of each other and her parents would never accept it if she told them that she was dating a 'Shelby', as they liked to call them. John's family wouldn't approve it either, however John didn't care much about it. It made her feel quite hopeful for the future.Their future. She didn't know what it would look like just yet but it didn't matter, as long as it was together with John.

She felt a jolt deep in the pit of her stomach as he pulled away and met with his steel blue eyes. She couldn't help but stare. The worries about someone finding out they were seeing each other faded the longer she held his gaze. Her hand rested on the back of his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. One of his hands rested on her waist as he deepened the kiss, gently nibbling on her bottom lip before he felt her lips part, granting him access. He pulled her closer while their tongues explored each other, gentle but demanding. Her breath quickened as she let her other hand rest on his chest. His hand ran over her body, bringing goosebumps to her skin. A soft moan escaped her mouth as she felt herself melt into him.

A sudden emptiness replaced his warm touch when he pulled away, leaving her wanting more. He moved down to her neck, soft kisses were left all over while his hand slid down to her thigh. His fingers ran over her covered skin while the kisses on her neck turned into gentle sucking. Her hand rested on his shoulder while the other ran trough his hair. "John..." A whimper left her lips, begging for more. The corners of his lips turned into a cheeky smirk before pulling away, pressing a firm kiss on her lips. "What is it, love?" He looked at her, her cheeks flushed and her lips swollen, a sight he could never get enough of. "Did that do somethin' to you?"

She playfully pushed his chest as a smirk played onto her lips. "Shut up." A chuckle erupted from his mouth. "Let's just say this was a little preview for tonight." He grinned as he pecked her lips once more. "Really? Not much to expect then." John shook his head as he laid down in the grass, pulling her with him. A squeal left her lips. "Not much to expect? What did I just hear then, eh?" He smirked. "John..." He imitated her moan as she started laughing. "Please, you're so full of yourself." She chuckled as she sat up and placed her legs on each side of his waist to straddle him. "You know that what you're doing is kind of dangerous?" He questioned while looking up at her, his hand finding their way to her hips. "What do you mean?" She moved her hips carefully, grinding gently against his. "(Y/N) I swear to god, if you don't fucking stop-"

"Then fucking what?" Her voice sounded innocent but her smug smirk told him otherwise. John grinned as he tightened his grip on her hips. "I'm just saying that you have to walk all the way home with me tonight and that might become a little harder once I'm done with you."

A fluttering feeling took over her as she thought of the things he would do and had already done before. She licked her lips while looking down at him. "Doesn't sound too bad." She challenged, leaning over him as she pressed her lips against his, her hips moving against his. His hand moved to her butt, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Don't challenge me." He mumbled against her lips as he sat up slightly. "I'm not." Her voice came out as a whisper as she stared directly in his eyes, before he had the chance to kiss her again, she crawled off of him.

"Would you like a little bit of wine to cool off, love?" She exaggerated the little pet name as she lifted the bottle of wine, a big grin on her face. John sat up, shaking his head. "I can't fuckin' believe you." He referred to her teasing. She giggled as she took a little sip. "I learned it from you, I guess." She batted her eyelashes innocently at him. A smirk tugged on his lips. "Give that 'ere." He demanded as he took the bottle from her and took a sip himself. "If people only knew what you were really like." He teased while his grin only grew bigger.

"As if you mind." She countered, raising her eyebrow. A smile on her face. "Oh no. Not at all." He grabbed her jaw between his fingers and kissed her softly. His other hand ran down her body, his fingers grazing her breasts. When he felt her leaning closer, he pulled away. "Ah I'm sorry, love. Not yet." The grin that had left his face for only mere seconds, had returned on his face. An annoyed sigh left her lips as she watched him lay back down in the grass, chuckling. He patted the spot next to him and opened his arms. "Come 'ere."

She moved over and laid down next to him, her head resting on his chest as he stroked her back. "The things you do to me John Shelby." She sighed jokingly. "And I'm not even done yet." He chuckled before kissing the top of her head. She giggled as her arm draped lazily over his abdomen. A comfortable silence fell over them as she listened to the calm beating of his heart. John's fingers gently drew circles on her skin as he looked up at the sky where stars were visible. "For how much longer do you want to keep us a secret?" He wondered, as he moved his hand up to her hair, running his fingers carefully trough it.

"It's not that I want to keep us a secret so bad." She started. "Although I must admit that it's very exciting." A smirk appeared on John's face. "I agree."

"But you know it's quite a... thing with my family. Our families." She continued her sentence. "But let's be honest, darling." John retorted, still stroking her hair. "Who fucking cares." His blunt answer made her giggle. "Well, maybe you have a point there." She moved to rest her head on his shoulder. "It's our life, not theirs." He stated as he looked at her. "I know." His words gave her something to think of. There was no one who could tell her what or what not to do but she also knew that her family wouldn't take it the right way. Maybe they should keep it a secret, just a little longer.

A few hours flew by while they watched the stars and laid in each other's arms. Many thoughts where shared, followed by even more banter. John reached for his pocket watch to check the time. "We can go to mine if you'd like?" He offered while he turned to look at her. "Are you sure Arthur is back from the Garrison? I don't want to repeat what happened the last time." She chuckled. He checked his watch again. "He must be. I mean it's late, even for Arthur."

"Then let's go." She pressed his lips against his before she got up. "I still remember that face of yours." John laughed as he got up. "I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest." She chuckled as she thought of the time Arthur almost caught her and John when they sneaked into the family house. John pushed her behind the curtains that hang in front of the doors to the betting shop while he tried to distract his brother.

She grabbed the, now empty, bottle of wine and watched John put on his cap. He took his coat and hung it over her shoulders. "We don't want you to get cold, do we?" He winked while taking her hand. A beaming smile broke onto her face. "Thank you."

"I'll replace it back home with myself again." He cheekily stated as he kissed her cheek. "I can't wait." She giggled, squeezing his hand softly. Ready to go home.

Before they entered the streets of Small Heath she let go of his hand. As she was about to take off his coat, she saw him giving her a confused look. "In case anyone sees us." She explained while he adjusted the coat on her shoulders. "It's midnight, no one will see us."

"You know how people are. They will talk." She looked up to him, trying to get her point across. "Let them talk." He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, earning a sigh from her. "Come on, love. We're almost there." He encouraged her, a hint of sass in his voice. "I don't have much choice, do I?" She sighed, rolling her eyes playfully at him. "You don't." He gently pressured her forwards, walking her to his home.

Once they arrived, they made their way to the back of the house trough the dark alley. John looked up to see if he could see any lights that gave away that someone was awake still. When there wasn't, he carefully opened the back door and made his way inside. While he ushered her in and tried to close the door, it made a loud creaking sound. "Fucking hell." He whispered under his breath while locking it. When he turned around, he found her big eyes looking up at him. "It's fine, love." He assured her as he took her hand.

He lead the way trough the house to the stairs and carefully climbed up with her behind him. The stairs were far from silent but they eventually made it to his bedroom without getting caught. As John closed the door, a sigh left her mouth. He chuckled at the sight of her. "Quite nervous, weren't you?" She let his coat slide off her shoulders. "Oh please, don't get me started." She whispered, knowing how thin the walls were.

He took the coat from her and hung it over the chair that stood in his room. He put his cap on his nightstand before removing his suit jacket and vest, leaving him in only his undershirt. The suspenders resting on his shoulders. Her eyes ran over his body, eager to replace her stare with her hands soon. When she looked up at him, she found him grinning at her. "Like what you see?"

"You know I do." She smiled at him, feeling her pulse increasing. "Come and get it then." He smiled, taking her hand and pulling her close, holding her in his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his waist as she looked up at him, his loving gaze looking back down at her as his smile grew wider. She felt her stomach flutter when he leaned in before he gently connected his lips with hers. Her eyes fluttered close, hands finding their way to his cheeks as she deepened the kiss. John's hands slid down her body, eventually resting on her butt.

She felt his tongue slowly graze over her lips, asking for access which she happily granted him. He started gentle while his fingers dug into her skin. A soft moan left her mouth and her hands slid down his chest, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. She gripped onto his shirt as he softly sucked on her bottom lip, a soft groan leaving his mouth. She needed more and and she didn't want to waste any time. Her lips greedily moved against his until he suddenly broke their kiss. She looked up at him, panting slightly. "What's wrong?" She breathed out. Their lips almost touched and he could feel her breath onto his skin. His eyes scanned her face before his lips turned into a smile. A soft whisper reached her ears. "I love you." His words made her heart beat faster. "I love you too, John." She beamed.

He looked down at her lips, as he took a moment before crashing his lips on hers. His hands ran hungrily over her body while her hands desperately tried to open the buttons of his shirt. Her lips left his, only to attack his throat with open mouth kisses. She grazed his skin with her tongue before sucking softly, earning a low moan from him.

John had opened her dress and pulled it over head, leaving her in only her panties. He licked his lips before he tipped her chin up to make her look at him. "Where's your bra, eh?" The smirk on his face grew, his eyes twinkling. "Should've told me that out in the field." She grinned at him, her hand tugging on the hem of his pants to pull him closer. "I hoped you'd notice it then and there but who am I to spoil the fun?" She teased. He shook his head, the smirk still evident on his face. "You're driving me fuckin' crazy."

Just as he wanted to kiss her again, she grabbed his suspenders and walked backwards to his bed, pulling him with her. John gladly followed her. When the back of her knees hit the bed, he gently pushed her onto it. He crawled on top of her and started kissing her neck, his hands roaming over her body. His teeth grazed along her skin, sucking on her soft spot. She could feel his bulge against her core, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning. He made his way down to her breasts, his hand grabbing onto them while his tongue swirled around one of her sensitive nipples. A gasp came from her mouth while her hand rested on the back of his neck. He sucked softly as his hand gently slid down between her legs, his fingers brushed over her still clothed core while putting gentle pressure on her clit.

The sensations were sending pleasure trough her body and a loud moan escaped her mouth. "Ssh, love. Be quiet." John's sparkling blue eyes met hers, he moved up to kiss her while he softly rubbed his finger in circles. She whimpered softly while she tried to keep quiet. "I know you can do it." He smirked against her lips. "Wouldn't want anyone to walk in, do we?" She shook her head as she grabbed onto his suspenders again. "No. Please keep going." She begged as she pulled him back in for a kiss. His fingers slid into her panties, rubbing them over her pussy, causing her to move her hips, in need of the friction he provided her before. His fingers moved back to where she needed them the most, applying more pressure and moving them a bit faster. Her hands ran over his back while he kissed down her neck. "Fuck..." A breathy whisper confirmed that John was doing the right thing.

He ran his finger up and down her slit, while he kissed down to her breasts. She ran her hand trough his hair while her mouth was slightly agape. His hand and mouth left her body as he sat up to take her panties off, her curious eyes looking up at him. "You're still wearing too many clothes Mr. Shelby." She smirked as he hovered over her again, her hands resting on his shoulders. "Guess you have to help me get rid of 'em then." He grinned. Her hands grasped the suspenders and pulled them off his shoulders, the already opened shirt found its way to the floor not long after. She left kisses over his chest while her fingers opened his pants.

His fingers found their way back to her clit, continuing his previous movements before inserting one of them, pumping it in and out. His thumb now pleasuring her clit. Her body tensed from the sensations and her hand grabbed onto his arm. Quiet moans echoed trough the room. "Oh god."

"Fuckin' hell, love." John licked his lips as he watched her body react to him. "I fucking need you." She breathed out, her grip on his arm tightening as he put more pressure on her clit. "John..."

"Patience, darling. Patience." He smirked, loving how much effect the teasing had on her, however, he was slowly losing his own patience. He added another finger, curling them inside her. Her other hand grabbed onto his sheets, trying to distract herself from making any sound. She felt her muscles tense up as a knot started form in stomach. "Don't stop... please." She breathed out, her chest heaving up and down. John leaned his face close tho hers while quickening his movements. Whimpers left her mouth as the pleasure took over her body. He kissed her, his fingers still working to bring her to her high. He felt her legs tense up and her nails digging into his arm. She arched her back, her body convulsing as her climax washed over her. Her moans were muffled by John's lips. "Oh f-fuck."

Her heart was pounding as she tried to catch her breath. "Such a good girl, aren't you?" He smiled at her while he pressed some loving kisses against her jaw. She wrapped her arms lazily around his neck, still coming down from the rush, while she enjoyed his the contact of his lips on her skin. "You make me one." She giggled softly. He chuckled while he stroked her hair. She let go of him and pushed gently against his chest, telling him to move. He got off of her and stood next to the bed, an excited look in his eyes. She looked at him trough her lashes, her hands moving over her breasts as her fingers circled around her nipples. "Take off those trousers, darling." John licked his lips as he obeyed, his eyes focused on her. "For fucks sake, (Y/N)."

"What?" She innocently asked. "Don't even ask." He walked over to her but she stopped him with her foot and reached out for his hand. He took it and pulled her up when she lowered her leg again. "Are you getting a little frustrated?" Her fingers ran over his still covered, hard member. "C'mon, love. I know you want it too." He whined, eagerly waiting for her touch. "Oh I do." She hooked her fingers on the hem of his underwear and pulled them down, freeing his cock. A soft groan came from John's mouth as his hands grabbed her waist. "I'll fuck you so good, darling." He tried to move her back to the bed but she had other plans. Her hands grabbed his upper arms and gently forced him back. "Sit down."

"(Y/N), cmon." He growled as he sat on the bed. She climbed in his lap, straddling him, before her hand wrapped around his shaft. John gasped at the sudden touch, his hands resting on her hips. "Patience, darling. Patience." She repeated his exact same words as her fingers slightly ran over his tip, a smirk on her face. She knew the teasing would rile him up even more. She rested her head on his shoulder as she kept going, slowly moving her hand up and down his shaft. "I want you to fuck me John. I fucking need you." She whispered in his ear as she felt his hands tightening his grip onto her hips. "Are you that needy, honey?" She purred into his ear as she sucked gently on his earlobe, her hand still working on his cock.

A soft, low moan fell from his lips. "I'm not fucking begging for you, honey." He stated. "Oh, you already did." She smirked, rolling her hips against his, biting her lip as she looked at him while moving her hand up and down faster. His eyes were blazing full of his lust. "Alright, enough."

"John, no-" A squeal left her mouth as he lifted her, he stood up and laid roughly back on the bed. She giggled when crawled on top of her. "What did I say before?" John questioned, a grin on his face. "That I have to be quiet." She answered, her nails running over the skin of his chest. "What did I just hear?"

"I'm trying my best. I promise." She batted her eyelashes at him while her other hand found his cock again, a soft gasp leaving his mouth. "I guess I have to make it even harder for you."

"I can't fucking wait." She smirked, letting go of his cock while she spread her legs for him, giving him the opportunity to line himself up with her entrance. She looked up at him, her lips slightly agape before she pulled his face down to hers, her lips grazing his. "Fuck me."

The corners of his lips turned into a smirk. "Keep quiet." He slowly sunk himself into her waiting heat, a low groan escaping his lips. "Fuck." The feeling of his cock stretching her, made her gasp. While she adjusted to him, he thrusted slowly into her, watching her as a soft whimper left her mouth.

"I fuckin' missed you." He mumbled against her lips, soon turning into a hungrily, messy kiss full of tongue and clashing teeth. A sign for him to pick up his pace. Her hands ran over his broad shoulders, while she tried to keep the volume of her desperate moans down. One of his hands reached down to her leg to lift it up against his hip so he was able to sink into her even deeper. The sound of his moans filled the room at the feeling of her velvet walls clinging onto him.

"Faster..." She breathed out. A smirk tugged on his lips. "Excuse me?" One of his hands moved up to her face to grab her jaw gently between his fingers. "What did you say?" She bit her lip to restrain herself from moaning. " Faster, please..." She begged. "Please." He loved when she was so desperate for him, those juicy lips of hers begging him to give her more. While his hips rolled faster against hers, he hit the perfect spot that made her moan out loud, her hands ran down to his back where her nails dug into his skin. The sounds of their skin slapping against each other rang in his ears as he watched her throw her head back while another loud moan left her mouth. He quickly tried to cover her mouth with his hand but realised the damage was already done.

A loud tud came from the other side of the wall, followed by shouts. "JOHN! FOR FUCKS SAKE!" Tommy's loud voice boomed trough the house. (Y/N)'s widened eyes met his as John stopped moving and he calmly shook his head. "Don't worry, darlin'. He's all talk." He whispered softly, a grin on his lips. "Nothing to worry about."

Her hands ran down his biceps. "But what if he-" John cut her off with a loving kiss, their lips devouring each other. "There's only one thing you have to worry about." He mumbled against her lips. "And that's me." He smirked before leaving open mouth kisses down her throat. "Understood?"

She nodded, her fingers running trough his hair. "Yes." She felt his mouth kissing down her chest, finding her nipple again. His tongue twisted in circles around the sensitive bud, his eyes looking up to her. She licked her lips as she kept his gaze, ready for him to finish what he started. She slowly moved her hips against his, desperate for the delicious friction he was providing her moments ago. John smirked, his hand moved between her legs to find her clit, rubbing it slowly with such a light touch that it only frustrated her more. "Eager, are we?" She grabbed his wrist, trying to add more pressure. "I know you need it too."

"I don't know what you mean." He continued. Her hand wrapped around his neck, pulling him down close to her face. "You know exactly what I mean John. I want you to fuck me hard, like you fucking promised." His mouth hung slightly open at her words, soon turning into a smirk as his hands grabbed onto her waist. "Where are those words coming from, angel?"

"I'm just hoping that you're not all talk either." She challenged. He shook his head in amusement. "I think you should talk less." He slowly pulled out, leaving her feeling empty. Her eyes filled with curiosity, eagerly waiting to see what he had in mind. "On your knees." She happily obeyed while she lowered her upper body. He spread her legs a bit more before slamming into her without a warning. A desperate moan escaped from her lips while John pounded into her. Her fingers grabbed the sheets tightly, the sensations taking over her body.

John took ahold of her hips, his fingers digging into her skin while he listened to her whimpers of pleasure as if it were the melodies of his favorite song. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her moans while John kept pounding into her with a quick and strong pace. "Nah, darling. C'mere." He put her arms behind her back and pulled her upper body against his chest, wrapping one arm across her body to hold her while the other found her swollen clit again. He felt her walls clench around him, signaling that she was close.

His head rested on her shoulder and his moans filled her ears, his chest pressed tightly against her back, her hands tightly grabbing onto his arm. She couldn't keep herself from moaning anymore as she felt her climax coming. "John... p-please." She panted. "I'm so close."

He covered her mouth with his hand, pulling her back to let the back of her head rest against his shoulder. He sucked softly on the skin of her neck, close to her ear. "Cum for me, love." He encouraged. The pounding turned into long, hard strokes, hitting her spot every time, while he gently rubbed her clit. The moans of pleasure died down against his hand. She felt the muscles in her body all tense at once and her legs started shaking, her breath turning into short gasps. She squeezed her eyes shut as her orgasm made her lose control over her body. A loud cry of release was muffled by John's hand as he slowly fucked her trough her climax.

If it wasn't for John to hold her up by his strong arms, she would've collapsed on the bed as she came down from her high. Her hair stuck to her face, turned into a panting mess by her lover. She felt John's trusts starting to become messier, knowing that he was close. "F-fuck. Turn around, I want to come in your mouth." He grunted into her ear, pulling out and leaving her empty. She turned to face him, her mouth close to his length, tongue out while he stroked his shaft. She watched how his body stiffened. His head fell back, moans echoing trough the bedroom as he released his load into her mouth, the white liquid spilling all over her tongue followed by another groan. "Fuck."

He looked down at her, finding her looking up at him, her mouth covered by his cum, a sight he'd never get tired of. A grin formed on his face as he grabbed her chin between his fingers. "Swallow it for me." She gladly obeyed, licking her lips after. His thumb wiped away the remaining from he corner of her mouth, swiping it over her lips before she took his thumb in her mouth, slowly sucking it clean.

He licked his lips as he watched her, still trying to catch his breath, he slowly pulled himself from her and lifted her up, pressing his swollen lips against hers. "I fuckin' love you." He mumbled against her lips, his hands running over her back. She smiled at his words, kissing him again while her hands ran over his chest. "I love you too."

He turned to lay down, pulling her with him as his mouth attacked every single inch of her bare skin with kisses. His strong arms wrapped around her waist as he scooted her closer, her arms finding their way around his warm, comforting body. While they both slowly got back to their senses, it didn't take them long before they drifted away into a peaceful slumber in each others arms.

"(Y/N)." His soft voice sounded hoarse, his fingers running over her bare hip. "Are you awake?" He kissed her jaw softly. She opened her eyes, realizing she fell back asleep while thinking about their eventful night. "I- Yeah." Her voice was a bit croaky from sleeping. "I fell asleep again." She admitted as she turned around to face him. "What time is it?"

John turned slightly and reached for his nightstand, his fingers searching for his pocket watch. "Ah fuck, where is it." He mumbled as he turned his body a bit more. "I think it's on the floor, along with everyone else." She giggled softly, kissing his shoulder. He turned back, a smile on his face. "You might be right." His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin before connecting their lips in a gentle but firm kiss. Her fingers ran trough the shorn sides of his hair, deepening the kiss in the process.

"John!" The force of the footsteps that came up the stairs made the wooden steps creak. "John! We're fuckin' waiting for you!" The loud familiar voice boomed trough the house. (Y/N) quickly pulled away from him, looking frantically where to hide but there was no hiding spot to find in his small room. He looked into her eyes who were filled with fear. "Easy, easy." He quickly pulled the covers from both of them, covering her completely and blocking her with his own body. He wouldn't dare to tell her but it was the worst hiding spot he'd ever seen, at least nobody could've had a clue who was underneath it.

The door of his room was torn open, an angry Tommy barging in, his eyes falling on his bare younger brother. "Oh for fucks sake." He turned around to face the wall. "Get the fuck out." John barked at him, trying to cover himself a bit with one of the garments he fished of the floor. "We're fucking late, get ready." Tommy moved back to the door. "Late for what? You didn't tell me shit." He argued, earning an annoyed sigh for Tommy. "Doesn't matter. Get dressed, tell the girl to go and come fucking outside." The last words were barely audible as the door slammed shut.

"Is he gone?" A soft voice came from under the covers. "Yes." He chuckled softly as he pulled them down, revealing her flushed face. "He's gone." He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "My heart is beating like crazy." She admitted, both chuckling at her words, realising the situation she got herself into. "But seriously, how do I get out of her without getting seen?" John sat up, his back resting against his bed frame. "Well aren't you lucky you ended up in a Shelby's bed, I can teach you a thing or two." He jokingly bragged. She rolled her eyes but a smile tugged on her lips. "You're so full of yourself."

Tag list: @kissforvoid

#john shelby one shot #john shelby smut #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #john shelby x f!reader #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders smut

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vnards · 17 days

Text

Mafia141 p.4

The boys react quickly, like they’re trained to do. You don't.

Ghost is able to tackle you to the ground before bullets start flying through the windows.

The sound of gunfire and glass shatters the peace, a familiar ringing to everyone but you. One moment you're focused on not spilling anything, now, with the mugs shattered on the floor, a heavy weight on top of you, and loud shots piercing in the air, you felt like you couldn't breathe.

The bullets seemed endless, embedding themselves in the walls and booths. Another body covered you, keeping your face pressed to the floor. There was crying. It’s coming from you.

After what felt like minutes, the shooting stopped.

Silence followed.

“Sit rep.”

The body above you finally lets you lift your head. You look around to see the diner in carnage. The plush in the booths were torn and shredded, some of the stuffing still hovering in the air. Everything glass on the counter were shattered. The cold wind came in through the broken windows.

“Good here.” A voice broke through the ringing in your ears.

“Johnny?”

“A'm right here.” He grumbled. There was a string of words that sounded like cursing.

Your heart is still pounding like a mallet as the boys around you began to get up.

You were being moved before you could even realize it. You were being lifted in the air and back on your feet like you weighed nothing before you could get your bearings. Simon’s eyes scanned you over as you were finally able to start moving your tongue again “W-what-“

“Gaz, secure the perimeter.” Movement followed his orders, one of your “customers” move to Simon's order. Your confusion is hard to hide. “Go get your stuff. We’re leaving.” You look around at the two remaining men left in the diner; Simon, his hand on your back, keeping you steady and Johnny, the Scottish man with a Mohawk and his white dress shirt bleeding across his peck.

“You’re hurt.”

Both men looked to where you pointed, Johnny grumbled under his breath, “Fuckers ruined my new shirt.” He poked at the blood, some coming off his hand as he examined it.

Something about seeing him bleeding shocks you back to life, “T-the first aid kit is in the back. I can-" you move to go retrieve it.

Johnny caresses your shoulder “It’s alright, little bird, it’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.” The vibrant blue in his eyes holds a boyish joy to them. “But I’ll never say no to you.” He winks.

The sudden flirtatious attitude from Johnny was whiplash compared to the carnage that surrounded you. “Not now, Johnny.” Simon scolded. It didn’t look like Johnny was sorry, “I gotta tell Price the meeting’s a bust.” He slides his phone out, trying how to not pissed the boss of about this. “Make sure she gets her stuff.” He was at least going to grant you that before bringing you into the mess that is tonight.

Johnny salutes, trying to break under the primal fear of the past few minutes that consumes you into being paralyzed in the moment. With Ghost and Gaz gone, it’s up to Johnny to keep you calm enough to not go into shock. His chest puffs up a bit, being given the opportunity to keep you safe and calm, but it’s not the time. “Actually, birdie,” Your eyes finally meet his, “I could use that first aid kit. Could you get it for me?”

A task. Something to help you move forward. You nod soundlessly and gave yourself a moment to calm your shaking hands, your barely controlled breathing.

First aid kit.

You enter the back of the room and head to the office where your stuff is. You’re mind is still a blank with static before you have a chance to realize you’re not alone.

Another weight, this time less gentle, slams you against the frozen storage and pins you there. The wind is knocked out of you as a body twice the size of you, unable to scream or cry in pain. “No one mentioned there would be a reward.” The stranger leered.

You try to speak again, but there’s a third body knocked into you. Your head is slammed against the door and everything hurts. You fall to the floor, no longer pinned against the cold door. Regardless, the world still spins.

You hear a struggle and the few moments of clarity you can get shows that Johnny is grappling with on the floor outside the office, his opponent in a headlock. The other man throws an elbow that connects and his grip falters, allowing him to get the upper hand.

The strange man swings again, this time an elbow to Johnny’s nose knocks off his balance, “You fucker!” He growls.

The larger man is able to tower over Johnny, taunting. You are so paralyzed in fear when you spot the shine of a barrel coming out.

A shot rings out. There’s yelling

When you open your eyes again, the body that was towering over Soap was toppling over, dead weight. The blood pouring out of the hole in his skull a shocking horror to you. You finally start to scream.

The darker skinned man came forward in your field of view, “You’re okay, princess, you don’t need to be scared.” Too late. You slip out of consciousness.

masterlist

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod #mafia!au #mafia!141 #poly 141 #mafia x reader

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ronearoundblindly · 3 months

Text

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people.

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @im-a-slut-for-fluff @fangirl-swagg @georgeweaslysgirl @austynparksandpizza @claireelizabeth85 @jamneuromain @rach2602 @royalwritersoftheuniverses @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @trudy-shams @saranghaey @awkwardgiraffe726 @marvelmenwhore @happinessinthebeing @before-we-get-started @sjsmith56 @esposadomd @cjand10 @yearningforsappho @mrsevans90

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essektheylyss · 1 year

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Honestly, the implication with the Sendings that there is something wrong with the leylines and the weave of magic in Exandria is so funny to me. There is a non-zero chance, not even a low chance, that Ludinus is pissed because he got tossed to some random point in Exandria, and now he has to walk places. And maybe get on a ship. God forbid.*

But this also has a lot of other implications. The leylines tend to be associated with both intra- and interdimensional travel, as well as things like Scrying, Sending of course, and possibly other methods of divination.

It is also possible that, given what we know about dunamis, that dunamancy is also tied to the leylines or the weave in some way.

We know that divine magic is at least working—but we only know this to be true of divine magic granted by a god of the Pantheon.

So, with all of that in mind, a HIGHLY incomplete sample of things that may or may not be happening across Exandria while the Hells A-Team is traveling to Uthodurn:

Yussa is torn between gratitude for being free from the menace of Caleb Widogast teleporting into his house and Jester Lavorre sending him messages at all hours, and irritation that he can't get any of his work done because it all has to do with planar magic.

Any gratitude wears off when Fjord and Jester come banging on his door because Jester cannot send any messages nor contact Artagan, who is bound by the rules of the planes and by extension the leylines (since he can, unlike the gods, pass mostly freely from plane to plane).

Fjord's magic is completely fine because he is operating on sheer force of will and obeys no laws known to mortals, physics, or nature. Essek, who was holed up in the Lavorres' spare room for the week, is absolutely pissed because half of his magic is broken (and also he has no idea where his partner is).

Caleb and Beau take like seven hours to get the collar off before discovering that they are stuck somewhere in the Issylran tundra. (They would probably get fined by the Slayer's Take for the number of bounties they take out their rage on, if the Slayer's Take had ANY idea who the fuck they were.)

Caduceus is cheerfully gardening and has no idea this has happened. Melora decides not to bother him. Let him live in bliss, unlike the rest of Exandria.

Dorian has been having a meltdown into his Sending stone while Opal and Dariax run rampant and Cyrus looks very pretty but does absolutely nothing. It has no effect.

Keyleth is sitting in a daze somewhere next to a tree that will not open wondering if the last thirty-six hours were a fever dream.

The city of Syngorn saw the moon nonsense, panicked, tried to hop to the Feywild, then panicked harder. Fortunately, they could not contact anyone, and Allura Vysoren did not have to hear about it.

Ludinus has murdered several people. It has gotten him no closer to leaving whatever random part of the Tal'dorei countryside he is menacing.

Somewhere, there is a bird. That bird saw this beam, looked down into a very old, very precious orb, and said, "Not this fucking shit again."

All in all, very funny couple of days Exandria is happening. I'm sure things will not get any worse.

*I know he traveled by ship to the peace talks, okay, but that was for appearances. He didn't have shit to be doing at the time.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr meta #honestly what's up in bazzoxan. I was gonna make a joke about verin but I truly don't even have a CLUE #I do think either the shattered teeth are in chaos or the perpetual cloud over it is just suddenly clear for the first time in a millennium #now THAT would be wild actually #yes this is just a post to clown on everyone. I'm having a great time actually.#yes I did make an agrupnin joke cerrit was invoked and I am being absolutely normal about it.

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brnesblogposts · 2 months

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sunday morning

pairing: steven grant x reader summary: you and your boyfriend Steven spend a lazy Sunday morning together.

reblogs appreciated if you liked it :))

—

The sun slowly breaks through the gaps in the curtains as you start to stir. Drifting in and out of a state of sleep as your body adjusts to the light seeping through. Looking over to your right your curly haired boyfriend looks peaceful as gentle snores escape his lips. Steven’s sleeping disorder didn’t allow for proper respite, but when he did get into a deep state of solace you left him be.

You watched him for a few minutes as his chest rose and fell, his curls awry, your love for him was stronger than any emotion you’ve ever known. Gently removing his arm from your waist he stirred and your breath got caught in your throat as you thought you’d accidentally woken the peaceful man up. To your relief he repositions himself into more of a star fish shape. Gently getting out of bed you head to the bathroom to shower before you were to decide what you would both be having for breakfast.

Stepping out of the shower you put one of Steven’ shirts on and a comfy pair of joggers. Today was Sunday and these days were for you and your boyfriend to spend quality time together. Coming out of the bathroom, to your dismay you see Steven at the stove preparing some of his famous vegan pancakes. You’d wished he’d slept a bit longer. Trying your best not to startle him you approach him from behind and carefully wrap your arms around his waist.

“Morning” you say softly, taking in his warmth.

“Morning, love” he replies as his hands meet where yours lay on his stomach.

“How’d you sleep?” you ask as he flips a pancake over.

“Yeah, pretty good actually, one of the better nights for me” he says with a smile. Oh his smile, you adored how his lips curled up and his eyes lit up.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m glad you slept well, you deserve to be able to rest peacefully.” you say as a tint of red creeps up his face. He pulls you into a hug, cutting it short..

“Oh bollocks this pancake is a bit burn’t.” he frowns a bit, but you quickly reassure him

“That’s okay I did distract you a bit. Don’t think we’ll miss one pancake, you make enough to feed a family!” he giggles at that.

“Always need to make sure I offer Gus some don’t I?” he turns to Gus swimming around in his tank.

“Speaking of, morning my little one finned wonder” he smiles. Oh he was the most adorable man in the world. You leave him to make the pancakes with no more distractions and set the table, syrup, chopped banana, vegan butter.. you weren’t a vegan before you met Steven, but at this point it was second nature.

You ate in silence, Steven’s pancakes piled with banana and a bit of syrup, he didn’t like too much or they’d go soggy.

“How are Marc and Jake?” you ask, you and his alters got a long well, Marc more so as Jake was the quiet type.

“No, yeah, they’re good, yeah. Marc bets he could make better pancakes than me, but I say that’s nonsense. Jake just nodded in approval to say he’s good, you know him.. not much of a conversationalist” he let out a little laugh at that. Once you’d both finished eating you cleared up while he showered and got dressed into a white t-shirt and fresh pajama bottoms.

“Darling” he calls out.

“Yeah?” you respond from your place at the sink.

“Want to watch a movie?” he asks shyly, you’ve been together a few months and knew everything about him and his alters, Konshu and everything. yet he was still shy around you. It was cute.

“Yeah i’d love to! anything in mind?” He paused for a second, tapping his index finger on his chin while deep in thought.

“AVATAR!” he bursts out excitedly. You hadn’t actually seen avatar before you met Steven, as soon as he found out he was quick to invite you over for a movie date.

“Sounds great! Love that film.” you emphasised, Steven tended to worry that you agreed to do things with him out of pity, he was very insecure about himself despite you, Marc and Jake reassuring him that he was an amazing man. It didn’t matter what you were watching, reading or doing, if Steven was with you and enjoying himself that’s all that mattered. You loved every minute with him.

He flicked on avatar as you finished the dishes and headed to the couch, where he patted the spot next to him. You cuddled into his side as he layed a blanket over the both of you, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Thank you.” he says out of the blue, which causes you to look up at him.

“For what love?” you asked softly as not to make him feel bad or anything.

“For loving me, accepting me for everything that I am. The mess that I am. Staying up with me and reading to and with me, you know people at work are rude to me, Donna’s a right knobhead towards me. I used to let her get to me, everytime she mocked me or put me on inventory, but now? with you. I don’t care what anyone thinks of me.. because I have the most amazing person who loves everything about me and that’s all that matters. I love you so much y/n.” he says with a softness in his features, you don’t say anything, you take him into the tightest hug which silently tells him what he already knows deep down. He strokes his hand through your hair as you embrace him.

“I love you, Steven.” you say as you sit back from the hug and look at him, taking his face into your hands. “Listening to you ramble about Egypt and Pharaoh’s, your work days and anything else. I could listen to you talk about anything for hours. You’re the funniest person i’ve ever met, the kindest, sweetest man who makes me feel like the only person in the world everyday. Donna doesn’t deserve you, the museum doesn’t deserve you. You’d be the BEST tour guide if they just let you. The way your face lights up when you talk about Egyptology, I can see the love for the topic in your eyes. There’s no one else more suited for the job than you.

Tears are welling up in his eyes and you wipe them away with your thumbs, landing a soft kiss on his nose. He really was the most intelligent man you’d ever met, intuitive and with a heart of gold. Steven would never hurt a fly, Marc and Jake are more of the fighter types, but Steven. He’s a lover, he wants to make people happy and to see them smile, that’s his gift. He saved your life that’s for sure, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been since meeting him.

Settling back into his chest you take his hand in yours and rub your thumb over his palm.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me” he says and with that he presses play. You squeeze his hand to silently tell him that you feel the same.

About halfway into the movie you felt his body relax, he was falling asleep. Good, you thought. He needs as much sleep as possible, you didn’t move, knowing if you did you’d disturb him, you watched the rest of the movie as he snored quietly from beneath you. Once the movie finished you switched the tv off, Steven started to wake up, causing you to sit up. He took your hand and took you to the bed, laying down he pulled you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist, an afternoon nap wasn’t a bad idea, it was Monday tomorrow, the beginning of another long tiring week, especially for Steven. you settled into him as his form engulfed you.

“You feel like home” is the last thing you hear before he drifts off, feeling safe enough to fall asleep knowing you’re right there with him. He hasn’t put his ankle restrains on this time, but he knows you’d notice if he got up. His words touch your heart, you’ve never been so in love.

“You are home” you respond, squeezing his arm that’s securely wrapped around you. With that, you both fall asleep. Feeling the safest you’ve ever felt, knowing you’ve found your other half in Steven.

#steven grant #moon knight #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fic #moon knight x you #steven grant x gender neutral reader #oscar isaac #moon knight fanfic

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m2ok · 2 months

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Golden Salvation

Pt.1 Pt.2

Cowboy!ghost x m!reader

A/N: The final part is here !! This series has been so fun to do that part of me wants to do another cowboy AU but with Price. I might do some smaller fics first, we’ll see. Anyways! Enjoy my loves! Mwah mwah

Simon slept late into the next morning, lost to the world in a rare moment of utter relaxation. Skin scrubbed clean of its usual dirt and stubble, he looked almost boyish - troubled brow smoothed, dense frame gone lax in your arms. An image of vulnerable peace you’d wager few had witnessed in all his storied years.

Stirring faintly as you subtly moved, Simon nestled closer with a contented sigh, arm reflexively tightening its protective hold around your frame as if even in his sleep he sought to shield you from further harm.

Exhaustion had etched itself deep in him, but in the dull light seeping past lowered lashes you could see shadows beginning to fade from his features. A sight to lift even the most wounded soul’s spirit, seeing one who guarded others so staunchly finally finding solace in another’s care.

You would smile softly as you ran your thumb across his brow, smoothing away the rest of his worries as you cupped his cheek. You were careful not to wake him with the gentle touches, content to just watch him slumber for as long as he chooses.

You felt lucky to see him like this, and a large part of you thought taking a bullet was worth it. To be able to see him so relaxed and content was something you never thought you would be able to witness. It was like the eighth wonder of the world seeing him so…at ease.

You were hopelessly in love with this man, feelings that ran so deep it almost ached to feel them entirely. Your heart was filled to the brim with absolute adoration for Simon, and it was the one thing in your life you knew would never change, you would always be his.

Simon began to stir slowly as if sensing your tender gaze, even submerged in dreams. Blearily his eyes flickered open to meet your smiling face, and for a moment he simply blinked in bemused confusion - as if certain this couldn't be real.

But no, you were there. Warm and soft and smiling down at him like he was some kind of miracle himself. It still struck him dumb sometimes, the purity of your emotion shining through despite all he’s put you through. That you could look upon a wreck of a man like him and feel anything close to what swelled in his own heart.

Wordlessly, Simon reached up to lightly brush calloused knuckles against your cheek, drinking in every beloved feature like a dying man granted water. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness. Didn’t deserve the love shining in your eyes, warming him through like sunlight, but he'd be damned if he wasn’t going to spend every last day making sure you never regretted giving him a place beside you.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” he rumbled, voice sleep-rough but smoldering with intent. Leaning up to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, Simon silently swore to spend his every waking moment showing you just how much you meant to him.

You would smile softly into the kiss, languid and slow in order to make up for lost time. It was only when you both needed to breath that you pulled away, a smile on your lips and eyes crinkled in happiness as his taste lingered on your tongue. You ran a hand through his bed tousled hair with a soft hum.

“Good morning, Si. Slept well, hm?”

Simon stretched out with a groan, nuzzling into your gentle touch like an oversized housecat. Your presence alone was enough to chase the last clinging shards of dreams from his mind, grounding him fully in this blessed moment.

“Mm, best sleep I’ve had in ages, darlin’,” he rumbled, pressing a lingering kiss to your palm.

Meeting your gaze steadily, Simon spoke softly, “from here on out, you’ll have me guardian’ your rest same as your safety. Ain’t no one gonna lay so much as a finger on you again, not while I still draw breath.” A gentle brush of calloused thumbs swept away imaginary tears, etching promise into your skin.

“Im settlin’ down for good, if you’ll have me,” always cautious of hoping, but trusting you to see straight to what lived beneath scar and grit.

Your heart stuttered at his words, nearly stopping as you took a minute to take in his statement.

“If I’ll have you,” you laughed softly, “as if I’ve ever wanted anything more.” Your words were firm, no space for him to think twice about the truth behind what you were saying.

Simon’s brows hiked in delight and disbelieving relief at your response. A brilliant, boyish grin broke across weathered features - for once unburdened by ghosts of his bloody past.

“Then I’m yours, darlin’. Mind, body and soul.” He pledged fervent promises between peppered kisses. “Gonna make you so happy you’ll forget I was ever nothin’ but a no-good outlaw.”

Rolling fluidly, Simon maneuvered your form beneath his bigger one, caging you safely in rough hands and walls of corded muscles. Gazing down at your beauty with something akin to wonder in whiskey eyes, he pressed his brow to yours.

“My light. My home,” he rumbled, pure affection sending shivers down your spine. Happiness felt strange on features so used to scowls - but by God, Simon was going to savor every sweet moment for all he was worth.

You giggled softly at his words and the ticklish feeling of his hasty kisses on your skin, a warm smile near permanent on your lips as you soaked up all the love you had missed out on these past years.

With a brain too fuzzy with pure affection, you spoke words you’d been wanting to for years, “I reckon we head North.” You said, heart once again speeding up as you realized the gravity of your words, you continued, though with waning confidence, “We could find a small plot of land - build ourselves a nice little home and a small barn and coop.” You were rambling as you reached under his arm to grab an envelope tucked into the bedside drawer, “these past couple of months without you here..I’ve been takin’ extra shifts at the saloon. Reckon I’ve got enough here for all that if we’re careful,” you said, hands shaking with fear of rejection as you held out the envelope as if worried he wouldn’t believe you.

Simon’s eyes widened into saucers at your proposition, heartbeat stuttering to a gallop in his heaving chest. For a long moment he could only stare in disbelief - scarcely daring to hope this was real. But then your shy explanation sunk in, washing over him with such a profound surge of pride and love he thought surely his seams would burst. All this time spent in your light, you’d been preparing your future without him even having a clue of knowing. Trusting that in hope when he’d scarcely trusted in himself.

Without warning Simon was clutching you tight against his pounding heart, raining desperate kisses across your sweet face near frantic with tender emotion. “Darlin’ you- this is more’n I ever dreamed could be mine,” he choked, rough thumbs wiping away tears he didn’t remember shedding.

Pulling back just enough to claim your lips in a long, slow glide of unbridled joy, Simon poured every ounce of reverence, gratitude, and love into the kiss for your blessing him so. “North it is, my light - and I’ll spend the rest of my days makin’ you proud of me.”

You would gasp at his sudden movement, holding on tight to him as he peppered kisses across your smiling face before eventually catching your lips with his.

With a soft, relaxed sigh you melted into the kiss, body melting in his hold as you looked up at him with shining eyes. You would cup his face, his cheeks squishing under your hold to create an almost laughable look as you moved your thumbs gently across scarred cheeks with loving ministrations.

“Was hoping you’d say that,” you whispered, giddy with the thought of starting a new life with this man.

Simon grinned unrepentantly down at you, “and what would I say but yes to the sweetest darlin’ this side of creation?” he rumbled, nuzzling fondly into your palm like some great, affectionate bear.

“North we’ll go then, just as soon as you’re on your feet,” Simon declared, pressing a lingering kiss to your brow. His hands swept reverently down your sides, lingering protectively over the slowly healing wound before tipping your chin up to meet his steady gaze.

“I’ll start preppin’ for the trip straightaway, and you just focus on getting your strength back, y’hear?” Low and intent, brooking no argument - but shining with a tenderness to disguise any threat in his words.

You would nod at his firm words, tucking yourself under his chin, “Can’t wait to see the mountains… and the pretty trees.” You said with a happy sigh, “oh! And snow! We’ll have to get cold weather gear - add that to your list.” You said as you grinned up at the man.

Simon listened with rapt attention, holding you close as vision of your bright future danced before his eyes.

“Snow, eh? Can’t say I’ve seen much of that white stuff before…” He mused thoughtfully, already calculating additions to be made to your little home to withstand Northern winters. Wool blankets aplenty, a sturdy chimney, thick oak doors - he’d ensure not a single draft could creep past your cozy walls.

“We’ll have the warmest cabin this side of the mountain, darlin’ - not a soul we’ll envy, I promise ya that.” Calloused fingers carded gently through your hair.

“Cabin or not, there ain’t a soul I envy as long as I have you, Simon.” You said almost immediately, words tumbling out so fast you didn’t remember even thinking them first.

Simon huffed a soft, affectionate laugh at your sweet words, cupping your cheek to brush a grateful kiss to your lips.

“And I you, darlin’. More’n any future this wanderin’ soul coulda dreamed.”

He would follow you to the end of the earth.

“Now, you just focus on healin’, Sunshine. I’ll go rustle us up some supplies proper,” with a soft parting kiss Simon crawled out of the warmth of the bed. With a soft promise to be back quick he left the cabin, boots crunching surefooted trails into the dusty streets. Townsfolk surely sensed the change in their resident outlaw.

True to his word, within quick hours supplies were stacked neat as you please - all necessities for your healing, the journey north, and simple homestead pleasures. Duty was done. Gently slipping back into covers rosy with sleep-warmth, he curled protectively around your rested form, home again at last where he belonged.

The next few days were spent with careful planning, mapping out safe routes and stops for supply refills should you need them.

The morning you were set to leave you were giddier than a child in a candy shop. While the wound still had tender healing to go through, the worst part had healed. There were a few aches here and there should you move too quickly, but nothing like the searing pain it once was.

“I’m ready, Simon!” You said, nearly skipping over to where he was packing the carriage.

Simon grinned wide as a cheshire at your bouncing excitement, spirits lifting further at your every sweet sound. You shone brighter than the rising sun, lighting his heavy heart like dawn breaking on winter’s gloom.

Gently steadying the horses with practiced care, he turned brown eyes alight with warmth and promise upon your rosy face. “Then let's be off to our future, Sunshine - I got a feelin’ It’s gonna be brighter’n any we left behind”

Kicking the team into a steady amble after climbing on, Simon settled back with a content sigh, surveying the dusty trail unfurling ahead like a red carpet rolled out just for their feet. Nothing but open sky and promise as far as the eyes could see - and each mile would bring them closer to simple joys he’d never dared dream.

Calloused fingers found yours, tangling together in bonds stronger than any chain. With your light to lead him true, Simon swore not a demon from either hell nor earth would tear him from you.

The journey was tiring - days spent riding along dirt roads and nights spent tucked away in the back of a little cart, straw bedding doing little to cushion against the splintered wooden planks.

Yet you wouldn’t trade it for the world - not with Simon by your side to keep you warm and safe, to regale you with tales of his past life and adventures.

As you made your way through the northern mountains your body seemed to relax even more than it had been, gazing out upon the sacred land as you inched ever closer to your destination.

Each mile marker fell away like shackles, yet still Simon was loathe to see the journey end - if only to keep your radiance shining beside him a moment more.

Nights found him awake long after your restful breaths smoothed to dreams, watching over your slumber as stars wheeled endlessly beyond paper-thin walls. You were here, smiling still as dawn kissed snow capped pines in greeting, two weary souls near to their destination and all the hopes therein.

By mid-morn a cheer went up as a familiar clearing broke through evergreens. Turning brown eyes bright as brandy, Simon rumbled softly, “ Welcome home, darlin’.” He said, voice near a whisper as he took in the magnificent sight in front of him.

You would gasp as you finally reached the little plot of land, eyes wide as you took in the scene of gorgeous mountains behind and trees abound ahead.

The plot had been cleared just enough for all you talked about, including a little garden. A perfect dreamy homestead just waiting for your caring hands to create.

Simon let loose a rare, boyish whoop of delight at your awestruck expression, every hardship and dark deed weighing his heavy soul suddenly justified a thousand times over.

“I know it’s a sight a bit rougher than your sunny smile, but just you wait’ll I get my hands to work!” Brown eyes gleamed with fierce passion and promise, already thinking about feats of forestry and framing his calloused fingers itched to create.

With care belying his bulky frame, Simon quickly began unpacking essentials for a cozy camp - sparse but sufficient until more permanent lodgings could be raised from rich wood.

“For now let's get you fed and rest all proper,” he rumbled, pressing a doting kiss to your cheek.

After a humble meal of game Simon caught and red wine from a nearby town, you both fell asleep that night happy and looking forward to the next day when you could find helping hands to start making your perfect home.

It was about a month and a half later when you were done, with the help of many new kind folk, there standing proud and bright was a quaint cottage big enough for the two of you with a bit of extra room for hobbies. It was painted a soft shade of blue, a red wood door adorning the front and a cute little wrap around porch protecting your new shared home.

You stood outside, hands now rough and calloused from hard work resting on your hips as you stared at the building.

Simon slotted the final beam true, wonderment stealing his breath away as months of toil melted beneath the aching brilliance of your smile, every callus and strain of muscle well repaid.

Striding to your side, broad hands gently encircled your waist until foreheads met in shared bliss, eyes aglow with all the tender hopes this home’s thick walls now sheltered.

“Darlin’, I do believe we’ve gone an’ built us our own corner of heaven here,” he rumbled softly, thrilling to feel your heart swell against his in answer. No finer reward than seeing the light in your face nourished by comforts his hands had wrought.

Too choked with tears to respond, you took his hand and stepped inside the new home. The fresh scent of cedar and pine filling your nose as you explored each and every room with child-like wonder. Simon watched with a gentle smile as you explored your new domain, following dutifully behind as he too studied each detail with a sharp painter’s eyes, mentally furnishing each bare space with memories and comforts yet to be.

Turning you gently in well worn hands when the tour came to an end, Simon gazed upon your sweet face with all the devotion of endless skies.

You all but smirked up at him, planting a soft kiss on his lips before encircling your arms around his neck to press warm bodies together.

“Reckon we need to uh… christen that new bedroom of ours, hm?” You teased, a hint of something mischievous in your voice as you batted long eyelashes up at him.

Simon let out a low chuckle, eyes already turning dark as rich barley fields at your siren’s song. Fingers trailing feather-soft along the flawless planes of cheek and jaw long dreamed of, he peered deep into eyes overflowing with all he once believed himself unworthy of.

Scooping you up with practiced care, never breaking contact save to brush a reverent kiss to willing lips, Simon turned towards the bedroom with a purposeful stride.

“An’ why darlin’, I reckon that’s the finest idea I’ve heard in many a year,” gently shouldering through freshly hung door to deposit treasure of beyond calculating worth amidst downy rumples waiting to cradle your joinings, Simon gazed upon the angel fate had seen fit to place within his blessed and devoted keeping.

The night was spent with soft moans filling the room, Simon near worshiping your body as he pulled every whine and whimper he could out of your sweet lips. He was intent on showing you just how deeply he loved you, no doubt leaving you nearly unable to walk the next morning because of it.

As you lay in the bed, the only furniture in the house, you gazed out the window with a weary yet blissful gaze - body content with the pleasure it had been blessed with before you fell asleep with a happy hum, spent bodies pressed against one another as you drifted off into a peaceful slumber. The next days and weeks would bring their own hardships, but here in this moment you were safe and full with love. With Simon holding you close and protective in his arms you were happier beyond belief, and you felt more than lucky that you would get to feel this same way for the rest of your new shared lives. You had saved Simon from damnation, your golden light pulling him from the dark. You were his salvation, his everything.

end~

#cod modern warfare #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod x male reader #cod imagine #male reader #fanfic #ghost cod #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon riley x gn reader #simon riley x you #ghost #ghost x you #simon riley x male reader

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schrodingerspsycho · 7 months

Text

Another Shot - Chapter 2

Pairing - Sam Carpenter x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of alcohol, addiction, weed

Word Count - 5.1k

Summary - (Some of) the truth comes out. Tensions rise between you and Sam.

Chapter 1

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You couldn’t sleep. Of course, you couldn’t. Sam Carpenter was in New York City.

All the memories you’d tried so hard to repress had come flooding back in full force, washing over you like a tidal wave. It hurt more than you would’ve imagined. And that fucking look in her eyes. As if she had any right to be angry with you. It made your blood boil. God, you wished you could hate her.

But you couldn’t. Yes, the memories were bitter, but they were still oh-so-sweet. You wanted nothing more than to crawl back to that better time when she was by your side and you were happy, uncaring of how the broken glass cut your hands and knees along the way. Then you remembered that fucking face, and you knew you couldn’t do that either.

You groaned and rubbed your eyes, which still ached from crying, and rolled over to stare at the clock. It was four in the morning. You wanted a drink. How ironic, Sam made you want to drink.

Instead, you opted for the one vice you still allowed yourself; weed. You stepped onto the balcony as you lit up, pulling your blanket tight around your shoulders. Just a few hits to help you sleep, you told yourself. The high would pass before your shift started. And just this once, you let that be a lie.

Luckily, you had an afternoon shift, and the weed was completely out of your system by the time you clocked in. Not that anyone would have cared, you wouldn’t be the first person to show up to work high. But you didn’t want to risk it. You couldn’t lose this job. So you made an effort to push Sam far from your mind and man the counter with a smile on your face. And it would’ve worked too, if it weren’t for her meddling little sister.

“Hey, Tara!” you smiled when she walked in. She waved back, clearly distracted. You took no notice, turning back to the lobby to go about your business. But Tara stepped out in front of you, blocking your path and nearly making you drop the menus you were carrying. “Shit! What the hell, dude? Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you cried.

“I want to know what happened,” she said, ignoring you. “Sam wouldn’t tell me.”

You stared at her. “Are you serious? I told you to drop it.”

“You didn’t really think that was going to stop me, did you?”

You sighed. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or maybe you were secretly dying to unload all the memories clogging your brain. And talking about your feelings was supposed to help, right? “If I tell you, you can never bring this up again, got it?”

“Got it.” She crossed her finger over her heart, excitement shining in her eyes. You hoped she wouldn’t regret asking for the truth.

“If you can get Jay to give us our breaks at the same time, I’ll tell you then.”

Tara nodded and rushed off to find your manager, finally leaving you in peace. Maybe after this, you would finally be able to put it all behind you. And if Sam didn’t want Tara to know… then perhaps you could relive it after all. Sure, it was petty. But after everything she’d put you through, you deserved to be a little petty.

Jay must’ve been in a good mood because he granted Tara’s request. She didn’t mention her sister again for the first half of the shift, choosing instead to gush about how Chad had surprised her by taking her out for breakfast that morning. You listened eagerly, glad to finally put a face to the name you’d heard so many times.

“He’s going to come in to have lunch with me tomorrow,” she smiled. “Are you working the morning shift? I want you to actually meet him. I think you’d get along.”

“Yeah, I’m working a double tomorrow. I look forward to it.”

“Yay!” she exclaimed, and you grinned back at her. She’d only been working at the diner for two weeks, and she’d already become one of your best friends. You hadn’t grown so close with someone so quickly since… well, you knew where she got her charm.

Your break time seemed to arrive faster than ever, and you steeled yourself for your unorthodox therapy session as you made your sandwich. Tara was watching you like a hawk as if she expected you to run away.

“You sure you wanna do this?” you asked her. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“You have to know that only makes me more desperate to hear this story.”

“Fine,” you sighed. You led her into the break room and shut the door, making sure no one would overhear. She gazed up at you, her eyes wide and serious now as you sat next to her on the couch.

“Take your time,” she said softly. You nodded in appreciation, and with a deep, shuddering breath, you began.

“We met through a Facebook group four years ago. It was for young people in Modesto who were trying to get sober. Like a support group, but without the stuffiness of AA.”

“Wait, when you say sober, you mean-”

“Alcoholics,” you nodded, a grim look on your face. “Some people were addicted to other things too, and we did what we could to help. Mostly cigarettes, like your sister. She’d weaned herself off the harder drugs by that point, thankfully. We would have meetings in coffee shops and cafes, and sometimes people would host at their apartments during the week. Then we would all go out to clubs or parties together on the weekend.”

Tara stared at you, bewildered. “What? How is that helpful?”

“It wasn’t. The idea was that we would do all our drinking in one night and stay sober the rest of the week, but there weren’t any professionals involved. Most people at least thought they wanted to get sober, but we all wanted to drink more. It was still better than getting hammered every night, but not by too much.” You swallowed, and your hands started fidgeting; one of your nervous habits. You hadn’t spoken this much about your alcohol problems in a long time. “Anyway, that’s how we met. I don’t remember which one of us joined the group first, it’s been such a long time. I mean, your sister was still using a fake ID to get booze back then!” You chuckled at the memory. “But we became friends pretty quickly. Then we realized our apartments were only a neighborhood away from each other, so we started going to meetings together. And after about a year of being friends, we started- well…”

“You started dating?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “God, no. She never would’ve made a commitment like that. She was kind of infamous for it, actually.” You took a swig of your soda, hoping to dowse the heat you felt rising in your cheeks. “But we were probably the closest thing to it. We were together just about every other night, we knew each other better than anyone, she knew I wasn’t seeing anyone else and after a while, she stopped seeing other people too. Pretty much all we would’ve had to do was say the words. But that was the problem. She never wanted to talk about anything real. Her past, her feelings, our relationship, nothing. I knew who she was, but I didn’t know anything about her. And believe me, when you drink with someone for that long, you get to know them really well. She knew how I felt about her, how much I cared for her, and she just wouldn’t reciprocate. But I told myself that being with her was enough. And maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. I don’t even remember.”

“Then what happened?” Tara asked, her voice small.

“About a year into us being… whatever we were, there was… an incident. We went out together, without the group, to a house party. That I invited her to. And we were having fun, y’know, drinking, dancing, just having a grand ol’ time. Then she asked me to go to the bar to get her another shot.” You ran your hand through your hair to try to quell the agitation bristling in your chest. “It took me two minutes to push through the crowd, get the drinks, and come back. Two minutes. But when I came back, she was… she was…” Angry tears welled up in your eyes, and you turned away from Tara. You hated that it still had such a hold on you, even after all this time.

Tara laid a shaking hand on your back and you let out a strangled sob. Why was this so fucking hard? You felt like you were back there, the pounding of your heart drowning out the loud music, your vision blurring, the taste of vodka burning your throat, and the feel of your stomach dropping down to hell.

“She was making out with someone else,” you croaked. Tara’s hand stilled, and from the corner of your eye, you saw her mouth open in a silent gasp. “It was some- some guy. Just a random, boring-ass guy. She didn’t even know his name. And when I asked her what the hell she was doing, she laughed. Like it was all just some big fucking joke.” Your fists were clenched, and you could feel your fingernails digging into your palms. Then the tears finally began to fall. “She told me we were nothing. That I meant nothing.”

“I… I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Tara breathed. You leaned back against the couch and wiped your eyes, chuckling in spite of yourself.

“We were both drunk and angry, so what happened next is kind of a blur. But we started shouting at each other, and I think I was crying. I don’t know. Then she slapped the drink out of my hand and spat in my face.”

“She what?” Tara uttered, appalled. You laughed again. It was a sinister sound, but Tara didn’t seem to notice and you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“That was actually the most normal thing she did that night,” you said, to Tara’s growing horror. “She’s an aggressive drunk, and it was far from the first time she’d spat at me. But she’d never done it as an insult before.”

“That’s disgusting,” Tara said. You finally turned to look at her.

“I want you to know, I’m not trying to make you think badly of your sister or anything. I think it’s great that you’re talking again, and I would never do anything to hurt your relationship. I’m just telling you my side of the story.”

“I know,” Tara assured you. “Thank you.”

You shook your head. “I’m not even upset that she didn’t feel the same way. I just wanted her to be happy, and we weren’t even together. But she just had to let me down in the cruelest way possible. She knew how much she was hurting me, and she did it anyway. With a smile on her face.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Tara grumbled, and you gave her a brief smile. “So what happened after that?”

“Well, I went home, and the next day I found out she had blocked me on everything. She even left the Facebook group. And the next thing I know, I hear she’s calling this guy her boyfriend and switched to a new shitty, minimum-wage job so she could work with him. She led me on for a whole year, then committed to him in one night. I lost my partner and my best friend at the same time. In two fucking minutes.”

You sat in silence for several moments, the conversation weighing heavily on both of you. When Tara finally spoke, her voice was thick with emotion.

“Thank you for telling me all of this. I know it wasn’t easy for you to relive it. I’m sorry she did that to you, and I’m sorry that I’ve brought it all back-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you insisted. “She’s your sister, and you can’t help that I have a history with her. What happened with us- whatever happens with us- none of it is your fault.” She nodded, but the look in her eyes told you she didn’t believe it. “She told me about you, y’know.”

“She did?”

“Oh, yeah. I could never get her to talk about herself, but if you got enough alcohol in her, she wouldn’t shut up about her baby sister.” You grinned at Tara, and she smiled back. “You’re exactly the way she described you.”

“I’m gonna assume that’s a compliment,” she chuckled. Then her expression turned serious. “I really am sorry that she did that to you, Y/N. It’s… it’s horrible. But I can promise you, Sam’s changed. She’s sober now, and she’s reliable. She’s done so much work to be a better person. She would never do something like that now.”

You gave Tara a sad smile. “I’m happy to hear that, I really am. But I’m going to need her to prove that to me herself.”

“C’mon, Mindy, let’s go.”

“Can’t we just stay in our rooms? We won’t interrupt-”

“No.”

“She said she’d tell us later, let’s just give them some space.”

“Fine.”

Sam put down her book. The twins had been quietly doing their homework on the couch for the last hour, giving her a much-needed respite after the back-to-back six-hour shifts she’d worked at her two jobs today. But now their hushed voices roused her, drawing her from her room in time to see Tara ushering them out the door. “Hey, how was work?” she asked nervously. She didn’t like the serious look on Tara’s face.

“It was fine,” she said with a sigh. “We need to talk, Sam.”

Sam felt her heart rate spike, and her mouth went dry as her palms started to sweat. Truthfully, hearing those words from Tara was more terrifying than the five Ghostfaces she’d faced. She nodded numbly and took a seat at the kitchen table, following Tara’s lead.

“Y/N told me what happened between you two,” Tara began, and Sam’s breath hitched. She knew she should’ve expected this, but it caught her off guard all the same. “I don’t believe they would lie to me, but I have to ask… did you really cheat on them? After leading them on for a year?”

“Yes. I did.” Sam felt like crying. Having you as a reminder of her mistakes was bad enough, but now Tara was judging her too. She wanted to beg you both for forgiveness, but she knew she didn’t deserve it.

“Jesus, Sam,” Tara groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “That’s really shitty. Do you know how broken up Y/N still is about it?”

“I know. I’m so sorry, I-”

“I’m not mad at you, Sam.”

“You’re… you’re not?”

“No,” Tara said with a small smile. “I’ve forgiven you for worse. And I know you’ve changed. We don’t need to talk about what happened.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

Tara grinned. “Do you still love them?”

“What?” Sam stared at her, shocked. “Who-who said anything about love?”

“Okay, fine. Do you still like them?” she corrected, rolling her eyes.

Sam gaped at her as her cheeks started to burn. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with me, and I need to respect that.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Did you see how they looked at me?” she deflected, beginning to sound choked up. “They hate me. And they have every right to.”

“They don’t hate you, Sam,” Tara said kindly, placing a comforting hand over her own. “Trust me. Yes, they’re hurt. Really hurt. But they wouldn’t be if they had moved on.”

“Or if I hadn’t cheated on them and treated them like shit,” Sam mumbled. She leaned against the table and put her head in her hand. Just like mom.

“I think you were wrong,” Tara said, ignoring her. “There is something you can do about it now.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“You can apologize!” she smiled.

“You don’t really think it’s that simple, do you?” Sam scoffed. “Apologizing doesn’t just make things go away, Tara. Not something like this. It won’t mean anything.”

“Yes, it will,” she said softly. “It’ll show them that you’ve changed and that you know it was wrong to cheat on them. It’ll let them know that you’ll be a better person if you start talking again. I mean, sure, it’s not gonna fix everything right away, but it would be a start.”

Sam shook her head. “That’s not enough. It wouldn’t be enough.”

Tara sighed. “Will you at least answer my question?”

“What question?”

“Do you still have feelings for Y/N?”

Sam stood up abruptly and turned away from Tara. She ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. “Where did you send the twins off to?”

“Seriously, Sam? Are you really just going to ignore me?”

“I was thinking I could make spaghetti for dinner, does that sound good?”

Tara glared at her incredulously. “You are unbelievable,” she said, standing up and stomping toward her room. She slammed the door, and Sam stared at it for a long moment. Despite everything, Tara was an optimist, and Sam admired her for it. But two little words wouldn’t mean anything in the face of what she’d done to you. No matter how much she wished it could.

After telling Tara the truth, the rest of your shift had felt awkward, with both of you staying uncharacteristically silent when you weren’t talking to customers. But luckily, everything was back to normal the next morning. You had teased her for being a few minutes late, she teased you for always arriving early, and you passed the time by joking around like you always did. She once again asked Jay if you could take your breaks together, and he once again obliged.

“Dang, he must really like you,” you smiled at her. “He never would’ve said yes if I asked him.”

She shrugged. “I’m very likable.”

“Yeah, you are. Little manager’s pet.”

“Maybe I’ll ask him not to give you a break at all.”

“What, am I suddenly not good enough to meet your boyfriend?”

“No, I’m excited for you to meet him,” she grinned. “He’s excited to meet you, too.”

“Then it sounds like we’re all excited. It’s going to be a very exciting lunch break.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, nudging you playfully as she went to make another pot of coffee. Usually, it was all the customers ordered at this time of day, which made the morning shifts more bearable. You were able to hang out and talk with each other while they finished their nearly forgotten homework and nursed their hangovers, frying up some eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns every now and then. It made the time fly, and soon Jay was calling you and Tara to go on break.

Chad arrived just as you finished making your food, announced by Tara’s squeal of delight. She ran to him and leapt into his arms, and he spun her around gleefully. The few customers in the lobby didn’t even look up from their phones.

“Y/N, get over here! I want you to actually meet Chad!” Tara called, beckoning you with her hand. You smiled and headed over, your tray of food in hand.

“Shouldn’t you let him order first?”

“No, it’s fine. He doesn’t need to eat,” she smirked. He gave her a look of feigned offense.

“Excuse you, I’m very hungry. I ate a very light breakfast so I would have room for an amazing lunch made by my beautiful girlfriend.”

“I’m not gonna make your food, I’m on break,” she said, turning to face him. “That was really stupid of you to not eat.”

“Well, then what did I come here for?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“You’re breaking my heart, you know that, Tara? You’re breaking your boyfriend’s heart.”

“Oh, please, you eat enough of my cooking at home,” she grinned, leaning in closer.

“Anyway, I’m Chad! It’s nice to meet you,” he smiled, looking up quickly when he remembered you were there. Tara blushed.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you chuckled. “I’m Y/N. Tara’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“Mostly.”

He grinned. “Well, I’m going to go order some food made by a stranger, and then I’ll join you.”

Tara stuck her tongue out at him as he left, and you followed her to the table where she had set her food. “Sorry about that,” she said sheepishly as you sat down.

“Don’t worry about it. You two are adorable.”

“Thanks,” she smiled.

After a few moments of eating in silence, Chad joined you once again. “Alright, where were we?” he asked, sliding into the booth next to Tara. You looked at his tray and smirked at her. He’d ordered exactly what she’d said he would.

“You were about to tell me about yourself,” you prompted. He smiled.

“Well, I’m Tara’s amazing boyfriend who’s known her since we were five, I’m studying sports medicine at Blackmore, I was the offensive lineman on my high school football team, Mindy is my twin sister, and my favorite Pokémon is Meganium. What else do you want to know?”

You laughed and Tara raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, that’s certainly an introduction,” you remarked.

“What? Those are important things to know about me!”

“They sure are, babe. You’re doing great,” Tara said, patting his arm.

“And you said you go to NYU, right? What are you studying?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t start until next year, but I’m going to study photography. I actually can’t wait to start classes, I’ve been saving up for it for years.”

“That’s really cool! What kind of photography do you do?”

“I want to study different kinds, but I love taking pictures of little moments in regular life. Like the little things that no one notices, the things that tell stories. Candid photography, I guess.”

“That sounds really interesting! I’d love to see some of your photos sometime.”

“Thanks! Yeah, Tara’s been wanting me to show her my portfolio.”

“And yet you keep denying me!” she accused.

“I’ve told you, they don’t look good on my tiny phone screen!” you replied. “I can’t exactly bring my laptop to work, can I?”

“I’m sure we can figure out a time when we can all see your amazing pictures,” Chad said, putting his arm around Tara.

“Yeah, maybe,” you mumbled, blushing a little at the praise. “It’s cool that you were able to go to the same college. And your sister, too. That must be really fun for you guys.”

“Yeah, we’re really lucky we found a place that has a good sports medicine program for me, a poli-sci program for Tara, and a film program for Mindy. Although, we probably would’ve gone to the same school no matter what. It’s important that we stick together. After all, we can’t split up-”

“Do not say it,” Tara scolded him.

“-the Core Four!”

Tara punched him in the chest and he swooped down to kiss her cheek.

“What is the Core Four?” you asked.

“Me, Tara, Mindy, and Sam! It’s what we call our little squad.”

“It’s what you call us,” Tara retorted. “He comes up with these stupid nicknames and doesn’t listen to us when we tell him they’re terrible.”

“Oh, c’mon, you secretly love my nicknames. Don’t you, Taradactyl?”

She looked appalled. “Yeah, that’s an immediate no.”

“But I thought you liked that one!”

“I absolutely do not. Get away from me.”

“Whatever. You like Core Four. You’ve said it.”

“I have not!”

“Yes you did, Sam told me,” he said smugly.

“Lies and slander.”

He stole one of her fries and she tried to shove him out of the booth, a goofy grin on her face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at their antics.

“You two are very entertaining,” you commented.

“Are you making fun of us?” Tara demanded, still grinning.

You put your hands up in surrender. “Not at all. Having a similar sense of humor is important in a relationship. You two seem perfect for each other.”

“Why, thank you, Y/N. I’m glad someone thinks so,” Chad said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you thought we were perfect for each other, then you would support my nicknames.”

“Oh, shut up,” she groaned, leaning back against him. He kissed the top of her head before turning back to you.

“Speaking of relationships, are you seeing anyone?”

“Nope,” you smiled. “I only moved here a couple of months ago, so I haven’t really had time to meet anybody.”

“Then we need to get on that!” he exclaimed. “We don’t want you to be lonely! I’m pretty sure we know someone your age who you’d get along with. What are you, twenty-four?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m twenty-five, and it’s rude to ask.”

“You’re absolutely right, it is rude. I’m sorry. But you know what, Tara’s sister is right around your age, and she’s single too! Her name is Sam, she’s the absolute coolest, and- hey, didn’t you say you knew her already?”

You shot Tara a look of disbelief, but she avoided your gaze. “I do know her. I was just talking to Tara about her yesterday. And you know what, I just remembered that Sam once showed me some of her baby pictures.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, she wouldn’t stop talking about you,” you said pointedly. “It’s all coming back to me now. Little baby Tara… in the bathtub…”

“Okay, okay! We’ll stop talking about Sam!” Tara cried, her face bright red. You smirked at her.

Shouldn’t have broken your promise, you thought. At least she had the decency to look guilty.

The conversation carried on normally after that, with you and Chad discussing your favorite action movies and comic books. Tara was right, you did get along well. As it turned out, he had already seen the movie you were looking forward to seeing this weekend on your rare Saturday off. Tara had to quiet him before he accidentally spoiled it in his excitement, but he gave it a rave review. It was enough to distract you from the fact that Sam was apparently single again, at least for a little while. And when Jay called you back to work and you bid your goodbyes to Chad, you decided that it had indeed been a very exciting lunch break.

Sam found herself spending her Saturday off at the movies. She hadn’t been to a theater in months for obvious reasons, but Tara knew she wanted to see the new comedy that came out this weekend and convinced her to go. She was anxious like she always was when she was out in public, but she was glad to be spending some quality time with her sister. Saturday matinees used to be their thing, and Tara still bounced on her heels while she waited for her popcorn like she did when she was little.

But something seemed off with her as they walked toward the theater. She kept glancing behind her as if she was looking for something. But before Sam could ask her what was wrong, Tara spun around and slammed into her.

“I think the popcorn needs more- fuck!”

Sam looked down to see the front of her hoodie covered in Tara’s soda.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, Sam!”

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “It was an accident, I’ll be fine. At least it didn’t get on my jeans.”

“Here, I’ll take the popcorn and save our seats. You go get some napkins and clean yourself up,” she said, gazing up at her apologetically. Sam nodded and handed her the bucket.

She pulled the sticky hoodie over her head as she walked, thankful that she had worn a tank top underneath it. And the theater still had the heat on despite the warming weather outside, so she wouldn’t be cold. It was still shaping up to be a pretty good day.

But before she could reach for the napkins, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you said as you looked up from your freshly buttered popcorn.

“Y/N.”

“Sam.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see a fucking movie, obviously,” you hissed. Sam rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“I should’ve known,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting to where Tara was spying on you from around the corner. Your eyes widened in realization.

“Dammit! That sneaky little- I never should’ve told her my weekend plans.”

“What the fuck did you just say about my sister?”

“Oh, you know damn well this isn’t about Tara! This is about us, and what you did- oh my god!” You had finally turned to look at her, and your eyes immediately went to her arms. Not because her biceps were even more muscular than you remembered, but because of the long, raised scars on her right shoulder and collarbone. Any anger you had been feeling dissipated, replaced with worry and a deep-seated need to protect. “What happened?” you asked softly, instinctively reaching out to comfort her. She flinched back, her eyes startled and scared, and you lowered your arm. She stayed silent, just standing frozen and staring at you like a lost puppy. It made your heart melt, just like it always did. “Sam, are you okay?”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” she snapped after a beat, her expression hardening back into the look of contempt you were starting to get used to. You glared right back at her.

“Fine. I don’t even know why I care,” you snarled. Her scowl faltered, but you just scoffed in disbelief and stomped away. That devilish woman may still have a cruel grip on your heart, but you wouldn’t let her see it.

“Hey, Y/N, I didn’t expect to see you here! How are you?” Tara called, running up to you. But you kept walking, your only response a look of disapproval and hurt.

“What the hell was that?” you heard her demand from Sam. “Why won’t you just apologize to them?”

“I told you, I can’t do that.”

Your vision blurred as you stepped out of earshot, her words hammering the final nail into the coffin of something that died long ago. You knew Tara meant well, but she’d taken it too far. You tried to focus on the movie as you entered the dark theater, but you knew no amount of explosions could save your ruined day.

All because of two minutes with Sam fucking Carpenter.

Taglist: @smut-religiously777

#sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter #scream #enemies to lovers #scream fanfic #fanfic #another shot

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