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inkskinned · 10 months

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you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.

you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.

he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.

a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.

he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.

you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.

people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.

wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.

also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.

he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."

you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.

"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."

he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.

you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.

is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?

you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.

#writeblr #this is a mashup of like 3 dates i accidentally went on lol #by that i mean that i was out with a woman on a date in 2 of these situations #and a man just. joined us. and we were too awkward to say anything while he tried to ''date'' me #& one was a longterm friend that i was like. you what????#like he's nice he's a doctor and my mom was SO happy she was like raquel think about it #''it's a perfect love story you grew up together and reconnected as adults and like the same things and he's friends with ur brother #and his sister is one of ur close friends!!!''#yes but alas. he is a boy . she only likes girls. can i make it any more obvious #anyway im tryna write about like the force of male attention being actually incredibly ingrained to women like we are SUPPOSED to like it #it's seen as the only important thing #even if ur gay #and it's a nuanced thing idk #and while rn i i.d. as lesbian #like .... it wouldn't be UNTRUE to say i am probably like ''cusp bisexual'' bc i CAN experience attraction to men bc like .#sexuality is fluid...#don't tell straight ppl tho bc they do not understand the concept that ppl don't necessarily need a solid everlasting label #they're like GET in the BOX #if ur gay & in boston i'm 30 and pretty please come kiss me.#(i usually only date older ppl sorry in advance tho)

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princess-ditzy · 2 years

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well obviously someone has to. so i'll ask: 69?

LMAOOOOO WHO IS THIS I AM IN STITCHES

anon I love you sm

69: My I - Seventeen

china line for the win actually. such a banger of a song

#NO PLEASE THIS WAS LIKE #the first number i hoped someone would send i love you so much anon #<- my sense of humor is broken #anon you are my favorite person on this actually #funniest person ever kissing you on the mouth <3 #help what was my anon tag #OH #anons my hidden turtles 🐢#spotify wrapped

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marvellous1917 · 11 months

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Icarus Falling

(Part 2)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader

Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.

Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.

Part one ⬇️:

A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3

———————

Bold is reader’s thoughts.

Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.

The size of the tattoo is in inches.

———————

Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?

Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.

The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.

The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.

“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.

“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.

“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.

“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.

Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.

Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.

“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Why’s that?”

Fuucckkkk.

“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.

Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.

“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.

Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.

“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.

Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.

To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.

“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”

“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.

“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.

“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.

“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.

“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“

“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.

“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.

“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.

“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”

You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.

He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.

“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.

“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.

“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”

“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.

“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.

“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.

“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.

“I’m good I swear, now go!”

“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.

Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.

James:

Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?

Send me the address to the shop

Now… please

Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.

You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.

James:

See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.

Little shit.

————

You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.

Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.

Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.

Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.

“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.

Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.

“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.

“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”

“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.

“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.

“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”

His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.

“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.

“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.

“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.

“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”

“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.

“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.

“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.

“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.

“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”

“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.

Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.

“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.

“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”

Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.

Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.

The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.

If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.

He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.

You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.

He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.

“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.

“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”

Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.

“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.

“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

Christ alive.

“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.

“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.

“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.

“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”

Like I could regret you.

You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.

“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.

You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.

“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.

“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.

I like him. He says okie dokie.

“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.

You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.

“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.

“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”

“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.

“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.

“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.

“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.

————

You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.

“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.

“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.

“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.

God he’s pretty.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.

“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.

“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.

“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”

“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.

————

The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.

“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”

“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.

He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.

You sat in silence as he started to speak.

“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.

The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”

Silence.

“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”

A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-

“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.

“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.

This should not be turning me on, shit.

“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”

His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?

“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”

Oh Clint sounds fun.

“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”

He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.

“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.

“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.

“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.

“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.

“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.

Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.

Ok right back to it. Got it boss.

“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.

“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.

Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.

“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.

He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”

“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.

“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.

“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”

“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.

“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.

Shit.

“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.

“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.

“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.

He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.

“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.

“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

That’s a new one.

“Uh, say $180?” You respond.

“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.

He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”

You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.

They were hundreds.

“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.

“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.

You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”

“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.

“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”

“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.

“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”

There it is.

“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.

“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.

“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.

Fuck me running.

“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.

He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.

“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.

“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.

You say nothing.

He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.

“Would you?” He asks softly.

“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.

“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.

“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.

He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.

Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.

His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.

“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.

He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.

————

A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘

I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.

Tags:

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #mob!bucky #mob!au #tattoo artist!reader

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devilfic · 5 months

Text

❝friends of the web❞

plot: you have a fear of spiders, but you've made a promise to work past it. peter thinks your determination is really quite adorable. pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: fluff, humor, established relationship, spiders (not graphic), reader has arachnophobia but is being so brave about it, based on the poem "ten legs, eight broken" by I, e on tiktok because it fundamentally changed the way I interact with small bugs forevermore. words: 1.2k.

a/n: I have had pretty bad arachnophobia my entire life and after reading ten legs, eight broken a while back, it convinced me to start saving little spiders I find in my house. this fic is 100% based on how that ends up going every single time. minus peter parker coming to save the day

He's careful, stomach coiled tight to control his breathing. One hand is delicately pinching a bolt with tweezers, the other holding his webshooter frighteningly still. One wrong move would trigger the suspension, and about four hours' worth of fluid refill would end up all over his research notes. He has to be slow. He lowers the tweezers another half inch.

Gently, the bolt's thread catches and he releases the breath he'd been holding. In that same moment, you shout and his tweezers slip.

It's the feeling of webs spraying him in the face that he registers first, their tendrils catching onto his glasses and eyelashes and lips. Then it's your rushed breathing, the pumping of your heart nearly beating out of your chest. He doesn't feel a tingle along his spine but your shout jolts Peter out of his spell. In an instant, he's batting away the webs and throwing himself out of his office with enough velocity to take down a wall. He's expecting scorpions, vultures, lizards, his hearing zeroing in on you, and-

-and he turns the corner and there's you, crouched on the floor, hands cupped in front of you—cocooning something. "Hey, hey, hey, whoa, whoa." Peter's eyes flit around the room, looking for the threat his senses ought to have picked up on by now, and kneels beside you. He focuses on your hands and your complete and utter lack of urgency. "What's going on?"

You glance to the side, so quick he doesn't even think you register the panic on his face, "Pete, thank God. Can you talk to this thing for me?"

You move your hand and the other breathing thing in the room becomes apparent. A spider, barely the size of a crumb, is crawling over mountains of carpet thread. It's moving quickly but in circles, clearly confounded by the terrain. Peter looks at you. He drags each syllable out as he asks, "What is happening?"

You shift and Peter shifts with you, keeping an eye on the spider, "This thing- this spider is such a jackass."

"Yeah?"

"I'm trying to get him outside and he won't go."

You've got a flier for Pilates in the Park clenched in one hand, while the other is cautiously putting a wall between the spider and the abyss under your sofa, a place where even Peter dares not go. "Why don't you just kill it?"

Clearly that was the wrong thing to say. You look horrified at him as you answer, "I can't kill him!"

"Do we- are we sure it's a him? Have you decided he's a him?"

"I made a promise to myself that I would stop killing."

"I don't think... okay, what is going on here?"

You struggle to explain and focus on the spider at the same time, "It's a resolution I made for the new year. That even though I'm terrified of these things, I won't kill them anymore because... because they're living beings just like me." Peter watches you bite your lip, a twinge of pity sewn into the divot between your furrowed brows, "So I'm putting them outside whenever I see one... if only they would stop being jackasses about it."

Peter half-laughs, half-sighs. The little spider crawling around on the ground is none the wiser to your inner peril, "This isn't just because your boyfriend is, like, 1/3 spider, is it? I won't take it personally if you hit him with a shoe."

You snort and place your flier in front of the escaping spider, watching it crawl over the word "yoga" before making a u-turn for the carpet, "Of course not, my spider overlord."

You try to scoop up the spider again but every time you lift the paper, it dives off the other side and back into the carpet. "How long does this usually take?" Peter asks. He sits back on his ass, propping up a knee to rest his arm on.

"Ten minutes at best. If I don't lose them."

"Hm. And this works for you?"

You pout up at him, scooping up the spider again and watching it fly off once more, "I usually manage to get them outside, I'll have you know."

"And the screaming?"

"I never said it was a peaceful process."

"So, let me get this straight," Peter leans into you, "you spot the spider, you grab the nearest piece of paper, you try to get the spider on the paper, and then you...?"

"Scream and run until I make it to the window."

"Why- why the screaming?"

You wince, trying not to lose the bug in the carpet, "Because I'm scared they'll touch me." Your boyfriend tickles his fingers along your arm and you shiver, swatting him with your free hand.

After another failed attempt, Peter places his hand in front of the spider's path and it crawls into his palm to get to the kitchen. Before it can cross over into tiled territory, it's forced to a sudden stop, and Peter takes advantage.

It takes him three strides to get to the living room window, yank it open, and release the spiderling into the wild.

You're standing behind him with a look of frustration on your face, even though your shoulders have finally sagged with relief, "How'd you convince him to sit in your hand like that?"

"I didn't. Sticky hands." Peter wiggles all his fingers at you, amused.

"Wh- that's it? Do they not usually listen to you or something?" You grab one of his hands and quickly realize he's using that ability on you this time. He's got you stuck in a handhold.

"I can't remember when I ever said I could talk to spiders."

"I mean, it seems like a pretty fair assumption," you grumble, trying to shake his hand away before giving in, "they put their juices in you after all."

"Why would you say that?"

"Thanks for the help, by the way. I'm still... getting used to not panicking when I see them."

Peter raises his other hand to your hair and gives you a kiss on the temple, smiling against your skin, "You are so, so, so brave."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's pretty brave to show mercy to something you fear, right? You could've killed it or asked me to do it, but you didn't. You wanted it to live."

"It doesn't mean to scare me," you bring your intertwined hands up to your mouth and press a kiss to his knuckles, "I'd want it to take pity on me if it was the other way around."

"I think the spiders will appreciate that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then why do they give me such a hard time?"

"Well, you're so scared of them that you don't even realize they're just as scared of you. You gotta make 'em like you, you know?"

"Got any tips for that?"

Peter guides his free hand to your waist, rocking you side to side, "Hm. Buy them sushi. Take them to a midnight showing of Night of the Living Dead. Tell him you think his nerdy rambling after the movie is sexy..." You giggle into Peter's chest and his heart swells, "Don't laugh! It worked on me."

You tilt your head up and he steals a kiss without hesitation, making you stumble on what you say next, "How about you just come let them out for me next time, hm?"

"And if I'm not around?"

"...make me a super scientific spider catching gadget?"

Peter hooks his hands underneath your thighs and hikes you up around his waist, "I'll make you one if you refill my web fluid for me."

"You can fill me with your web fluid."

"Okay. I'm putting you in time out, freak."

taglist: @yikes-buddy @alexxavicry @theclassicvinyldragon @marina-and-the-memes

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #spider-man #tasm #marvel #mjwrites

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izelascendant · 9 days

Text

Sportsmanlike

Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Rating | Mature Summary | What happens after the party on Long Island. Pairing | f!Original Character x Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan x Patrick Zweig Tags | Tennis, Competition, Love Triangles (Squares?), Jealousy, Plot, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Relationships Word Count | 4.7K Author's note | This chapter contains smut. Things get juicy, alright.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Sportsmanlike on AO3 | Chapter 1 - US Open 2006, Chapter 2 - Finalist Fusion, Chapter 3 - Aftermath and Accolades, Chapter 4 - Stanford, Chapter 5 - Stanford, Part 2 | Sportsmanlike PART 2 - soon

She senses their approach and gives Tashi a subtle nudge, discreetly alerting her to their presence. Tashi turns around, her gaze meeting the boys' with a playful curiosity sparkling in her eyes. The confidence is palpable as she stands tall, exuding a sense of self-assurance. Meanwhile, she stands shyly beside Tashi, her body language more reserved, but her allure still present.

Patrick takes the lead, his confidence evident as he introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Patrick Zweig,” He struts over, his stance slightly crooked yet self-assured.

Art chimes in with a nervous chuckle, “—Art Donaldson.”

Patrick continues, his voice carrying a hint of admiration. "We saw both your matches," he remarks, eager to initiate a conversation.

Tashi interrupts with a cool and charming tone, her words tinged with a hint of intimidation. "We know who you are." Her words spark an air of mystique, leaving the boys slightly stunned yet intrigued.

"Fire and Ice, right?" She takes her turn to ask after Tashi, sipping her drink through a straw with a faint smile dancing across her lips.

Art can't help but mumble to himself quietly, "Oh my god," he whispers, his eyes fixated on her. Patrick echoes his sentiments, a knowing smile on his face as he nods in agreement. “In the flesh.”

Tashi redirects her attention toward Art, a curious gleam in her eyes. "You're going to Stanford, right?" she asks, pointing his way with her finger.

Art looks slightly taken aback, his surprise evident as he confirms, "I am. How did you know?"

As Art and Tashi continue to talk, she continues to sip her drink, shifting her weight as she feels Patrick's discreet gaze fall upon her. His lips curl upward in a subtle gesture as he steals a quick glance at her.

Art asks a question, directing her attention back to him. "What about you? You enrolled anywhere?" he inquires.

She straightens up a little, a small chuckle escaping her lips at her own uncertainty. "Oh," she shrugs, "My team tells me I could get a scholarship pretty much anywhere based on how I'm playing, but—I still don’t know.”

Patrick turns towards her, his voice lighthearted and playful. "Skip all that," he smirks, gesturing towards Art and Tashi. "You should go pro like me. Or at least give it a try."

Tashi chimes in, wrapping her arm around hers, her tone persuasive. "No, I think you should come to Stanford too," she suggests with a playfully stern expression, her suggestion backed up by her own firm belief. Art and Patrick exchange a knowing glance, recognizing the power dynamics at play in their impromptu discussion.

Art interjects with a bit of humor, raising his hands in surrender. "Two against one," he jokes, gesturing toward Patrick.

Patrick can't help but let out a hearty laugh and shake his head in response as the conversation takes a light-hearted and playful turn.

The group is immersed in a moment of silence, the air filled with a potent mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. She ponders over Tashi's intentions—aware of their mutual attraction towards the boys—but unsure about how the night will unfold. As her thoughts swirl, she willingly places her trust in Tashi's hands, prepared to embrace whatever the night might bring.

The moment of silence is broken by Patrick's words, directed towards Tashi. "Your backhand is incredible." He compliments her, and his admiration is evident. Almost simultaneously, Art speaks up, addressing her opponent, "I wanted to ask you about that last point you scored."

It's comical how Patrick and Art's observations towards each girl overlap, their words perfectly synchronized. The girls exchange a lighthearted chuckle, amused by the boys' almost synchronized timing.

Art turns away with a sheepish chuckle, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. Patrick, on the other hand, continues to laugh heartily as he keeps his gaze on the girls, seemingly relishing the moment.

Tashi's father interrupts them, requesting her attention with a commanding tone. "Baby, I need to steal you for a second. Over at the trophies," he instructs.

She acknowledges the request with a simple "Oh, okay," and then she brushes her dress off before giving a final glance in their direction. "I have to go take pictures; I'll be right back," she says before walking over to her father, her grace and beauty radiant as she follows him.

All three of them—the redhead, the blonde, and the brunette—are momentarily captivated as they watch Tashi walk away, their eyes following her every move. But then, as their gazes shift back from Tashi to her, she feels a sudden wave of fluster and bashfulness wash over her, unused to the attention being directed her way.

Patrick's voice retains its playful tone as he asks, "So, how long have you two known each other for exactly?"

She giggles before answering, her voice soft, "Since yesterday."

Art looks surprised, remarking with raised eyebrows, "Really? You both seem pretty close." He observes the easy chemistry between them, intrigued by their fast connection.

She shrugs with a hint of satisfaction. "I guess I'm lucky to have been chosen by Tashi Duncan," she says, a proud smile playing on her lips. Her tone then shifts to a more pensive note as she continues, her gaze fixed on Tashi in the distance. "I honestly have no idea why she likes me."

Patrick's voice interjects with a bit of teasing, his tone playful. "Because you might beat her in the finals."

Art counters immediately, his tone more sincere, "Because you seem like a really sweet girl."

Confused and amused by the opposing answers, her gaze switches between the two, a smile starting to dance on her lips. She shrugs slightly, replying with a hint of humor, "Maybe a bit of both."

The conversation continues, flowing naturally as she engages with both boys, sharing their thoughts on tennis, personal backgrounds, and future plans. Art's gentle and humble outlook balances nicely with Patrick's more confident and comical style.

She clears her throat, preparing to leave as she points aimlessly towards the crowd. “I’m gonna go see if I can try and find Tashi.”

Art stops her by gently grabbing her arm. She turns to look at him, her expression slightly surprised. Art quietly speaks, with a hint of eagerness in his voice. "Meet us back here?" His question hangs in the air, his earnestness charming.

She offers a simple smile, nodding in agreement. "Yeah," she confirms. Her gaze lingers on Art for a moment before shifting to Patrick. With a final glance, she turns and walks away, leaving the boys to watch her go.

She finally returns with Tashi after leaving the boys waiting for what feels like an eternity. The boys had begun to wonder if they had been abandoned, thinking the girls might not come back after all. But there they were, returning as promised, much to their relief and anticipation.

Tashi's voice rings out, a hint of teasing in her tone as she says, "You guys are still here," as they approach.

Patrick tries to play it cool, replying with a casual shrug as he says, "Yeah, it's nothing," only to find Tashi even more amused by his effort to appear unbothered.

As the evening progresses and guests begin to leave, the wind gently picks up, creating a subtle breeze. The two boys and girls stand facing each other, their gazes occasionally meeting and holding for that extra fraction of a millisecond. The air is filled with anticipation, the silence between them speaking volumes.

The silence is broken by Patrick, who pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He offers them to her and Tashi, asking, "Smoke?"

Tashi declines with a hint of superiority in her tone, saying, "Nah."

Patrick grins smugly, taking a cigarette and placing it between his lips before passing the pack to Art. Art then asks, "They also put you girls at the hotel in Flushing?"

She answers with a casual shrug, "I’m on the first floor."

She then looks over at Tashi, who narrows her eyes a tad at Art's mention of the hotel. Tashi teasingly asks with a suggestive tone, "Why, want us to come tuck you guys in?"

Art and Patrick share a lighthearted laugh. Patrick lights his cigarette and takes a puff before replying with a playful shrug, suggesting, "We can just keep talking." He adds, with a hint of mischief, "We've got beer."

She can't help but bite the inside of her cheek, holding back a smirk as she glances at Tashi and then back to the boys. A soft sigh escapes her as she slips off her heels, her bare feet now touching the cool grass beneath.

She chuckles softly, her voice carrying a hint of weariness. "Whatever the plan is, let’s keep the walking to a minimum," she suggests, her feet already feeling the relief of being freed from her heels.

Tashi doesn't relent; her voice is tinged with a slight defiance. "My dad's probably gonna come looking for me," she protests, though a hint of excitement flickers in her eyes.

Patrick casually offers a suggestion, taking another drag from his cigarette. "Just ride the shuttle back to the hotel with us. Meet up with your dad, and then come hang out. Room 206.”

Art nods in agreement, the boys silently waiting for Tashi's response. Tashi directs a playful look at her before glancing back at the boys.

Tashi's nonchalant tone betrays her hidden excitement as she says with a shrug, "Alright."

She exchanges a smile with Tashi, before they follow behind the boys. Art quietly offers to carry her heels for her, a thoughtful gesture that she gratefully accepts. She walks beside him, thanking him softly.

The ride back is invigorating, the gentle breeze caressing their hair as they share laughter, the air filled with a sense of warmth and liveliness. There's a touch of bittersweetness, the feeling of those final blissful nights of summer lingering in the air.

She feels a spark of boldness, taking the cigarette from Patrick’s hand and inhaling deeply. Tashi and Art watch as she takes the hit, a serene and beautiful figure with her head tilted slightly to the side as the shuttle glides along the pavement towards the hotel.

Tashi laughs heartily as Art gently holds her in place during each sharp turn, her amusement echoing through the air. The ride may be brief, but it's fun and memorable—a moment sure to be ingrained in their minds for days to come.

Tashi and her girl

For a brief moment, they part ways as the boys head upstairs to their room. With linked hands, Tashi leads her down the corridor on the first floor. Barefoot and heels in hand, they tread silently across the plush carpeting of the hotel floor.

Tashi halts in front of her hotel room door, pivoting to face her directly. With a gentle touch, Tashi holds her face as she speaks. "You know, you're sweet, but—” Her tone is affectionate but firm. "You can't let them get what they want so easily. You need to keep them on their toes. Make them work for it. It has to be challenging."

She blinks, taken aback by Tashi’s unexpected words. However, a chuckle escapes her as she replies with a hint of amusement.

"Challenging? This isn't tennis, Tashi," she echoes with a mixture of humor and slight perplexity.

Tashi's tone grows more serious as she amends her previous statement, her words carrying a firm conviction. "No,” she clarifies, “It’s exactly like tennis.”

She stands there, puzzled and a little uncertain about what to say next, her mind swirling with confusion at the unexpected turn the conversation has taken.

Tashi releases her, gesturing towards the elevator. "Go," she commands, her tone shifting back to a softer, more affectionate tone. "I'll join you soon."

She knows better than to question Tashi, so she simply replies, "Don’t take too long," sounding almost like a plea. She turns and makes her way towards the elevator, her mind filled with curiosity and anticipation.

Art and Patrick

Patrick wastes no time undressing—feeling like they had been waiting forever yet again. He slouches back in the old chair in the corner of the hotel room, a cigarette between his lips. He shuffles through a deck of cards with a distracted air, clad only in a pair of dark boxer shorts.

Art is sprawled out on his bed in only his boxers, one leg resting against the wall in a comfortable yet odd pose. A heavy sigh escapes him as he lies there, his mind no doubt pondering the events of the night thus far.

The room is uncomfortably hot—thanks to the malfunctioning air conditioning—the light casts an intimate and cozy glow that mingled with the smoke that clung to the air as Patrick continues to idly puff on his cigarette.

Then, there’s a knock.

The unexpected knock jolts them, prompting them to swiftly spring into action. Patrick, frantically searching for whatever clothing he can find, “Shit,” he mumbles, accidentally grabbing one of Art's shirts and hastily throwing it on without bothering to button it. Art, equally hurried, snatches a shirt from somewhere and pulls it over his head as he dashes towards the door, ready to open it.

They swing open the door to find her standing there, a small smile gracing her lips, her heels still clutched in her hand. Her copper hair is now loose, revealing the soft cascades of her curls that frame her face and fall effortlessly by her sides.

Art greets her with a cheerful "Hi" and Patrick chimes in with a casual "Hey" as they stand there, a bit breathless from their frantic last-minute cleaning frenzy.

She lets out a low laugh, amused by their flustered state. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she explains apologetically, her smile lingering on her lips. "Tashi will be here in a second."

Art offers a simple response, "Yeah, yeah, cool," followed by a nod from Patrick, their momentary pause abruptly broken by her chuckle.

She looks at them with a grin as she teases, "So, are you going to let me in, or—?"

They seem to regain their senses, stepping aside with a sheepish grin. "Sorry—" Art begins, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. "We, uh, yeah, come in." Patrick motions for her to come in, both boys seemingly a bit flustered by her sudden presence.

Finalist Fusion

And right on cue, another knock reverberates through the room, signaling Tashi's arrival. Tashi strolls in, having swapped out her previous attire for something more comfortable and laid-back.

Beers cracked, the three of them had already begun to indulge before Tashi walked in, leaving them slightly ahead in the inebriation department.

The four of them lounge comfortably on the floor of room 206, their bodies relaxed yet buzzing with exhilaration. Tashi rests her head on her new friend's lap, her body language carefree and at ease. Art leans back against one of the beds, his gaze lazily drifting around the room while Patrick sits somewhere in the middle, their legs slightly tangled up in their relaxed state. The floor is covered in an array of beer cans, the bottle of vodka glinting among them as the ashtray holds the remnants of extinguished cigarettes.

The gathering kicks off with a series of card games, each round filled with fierce competition, lighthearted banter, and uproarious laughter. As the night progresses, the cards are set aside as their focus shifts to the drinks and conversations take a more intimate turn. Secret confessions and whispered truths slowly begin to fill the air, replacing the joviality of the card games.

"Alright. Patrick was an early bloomer, okay?” Art admits with a hint of embarrassment, a pink flush creeping up his cheeks as they delve deeper into the conversation.

Tashi chimes in with a playful smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "You know, that is a pretty cute story," she says, her tone supportive and amused.

Patrick grins at the redhead, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he prompts, "Yeah, it's only fair that you share a story now," with a teasing grin.

She raises her eyebrow in mock protest, her playful nature shining through. "Me?" she echoes, pointing to herself before breaking into a lighthearted chuckle.

Tashi leaned in closer, her interest piqued as she chimed in with a curious tone, "Now I'm curious too."

She responds with a light chuckle, feigning distress at the sudden attention on her. "This is a lot of pressure, all eyes are on me," she exclaims with an exaggerated tone, her smirk revealing her playful intentions.

Art chimes in playfully, “You heard the embarrassing story of how Patrick taught me how to jerk off,” he grins. “You owe us one in return”

"C’mon, you’re not fooling anyone," Patrick says with a playful smirk, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. "I refuse to believe you’re as innocent as you seem. You have to have a story or two to share," he presses on, confident that she’s harbored some intimate secrets.

She exchanges a knowing look with Tashi, a bemused smile on her lips before taking a deep breath. The alcohol has done its work, dissolving many of the inhibitions that might otherwise have held her back. "Alright, fine," she says with a playful grin, crossing her legs and taking a generous sip from one of the open beer cans.

Tashi, Art, and Patrick all share a synchronized smirk, their curiosity piqued and their attention fully focused on her as she prepares to share her story.

"I got into quite a few scrapes when I was fourteen," she begins, her smile growing warmer as the memories flood back. "I was invited to a sleepover—a whole group of girls from my school."

Tashi chimes in with a nod and a raised eyebrow, commenting dryly, "Girls."

“Well, let’s just say me and this one girl wanted to—” She pauses, her cheeks tinted pink. “—Experiment.”

Patrick's chuckle breaks the brief silence, his intuition telling him where the story is headed. "I can see where this is going," he chimes in with a knowing grin.

"Well, once we had shut off the lights," she recalls, her tone filled with amusement, "there was a lot of kissing and not much breathing. Needless to say, we weren't as discreet as we thought, and we got quite the surprise when her mom walked in to find her daughter swapping spit with me."

Tashi is the first to comment, saying with a hint of playful bravado, "That's actually quite tame."

She shrugs and counters with a chuckle, leaning into Tashi as she challenges her, "Oh? Do you have a better story of your own you'd like to share?"

Tashi's peal giggles fill the air before she abruptly stands up, her infectious energy prompting her to announce, “No, but I sure do want to dance right now.” She swiftly extends her hands to help her up, her contagious spirits fueling her actions.

Art and Patrick follow her lead, rising to their feet to join in the moment. Their gaze remains focused on the girls, effortlessly following their lead as the music envelops the room and fills it with a playful energy.

♬ I'm everything you need

Put all you need in me

I don't need anything

I don't need anything ... ♬

Tashi’s at the center, shaking her head back and forth to the beat as the three of them dance around her, all of their moves slightly uncoordinated from the alcohol, but nobody seems to notice. They don’t need to notice, they're just having fun.

Tashi leans in towards Art, her body moving effortlessly to the rhythm of the beat as they sync their movements and share a laugh. Patrick closes the gap between him and the dancing redhead, captivated by the sweet scent that surrounds her. With a delicate touch, he takes her hand and twirls her around, drawing out another chuckle from her.

Without even realizing it, she finds herself trading places with Tashi, her body instinctively following the flow of the music, and ending up face-to-face with Art. They move in unison, their bodies swaying to the beat and their mouths forming the words to the song.

Tashi returns to the center, her hips moving with a mesmerizing allure that radiates a silent form of seduction.

With a swift turn, she breaks away from Art and moves towards Tashi, who welcomes her with open arms, clasping their hands together in time with the melody. Tashi takes the opportunity to spin her around, drawing her into a snug embrace, and something sparks within her, fueling her confidence at the touch.

Her hands find their way to Tashi's waist, resting gently on her warm skin. She closes the gap between them, planting a kiss on Tashi's neck, feeling the smoothness of her tan skin. Tashi's eyes close with a soft smile at the sensation, turning to face her and meet her gaze with an intensity that fills the air—the tension palpable.

She feels an overwhelming surge of heat spread across her entire body as their eyes meet, the intensity of Tashi's stare stirring a deep-rooted excitement within her. Suddenly—yet undeniably—Tashi leans in to kiss her; it is an unexpected yet inevitable moment that unfolds seamlessly.

Their lips meet again and again in a passionate dance of connection. Their hands explore each other's bodies, tracing along their waists, necks, hips, and backs, losing all sense of their surroundings.

Art and Patrick halt their dance, staring in disbelief at the intimate scene unraveling in front of them. Art's mouth hangs open, while Patrick lets out a light chuckle—a mix of surprise and intrigue. They stand as silent witnesses to the passionate display, both equally captivated and intrigued by the unexpected turn of events.

In a haze of alcohol-infused adrenaline, she finds herself leading Tashi toward the edge of the bed. The music's tempo picks up, fueling the chaotic energy that fills the air. Maybe it's the nonsensical nature of the moment that adds to the thrill.

Their actions become instinctual, driven by a mixture of desire and the carefree abandon that comes with drinking. Tashi's warm body becomes the canvas for her affection as her lips trace a path downward. Her voice is barely more than a hushed whisper, the desperate need to please her becomes her sole focus.

Tashi swiftly takes control, flipping their positions on their way to the mattress, her smirk directed at Art and Patrick, who remain captivated by the scene unfolding before them. Slowly and deliberately, she glides her hands under her dress, a teasing touch that only heightens the anticipation building between them.

Her eyes lock onto Tashi's as her face flushes with an intense heat, the pace of the moment not pausing to accommodate doubts or questions. She watches in a state of enthrallment as Tashi pulls off her panties with a quick flick, discarding them onto the ground with a careless gesture before disappearing beneath her dress.

Her fingers instinctively clutch at the sheets, her body tensing as a shaky breath escapes her lips.

Art and Patrick both become immobilized, their gazes fixated on the scene before them. Art stands frozen in place, his jaw still dropped as his mind struggles to process the unexpected turn of events, while Patrick quietly steps back to reclaim his seat on the chair, he settles in to enjoy the spectacle with a slightly amused expression. Hormones run high as they observe with a mix of astonishment and arousal.

A strangled moan escapes her lips, a desperate attempt to maintain her composure, as Tashi intensifies her efforts, her focus singular and intense.

Patrick's voice breaks through the heavy ambience, "Jesus, Tashi," he says, chuckling softly. "You're making it hard for the girl to breathe."

As she glances over, she catches sight of Patrick discreetly shifting in his seat, making adjustments in an attempt to soothe his arousal. Her eyes then flicker toward Art, who remains still, his expression filled with shock and disbelief. The evidence of his arousal is blatantly obvious, his tented boxers leaving no room for imagination.

Her body is hot with urgency as she reaches down, her hand tentatively resting atop Tashi's head. Between whimpers, she pleads, "Tash, please—" Her voice is filled with desperation, her need for release palpable in each syllable.

She finds herself on the cusp of her climax at an unexpectedly rapid pace. The combination of alcohol, circumstances, and built-up tension creates an explosive situation. She writhes against the mattress, her moans and pleas escaping in an unfiltered stream of desperate utterances.

Patrick shifts in his chair, trying to find some relief for his building desire. As he shifts uncomfortably, Art is unable to resist the impulse to press his palm against himself, the sight of the unfolding scene proving to be too much for him to resist any longer.

As the music quiets, she slowly comes back down to earth, her eyes fluttering open, still slightly disoriented.

Tashi emerges from beneath her dress, licking her lips with an air of nonchalance, as though she's just casually finished an ordinary task. Tashi reaches out to help her up, offering her hand with a casual smile that contradicts her earlier actions.

"Well, I'm going to bed," she declares, her tone relaxed and pleasant while her lips form a casual smile.

Tashi's declaration creates a slight stir in the room, leaving everyone slightly dazed, especially her.

She hastily composes herself, adjusting her dress and gathering her heels from the floor. "I'll go with you," she replies, her voice slightly flustered. "My room is on the same floor."

Art swiftly brings his hands to hide his crotch, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over him. Clearing his throat, Patrick speaks up, attempting to diffuse the lingering tension. "We’ll see each other at the finals, right?" The question hangs in the air, serving as both a farewell and an attempt to move past the unexpected scene that just unfolded.

“Of course.” Tashi's warm smile washes over the room as she leaves, the redhead trailing behind her with a hint of confusion. The door closes softly behind them, enclosing the scene within the room and leaving behind a silence that echoes with unspoken emotions and lingering heat.

Patrick's exhale fills the room, followed by his movement as he stands up. "I'll take the bathroom," he mentions, discarding his shirt onto the bed before disappearing into the sanctuary of the bathroom.

Art releases a deep breath, his footsteps carrying him to the bed, where he takes a seat. His eyes catch sight of the forgotten pair of lace panties on the floor. He looks towards the closed bathroom door as if subconsciously assessing the surroundings before gently gathering the panties in his hand, his fingers tracing the soft fabric.

Tashi’s girl?

“Wait, I don’t—I’m not wearing any underwear.” She trails behind Tashi, forcing herself to sober up as she comes to terms with what just happened. The emptiness of the corridor seems to amplify the surreal nature of the situation, her mind slowly clearing up as they make their way toward their respective rooms.

The silence between them stretches, leaving her mind racing as she struggles to make sense of Tashi's ambiguous demeanor. Tashi's attitude is adding to the mental turmoil—each second of silence only amplifying her confusion.

"Tashi, is everything okay?" she queries, genuine concern lacing her words as they approach her door.

Tashi turns to face her, her smile simple yet sweet as she leans in to brush a tender kiss against her lips. The taste of their previous encounter lingers on Tashi's lips.

"Goodnight." Tashi whispers as she steps into her room, leaving her alone in the hallway.

She lingers in the hallway, her mind a whirlwind of confusion as she attempts to make sense of Tashi's actions—racing to make sense of the enigma that is Tashi Duncan.

218 notes · View notes

surshica · 1 year

Text

RUMOR HAS IT..

: CL16

genre: fluff,angst? (if you squint),social media (smau) + written

warnings: translated french and korean,cussing

A/N: imma just add angst just in case i forget but if you squint maybe it’ll be there? also broken humor here i made this in the morning soo excuse any typos..not proofread btw!

synopsis: charles is in a new relationship with a runway model and fashion icon reader—all is well until a rumor comes around saying he is cheating on you with your bestie.. (fc: tingting_lai)

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc,yourbestie,lilymhe,pierregasly and 828,927 others

yourusername yacht trips with you are always wonderful <3

tagged charles_leclerc

yourbestie y’all are so cute it makes me wanna puke <3

alex_albon werent you there with them…

yourbestie yeah but that doesn’t mean i wasnt third wheeling half the time…

yourusername you literally invited your bf..

yourbestie he fell asleep 😒

arthur_leclerc …slanderous.

charles_leclerc everyday with you is a wonder day mon ange <3

liked by yourusername

pierregasly i think imma throw up

maxverstappen1 me too

landonorris me three

charles_leclerc go away.😐

f1wags beautiful as always!!

user5 check your dms bestie…

user3 drop the workout routine.

user2 okay BUT how does he bag someone like you. TELL ME THE SECRETS

user4 right the math isn’t mathing !

user1 he fr must of bribed her with like a castle in monaco or smthing

liked by yourusername

yourusername i wish 🫤 i kinda just got stuck babysitting him

charles_leclerc that’s not true and you know that…

view 67,223 comments

f1wags

liked by pierregasly,yourusername, and 30,743 others

f1wags was dmed a photo of what looks to be yourbestie and charles staring at eachother lovingly while yn is away! is this the case of playboy charles returning after years of being in a relationship with yn 👀😉🫣

user1 doesn’t yourbestie have a bf…

user6 yeah and it’s charles’ brother!!

user5 SOMETHING DOESNT FEEL RIGHT

user1 nah..she a brother hopper😭, yn and arthur deserve better

user8 idk where yall seeing the love like eye contact because i for-one do not see it!!

user9 RIGHT like it doesn’t make sense, it was yourbestie who introduced charles to yn so why would she want to get with him now when she had all those years ago to get with him? ppl making stuff up.

user8 it’s like you were reading my mind!

user10 it shouldn’t be our business too!

user3 PIERRE LIKED THIS?!:!he probably knows something we don’t…

user5 @pierregasly spill the beans mister; i know you know all the f1 gossip

user4 okay but why did yn like it too? does she know something too?

user2 yn liking this is definitely giving hot girl revenge arc!!

yourusername now wtf is this?

user13 SHE REPLIED. OMG SHE KNOWS.

user4 YN REVENGE ARC YESSS

user3 charles gonna regret he hurt this girls feelings

user9 we love a good villain arc!

user10 her replying is iconic

view 8,628 comments

yourbestie

liked by charles_leclerc,yourusername,lilymhe, arthur_leclerc,lewishamiliton and 682,167 others

yourbestie cheers to an 14 year friendship! you truly are the world to me, you are like the sister i’ve always wanted. i cherish every memory with you, i am greatful for everything you do for me! i can’t wait to see what the future leads us too~ 너무 사랑해요!! i love you so much

yourusername YOURE SO ADORABLE. :( i wish you weren’t busy so we could hang out today, 나는 당신을 더 사랑 !!! i love you more

yourbestie I KNOW IM SORRY something came up last minute but i promise to make it up to you in a girls day<3

yourusername yeah you better.

yourbestie anything for you!

yourusername @charles_leclerc take notes!

charles_leclerc you two are literally just flirting with eachother in the comments…what more do you want me to do:(

arthur_leclerc feel my pain

user3 aint no way she posted this while quiet literally fcking her bff’s bf behind her back..

user7 THIS IS SO CUTE IM SOBBING

user12 not until you find out she flirting with charles.

user9 can y’all take these negative ass comments somewhere else and just enjoy the fact ITS AN 14 YR FRIENDSHIP.

liked by yourbestie,arthur_leclerc,charles_leclerc

user13 i want what they have.

user4 brother hopper!!!😂

view 32,296 comments

yourusername just posted a story

f1wags

liked by arthur_leclerc,yourusername and 29,628 others

f1wags charles leclerc and your bestie spotted roaming around monaco ‼️ charles and your bestie were reported to go on a shopping spree and they looked very happy and giggly. reportedly they came out of cartier with two bags, both were holding a bag. maybe this a sign that these two are actually together 👀🔥

user1 no fcking way..

user3 ON THE FRIEND-VERSARY ??

user6 didn’t she tell yn she was busy..

user13 busy fcking charles..thats for sure

user5 this is more disgusting than i thought

user9 imma give them the benefit of the doubt maybe we weren’t supposed to see these photos!!

user10 we should fr respect their privacy, idc if he is cheating on her or not this is fr creepy.

user7 okay but coming out of Cartier with bags?! now i’m even more suspicious..

user11 i feel so bad for yn and arthur, the fact they liked this too. they need to find better bf and gf fr😭

yourusername 진심이야, 이거 진짜야? 🫠 seriously, is this real?

arthur_leclerc lets not get ahead of ourselves, you guys don’t know what’s going on..

user6 arthur you know what is going on between these two? and what they are doing together?

arthur_leclerc yeah, i know the plans but i don’t like that you guys are jumping to conclusions like this

yourusername 🤔

view 11,278 comments

a small pout formed onto your lips, ohone in hand screen frozen on the f1wag page. a part of you wanted to be in disbelief of what you saw. charles had told you that he something important to do and bestie name had said she was busy as well. the dots were slowly connecting as if it was a game of squares.

the thought of your boyfriend of almost two and a half years cheating on you with your best friend was not a pleasing thought, scowling at the idea of it. you were sitting down on the couch knees tucked into you, your head resting on them staring down at the phone screen. dozens of thoughts flooded your brain.

is he cheating on me? how long? does arthur know he is being cheated on? are they for sure cheating on me? they’re childhood friends i don’t think he is cheating on me! bestie name doesn’t even like charles like that! am i being played? the thoughts had flooded your brain you had completely forgotten to get ready. the vibration of your phone had broken you out of your dazed state. looking at the caller id it was him. it was charles, the words in bold “lover boy<3” had popped up with a cute picture of him. pressing the accept button you put it on speaker,

yn : hello?

lover boy<3 : mon ange! are you ready?

yn : ..uh yeah im almost ready!

lover boy<3 : okay i’ll be there to pick you up in 15 minutes~

his voice sounded deeper through the phone, a small smile formed onto your lips

yn : where did you go charlie? you’ve been out for a while..

lover boy<3 : have i? désolé chérie je devais faire quelque chose d'important, sorry honey i had to do something important why? are you worried about me? how sweet

charles had a small smirk formed on his lips, he just dropped off your bestie name at her house as he called you.

yn : who said that? no i was just curious, thats all.

yn’s smile slowly formed back to a pout. he didn’t tell her but rather just said something important, it didn’t make her feel any better.

yn : (sigh)

lover boy<3 : what’s wrong mon-

yn : 꿀 honey i’ll you back i need to go to the bathroom.

you quickly ended the call ruffling your hair taking in a deep inhale before getting up to go get ready quickly.

after rummaging through your closet you found a cute brown pleated skirt, to match with it you grabbed a white tank top and black and white cardigan with a black beret. looking at the mirror you smiled at the outfit heading to the bathroom to do some quick makeup. nothing too fancy

charles furrowed his brows at the erupted ending of the call. he didn’t think much of it shrugging it off. maybe you were just tired was a thought he had, not once did he think you found out he was with your bestie name.

you had just finished in time, charles texted you that he was outside. grabbing a small purse putting your wallet and phone in there pranced your way to the front putting on a pair of brown boots you had just bought. the walk to the car felt dreadful. the more you stepped closer more thoughts flew over your head, you were starting to convince yourself that maybe he was cheating on you with her.

you needed to shake the idea out of your head and you had to do it now, your hand was on the car door handle but you hesitated. charles noticed your hesitation, his brows furrowed some more as he leaned over to the other seat opening the door for you. “mon angé are you alright?” he watched you climb into the seat buckling up. one thing about charles, he is a person who is very expressive from the body language to the faces to the voice itself. yn looked at him placing a small peck on his cheek, “yeah im just a little tired that’s all”

charles stared you down he was trying to see if you were lying or not, “well tu sais tu peux toujours me dire n'importe quoi mon ange, si ça te dérange tellement dis le moi. you know you can always tell me anything my angel, if it bothers you so much tell me.” he tucked a piece of your hair behind your exposing your cheek that got what felt like a genuine kiss. the ride to wherever you were going was suffocating, both of you hated it. you cleared your thought brushing your hand against his free hand. “so mister charles where was this important place you went to today?” you wanted answers so you kept pushing for him to tell the truth.

charles quickly looked and you before looking back at the road, “if i tell you where i was and what i was doing it wouldn’t be a secret mon ange!” he was being very smiley, your lips formed an o shape. “why do you wanna know? are you trying to stalk me?” charles snickered his shoulders slowly bouncing up and down. you shook your head clearing your throat, “i don’t need to do that i already have someone for that..” your tone was bitterly.

you were staring out the window, you didn’t want to bare the sight of him. what if questions flew everywhere you got more upset with yourself you didn’t want them, charles noticed the shift in attitude; “mon ange seriously tell me what’s wrong,” concern laced his voice as he grabbed your hand placing mini kisses on them “, i don’t like seeing you upset. i can any questions you have just talk to me..”

a sigh escaped your lips looking at the pouty monegasque, “why were you with bestie name today? she said she was busy and you said you had an important thing to do today. are the two of you you kn—” your throat throbbed as each word managed to escape your throat, “what?” was all charles could reply with, he quickly parked the car before facing yn.

“rumor has it you were with bestie name today at a mall together..there of pictures of the two of you together charlie” his grip on your hands tightened as each word flowed out of your mouth. “chérie im not cheating on you with bestie name, i would never.” his heart broke seeing you think of all that, “okay but what was important that the two of you had to go to the mall together?” you just wanted to few reassurance.

“well..fuck i cant say it but its a surpise. you weren’t supposed to see those photos seriously, im not cheating on you when i went to the mall with her earlier. we went to go get some gifts for arthur you can even ask him mon amor!” he watched as her shoulders that were tensed up became relaxed. “oh. i’m sorry that i jumped to conclusions so fast it wa—”

charles chuckled letting go of her hand, “it’s okay mon ange. its those stupid fan accounts fault for making you think that.” he said getting out of the car to go open the door for you.

he had taken you to a nice small cafe, it wasn’t very popular but it was one of your favorites. the honey outside atmosphere was definitely to die for, the way green plants coated everywhere. the two of you sat at what was a four person table. pointing at the two empty seats charles just smiled, “two people will be joining us but they’re running a little late..”

“i didnt get to say this but you look beautiful my love” charles who grabbed your hand the table fiddling with it. “am i never beautiful to you?” you scoffed playfully—charles was taken aback from that comment “no no you’re always beautiful you just look extra beautiful!” charles justified or well he believed. “so you don’t think i’m extra beautiful whenever?” you pouted playfully. charles who was lost for words “no you are just so—you know what i mean mon amour!!” he sighed frustratedly causing you to giggle at his frustration.

“you’re so mean mon chérie~” he scrunched up his face to make it look like he was upset, “i’m not mean you are just easy to pick at!” you justified, “mean.” “no” “mean” “no” “charlie we sound like children..” “well you started it” he smirked making you roll your eyes at him. a comfortable silence fell between the two, you started to believe the other two were just not going to come at all.

“you have pretty eyes charlie” you blurted out without a care, a blush crept onto his face. he didn’t know if it was the compliment or if it was the fact you were staring at him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the world, maybe it was both. “you think so chérie?” he felt the grip of his hand that had been interlocked with yours tighten. “i don’t think so i know so” she had such loving stares it made charles weak to his knees. the stares she gives him make his heart flutter like a teenage boy seeing his school crush, he was always lost for words, he was little butter melting in your touch and stares.

the truth is, he was upset with himself finding out that you had these thoughts, these thoughts that he was cheating on you with your best friend. he wanted to get you a gift and he didn’t want to fuck it up; he believed bringing someone who you held dear to your heart and who knew you best would’ve been the right choice—he didn’t think once you would take it as him cheating on you with her bestie. it hurt him inside.

he had always wanted to show you how appreciative he was of you, he never had the time but now he does. you do so much for him and he wants to thank you for that, the states you give him; they were loving and warmly. the way you love him throughout his career taking time to visit his races it did something to him. from how you looked at him, touched him, smiled and laughed at his jokes, how you talk about him so much to family, how you make playlist about him, and even made sure he felt like he was the priority in everything—it did something for him. since the first day he met you he knew you were the one for him.

the way you made sure you’re there for him after the races and that you were okay made his heart skip beats. he had always felt like the knight in shining armor in previous relationships but with you he felt like the princess and you were the knight. he loved everything about that; it was something new to him something he never would’ve thought he would love. the small cartier box warmed in his pockets. you are always doing stuff for him he just wants to do one simple thing for you, is that too much for him to ask for? he knew he had to wait for arthur and bestie name to get here but he seriously couldn’t.

he thought any longer he waited he would spill the beans about everything, “chérie you know how much i love you right?” his lips parted as his hand slowly made his way to his pocket grabbing the small cartier box. “always know, you tell me like every hour even on the race track” you had teased a smile evident on your lips. “tu sais à quel point je t'aime mais sais-tu à quel point je t'aime ? Je te chéris tellement, j'aime tout ce que tu fais pour moi, j'aime la façon dont tu es toujours là pour moi, peu importe à quel point je fais mal sur la piste de course ou je suis contrarié. tu fais tellement pour moi, c'est vraiment comme un cadeau! you know how much i love you but do you know how much i love you? I cherish you so much, I love everything you do for me, I love how you are always there for me no matter how badly I do on the racetrack or how upset I am. you do so much for me, it's really like a gift.”

“tu es un cadeau que je dois protéger de tout ce qui arrive, je n'ai jamais été doué avec les mots mais chaque fois que tu es avec moi, je fond. tu as sur moi cet effet que je n'avais jamais ressenti auparavant dans les relations que j'avais. you are a gift that i have to protect from everything that happens, i have never been good with words but every time you are with me i melt. you have this effect on me that i have never felt before in the relationships i had.” charles titled his head to the side closing his eyes taking a deep breathe, “charlie what’s this about?” you had questioned sitting up properly instead of slouching. “just promise me something mon amour. promise me that you will be with me no matter how hard times are.” charles slowly pulled out the red velvet textured box from his pocket.

it was a small rectangular box with gold like lettering saying “cartier”. charles had placed it into your hands, “you do so much for me so the least i could do is buy a promise ring.” his voice turned soft, it was silky soft. the box on the other hand was in your grasp you were staring at it, a prominent smile rushed to your face, “charlie..” you had opened the box to see a singular gold band with jewels graves into it, “its a promise ring, a promise that i will love you endlessly.” charles held up his hand showing how he was already wearing his.

“its beautiful…charlie. i love it” you took the ring out of the box putting it on a one your right index finger, “and i promise to love you endlessly.” a blush creeped onto your cheeks, “thank you 아기. 사랑해요 baby. i love you” charles wasnt fluent i.n korean that’s for sure but he knows how to say he loves you, “i love you too mon ange.” he grabbed your hand with the ring on it placing a soft kiss, smiling to himself.

“CHARLES I TOLD YOU WAIT TILL WE GOT HERE.” you heard your bestie name’s voice boom near you, it startled you but it made you giggle. “well you two were taking too long and i got impatient…hurry up next time” he scoffed, your bestie name didn’t let that slide and she started to punch him lightly. “i hope you didn’t fuck it up. be glad i went with you to get the proper ring size!” your bestie grabbed his ear and the two started to fight.

it truly did feel like home with them, “i’m guessing he gave you the ring?” arthur said standing behind you with his hands in his pockets, “you knew?” yn looked at him your lips forming an a line. “of course i knew thats why i tried to defend them but it was no use at that point, people jump to conclusions too much” he shortened a chuckle. “yeah you’re right they do.”

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername,yourbestie,lewishamiliton, alex_albon,pierregasly,maxverstappen1 and 1,827,289 others

charles_leclerc its always rumor charles is cheating on his gf but never rumor has it that charles is still and forever madly in love with his girlfriend of two years.

user8 SEE YALL WERE WRONG ADMIT IT.

liked by charles_leclerc

user9 they’ll forever be happily in love yall are just haters!!

liked by charles_leclerc and yourbestie

user10 my cuties ㅠㅠ

user15 charles yn defender till i die.

user4 SO CUTE OMG

user1 is that a promise ring?? that’s so..i’m melting

yourusername 나는 내 아름다운 소년을 너무 사랑 !! <3 i love my beautiful boy so much

maxverstappen1 soo i dont get to yell at him for cheating on you?:(

yourusername LMAOO NO

charles_leclerc HUH WHATD I MISS MAXIE?

maxverstappen1 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

user13 get me someone who looks at me the way charles looks at yn.

liked by yourusername

pierregasly listen if charles was gonna fumble this one i would whole heartily become a homie hopper‼️

lewishamiliton agreed

charles_leclerc i know where the both of you live…

lilymhe stop i was ready to fight him after what i saw. the two of you are so cute !

charles_leclerc WHY IS EVERYONE TRYING TO FIGHT ME OR STEAL MY GF??

yourbestie okay where is my thank you? i helped you 😒

charles_leclerc do you not see these comments??

yourbestie i agree tho if you fumbled her i would’ve ended you🤷‍♀️

landonorris we need you on the grid more

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yourusername 기다리는 자에게 좋은 일이 생긴다<3 good things happen to those who wait<3

tagged charles_leclerc,arthur_leclerc,yourbestie

arthur_leclerc SEE THEY CAME OUT GOOD!

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charles_leclerc i thought i was your photographer?

yourusername you were busy fighting bestie name…

yourbestie so beautiful they grow up so fast ㅠㅠ

charles_leclerc the loml truly is beautiful ❤️

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@ surshica | rb & follow.

#- surshica ♥︎#IMAGINES 💌 ୧ ˚₊#🎐 ։ ONESHOTS · ᘞ #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #formula one #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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strong-with-the-sarcasm · 10 months

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Part 4 - Show me those issues

Dp x DC AU: Regent!Jazz & Vigilante!Jazz

Masterlist Part 3

"Show me those issues, how you've been misused. Yeah girl, I'm with you." -Train Wreck by Divide the Day.

Previously on The Regent:

It wasn’t as if the Pit Madness could just be gone, right?

Right? (Jason Todd was no fool, the Madness was still there.)

(Just… sedated. Like it didn’t need to boil to the surface anymore where it concerned his murderer.)

And for the first time in a very long while, Jason felt like himself again.

Until the agony began.

In a strange synchronized motion, both Jazz and Danny twisted their bodies towards the spirits who began screeching in the air between the two, ghost speak intertwined with screams of the damned, demanding the Regent and the Prince help the Robin.

“Broken Robin, bloody bird, help, help, help. Agony, pain, corruption”

Danny didn’t hesitate for a moment to transform into Phantom, calling over his shoulder for Jazz to bring her last few pure ecto vials along as he phased out of the apartment.

Jazz sighed heavily as she unlocked the safe in her bedroom, three vials remaining within. All the supply the Regent had left for the month, until Wulf was able to deliver more.

In any other circumstance, Jazz would have refused to hand over something so vital to her health- escpecially since she was burning through her ecto-levels acting as a vigilante and a Regent, with frequent travels to the Infinite Realms to work on paperwork and attend Council meetings.

However, Jazz felt the tugging in her chest, the instinct that she had to give up her ectoplasm for the agonized Robin. And she was not one to ignore such strong instincts.

Vials tucked safely into her bra, Jazz summoned her ecto-sword with only a thought and cut into the air, opening a portal in the between to take her to where the spirits demanded she go.

Jazz stepped through after a heavy sigh, bones feeling as if they were filled with cement.

No rest for the wicked after all.

Danny had already arrived ahead of her by the time Jazz stepped through her portal, fussing over what seemed to be the local unfriendly neighborhood vigilante, Red Hood, without his signature helmet and sweating green droplets profusely.

Oh.

So that’s how she’d been sensing him. He’s got ectoplasm in him and (by the rancid scent lingering in the air) corrupted at that.

“Did he go swimming in the Realms sewer?” Jazz asked, half-seriously as she willed the portal closed behind her and leaned her sword against a wall before pulling out the vials of pure ecto.

Danny struggled to laugh at her attempt at humor however, chirping and warbling at Red Hood’s prone form. Jazz offered the vials to her little brother, “Will these flush out the corrupted ecto?”

He didn’t answer her, poking at Hood’s chest plate, a warble of worry-horror filling the air.

“Danny.”

Jazz reached for her proto-core (tucked behind her heart) and chirped back with concern-worry-resignation.

Which worked to get Danny’s attention and he snapped his focus to her, “Jazz, give him the pure stuff! He’s starving!”

Oh again.

In Hood’s current state, could he swallow it on his own?

No, he couldn't. He'd likely choke on it or spit it back out on reflex. One of them would have to administer it by mouth.

Jazz sighed heavily before she uncapped the first vial and tipped its contents into her mouth. The familiar battery-acid taste was heavy on her tongue as she tried not to reflexively swallow it in her hunger.

(She tried to ignore how her heart raced.)

Jazz leaned over Red Hood's prone body, gently carded one hand into his hair, and set the other onto his throat before she pressed her lips onto his own.

To stay in my shadows you must aid my Knight, Regent.

Of course, My Lady.

I speak of the one born in my streets and unburied in my soil, hidden under Red.

The Red Hood?

The Once Bright Light of Gotham, unavenged. Care for him and he will care for you.

Frostbite had been quite shocked at their sudden arrival to the Far Frozen with Red Hood in tow. Jazz’s sword made quite an entrance after all, and Danny’s choice to drop hood’s sweating and shivering body into the Yeti’s arm was enough to get him into motion.

“Great One, Regent.” The Tribal Leader greeted them as he turned on his heel with his cargo firm in his grasp.

“Hey Frosty. Gotta doozy for ya.” Danny quipped with some warmth. Being in Realms again seemed to cheer him up ever since the move to Gotham, even if it wasn’t a common occurrence anymore.

(Jazz kept him far away from the Observants since taking the crown.)

(Nosey one-eyed bastards.)

“Hi Frostbite.” Jazz offered her own greeting as they followed behind the Yeti into the tribe proper.

It had been some time since Jazz had been into the Healing tents, but Danny had always enjoyed Frostbite’s company so he easily maneuvered his way around the equipment and tables towards the sectioned off beds in the back, which were Yeti sized and easily dwarved Hood’s own six foot brick house frame.

Frostbite hummed as he examined his new patient, having heard Danny explain their treatment thus far of Hood.

“Great One, you were correct in this regard. Red Hood was dying of Corruption due to ectoplasm.”

“But?” Jazz proded.

“His proto-core has accepted the pure ecto and has begun to stabilize.”

Both siblings breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news, especially to hear of a new Liminal that could survive Gotham- means Hood was a survivor in more than one regard.

“However, there is something more concerning…” The Yeti trailed off, a soft growl left in the wake of his words.

“Frosty?”

“Pardon me, Great One. It seems that Red Hood’s proto-core isn’t ice-based, it needs warmth.”

Danny, despite the seriousness of the situation, laughed at Jazz’s resulting blush at Frostbite's words.

(Oh I can keep him warm.)

Not to mention how she they had gotten the pure Ectoplasm down his throat to begin with

“Regent?”

Jazz sighed and answered the Yeti, “I can offer him my warmth until he can be returned.”

Frostbite pondered for a moment, “Ah, yes, the Regent has a Fire-based Proto-core. That should do well.”

(Danny had laughed himself sick when it had come to light that Jazz was his opposite in core too.)

(Fire and Ice)

(Hero and Villain)

With a passive glare at her now-chuckling little brother, Jazz approached Hood’s bed and carefully climbed in alongside him.

(She did her best to block out how her body wanted to curl into him, grasp onto him and never let go.)

Turned onto her side away from him, back pressed to his form, Jazz forced her body to relax and let her natural warmth seep out from her core into the vigilante at her back.

(Little did Jazz know that she would cuddle him in her sleep.)

(And that a pesky younger sibling would coo and take a few pictures to save as blackmail.)

Jason dreamed.

He dreamed of his mother, the good days when she would read to him softly and wrap him in her arms.

He dreamed of late night patrols with his dad, tucked under his cape when he wanted to feel safe.

He dreamed of a red haired woman who kissed him softly, held him gently, and… chased the cold away.

Why had he been so cold?

Why was his heart aching?

It wasn’t supposed to ache.

He wanted his dad.

He wanted his books.

He wanted his dream woman to kiss him again and tell him her name, just so he’d have something to hold onto when he woke up.

(If he woke up.)

A/N:

Alright, part four! With a glimpse into Jason and Jazz's natural bond as, well, maybe... soulmates? Who knows. I'm a sucker for that trope.

If you want a spoiler for what's happening to Jason, check out the original prompt!

And make sure to subscribe to the master list when it's created.

#dpxdc #jazz fenton #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dc x dp crossover #jason todd #danny fenton #Regent!Jazz Au #Regent!Jazz #anger management ship #hardcover ship #jazz x jason

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lazyjellyfish300 · 6 months

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DD pt 3 part 2 of 2

Fem reader x Miguel O'Hara who is your Uber driver

This art was commissioned to accompany this chapter by the incredibly talented @/ejpuki on Instagram. Please go support the original artist!

Pt 1 , Pt 2 , Pt 3 1 , Part 4 , Part 5

Synopsis- fem reader drinks too much and the bartender calls a random Uber for her which happens to be Miguel O'Hara himself. Her friends suck and ditch her. There's a lot of tension on the ride home...

TW: MINORS DNI, some blood, little.violence, suggestive content ,age gap (reader 26, Miguel 34), this one is a sad one, inspired by the original comic

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Over the next few days you two text back and forth and talk on the phone. You feel so happy and excited about this budding romance between you two. It's been so long since you felt safe enough to let yourself catch feelings for a guy. You flood his phone while he's at work. Miguel isn't used to someone texting him so often but it's kind of cute how you update him on every little thing that's happening in your day and he has to try not to burst out laughing in the break room at some of the Instagram reels you send him.

Your text convo:

Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️) : Why tf would you send me a video of a banana cat with that sad music 😂😐🤨 and who is that white guy that's always randomly showing up at the end of videos with that whistle tune playing?

You(amor ❤️): it's a meme babe you don't get it😂😂😂 it's supposed to be random, that's what makes it funny af. And that's Josh Hutcherson. You've never seen or read Hunger Games?!

Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): no, I haven't. Your sense of humor is a little broken I'm afraid. 🤨 You kids and your memes.

You(amor ❤️): my sense of humor is just fine 😂LMAO you're only like 8 years older than me. 😂 we're watching it immediately! And we're going to Barnes and Noble to get you a copy. 😇

Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): hmmm fine.😌 When would you like to, cutie? ❤️

You(amor ❤️): This weekend please? ❤️❤️❤️

Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): I'm so sorry, I'll have Gabi with me. But she'll be at her mom's next weekend. Can we do it then? ❤️

You(amor ❤️): that's okay I totally understand! ❤️ Yes please! I'm so excited ❤️ I miss you...

Miguel(pookie 🐻❤️): perfect. I miss you more. ❤️

---------

Next Friday

Miguel drives to work, his heart like a dead weight in his chest and his mind racing with different scenarios on how he's going to tell his boss he's had enough. This isn't what he signed up for. The project he was overseeing at work was trying to create these "special abilities"in humans. One of the test subjects passed away this week and he'd be lying to himself if he said it wasn't messing with his head. He had nightmares about her. She couldn't have been older than 19. Her blue eyes frantic as she realized she might not make it off the lab table alive. Her horrified screams ringing in his eardrums. Miguel's fist clamped tighter around the steering wheel as he choked back a sob. He felt this was his burden to shoulder alone. He knew he was falling for you steadily now, and he didn't want you to go crazy worrying about him. He knows you love to try and fix people, a lot of times to your detriment and couldn't stand to see you in that position or live with the fact that he put you there.

He really didn't care for his boss, Tyler Stone either. Tyler Stone was the 6'3, blonde haired, blue eyed, egotistical vice president over Research and Development at Alchemax. He and the other higher ups just spent all day figuratively (and possibly literally) sucking each other off in boardroom meetings for the hard work everyone underneath them was doing. He was a businessman, not a scientist, and it became clear to Miguel that profit came first for him over scientific discovery and advancement, and his cronies shared the same philosophy.

Miguel faced the man now, sitting in his office. Tyler sighed and walked over to his decanter set that sat in the corner of his office on top of a polished mahogany drink cabinet.

"Care for some bourbon?" He asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment.

"It pains me to hear that you're wanting to leave, it really does." Tyler says as he pours the bourbon in two short, square glasses.

"I chose you because I believed you could handle it. Your track record doesn't lie, Miguel. You were top of your class at Columbia University. I've seen your research and read your thesis that you did with them. You know Dain was actually the one that submitted your nomination to me when I was looking for someone to promote?" Tyler hands the glass of bourbon to Miguel who murmurs a low thank you.

"My point is, if you leave, I got no one to replace you, and that makes my job even more tough." Tyler takes a sip of his bourbon and makes a small face. "I'm going to bat for your little science project every time I meet with the board of directors. I'll be honest with you, they're ready to trim the fat." Tyler's blue eyes bore into Miguel's over the rim of his glass. "But I tell them that this process, is worth the wait. We won't have these superhuman abilities lined up for purchase on shelves tomorrow. But give or take a few years we will be the first to break 100 bil in quarterly revenue when we roll this out to the public. My point is, I'm willing to do whatever I gotta do to keep this project afloat because I've ran the numbers, I've seen what guys like you and Dain can do. It's a worthwhile investment."

Miguel takes a sip of his bourbon and winces. Fuck it, he downs the rest of the whiskey, his throat on fire. He holds out his empty glass to Tyler who takes it and goes to refill it, his back turned to Miguel.

"I'm sorry...." Miguel finally says. "I've made up my mind. I'm flattered that you think I'm the right person for this job, but I'm telling you, I don't want to be the guy who all of this is riding on anymore. I'm not gonna gamble if people's lives are the chips."

Tyler's face went dark and he started tapping the side of his glass, his back still turned to Miguel.

Since when did this fucker grow a conscience? He knows he wouldn't be doing this job if he wasn't getting paid for it either right? He'd given Miguel and his team resources that any group of scientists would give their left kidney for. It was thanks to him in those board meetings that those ungrateful bastards even still had a job. And now their hang up is human test subjects?

Tyler handed Miguel back another glass and said nothing as he watched Miguel down it. Miguel winced again as he finished his liquor, throat still on fire and cheeks starting to flush.

Tyler turned back around, looking at the now setting sun on the horizon. "I'm afraid I can't let you go." He said calmly.

Miguel raised an eyebrow, then suddenly his face turned white when Tyler held up an empty vial of Rapture, his back still turned to him. Tyler spoke again, his back still facing Miguel. "Alchemax is the only distributor of Rapture. Leave if you want, but I'm going to have to be forced to let the board know and involve law enforcement when they realize one of their silly little scientists couldn't keep his hands out of the cookie jar and became a needy little addict." He took a long sip.

"You're not gonna make me look like a weak little bitch in front of the whole board. I don't lose, Miguel. You're not gonna fuck this up for me."

Enraged, Miguel shot up, shattering the shot glass in his hand, blood gushing out of his fingers. "You fucking piece of shit!"

Tyler remained calm. "You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead. I used your sign in to get this vial from the lab. The access history and empty vial next to my dead body will just deepen the hole you dug yourself. Either do as I say, or throw away your freedom right now and kill me before you even had a chance to see your little girl go to Prom."

Miguel paused. This fucker was playing chess with him. Tyler took another sip. "It'd be a damn shame if you did. Especially about that new slutty girlfriend of yours. Did you even get to find out what her pussy feels like?"

That was it. Miguel threw his chair against the wall, the wooden legs splintering into the cabinet Tyler was leaning up against, a neutral expression on his prick face as he sipped more bourbon.

Miguel turned and left the office, and slammed the door so hard the receptionist let out a small squeak of terror as Miguel tore down the hallway, rage seething out of his ears.

"Aaron?" Tyler asked in his cold expressionless voice.

A short, balding man in his mid-thirties with green eyes and thick black rimmed glasses stepped out from behind a two way mirror in the corner of Tyler's office.

"You rewrote the code in Machine A-2099 in sector 8, right?"

"Yes boss."

--------

You hummed happily as you lit a few of your favorite vanilla almond scented candles on your coffee table. You went all out with a smorgasbord of treats for your movie date night with Miguel including popcorn, gummy worms, Milk Duds, Pretzels, M&Ms, beef jerky, and root beer floats. As soon as you got off work, you cleaned the whole apartment top to bottom and put fresh sheets on the bed. You checked your phone anxiously.

Text convo:

Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️): Good morning beautiful ❤️ how'd you sleep? Have a great day, I'll be at your apartment at 8 pm.

You(amor ❤️): you just made my whole morning!🥰🥰 Good morning handsome! I slept great! I'm so looking forward to movie night tonight. I have a bunch of treats and goodies for us to snack on too. 😇

Miguel (pookie 🐻❤️): that sounds wonderful, baby. ❤️ Driving to work now, I'll text you when I get there but I'm not going to be able to talk much today. I have a meeting with the boss and a bunch of other stuff related to the project I'm overseeing. Just wanted to let you know not to worry ❤️ I'll call you at 6!

6 pm came and went and you felt sick to your stomach.

You(amor ❤️): Babe? Everything okay, I tried you twice.

Nothing.

You (amor ❤️): Miguel? It's 9 pm. Are you okay? Please just call or text me to let me know everything's okay...

It was now 10 pm. He wasn't coming. Your stomach lay in knots. You had called him 28 times with no answer.

What's happening? Is he cheating on me? Did he get into an accident? Is he dead on the side of the road while I'm hundreds of miles away and can't do anything?

He gets busy at work but he always, always checks in with you. You can't help but fight back tears at his untouched root beer float sitting next to yours. You knew going into this that you had to jump, knowing you were gonna fall and he might not be there to catch you. Well, here you were with a small dagger in your heart on what was supposed to be your second date. You couldn't help but let yourself get in your head. His rejection of you this time confirmed everything you feared about yourself. You laid down on the couch and sobbed quietly to sleep.

------

That same night at Alchemax

Miguel's painful screams reverberated off the tiled floor of the genetics lab at Alchemax. The tall powerful man he was, was writhing on the floor in agony. It was as though his blood had turned to acid. His whole body felt on fire. Please God, if I'm supposed to die right now just take me already. He hadn't felt pain this intense ever before in his life. His eyes turned bloodshot, foaming at the mouth as his saliva bubbled and splurted out in incoherent gasps.

Aside from his screams, the machine responsible for his pain let out a low beep. Miguel knew that a copy of his original DNA sample was logged into one of the gene altering machines that he set up when he was first put in charge of Tyler's superhuman project. He knew that as long as he had a drop of Rapture in him, he'd remain an addict defenseless against his new dependency Tyler forced on him. He had tried in vain to rewrite his current biology back to the original, but Tyler was one step ahead. Tyler knew nothing about science or how DNA worked, but it didn't take much to convince Miguel's bitter, jealous subordinate, Aaron Delgado to sabotage the machine. Very little was known about what type of effect that might have on a human, so there was a good chance he'd just die. Just what they wanted. Aaron and Tyler's smug faces entered the lab, watching Miguel suffer and taunting him, even pouring up another round of bourbon while they waited for the show to end. Yep, he'd be dead in just a few more minutes. They had an alibi and a cover up ready to go. They'd post his job opening by Monday and then they could pretend like this never happened. Miguel suddenly became still, his chest seeming to freeze in place, no longer rising and falling with his normal breathes.

Gabriella, my little girl...I'm so sorry....I love you more than anything

His eyes became glassy with tears. He was on his way to finding happiness with you too, only to have the rug pulled out from under him, now he was going to die here, alone. And those who killed him would never know justice behind their corporate wall of privilege and greed that would surely protect them. He uttered your name, his lips barely moving before his eyes fell closed and saw only black..

----

Pt 4 coming soon! Thanks for the support 🖤

@mysteris-things

#miguel o'hara #miguel x reader #miguel atsv #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara #across the spiderverse #fanfic #Spotify

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k1ngk1t · 2 months

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Some silly sketches of my favorite BSD characters. I'm trying to get out of my OCD around art because it really is debilitating.

Also, if enough people see this, I want y'all to vote on a sketch and I'll make a complete drawing of whatever sketch I made. Even if it's one of the dumb ones.

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lennadanvers · 3 months

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Hi! I love everything youve written with my entire fucking heart like you dont understand there hasnt been a single thing of yours that I havent liked! Anyways, I was wondering if you could write some more Simon Riley? You write him so well it isnt even funny. If you cant, no worries! I think youre amazing!!!!

Hi! Thanks a lot for the praise, it means a lot (you don't even know how much, I'm pretty new to fanfic writing and posting stuff is still kinda terrifying, but when people say things like this it warms my heart). Anyway, I had this sitting in my drafts for way too long, and found the energy to finish it today. Sorry for the delay, I hope you still enjoy it.

Thanks for your patience <3

Every coin has two faces

Ghost doesn’t like to think about himself.

Maybe the mask is an effort to conceal his own face when he walks past a mirror, rather than to guard his identity. Maybe it has a double purpose. Maybe it’s just one: to hide. Whatever the case, Simon Riley avoided thinking about himself. Of how he looked. How he sounded. Or moved-

Until he had met you.

Fresh blood. As in a new recruit and as in that you were bleeding the first time he saw you. Despite the bloody nose, there was something there. A burn in your eyes. The sharp smile you threw to the recruit laying at your feet. To the one responsible for your pain. Sparring wasn’t supposed to be this dirty, but they had crossed the line. And you had slaughtered it in response. A fucking demon; you had become violence on the flesh and unleashed something nasty upon them.

Once you had won the fight -not fair and square, but they had asked for it-, you stopped. Put the leash on whatever it was that took over you, and stepped back, hand to your bloody face.

Simon smelled something rotten.

For the untrained nose, it wasn’t noticeable. Most people would have looked at you and seen a surprisingly skilled recruit, that’s it. But he saw himself. Broken recognizes broken, he supposes. The anger ready to jump out. The control; years of training that someone as young as you would only have if they started before even learning to talk.

That’s what it was, wasn’t it? You were another survivor. Another messed up past. Another broken child who grew into a desperate, cold monster.

Ghost saw himself in you.

It went downhill from there. Simon Riley knew it was a bad idea, he was a bad idea. But you were so good. Scary good. Too damn close to perfect for him to be at ease. He kept an eye on you. From afar. Very, very far. From a second-floor window. From his elevated position as a sniper in the field. From a couple dozens of yards in the training area. Through Soap’s gossip.

Simon Riley had never been so close to liking himself. You were fast, methodic, smart and precise. You were strong, witty, sarcastic and poisonous. He was interested, involved, captivated and weirdly vulnerable.

It haunted Ghost how much of himself he saw in you. It just made the few contrasts (sparkly smile, short body, soft curves) feel sweeter. Just made him want to be closer. If you were so… So beautiful, so elegant, deadly, appealing, valuable… Maybe he was, too. Maybe it happened to you too. Maybe, when you looked at him, you saw yourself. Maybe you understood.

That’s why the way you looked at him it chipped his heart a little.

He had never considered himself particularly handsome. Just a man. But this man had a good body -strong, healthy, taller than most. He was good at his job- effective, respected, he had earned his position. He knew not to get into other people’s business, and he had a decent sense of humor. Some women had even complimented his accent- apparently his voice was quite attractive. The few that had seen his face hadn’t complained, either.

Obviously, he didn’t expect everyone to be interested in him. Simon knew the mask weirded some people out. But it wasn’t the mask, was it?

It was him.

You looked at him like he was the president of the welcoming committee of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. Like you’d shoot him if he took a step too close (he never stood within less than six meters from your personal space, mind you). Whenever he entered the room, you stabbed him with your side eye. If Ghost had to walk past you in the hallway, you’d stick to the wall like a fucking tree frog, for God’s sake. And he hadn’t even talked to you directly.

Simon hadn’t been able to wrap his head around it.

Until now, that is. After you had been chosen to go with the team to a mission. One that was supposed to be easy. In and out. No more than a couple hours. No finding a place to stay the night. No ending up divided in a couple different locations. And definitely no spending the night hiding with you.

Alone.

There had been bullets flying everywhere. He was calm, fast. You knew better than to give him dirty looks when he dragged you to safety. But you were looking at him now. And he was terrified.

All this time, the scarred, broken kid inside him had recognized the scared, lost kid inside you. Ghost had seen himself in you.

But you had seen someone else in him.

His broad figure and trained muscles weren’t attractive, were they? They were menacing. His stealth, aim and training weren’t worthy of admiration, but fear. The hard-earned respect, the power, was nothing but a weapon, a strategic position from which to attack. Your dirty looks were the hate you had spent years nursing. God, the way you pressed against the wall in the hallways- your most basic instincts keeping you away from the predator.

Simon is a threat to you.

And you’re looking at him as if he was his father.

Ghost stares back at you from across the abandoned building you’re going to have to spend the whole night in. He’s going to be sick- you look sick. Simon knows how you feel. Being trapped in a house with a man who can beat you into a bloody pulp. Someone bigger, stronger and more powerful. Big body, hard knuckles and labored breath. Next to him, you’re so small. You’re weaker, have less experience and power over him. And you can’t leave: it would be worse. You’re trapped with him.

Alone.

It kills him, the way you step away from his body as soon as you can. How you don’t look him in the eyes, following his hands instead. He feels disgusting.

Simon takes a deep breath and forces his voice to sound calm- he’s not- and quiet.

“You alright? No wounds?”

He knows both answers: no and no. But he has to ask. Has to let you know he cares. He’s on your side. Here to take care of you. Not to hurt.

You shake your head.

“Good. Gonna stay ‘ere tonight. The others can’t be far. Contact Price to let ‘im know our position.”

A nod. He’s used to giving orders, but right now his voice sounded harsher than he would have liked to hear. Ghost winces.

“Thank you.”

It’s the surprise in your eyes that ignites his hope. He’s not an asshole. Maybe.

You don’t trust him, either way. After you eat- pressed against the wall, knees between you and him-, it’s time to prepare for the night. Simon knows how he’d feel if he was in your place. He’s more than sure you’re not happy sleeping in the same room as the big, creepy guy with military equipment who reminds you of a nightmare.

He takes off the gloves first. Someone told him he has nice hands, once. They’re brutal. But human. The mask is next. Usually- always- it stays on during missions, even if they last days. He can make an exception. His naked hand undresses the chin, the mouth, the nose- the scars. Simon bats his short eyelashes, as if the dim light of the sun setting was bothering him- he wants to show you he’s weak. He can be.

You stare at him from the other side of the room, still, a deer in headlights. Simon tucks the mask and his gloves into one of his pockets. Decides he’s keeping the bulletproof vest. But he can spare his gun. And the sniper rifle. And his knives- except for the one hidden inside his pants: he’s not undressing in front of your terrified eyes, and at least he has something to defend himself with, in case the enemy finds you. Everything else goes into a pile on the floor. He then steals a glance at you.

You’re looking at him unsure. He’s not only your superior, but a ruthless soldier. This is not the protocol. In fact, he’s being quite stupid by choosing to spend the night disarmed.

Simon shrugs. He’s not going to explain himself to you.

“’s uncomfortable to sleep with all that metal. ‘m a fucking bell.”

You give him another nod. It’s weird, how much you talk around other people. You’re usually loud, even your laugh. You laugh with other people. He’s seen you laugh at Soap’s jokes. He’s heard you teasing him about his accent.

Or, rather than that, the weird thing is how quiet you are next to him.

Ghost likes his recruits obedient and focused. Makes it easier to give orders if people have a cool head and are ready to follow. But you’re not. You’re ready to fight, flight or freeze, and you don’t trust him. You don’t trust he’ll keep you alive and well. Because you’re too busy making sure he can’t hurt you.

Except he can. He could. If he wanted. He doesn’t. For the life of him, he does not want to hurt you. Simon himself is terrified of the possibility.

Ghost knows it’s an absurd idea. He has no reason to. He is your superior, and you’re together in this. You’re supposed to watch each other’s backs. To be a team.

But right now, all you are is terrified.

And he doesn’t know how to make it stop. So he resorts to giving you choices.

“Wan’ the first watch?”

Say no, and he’ll make sure not even a cockroach crosses that door. You’ll be safer than in base.

You nod.

He bares his neck. Ghost has seen your teeth, and they’re more than enough to cause serious damage. Go on, he’s telling you, make sure I can’t fight back. Simon doesn’t say it, of course. Instead, he lays on the cold floor, away from the door and from you. Look, he’s out of the way. You can run, if you want to. You can wait until he’s asleep, grab his weapons and disappear. You can hide somewhere else until the sun rises. He just knows you’re good at hiding. He turns his back to you. There, it is yours to stab. If he ever gave you any reason to feel like this about him, by all means, go on. End his misery. But, most importantly, end yours. Take your pick, he left you an arsenal. He’s dying a death by his own weapons either way.

The shadow your body casts on the wall stays still a long time. It’s been well after an hour since he slowed his breathing down when you finally move into a comfortable position. The ruffling of your clothes and the little sigh you let out make him feel a little less cold. A little less like a monster.

When the sun wakes him up the next morning, you’re still sleeping. Ghost should reprimand you severely; should have woken him up, should have made sure someone was watching the door. But he can’t find it in him to do it, to betray this shadow of trust.

So Simon takes a mental picture of your relaxed face- he’s never seen it so close, it’s a sight worth risking his life for- and turns around. He pretends to sleep until you wake up and start making noise.

I hope you liked it, thanks again for the ask <3

If you (or anyone) have an idea/request/suggestion, I'll be happy to read them. It may take some time, but I promise I'll do my best. Also, I'm sorry if I made any mistakes, English is not my first language and today my brain was particularly confused. Just let me know and I'll fix it.

Masterlist here

#fanfiction #task force 141 #simon ghost riley #cod #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #lennadanvers #len answers #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x female reader

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call-sign-shark · 1 year

Text

✨ Forget Me Not || Ch. 1✨

Chapter 2 || Chapter 3

Summary: Y/N spends her summer working at her Aunt’s flower shop. There, she meets Jake Seresin for the first time, naval pilot and single dad. — Or how a flower girl will try to heal a broken heart beyond repair. (Nickname: Poppy)

Tags: Cuteness overload, tooth-rotting fluff, Dad!Jake, Reader is younger than Jake and no proof reading

Words: 1.8k

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Psss, don’t forget to reblog 💚

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The pale blue petals of myosotis dance at the wind’s discretion. A peaceful smile stretches your delicate lips, lighting up your entire face with joy. You bury your nose in the beautiful bouquet of blue flowers and close your eyes. In fact, myosotis does not have a specific fragrance but the simple smell of fresh soil and leaves is enough to relieve you from the stress of the day.

Tonight, your Aunt had to leave earlier so she asked you to close the shop for her, which you agreed to do without the slightest protest. It has been only two weeks since you arrived in town, but you learned the job very quickly, for you found it captivating. The way people would use flowers to replace words was fascinating. You quickly started to guess what your clients wanted to express when buying a flower bouquet. Roses for romance, sunflowers for happiness, wreaths for the passing of a loved one… You had a gift for helping people trade words for flowers, which made your aunt very proud.

You take a quick glance through the shop’s windows to look at the vintage clock on the wall: it is time to clean the workshop. A faint chuckle escapes from your lips, for you had just realized you were daydreaming for five solid minutes. You had just grabbed a second flowerpot when something, or rather someone, plowed into you with the power of a cannonball. Utterly confused and out of balance, you fall. As your butt painfully collapses against the concrete, one of the flowerpots and its myosotis shatters on the ground while the other spills water and soil all over your sweater.

“Aouch…” Your lips move but no sound comes out.

“I’m sorry Ma’m,” says an utterly sorry little voice, but you do not see its owner, your eyes are too busy looking at the mess you just made.

“I’m- I’m really sorry, are you okay?” She repeats. You finally raise your gaze to discover the source of such a mess and your eyes are welcomed by the sight of a young blonde girl. The kid is probably eight years old and wears a pair of shorts with a football jersey. Her adorable green eyes shift from the broken flower pot to your face before falling to the ground: she does not dare look at you.

“Oh my God Amber! Look what you did!” Cries out an older second voice. A man appears in front of you before you have the time to properly understand what just happened. He is a tall blonde man, clean-shaven, with a hell of a sharp jaw and dazzling green eyes. He was a pilot — you noticed the flight jacket he was carrying under his right arm. You blink several times, coming back to your senses at the sight of Mister handsome, “I am so sorry, my daughter was looking behind while she was running. Let me help you. Are you okay?”

“Hm, yes? I guess?” You stutter, still a bit bewildered by the violence of the impact. The man steps towards you and wraps one of his muscular arms around your waist to help you get up. He lifts your body as if it is a feather, and soon you are back on your feet. A long exhale escapes from your mouth and you shake your head with a little smile on your face.

“What a fall! Your daughter is so strong I thought I would land on Mars before Elon Musk would.” You joke, chuckling. The pilot’s face, first dressed with a panicked expression, relaxes at your adorable laugh. He cracks a smile, his eyes squinting when he does so. For a few seconds, he is completely hypnotized by your splendid grin and your lovely laughter. Girls with a sense of humor never fail to attract him. Then, he shakes his head and looks at his daughter.

“I told you to be careful. Look at the mess you did. Now, we’re going to help that charming lady alright?” He says, one brow raised.

“Yes, dad…” The little girl makes a sorry pout, already leaning over to grab one big piece of broken ceramic.

“No, don’t worry. I can take care of that myself,” You gently put your warm hand on one of Amber’s shoulders to prevent her from touching the sharp shard, “I’m going to clean, I don’t want you to cut your finger with that. If you want to help me maybe you could go inside the shop and grab some cherry lollipops I hide behind the counter. Can you do that for me, sweety?”

The little girl’s face lightens up at the word ‘lollipop’, her smile cheerful and displaying her pearly white teeth, but she first looks at her dad to ask for his authorization. The pilot snorts, amused, and nods. It was all it took for the child to run inside the shop.

“Thank you. This is really nice, I am not sure she deserves it after what she did.” He says, helping you to pick up the ceramic shards.

“That’s okay, I was worst when I was her age. She straight up apologized, that’s all matters. Don’t be too harsh with her.” You simply say with a soft tone.

“This is very nice, thank you again,” While helping you, Jake cannot help but take discreet looks at you. Your charming trait, your gorgeous smile, and your graceful movements… You were a treat for his eyes. It has been since his awful divorce that he did not look at a woman the way he looks at you now, and to be honest, it kind of unsettles him. Jake shakes his head and throws the sharp bits in the trash bin that was next to the retail table full of flowers, “I’m feeling sorry for the blue flowers you were holding, they were beautiful.”

“The myosotis? That’s their name. But I prefer to call them Forget-me-not.” You lean against an empty stand, looking at the good-looking pilot with an everlasting captivating smile that made his cold heart gently tingle.

“Forget-me-not?” He asks, slightly surprised.

“That’s another way to call them, and I think it’s really poetic.” Your voice is a sweet and soothing melody to Jake’s ear. He chuckles again at such a weird name.

“And why do people call them Forget-me-not?” He tilts his head to the side, his smile widening so much that he showcases his perfect teeth. You wink as if you are about to tell him a very significant secret.

“A legend says that a knight died trying to get these flowers for the woman of his life. And in his last dying breath, he told her “forget me not”, that’s why it became their name.” You tell him, your gaze shifting to the magnificent sunset behind the pilot. Yellow and orange lights enhancing your beauty, Jake is too busy observing your seductive lips to pay attention to the landscape. You are far more breathtaking than any other sight.

“This is such a beautiful story, I didn’t know that. Oh, wait —” He notices your sweater is full of soil and entirely soaked with muddy water. Without thinking further, Jake takes his own sweater off, his shirt lifting above his shredded abs as he does so. You blush and look away, for you are shy by nature. “Here,” He says, giving you his warm sweater.

“Oh no, that’s-”

“Please, take it. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you, Mister.”

“Jake. Call me Jake.”

“Thank you, Jake, you can call me Y/N. But my friends call me Poppy.” You say, gently tightening the warm sweater in your hands. Amber comes back from inside the shop with three lollipops. She buries two of them in her pockets and offers you one with a genuine smile.

“Here! Your lollipop, Ma’m!”

“Oh thank you, sweety, is the third one for your dad?” You asked, taking the candy. You unwrap it and put the red sugar ball in your mouth. Pushing the candy with your tongue, you place it inside your cheek to still be able to talk.

“Nope, that’s for Shark! She likes lollipops so so much!” She answers, proud.

“Well, thanks Amber.” Jake retorted, one brow raised.

You cannot help but laugh at her adorable facial expressions. Now that you can compare the two blonde heads in front of you, you notice how much she looks like her dad… You open your mouth to say something but the loud ringing of the shop’s phone snatches you from your attempt.

"Oh sorry I should pick up the phone!" You say, with a bit of reluctance. You have completely forgotten to call the shop's supplier, it is probably him calling you. Even though you would have loved to stay there talking with the Jake and Amber, you could not miss the phonecall otherwise your aunt would have to wait one full month to order new flowers and seeds.

"Yeah, no problem. Once again sorry for the mess Poppy, and thank you for being so sweet with my daughter. She's nice, isn't she?" He says, looking at his little girl who had just took his father's hand in her while the other is firmily holding her cherry lollipop. Both of them seem like two partners in crime.

"Yuuup, Miss Poppy is super nice! Thanks for the candies!" She giggle, bubbly. She is truly adorable, and finding kids cute is not such a common thing for you. You nod and go back to the shop with a heavy heart. After all, the man was particularly handsome... You shake your head. What are you thinking? He is a father, he is older and probably married anyway. You pick up the phone.

"Hello Mr. Hawk."

The whole conversation has been relatively short. Less than ten minutes. As soon as Mr. Hawk hangs up, you scamper to the shopwindow to see if Jake and Amber are still there... But of course they are not. Why would they wait? Disappointed but not surprised, you let out a long sigh. Oh well! At least you had a pleasant and entertaining encounter. You go outside to put the last flowerpots inside the shop. Moving one of them, you noticed a white piece of paper someone had slipped under. Curious, you take a closer look to it.

A phone number is written on the piece of paper, right besides the myosotis the mysterious messenger had placed on it. And just below the phone number three words are in capital letters.

Forget Me Not.

#hangman x reader #hangman imagine #top gun maverick #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun fanfic #top gun fic #jake seresin imagine #top gun x you #jake seresin fluff #hangman seresin #hangman fluff #top gun maverick x reader #tgm imagine #tgm fic #jake hangman fluff #jake seresin x y/n #hangman fanfiction #Forget Me Not TGM

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 4 months

Text

Midnight Prayer | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge / Tiny bit of Enver Gortash x Dark Urge

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3 Word Count: 4,016

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 after Gortash's coronation in Act 3. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge after the implications of a past relationship between the Dark Urge and Enver Gortash are made known. Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature

Author Note: Those new lines in Patch 6 between Durge and Gortash are to blame for this. Plus the fact that I adore the Astarion x Dark Urge dynamic because they're on the same level, meaning they're both barely functioning beings who no business getting into a relationship and yet they make it work. Also, Astarion gets to be the supportive one when Durge goes off the rails.

All these idiots live rent free in my head and I had this scene that just wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it out. This is a one-shot based on the same Durge MC, Eli, as my other ongoing fic - which I have not updated in some time, and I am sorry for that. Have some brainrot to make up for it! This is grade-A mushy, soft garbage.

Sleep was difficult to find as Eli lay on the stiff makeshift cot. Her glassy half-focused eyes were fixed on the patchwork ceiling of Astarion’s tent as her mind coiled around and around, like a snake trying to suffocate itself. Her thoughts were circular, aimless and chaotic as she chased the ghosts of memories that always haunted her nights.

Sleeplessness was nothing new, and Eli’s propensity for restlessness and nightmares was well known throughout camp. She had a tendency to toss and turn as rest evaded her, and when the darkness of slumber finally overtook her in the small hours of mornings it was never peaceful. She was often agitated and unsettled, mumbling low to herself until the shock of some cruel fever dream sent her into an outburst of screams as she flailed and fought to rouse herself from whatever terror had uncaged itself in her mind.

She’d wake shivering, breathing as if she were fighting for her life against legions of the Absolute rather than visions within her own mind. He was always there, though, whispering soothing reminders that they were safe. That they were together. That the horrors inside her broken mind were toothless phantoms. Remnants of a fractured past she could only catch flashes of.

She’d offered on many occasions to sleep alone, saying it made little sense for both Astarion and her to suffer because of her tortuous insomnia. He’d been firm in his refusals and finally told her that if she didn’t stop saying such ludicrous nonsense he’d figure out how to charm one of Gale’s used socks to jump down her throat every time she mentioned the idea.

Gods, was she thankful for that absurd and stubborn man.

She turned her head, eyes focusing on the pale elf who slept beside her. They’d settled into a habit of overnighting in his tent due to the plank of wood that served as a haphazard bed. Like her, Astarion’s sleep could be troubled, disturbed by his own breeds of monsters that lurked around the corners in his brain. His past was filled with grim and vicious memories. What small comforts he had been able to acquire over the past 200 years were things he clung to like life rafts upon a boiling and thrashing ocean. The stiff plank he slept on brought him a strange sort of peacefulness. He’d told her once that the only soft bed he’d been allowed to use while under Cazador’s control was the large plush bed in the palace’s guest room. The room where he and the other spawn “entertained” those who were brought back for Cazador to feast upon.

His bed in the dorms had been stiff and old, and yet he’d far preferred it to the lavish guest bed. Sleeping on something too downy and cushioned reminded him of the countless nights he’d spent being smothered into a pliable mattress by whatever piece of transient garbage he’d lured back to the palace. They’d have their way with him while he’d disassociate, his body working through the motions of sex while his mind walled itself off. It had become second nature to disconnect himself from the present the moment he slumped onto that soft bed.

It was a cruel byproduct of his torment that laying on comfortable bedding triggered a deep seeded anxiety in him, but Eli honestly didn’t mind the stiff makeshift cot Astarion had set up in his tent for them. Her body recalled sleeping on worse, even if her mind didn’t clearly remember the details. Astarion had even started laying down a thin bedroll atop the plank once their shared sleeping arrangements became a regular thing. It had been completely unprompted. One evening she’d entered his tent and it had simply been there, an unspoken acknowledgement of the validity of their relationship.

They were both uncouth morons when it came to navigating the delicacies and emotions of romantic relationships. They’d been quick to indulge in one another physically, the both of them looking to find refuge from the specters of their pasts in one another’s arms. They hadn’t meant for it to mean anything, and yet they’d kept seeking one another out - drawn together like kobolds are drawn to shiny objects. They’d tried ignoring their growing affections, but neither one of them were particularly good at pretending to be nonchalant and stable. Primarily because neither one of them really knew what that looked like.

Astarion had confessed first, admitting to his initially manipulative intentions with her and revealing truths about his enslavement to Cazador that made her heart ache for him. Eli knew, instinctively, that empathy was not an emotion she was incredibly familiar with. It made her anxious, feeling for someone else. And yet, when Astarion had said he wanted something real with her, she’d felt an almost wild desperation surge to life within herself. She wanted that, too. With him.

A cruel and vicious voice at the back of her mind had admonished her for her pathetic weakness. She should be punished, skinned alive for allowing herself to feel this kind of fondness and yearning for someone else. Once, she had been worshiped as a god by those around her. Once, she had been feared and her name whispered in awe and horror. Once, she had been something powerful, something violent and vicious, a conduit of destruction and carnage. Though the details were fractured, scattered about her ruined brain like shards of glass, she knew instinctually that she was a child of slaughter and that the bonds of mortals should have been beneath her.

But that didn’t stop her. Perhaps…perhaps she could be different. Something else. Something that was valued as more than just a weapon. Something that wasn’t just a means to an end. Something that didn’t need to butcher and rip the world inside out in order to be loved.

She’d pushed the Urge down, beating it back as she confessed her own affections for Astarion.

That had been some weeks ago, back in the Shadowlands. Now, they were just outside Baldur’s Gate, and things were…good between them. To her never-ending astonishment.

Her eyes focused on the sleeping elf next to her. He looked so peaceful, the worried lines of his face smooth and serene at rest. He was pallid, pretty and perfect like a cadaver forever tranquil. Just one stab, a stake through the heart and he’d always be like this – he’d never know torment or despair again. No one would ever hurt him.

She took a long, slow breath and banished the intrusive thoughts back to the shadows of her mind where they always lingered. She would never…she couldn’t…gods, she hated those thoughts that never let her be. They filled her with a sick guilt as she recalled nights tied up, howling and screaming and raging as she spat out all the ways she’d flay and ruin his beautiful body. Afterwards, once the Urges had quieted, Astarion would simply laugh as he cut her bonds, always joking about how you had to pay good coin for degradation like that in the city. He’d hold her until she calmed, the both of them quiet, content to just be together for one more day.

They shouldn’t work, not as a couple or as anything else, really. They were barely functional as individuals. Together, they should have been about as operational as a dumpster that was missing one wheel and was on fire. But they did work. They were careful with the broken pieces of each other, treating them with reverence and respect. They understood pain all too well, and not just the physical kind but the raw and panicked pain of having everything you valued ripped away. Of having your very self torn from your control…the pain of being used and the fear that no matter how loud you screamed or how hard you fought it would happen again.

The fear that you would never be anything more than a tool.

And so they were gentle with one another, in a way only reserved for them. Careful touches and trusting hands, concerned glances and warm smiles, constant wordless affirmations that they were at one another’s backs - that when one of them crumbled the other would be there to help build them back up, attentively and without judgement.

Neither of them knew what they were doing. Their combined histories with healthy relationships added up to an unsurprising number of zero. Astarion had admitted to her that he couldn’t remember ever bedding the same person twice. And Eli…well, she couldn’t remember anything, frankly. Her memories of past lovers were nonexistent…at least…

At least until today. Today, when they’d finally met the infamous Enver Gortash.

The name had always struck her as strange, from the first time she heard it when Karlach told Eli about the tiefling had acquired her infernal engine. The name had stirred something in her brain, like a familiar tune that she couldn’t remember the words for. And every time someone mentioned him, that sense grew stronger. It was as if there was a crack in her skull and every time she’d reach for that sense of familiarity, it would leak out and away just beyond reach.

Until today, when they stood in the opulent and grand hall of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, surrounded by the elite of Baldur’s Gate, and she finally saw the man who had wrought so much suffering not only upon the city and the coast, but on her friends…

The flash in his eyes when they met hers…a sense of knowing, a sting of excitement. That spark of familiarity suddenly blazed hot and she knew this man was not a stranger. Not to her…

“If you keep staring, darling, I’m going to start charging you for the privilege,” a soft and slightly chiding voice lurched her back into the present.

Eli flinched, startled, blinking away the haze of her thoughts and focusing on Astarion, who now was peering at her through half-lidded and slightly weary eyes. He’d been sleeping with an arm draped across her waist – Astarion had grown fond of resting with an arm or a hand touching her, and she liked it, too. It was comforting.

He trailed his hand along her side in a calming manner, brows furrowing slightly with a hint of concern.

“Sorry,” Eli said with a slight yawn. “I was worlds away.” She gave him a small, tired smile as she reached out and brushed her fingers against the ruffles of his shirt, mindlessly beginning to fiddle with the cloth.

Astarion’s hand slid to her back, pulling her closer until her head was tucked below his chin and he could rest with his cheek against her silvery hair.

Eli could feel the soft rumble of his voice vibrate up from his chest as he chuckled quietly. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people,” he mumbled cheerily as his other hand began to gently brush through her hair, fingers carefully smoothing out any snarls as he stroked back and forth.

She hummed appreciatively, breathing deep and feeling eased by the familiar scent of rosemary and bergamot. “And who told you that?” she asked, teasingly.

“Hmm,” he pondered, running a dexterous finger along the side of her ear, causing goosebumps to prick along her arms. “I think it was you,” he mused slyly before his voice dipped lower into a growl and she felt his breath warm against her ear. “You remember, don’t you? That one night you told me I ravished you so thoroughly your soul left your body.”

He couldn’t see Eli’s exaggerated eye roll, but he could hear the grin in her voice as she responded. “I seem to remember that very same night you saying I exhausted you into delirium,” she teased, poking tenderly at his chest. “In the best way possible, of course,” Eli smirked.

Astarion sighed, the hand on her back drawing aimless circles as he murmured, “I do miss our nighttime trysts.”

Eli smiled, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and placing a light kiss there. “You know what they say. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or some such bullshit like that…”

“They sound awfully boring, whoever they are.” The vampire hummed low in his throat, kicking a leg over her waist and hooking his foot between her legs at her knees so that they were tangled together in a possessive embrace.

Eli just chuckled. They’d backed off the sexual aspects of their relationship for now, the both of them having their own flavors of hang ups that they needed to sort through. For Eli, that meant parsing through her strange, sometimes disturbing Urges which continued to insist that the lines between butchery and eroticism were blurred. Bloodplay was one thing, and that would likely remain a happy little staple in their titillating toolbox once they were ready to be that physically intimate again. But Eli had…other thoughts. Thoughts she wasn’t exactly comfortable with. Darker ones that bubbled up at extremely inopportune times and had her questioning whether she really wanted to shed light on her obscured past.

She breathed in Astarion’s scent, grounding herself in the now and pushing those musing away for another day. The desire between Eli and Astarion had not diminished, and on more than one occasion they had teetered precariously on the boundaries they’d set and wondering whether they should just say fuck it and…well…fuck. They’d always talk themselves down from the ledge, though, comfortable in the knwoeldge that when it did happen it would be earthshattering.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, love?” Astarion’s voice held a note of worry and Eli realized she’d been drifting off into the confines of her own brain again.

“Everything,” she sighed, frustrated with herself.

Astarion was silent for a moment, considering. The hand in her hair stilled while the one on her back pulled her in a bit tighter. “Is it…” he began, then paused a bit uncertainly, hesitant with his question. “Are you thinking about today? About…Gortash?”

He said the name so quietly that it would have been inaudible had they not been so closely pressed together. Eli wasn’t surprised about the question. She’d been acutely aware of how Astarion’s eyes never left her as she spoke with the newly crowned Archduke of Baldur’s Gate earlier that day. How he had discreetly positioned himself closely behind her, just off to her right. How he’d tensed, fingers ghosting near the hilt of a hidden dagger when Gortash said he’d always liked Eli. How his gaze darkened and his jaw tightened as Astarion sized the man up from across the hall before they left.

She knew this was a delicate situation for the vampire. Astarion despised showing any sort of vulnerability that could be construed as a reason for pity. Vulnerability, in general, was something he was still figuring out how to navigate after two centuries of living in an environment where anything and everything that could be used against him was twisted into a tool for subjugation and pain. Even with her, there were times when he wouldn’t let his walls come down, needing space to sort through his own internal barriers before he was ready to open up. Eli didn’t mind, and would give him all the time and space he needed. And bit by bit it became easier, for the both of them.

“That…yes,” she admitted, wanting to be truthful with him.

It wasn’t just Gortash, though. It was what he had told her, about Eli’s role in the whole Cult of the Absolute fraud. It was difficult for her to reconcile what she had apparently done with who she was now…the misery she’d set in motion. The lives she had destroyed. She shut her eyes and pressed closer to Astarion, seeking comfort in the cool of his skin against the inferno she felt inside.

He hugged her close, voicing a thought that had been gnawing away at his insides all day. “Were the two of you…close? Like us?”

The tentative, halting way in which he asked squeezed at her heart. As if he were bracing himself for something terrible, for something that would rip her away from him, just like everything else he’d ever given a damn about.

She thought for a while, mulling over the question. There was still so much that she didn’t know about who she was. Who she had been. She’d tell him what she could, though. He deserved that.

“I think we were. Close, I mean,” she clarified when she felt Astarion stiffen anxiously. “Not like us, though.”

She pulled her head back, out from under his chin, so she could see his face and meet his gaze with her own. Astarion’s eyes were round and distressed, the pinch between his brows furrowed and the lines of his face were tense. His eyes searched her own, desperately wanting to know who that man was to her while also fearing the answer.

Eli smiled warmly, bringing her hand up to brush one of his white curls behind his ear. His face softened slightly at her touch while the hand on her back clutched at her shirt as if to hold her here with him.

“There’s still so much darkness in my memory. But, there are things that have come back in flashes and fragments,” she explained, holding his gaze as her finger trailed to the edge of his eyebrow. “And while I’m not wholly sure what Gortash and I were to one another, I know it wasn’t like this.” Her hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb gently caressing his face near the corner of his mouth.

“Not like us,” she affirmed with a tenderness that allowed Astarion to relax, the stiffness easing out of him as the hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “He knew what happened to me,” she said softly, putting into words a thought that had been lingering at the back of her mind.

“He knew what happened to me, and he welcomed the person who did it into his confidence,” she said with a tinge of sadness to her voice. There was an ache of betrayal behind her words, and thought she didn’t fully understand everything her history with Gortash entailed, she understood this. “He stood by while I was unmade. While everything I was, the person he claims to care for, was brutalized and decimated.”

Eli’s words took on a cold edge, sharp as a shard of ice. Astarion listened intently, his breath caught at the back of his throat. He ached to pull her back into him, to wrap her up in his arms and shut the world out. Instead, he placed his hand on the back of her own and intertwined his fingers with hers, holding it against his cheek as Eli spoke.

“When I woke up on the nautiloid, I was nothing. Just the discarded scraps of whoever I had been. I had been thrown away. And nobody came looking for me.” She paused, her eyes flicking down in a brief moment of uncertainty.

There were some truths between them that had still gone unsaid. Truths that neither of them were ready to admit, and some that simply didn’t need words to be understood. Not this, though. This, she wanted him to hear.

“Since then, it’s been difficult not to think of myself as damaged goods. Something that was used up until it broke and was discarded.” She felt Astarion squeeze her hand and she looked back to him. There was a pang of recognition in his red eyes. “Everyone who I spoke to about my…urges, they all confirmed that there was something very wrong with me, even if they sympathized. Everyone except you.”

She paused, brushing her thumb once more against his face before she lifted her hand from him and took his own hand in hers. She pulled it to her lips, lightly kissing his knuckles while he stared at her, afraid to take his eyes off her for fear that she and this moment might evaporate if he did. He had stopped breathing, which luckily was not something he necessarily needed to do in order to maintain his existence.

Eli searched his face as Astarion waited for her to go on, breathless and just a tiny bit desperate to hear what she would say next. She wondered if he understood just how much it meant to her to have someone who didn’t see the wreck that she was when they looked at her. Someone who didn’t see a monster and only saw her, broken pieces be damned.

She thought he probably did…

“You were the only one who encouraged me to simply be whoever I was, darkness and all. I know at the time you were probably just looking to entertain yourself with whatever chaos and bloodshed I could cause,” she laughed and the expression on Astarion’s face melted into one of complete adoration.

“Guilty,” Astarion admitted with a laugh of his own. “And you haven’t disappointed,” he added softly, brushing a knuckle back up against her lips with delicate reverence.

She kissed at it, holding his tender gaze. “I don’t think you know how much that meant to me, though. And then later, when I was at my worst, you stayed by me and took care of me and you never stopped.”

Eli swallowed down the lump in her throat and blinked away the warmth that was threatening at her eyes.

“Nothing else could be like us, because no one has ever cared about me like you,” she concluded, smiling softly and whispering the words with the sincerity of a prayer.

Astarion stared at Eli for a long moment, emotions colliding and burning in his chest with so much vigor he was surprised his dead heart didn’t start beating again. He felt elated and awed by what she’d said. So much so that he was struck speechless and could only play her words over and over again in his mind, wanting to capture them perfectly and tuck them somewhere deep inside himself where no one could reach to steal them away. He couldn’t recall anyone ever saying anything to him that made him feel so cherished and significant. He traced the planes of her face with eyes that were beginning to wet as he tried to clear his throat and failed.

Eli watched Astarion carefully for a moment before her eyes widened in concern and she lifted a hand to him, carding it gently through his curled hair.

“Oh shit, did I break you?” she asked, only half joking as she stroked her hand through his hair.

The feel of it helped to calm him as a wide smile spread over his face, eyes half-lidded and looking at Eli like she was the most precious thing he’d ever seen.

“Come here you sweet, silly thing,” Astarion said, voice low and underpinned with a raw adoration that caused a flutter to take up in Eli’s chest.

He pulled her into a needy embrace; one hand placed softly in her hair as he tucked her head back under his chin, the other hand tightening around the small of her back to hold her close. He kissed the top of her head and breathed in slow, savoring her scent. She’d always smelled like wildflowers and the cool mist before a storm, like something exciting and freeing.

“Gods, you’re incredible,” he breathed, wondering what in the hells he had ever done in his irrelevant life to deserve her admiration. “I don’t think I’m ever going to want to let you go, my love.”

Eli wrapped her arms around him and for a moment she felt safe, secure and at peace.

“Then don’t,” she whispered against him.

They stayed wrapped up in one another until dawn, thankful to have one more day and hopeful for so many more.

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