#fic: panic in the streets

[sailxrmxrs]

hear me out here. street racer bloomic au. they're all on rival teams but in a fun and friendly way like 'we compete and take it seriously but also let's go grab a drink after this, yeah?' kinda vibe. and mc is part of one of said rival teams, one of their best drivers in fact, but their rivalry with xyx is something else. he's all relaxed flirting and grating remarks and it infuriates them to no end. ESPECIALLY if he beats them. and maybe tonight's another race night and they make a bet. what's the bet you ask? read to find out teehee. expect fast cars and drifting. like fast and furious but maybe not bc i've never seen those films. we're going xyx for this one but don't tempt me because i WILL write these for all of them if left unmonitored. anyway enjoy going vroom vroom racing with xyx and maybe falling in love along the way.

Rolling vibrations of car engines reverberated throughout the pit. A generic bass beat could be heard accompanying the sounds of people prepping for the various races of the night. Three sets of racers were to compete for the coveted cash prizes hanging over their heads, along with the burning need to uphold one's reputation as an esteemed driver. The network of racers wasn't small by any means, but they were a closed group of individuals striving for an outlet under the cover of night, expelling the pent up frustrations and stresses of their daily lives. To spend their nights basking in adrenaline soaked energy, all their problems becoming nothing but a faded memory as their minds honed in on the one thing they cared about. Winning. It was their therapy. A method for them all to exalt whatever ailed them alongside other like-minded individuals who craved an escape from the real world. As such, many friendships were formed even between rival teams. It was commonplace for opposing racers to go from a state of dedicated racing to blissfully sharing a drink of two with their opponents. Such was the nature of street racing; on the road they were rivals but the moment the engines cut out they were a tight knit unit, a family some might say.

That rang true for the majority of racers you'd met. Most were perfectly pleasant and enjoyable people to be around, competitive streaks included. However the one shining exception was Xyx, a racer from another team who was sickeningly one of the best drivers in the entire pit along with yourself. And, even worse, he knew it. He carried himself with all the airs and graces of someone who knew exactly how good they were. While for many his demeanour posed as a signifier of his confidence, to you he just looked full of himself—high on the praise that dissolved into his skin from all directions. Part of you couldn't blame him, after all he was very skilled and had undoubtedly earned all of his wins. But the way he would catch your eye from across the pit, running his tongue over his teeth and showing off the piercing that he never attempted to hide as he very obviously examined your body from head to toe had annoyance teeming through your entire body. Xyx didn't bother to hide his intrigue despite how much you rejected his advances or expressed your immense dislike for him. He would never overstep too far, but his shameless flirting saw no end. And it was infuriatingly distracting.

Before a race, all you wanted to do was check your car was in full working order and sit on the hood as you let all the sensations wash over you. The smell of smoke and asphalt; the sounds of people shouting over the music, barking orders for spare parts or placing their bets on who was going to win; the slight nip in the air from the late hour, setting your skin alight with anticipation—it was exactly what you needed to keep your head focused and the straying thoughts at bay. But, of course, a certain someone had other plans.

"Looking lonely over here tonight, doll," his deep timbre thrummed far too close to your ear for your liking. Xyx stood mere inches from you, leather jacket sitting on his shoulders, a loose white t-shirt beneath it that had a neckline so low it barely constituted as a shirt anymore, a layering of necklaces sitting on his exposed chest, tendrils of a tattoo peeking from his collarbone. His black jeans had an array of rips and holes, leading down to the heavy black boots he wore. This was Xyx's usual uniform in the pits, any other attire rare for him save for the occasional pair of old, worn sneakers. As much as you disliked the sight of him, you couldn't deny that he looked good. And he knew it, too, which only spurred that dislike further.

"And you thought I'd want you disturbing my peace?" You reply, barely giving Xyx a side glance as he leaned a hand on the roof of your car.

"You wound me. And after I join you out of the kindness of my heart? Truly a viper's tongue you have."

With an exasperated grimace, you moving off the hood of your car, walking toward your teammates' shared space in search of a water bottle. It was a feeble excuse to get away from Xyx rather than a necessary task, especially considering there was nothing and no one stopping him from following after you. And, to no one's surprise, he did just that.

"Thirsty? I've been known to have that effect," Xyx remarked, watching with a wicked grin as you drank, staring at him with complete and utter disinterest.

"Don't flatter yourself," you offered, screwing the lid back onto the bottle. "You know, for a man who has to follow after someone just for a sliver of attention, you're awfully cocky aren't you?"

"What can I say? I like a challenge. And you, my love, are my favourite one."

Eyeing Xyx with typical annoyance, an idea struck your mind. If Xyx loved a challenge so much, then why not propose one to him? Why not put your racing prowess to the test against one of the best in the business? If it meant you could bring him down a peg or two in the process, it'd bruise his ego just enough to hopefully have him leave you be even if only for a little while. Surely being the competitive man he was, Xyx would never turn down a bet. Folding your arms across your chest, you turned to Xyx with a playful smile.

"Whatever you're about to ask, the answer is yes," Xyx said before you could even open your mouth to propose the question. When you blanched at his eager reply, he laughed. "Call me keen but that look on your face is devastating, doll. You underestimate yourself."

It took a moment to regain your composure, fighting off the urge to give up and walk away to find one of your teammates to get rid of Xyx. But a determination to see this through without backing down had you wrangling that drive to . "First off, calm it. Desperate isn't a good look. Second, I was going to propose a small wager between you and I."

"Oh? Do tell me more," Xyx replied, mirroring your stance as he took a step closer with intrigue. There was a relaxed ease in the way he stood, a haughty smugness rolling off his shoulders as he tilted his head, waiting for you to continue. Something about Xyx tonight had you even more on edge than usual—the slight raise of his eyebrow, piercing glinting under the neon lights of the pit and the lazed smile with which he watched you, appraising each and every movement in your features. He was ruthless. Without even uttering a single word Xyx managed to crawl under your skin and reside there for as long as he deemed fit.

"Tonight's race. A rather big one, wouldn't you say?" You start, holding Xyx's gaze with a determination only he could bring out in you. An unspoken competition of who would back down first, admitting defeat and relinquishing to the other doing so. When Xyx graced you with a courteous nod, you let yourself continue on. "Well, since there's so many eyes on us tonight, how about a little bet? You win and I'll agree to go on a date. But if I win then you stop racing for a month. Practices and such are fine, but all competitive races are off the table."

Without a moment's hesitation, Xyx held out a hand to shake on the deal. "You're on. But before we sadly part ways, tell me, do you prefer Italian or Japanese food? Got to make notes before that date, you know?"

Huffing a sigh, you turned to make for your car. Trust Xyx to believe without a shred of doubt that he could beat you. One day that arrogance would be his undoing, and, if you played your cards right, that day could be today. It wasn't an unreasonable goal considering you'd beaten him numerous times in the past, though you couldn't deny the tinge of concern that come the end of the night you'd have a date to look forward to—or, more realistically, dread. Over the buzz of chatter, victory shouts could be heard as the penultimate race of the night came to a close, leaving its victor basking in the glory of their triumph. It also signalled the oncoming start to your own chance at achieving the same exhilarating rush that came with winning a race. Nothing could beat the thrill of racing under the fusion of the moonlight and what remnants of the distant city lights could reach the secluded spot that housed the makeshift racetrack. It wasn't anything fancy, but there was no better addition to the atmosphere than the thin clouds of dust that trailed corners behind drifting cars. It was truly a rush unlike any other.

A call came from the centre of the pit, announcing the oncoming start to the final race of the night. Glancing around at your opponents getting into their cars, you caught eyes with Xyx who simply blew a kiss, winking as he climbed into his lime green car. It only made sense his car would stand out against the typical sleek black and white cars most racers opted for. As you pulled up to the starting line, your car directly next to Xyx's, he wiggled his fingers in a teasing wave. His signature leather gloves were taunting in the warm lights, the black material stopping just short of the knuckles of his fingers and drawing attention to the cracked black polish decorating his nails. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you pulled your eyes away from him with hands tight on your steering wheel as you stared at the road ahead, face contorted in a concentrated scowl. There was no chance you were giving Xyx an easy win. If he wanted to play the cocky racing connoisseur then you'd just have to match his energy.

Music surged, the bass thrumming in your hands as you stretched your neck awaiting the signal for the race to start. Five cars were lined up, In a matter of seconds, the anticipation was shattered as cars burst into action. Foot slamming hard on the pedal, you felt the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins, eyes blazing with an intense focus. All of your senses honed in on the road ahead of you as though the entire world fell away and all that existed was this very moment. Thoughts of the other cars edging closer or creeping ahead weren't important. Sure, the wager with Xyx lingered in the echoing corners of your mind but it had been reduced to nothing more than a passing concern. The drive to win was nothing compared to the rushing thrill that racing brought. Results never mattered in these moments, even in the face of bets and challenges. All you cared about was how light you felt. There was something magical in the way every hardship and cause of your building stress faded away, the energy once spent on suppressing that tension now released in the tight grip on your steering wheel, the feet on the pedals, and the thundering of your heart in your chest. This. This was what you lived for. Onlookers watched from their vantage points, eyes glued to the blur of colour racing past. Even the crowd was electrified with the overflowing energy radiating from each racer, an all-encompassing vitality that sparked irreverent joy just by existing at this exact place in this exact moment in time.

Minutes that felt like seconds passed, the sounds of car engines and tires the only soundtrack now playing in your ears as you neared the finishing line. During races it was easy to focus so much you were left entirely unaware as to your competitor's positions, but your wager with Xyx had kept some portion of your brain alert enough to keep an eye out for his offensively bright car. You'd passed him not long ago, but the empty space behind you was no guarantee of your victory just yet. In fact, as you turned a corner a revving engine came surging behind you and, just your luck, it belonged to the very lime green car you had been thinking of. Under the dark night sky you couldn't make out Xyx's expression, but the thought of him grinning was enough to spur you on, that determination rising once more as you leaned into the turn. But no matter how much of yourself you poured into each movement of your steering wheel, Xyx continued to creep closer until his car was directly beside yours. Despite every instinct in you screaming how awful an idea it was to steal a glance, you just couldn't help yourself. As much as you despised the thought of it, Xyx was a magnet commanding your attention. It was only a split second, but even the most minute of moments was enough of a distraction to cost someone their win. And, as though he'd sensed your lapse in concentration, Xyx surged forward just far enough that as the finish line approached ever closer, it became increasingly more apparent that you had lost this battle. And as your car came to a stop, pent up tension and frustration overtaking every rational thought, your hand hit the side of the steering wheel. What made it worse is you couldn't even be too angry at Xyx. It was you who'd faltered, after all. Though you weren't going to let him gloat without fighting back considering he had been the very reason you'd had a lapse in concentration. Seeing him striding over, ignoring the clamour of excitement has his teammates and friends congratulated him, you rolled down your window with a grimace. Xyx wasn't going to let you live this down at all.

"Well," Xyx started, leaning his elbows on the open window of your car door. "Looks like someone owes me a date, don't they?"

You were practically seething. So close. So close to getting Xyx off your back but right at the last minute he'd taken the victory right from under your nose. And here he was, all smiles and smug laughter as he bathed in the outpouring of praise from his competitors while you came to terms with what the loss meant for you. Of course his first course of action after crossing that finish line was to come gloat, too.

"Can't complain, doll. You proposed the bet, not me." Xyx held his hands at either side of his head in his innocence. As much as you didn't like to think about it, he was right. You had been the one to bring up the wager and set the winning conditions so it was only right that you followed through with it. Climbing out of your car, shouts of commotion could be heard coming from the crowds though there was no deciphering exactly what they were shouting about. Amongst the noise, Xyx was stood far closer than you'd expected, a hand all but ghosting on your waist as the other came to rest on the now open car door. His eyes were fixated on your face, trailing over every feature that lay before his eyes though he kept falling back to your lips; subtlety was not one of Xyx's strong suits.

"Look, if you really want to kiss me so bad why don't you just grow a pair and do it?" As soon as the words left you, surprise filtered not only Xyx's features, but yours too. Had you really just told him to kiss you?

"There was me thinking I'd have to work even harder to get that date, and now you'd begging for me to kiss you? Who's the desperate one now, doll?" Xyx leaned ever closer, nose brushing yours as you felt his breath on your face.

"I'd hardly call that begging. More of a...light suggestion."

Xyx chuckled, fingers cupping your chin as he moved to close that impossibly small gap between your lips and his. "Always in denial, aren't you? Would it hurt to admit that you like me?"

Fire lighting in your eyes, you grabbed at Xyx's shirt and pulled him to you, lips crashing in the commotion surrounding you. Despite your past efforts, there was little that you could do to catch Xyx off guard, but with that singular move he was entirely and irrevocably wrapped around your finger. It only took him a second or two to react, one hand on your waist as the other tangled in your hair. There was no concern for whoever could be witnessing the display, neither caring who might see or what they might say. And once Xyx pulled back with lidded eyes gazing at you, a man who had finally satiated a deep held desire that he'd harboured for far longer than he cared to admit, he smiled. It wasn't anything teasing or mocking. This was something else entirely. And it wasn't terribly maddening either. For once, it elicited a matching smile from you. One that lingered on your lips despite your best efforts to conceal those innermost emotions you'd pushed far down for a lot longer than even you had known.

"So," Xyx started, swiping his tongue over his lips. "About that date you owe me."

#blooming panic #blooming panic xyx #blooming panic fanfic #blooming panic x reader #blooming panic xyx fanfic #blooming panic xyx x reader #street racer au so good so tasty many many thoughts #don't talk to me for too long about this bc i WILL brainrot at you #RACING BRRR VROOM VROOM NYOOOOOM #yes i also made a playlist just for this fic #anna writes

[peachesofteal]

Light on - single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: Protective Simon. For the beautiful and talented @lethalchiralium

Simon’s phone is ringing. 

Price raises an eyebrow from the end of the table, pausing mid-sentence, confused. Simon’s phone never rings. It’s always on full volume, because he never gets phone calls, except for ones from the 141, and they’re all here. At this briefing.  

His fingers find the ringer, ready to silence what he’s sure is a nuisance call, some telemarketer or robot, when he reads your name across the screen. 

You’ve never called him before. Unease tightens across his chest, and without any explanation, he excuses himself from the room and the bewildered looks being cast his way. 

“Hey, you-“

“Simon?” You sound off. Like you’re trying to be calm, but there’s something lingering on the edge of your voice, something scared. His spine goes stiff. 

It’s enough to propel him into action, his fist thumping against the window of the brief room, jerking his head south. I’m leaving, the motion signifies. Emergency.

“What’s wrong?” 

“N-nothing. Just… there’s this guy that’s been like, half a block behind me since I got off the train.” He closes his eyes. The fucking train. He wants you to stop taking the train. He needs you to stop taking the train. 

“He followed you from the platform?” 

“Well, he could be walking this way too…” 

“Where are you?” His keys are already in his hand, and he’s running down the hallway, past bewildered administrative staff and everyone else, bursting through the back door and into the truck. His phone chimes with multiple text messages, Price, Johnny, Gaz. All wondering where the hell he ran off to. Only Johnny’s text scratches the surface: Is it your neighbor? He waits another second in silence, hoping you’re trying to get your bearings. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m… I think we’re coming up on seventh and Warsail. ‘m not too sure. I’ve kind been walking in a roundabout way.” We’re coming up on seventh… we. 

The baby is with you. 

His foot slams the accelerator onto the floor, counting his breaths as he maneuvers each turn in the road. Do you have the stroller? Are you carrying her? Did this guy peg you as an easy target because he knows what Simon knows, that women are more likely to go along with instruction if their child is threatened? That you’d never leave Emmaline behind? That you’d do anything to protect her? 

He feels sick. 

“Are there other people around?” He’s calm on the phone, trying to visualize the street, the buildings, the alleys. Easy spots where cars could reach the highway in seconds, and then be gone. Cramped alleys that connect to others like tangled webs, able to swallow a human being easy, disappear them into the darkness. It makes his stomach turn over. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard; it hurts.

“Yeah, it’s close to the end of the day, so-“ 

“Stay where others can see you. Are you sure you’re on seventh and Warsail?” 

“Yeah. We’re in that park. I-I… wanted to take Emma to see the ducks.” Your voice wavers. “Simon he’s still behind us.” He’s turning the corner now, a block from your cross streets, and instead of yielding for oncoming traffic like he should, he floors it through an intersection, abandoning the truck still on, half parked in an empty street spot.  “Stay where you are, sweetheart. Okay? I’m coming.” 

“You… wait, what? You’re what?” He doesn’t hang up, but keeps the phone against his ear, and takes off down the street in a sprint, fully subscribed to the worst-case scenarios that have been building in his mind, images of you and Emmaline bloody and bruised, or worse. He gets them confused for a moment, memories mixing with the present, two things swirling together until they become indistinguishable, noise and panic roaring too loudly in his head. 

It all comes screeching to a stop. 

He spots you in the park. You do have the stroller, and you’re by the little pond, headphones in, Emmaline in your arms, her little beanie pulled down over her ears. You’re glancing around, nervous, saying his name into the mic. He scans the rest of the faces, passing over anyone who doesn’t strike him as a creepy git, until he finds his target: a skinny, younger guy lurking on the edge of the fence line, watching you. He hangs up the phone and moves across the park involuntarily, rolling his shoulders, and he vaguely sees you from the corner of his eye, mouth dropped open in shock, faintly calling his name. 

“Hey, mate. C’mere.” He shouts, half the people in the vicinity startling in his direction. Everyone seems to move away, like a magnetic force, pulsing outwards as he overtakes the guy with an easy grab to his upper arm. “You like stalking women with babies?” He hisses in his ear, voice low with barely contained rage. The guy is younger than him, but rail thin, and coked out. Probably looking for money. Simon jerks him closer, and he actually yells for help, like he’s a victim. It’s enough to ground the situation, making Simon realize he has an audience, and he grits out a final warning before shoving him away. “I ever see you around my girls again… I’ll fuckin’ kill you. Piss off.” 

“What did he say?” You’re frantic, rubbing Emmaline’s back in a circular pattern, over and over like you’re trying to calm her, even though she’s perfectly content. It’s you who needs soothing, he realizes, and he takes your hand without questioning it, letting his instincts guide him in regard to you without overthinking it. 

“He was high, love. Looking for money.” He doesn’t want to scare you but… he doesn’t despise the idea of instilling some hypervigilance. Maybe this will convince you not to take the train. 

“Oh my god.” 

“Think I scared him off for good though.” He looks around, and then slips off his mask, wide thumb stroking a soft touch on Emma’s cheek before giving you a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright now.” You visibly relax, but don’t let go of his hand, tilting your face up to his, all bright and beautiful, still coming down from the adrenaline of your fear with a whisper on your lips, meant for only him to hear. 

“Our hero.”

#peaches writes #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #this might be my favorite? #Simon threatens a man because he scared you and I find that very attractive #light on

[strang3lov3]

Chevelle

Summary- (joel miller x virgin!reader) Joel figures out that you’re the one who hit his baby, his precious 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle. He needs you to make it right, but he doesn’t want your money ❤️‍🔥🍆 (5k words)

Tags- MDNI hot girls can’t drive, implied age gap, virgin!reader, we're calling him tender dark!joel, soft!dom joel, tender dubcon (power imbalance, joel solicits sex from reader, no explicit consent but reader is into it) reader has a luscious bush, Joel walks you through handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, oral, unprotected piv, creampie, come eating, loss of virginity. Joel is clothed and reader is not.

A/N- Writing this is how I spent my spring break. Hope you love it 🩵 Thank you @noxturnalpascal for all of your help editing and your encouragement.

Based on mine and @beefrobeefcal shared prompt where we asked, "What would happen if reader damaged Joel’s vehicle?” Her fic is here and it’s one of my favorite things I’ve read!! Kiki has such a beautiful voice in her writing and I love all the details she adds to her fics.

Pawn shop by @toxicanonymity came to mind when I wrote this story and was a source of inspiration. Also worth a read, I have nothing but love for Tox’s writing 🩷

It’s late when you get off your shift at Tony’s, the shitty Italian restaurant you’ve been working at for far too long. It doesn’t pay much and you’ve considered working a new job to save up and move out of your brother’s house, but you’ve been putting that idea off for a variety of reasons. One of them being Joel. 

Joel’s your neighbor, a sexy, older man you’ve got a certain fondness for. His hair used to be more brown but it’s grayer now, same with the scruff on his face. He’s got sparkling, chocolatey eyes and a sharp nose set above a thick, downturned mustache. He always looks a little dirty when you see him, with dirt caked into his forehead wrinkles and grease smeared along his temple or his jaw. He’s always either fresh off a contracting job or working on his car. He’s got this cute little Chevy he spends his nights and weekends with, a 1964 Chevrolet Chevelle, baby blue.

Joel was one of the first people to welcome you to the neighborhood and even helped you move your stuff into your brother’s house, though helping you implies he let you do any work. Joel offered you a pop from his fridge and then took over entirely, putting both himself and your brother to work moving all of your stuff in. You didn’t lift a finger that day. 

-

You can’t seem to pull your eyes from the little green glowing letters on your dash, watching letters and numbers on the screen roll on by. 12:37 A.M. 101.9. Paper Bag - Fiona Apple.  You’re so out of it. You yawn and blink a couple of times, focusing back on the narrow roads of your neighborhood. It’s so poorly lit over here, and it doesn’t help that one of your headlights is out. Joel’s been bugging you to let him fix that, he says it’ll only take five minutes.

You turn onto your street and bam. You’re wide awake now. You just hit something. 

You hit Joel’s car. Joel’s fucking car. What the fuck is it doing on the street? He always has it safely kept in his garage. Oh dear god, the panic is setting in. This is Joel’s baby. You just hit his baby, his pride and joy. 

You can’t even bring yourself to assess the damage you’ve inflicted upon his dear Chevy. Probably dented to shit, but you don’t really wanna know. Instead, you just pull your foot off the brake, press your remote control garage door opener, then pull into your garage as you press your lips together tightly. You’re surprised and relieved to find that there’s hardly a scratch on your own car. Joel won’t know. He won’t.

The next morning, you’re sipping on your coffee as you check your mailbox. Joel’s outside his house, loading up his work truck with some tools and supplies. He waves to you and you wave back, a small stack of mail in your hand. 

“Whose mail you got today, sweetheart?” he calls to you. 

You check the names on some of the letters. “Davidsons’ and Pierces’,” you answer through a chuckle. Joel rolls his eyes and laughs. The incompetent mailman is a running joke amongst yourself, Joel, and your other neighbors. He never seems to deliver anything to the right address, so you and your neighbors are often hand delivering each other your misplaced mail.

You laugh with Joel until you notice his smile disappear. He’s narrowing his eyes on his Chevy. Your heart drops as he steps closer to the vehicle, then pinches his nose in frustration. Fuck. Joel stomps back to his work truck, haphazardly tosses something in the bed and then slams the tailgate. Yeah, he’s fucking pissed. Your neck and your face heat in shame as you quickly run back inside.

-

In the two weeks since Joel’s car was hit, he’s been working to repair it tirelessly. He’s ordered a new tail light, since whoever hit his car shattered it and he’s spent a pretty penny ordering the exact shade of baby blue paint to touch up all of the scratches. Joel only trusts himself to touch his car, but the situation necessitates that he’ll have to take it in to a local repair shop to get the dents out. Fucking fantastic. 

When Joel gets off work tonight, he notices he’s got some packages on his doorstep, hoping it’s the shit he ordered for his car. He’ll open them shortly, but he first notices that one of the packages is addressed to you. Go figure, he thinks, chuckling to himself. He walks the package over to your house, noticing your car is parked outside of the driveway. And it’s backed in too, which is odd. Joel assumes your car must’ve been blocking your brother’s, so he probably played musical chairs with your cars to get his out and then backed yours up onto the driveway. You never back your own car in the driveway, and Joel’s pretty sure it’s because you don’t know how. You probably can’t parallel park, either. He’ll have to show you how to do that sometime.

What’s also new is a bit of baby blue paint on your red Honda Civic’s exterior, right by your headlight, the same headlight he’s been nagging you to let him fix. Joel bites the inside of his cheek. Interesting. He knocks on your door, package in hand, but he’s met with no answer. No biggie. He leaves the package on your porch and goes back to your car, inspecting the paint once more. He scoffs in astonishment and walks home. Unbelievable. 

-

The next evening, you check your mailbox after forgetting to do so earlier. As always, you never have just your own mail. This time you’ve got Joel’s. You walk it over to Joel’s house with the intention of dropping it off on his porch and going back home, not wanting to bother him as he works on his Chevy but his whistle startles you. “Hey you,” he says. “C’mere.”

“O-oh,” you stutter. “I’m just dropping off your–”

“Yeah, I know. Just c’mere a minute,” Joel says. “Got a fuckin’ bone t’pick with you.”

Your palms are beginning to sweat. He doesn’t know anything. Maybe he just wants some company while he works on his car, it wouldn’t be the first time. But still, there’s something about his tone. You step off of his porch and cut through his lawn to get to his garage. Once inside, you help yourself to a root beer from his refrigerator. Something cold and fizzy and sweet to help you calm your nerves.“Oh, sure, help yourself,” Joel mumbles. He notices your fingers slipping off the tab of the pop can and pulls it from your hands, then opens it for you. He’s wearing a stained Prince and the Revolution t-shirt and a slightly too tight pair of jeans that squeeze his ass just so. His garage is decorated with old license plates, posters, other odds and ends. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

Joel says nothing as he walks to his work bench. He pulls a lightbulb out of a cardboard box and waves it in your direction, he’s only a couple of feet from you. “Ordered the wrong bulb,” he tells you. 

You can only nod. You think about maybe making a joke about the mailman screwing it up somehow, but you bite your tongue. You don’t trust yourself not to stutter right now.

“M’sure you saw, my baby here’s all banged up,” Joel puts the bulb back in the box and leans against his work bench, facing you. “Happened a couple weeks ago.”

“Mm,” you hum.

“Hit and run, can you believe that?” 

“No, I can’t. That-that’s terrible.”

“I know it is. And here I thought we had a nice neighborhood…” he trails off before speaking again, “You think you know someone, huh.” 

Someone. So he has someone in mind? “Yeah, it’s terrible…what happened to your car. Can’t believe someone would uh…would do that, knowing how you, your car…yeah. Terrible.”

Joel stares at you for a minute before speaking again, taking note of how you can’t seem to hold eye contact with him. He steps closer to you.

“You wouldn’t know a thing about it, right?”

“Yes,” you answer, quickly realizing your word mishap when Joel raises his eyebrows. “No, yeah. I don’t know–yeah, nothing,” you sip your root beer before fidgeting with the pop tab and shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

Joel notices. “Squirmin’ an awful lot over there, sweetheart. You got something you wanna tell me?” You shake your head, still playing with the tab on the pop can. Joel removes it from your hand, his fingers gracing over yours before placing it on the workbench. He’s moving closer to you now, matching your pace as you walk backward until the back of your legs hit his car. You gasp, he stands so tall and imposing in front of you. “Easy,” he warns. “You be careful with her.”

“Yeah, I know. Always,” you reply. Your voice is beginning to shake. 

Joel hums at your response. “Not always, though, sweetheart. Think you were pretty careless with my baby a couple weeks ago.” 

The familiar pressure behind your eyes is beginning to build as tears are pricking your waterline, “I don’t know what–”

“Awh, don’t do that. Don’t lie t’me.” 

 The tears spill over. You’re caught. You don’t know how Joel figured out what you did, but he did. “You’ve got a guilty conscience, dontcha?”

You nod before you can speak. “I’m so sorry,” you cry. Sobs begin to wrack your body, your tears now flowing freely. You’re so guilty. You should’ve told Joel what happened that night. It was an accident, and he might’ve been mad, but you’ve probably made it worse for yourself with your dishonesty. “I’m so sorry, Joel, it was late and I was so tired–”

Joel pulls you in a tight embrace, stroking your back with his fingertips. “Shhh, I know. I know,” he whispers in your ear,  “S’okay, sweet girl.” 

“It was so…” you try to explain, choking on your sobs and your sniffles. “So late and d-dark and I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I know. Quit your cryin’, s’gonna be fine,” Joel whispers. He pulls away from you, looking at you with those deep brown eyes of his as he wipes the tears from your face with his thumbs. Know you’ll make it up to me.”

“I will,” you agree quickly. “I’ll pick up some more shifts, Joel, and I’ll save and–”

“Oh, no. Not that. Save your money,” he tells you earnestly. “Somethin’ else,” Your eyes follow Joel when he leaves you for a moment to flip a switch on the wall of his garage. Something in the air changes then, a thick, heavy feeling between you both when he makes his way back to you. “Use your head, sweetheart. How are we gonna make it right?”

Your mouth is dry, your tongue swollen as you pick up what Joel’s putting down. “Let me give ya a hint,” Joel grunts, sucking in his gut slightly as he unbuttons his jeans. He wears no underwear, a thatch of coarse hair littering his skin is what you see when he pulls down his zipper. He grips your wrist and shoves your hand beneath the denim where you feel his package, already half hard. It’s warmer, thicker than you would expect. He feels heavy in your palm, his pubic hair wiry and scratchy against your knuckles. 

He doesn’t tilt his head in confusion at your hesitancy. “Don’t know what to do with all this, do ya?”

You shake your head no. “I’ve never…with anyone, before.”

“S’alright. I’ll walk ya through it all,” Joel says, seemingly unsurprised at the revelation. With your hand still on his cock, Joel pulls himself out of his jeans entirely. He’s harder now. “Like this,” he instructs, bringing your hand to his mouth and spitting in it. A pang of arousal fills your gut at the action. He pushes your hand lower and guides you to wrap your hand around his cock. It feels heavy, warm to the touch, sticky with his sweat and his saliva. Rock hard, but smooth like satin. You admire him, his blushed tip, the prominent veins on his shaft. 

Your breath hitches as Joel takes control, using his strong, weathered hand to guide your own to massage his cock. “You got it,” he encourages, sensing your rigidity. “Tighter,” he instructs, squeezing his hand around yours. You’re slow to gain confidence but he’s patient, doing the work himself for now. “You move your hand all the way up, all the way down my cock,” he tells you. 

You nod in understanding. Joel drops his hand but yours stays stroking his member. He sighs and tilts his head backward as you focus on the task at hand. Without the pressure of intense eye contact, you take the opportunity to admire him, the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, the small drops of sweat rolling down his throat. You’re shy when he smiles at you, quickly averting your attention from him and to his cock, watching the way it twitches beneath your hand, where a little bead of precum forms. Experimentally, you swipe your thumb over the tip. “That’s it,” he whispers, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. He ruts his hips into your hips, “Doin’ just fine.”

You stroke his cock like this for a while, gaining confidence in yourself until he stops you suddenly.

 “Is that it?” 

“Is that it,” Joel mocks with a feigned pout. “No, hon. You banged up my baby pretty good. We ain’t quite square yet.”

His leaking cock bounces against his tummy as he approaches his work bench. Your heart pounds as you can’t quite see what he’s reaching for. “Know it’s new to ya,” he says.  “Just listen to me, s’all you gotta do.”

Joel returns to you with a dirty rag in his hand and lays it on the concrete ground, then reaches for your face. He pulls your bottom lip down and lets it go to watch it bounce back up. “Knees,” he whispers, gently pushing you by your shoulders to the ground. The rag he laid on the concrete for your knees is a sweet touch, all things considered. His cock is inches away from your face as he holds it between his thumb, middle, and forefingers. He presses himself to your lips, encouraging you to open your mouth. “Give it a taste,” he instructs you. “An’ you can kiss it too, if you’re feelin’ amorous.” 

You part your lips and tentatively lick the weeping slit of his thick head just once. After a moment, taking in the saltiness of his precome, you lick him a couple more times, gaining confidence quicker than you did using just your spit soaked hand on him. Bigger stripes now, using more pressure. Like Joel advised, you kiss his cock a couple times, each kiss sloppier than the last before swirling your tongue around the tip. You’re learning it all, the softness of his skin, his musky, heady taste. 

“Give me your hand,” Joel says. “Goes right here,” He wraps your hand around the base of his cock, same as before. He places one of his hands on your head, guiding you closer to him, encouraging you to take him deeper now. You do as such, sputtering and choking when you get overzealous and take him too quickly.

Joel chuckles, “Not all at once, sweetheart. Go slow. Try it again.” This time, Joel controls the pace at which you take him. He pushes himself into your mouth and senses when it becomes too much, pauses for you. He pulls his hips back, then rocks back into your mouth, building a slow, shallow pace for you to get used to. 

He’s pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. His tip teases the back of your throat as he whispers, “Little more. Be brave,” You gaze up at him, searching his eyes for some sort of approval. He nods with his brows furrowed. “Do it for me, hon.”

You allow him to fuck himself deeper in your mouth now, your eyes pricking with tears as you gag and sputter on his cock. This time, Joel doesn’t stop himself. He’s grunting, groaning, savoring the warmth of your wet, soft mouth. “So good,” he tells you before tapping your hand, reminding you to put it to use.

What you can’t reach with your mouth, you massage with your hand as you cup his balls with your other. You and Joel work in tandem, him drawing in and out of your mouth as you bob your head and flick your tongue against his shaft. Your jaw is sore with the newness of it all, and just as you’re becoming used to the thickness of his cock between your lips and on your tongue, he pauses. “M’gonna stop you now,” Joel mumbles as he pulls out of your mouth, his eyes focused on your swollen lips and how the string of saliva connected from them to his cock breaks. “S’your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Mhm. It’s etiquette, hon,” Joel says with a grunt, lifting you to your feet. He reaches between your bodies and unbuttons your pants, pushing both them and your underwear down your legs. “Always return the favor.” Joel lifts you slightly, sitting your bare ass on the hood of his car, then pulls your pants off your legs the rest of the way. “Arms up,” he tells you. He lifts your shirt off of your body, unhooks your bra and lets it fall to your lap. You’ve never been so vulnerable, so exposed in front of someone before.  Instinctively, you cover your chest with your arms and cross your legs. 

“You’re shy,” he whispers. Joel drapes your clothing over his shoulder before reaching for your arms, removing them from your chest and placing them on either side of your body. “Stay like this,” He holds your knees next, uncrossing your legs and spreading them wide for his view. 

Joel takes in your body and admires your wet cunt, how your thick curls frame it beautifully. A shiver goes down your spine as his eyes scan the rest of your body before he holds intense eye contact with you as he folds your clothes, placing them in a neat pile next to you on his car. You watch his chest rise and fall with steady breaths as he drops to his knees, situating himself between your thighs.

He presses a sloppy kiss against your inner knee, then another on your other leg. He kisses his way up your inner thigh, nipping at your flesh and soothing the marks with his tongue. He holds your legs firmly apart, knowing your instinct is to shut them when he reaches your cunt, his hot breath fanning over your center. “Wider,” he whispers, “I gotcha.”

The once cool metal of Joel’s car is now hot and slick under your sweaty, trembling palms. Your pulse beats as you look up at the garage ceiling, lacking the courage to look at Joel between your thighs. “Relax for me,” he tells you. You try. 

You gasp when he finally begins exploring you, first his thumb parting open your folds. Adding a couple more digits, he hums in satisfaction as he finds you’re already wet, your slick glistening on his fingers. He dips one of those fingers inside of you slowly, watching how you react to his touch. You twitch and fight to keep yourself still and silent as he adds a second finger, curling it rhythmically and stroking that sweet spot inside you. 

“Oh, god,” you moan as he dives into your cunt, the soft and warm, private place between your thighs, his mouth now joining where his fingers touch. His tongue is hot and wet as he drags it through your sex, circling your clit with it. “Joel, please.”

Joel’s satisfied as he hears sounds of pleasure fall from your lips, feeling your hips bucking and grinding gently against his mouth. He sucks one fold, nips at the other as he curls his fingers inside you rhythmically. With the hand that’s not teasing your pussy, he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your thigh. “Quit squirmin’ on my car,” he warns with a firm squeeze to your thigh, hard enough to bruise you. “Ya tryin’ to scratch her again?”

His wiry stubble drags across your skin, scratching gently against the inside of your thighs. You can feel it building up quickly, that hot, sparkling feeling deep in your core as he works you, sucks your clit between his lips. 

“Please,” you cry, the only word you can form at the moment. 

“I know, hon,” he murmurs, escalating his efforts on your pussy. Sucking, licking, curling his fingers harder. He works you through your orgasm, feeling you gush against his mouth, your arousal dripping down his fingers and pooling into the palm of his hand. Your hands fly to his scalp, twitching and jerking from the sensitivity with your fingers tugging on his curls when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt. 

Joel pulls away from your center with a satisfied grin, lips shiny, his facial hair damp. He rises, standing above you, and sloppily kisses your lips. You’ve never tasted your own arousal before. His strong hands find your ass cheeks, pulling you closer to where he wants you.

From there, you gasp when he slides his cock through your slick folds, rubbing thick head against your sensitive clit and watches how you react to his touch. “What do you think I’m doin’ to ya next?”

“Joel,” you whimper, your hips chasing his movements, following where his cock teases your cunt. 

“Yeah, you know what I’m doin,” he purrs. “Crossin’ it all off your list tonight.”

You tense when he notches just the head of his cock in your pussy, reaching for his arm, his shoulder, any part of him you can hold. 

“Know you’re nervous,” he says softly, rubbing circles into your thighs. “But s’just me an’ you here. Wider, hon. Spread your legs for me.”

You nod quickly, following suit and spreading your legs to accommodate him. “Like this?”

“Yeah, like that. S’perfect, hon, that’s all I need from you. C’mere,” Joel adjusts his hold on you before inching his cock into you a bit more. You’re so tight, squeezing him hard and whining through the stretch as he pushes into you further, the gradual slide inside your body causing him to grunt quietly. “Relax for me,” he groans through a strained breath, parting your insides as he’s sheathed himself inside you fully now. “Bite me f’ya need to, sweetheart. It’ll be okay. You’ll get used to it.”

It aches, but the pain dulls as Joel lets you get used to the feeling, the newness of his cock inside you. He holds you close and you take advantage of his suggestion, biting softly into the flesh of his neck, tasting the saltiness of his skin as you whimper quietly. Joel groans, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Shh,” he hushes, “You’re okay, hon. You’re doin’ alright.”

Joel slowly pulls out of you and fills you up again. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he praises as you tilt your hips, opening yourself to accept more of him. You’re humming into his neck as his cock recedes and then pushes in once more. “Eyes on me now. There it is, easy. Easy.”

You do as instructed, pulling your face away from him to meet his gaze. His sparkling brown eyes stay on yours as he pulls out of you, pushing into you slowly, deliberately. You hold onto his neck, his broad shoulders, clutching the fabric of his sweat dampened shirt as he builds a steady pace now. He holds you close to his body, one of his hands traveling up your body and groping your bouncing breasts, teasing your sensitive nipples.

“You just follow my lead,” Joel says, fucking you faster now. His fingers are pressed firmly into your waist now as he rolls his hips against yours. The pain is gone now, dissipated with his continued languid thrusts into you. You feel so full, so satisfied with his thick cock inside you, massaging your insides.

He fucks you steadily but gently, maintaining a quick rhythm. You didn’t know sex could make you feel this way, so much pleasure.  You’re moaning freely, overwhelmed with emotion, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. God, you love it, and it’s nothing but pure pleasure. 

Joel’s not oblivious to your enjoyment. He’s watching you, your face contorting, he’s listening to your moans and your cries, feeling you shiver and twitch beneath his touch and how it’s all because of him, all of your pleasure at the hands of Joel and only ever Joel. He feels a sort of carnal sense of power over this, the effect his touch has on you. You’re soft, so soft and all for him, your flesh for his hands and his teeth alone to squeeze, dig into, to bite on. 

You reach for his arm and guide his hand to your center, pressing his fingers against your clit as that familiar tightness in your gut begins to build once more. “Please,” you beg. 

“Thought this was supposed to be a deal for me. Didn’t need to hit my car f’ya needed me like this,” he taunts, laughing breathlessly. But Joel obliges, of course he obliges you. He moves his calloused fingertips in circles over your clit, coaxing out your release. “Takin’ me so good, sweetheart. Look at you, m’gonna make you come again. Makin’ out like a fuckin’ bandit, aren’t you?”

Indeed you are. It’s not long before you’re coming for him. With his ministrations on your clit, his thrusts now faster, harder, deeper, you’re coming undone for him as his name pours from your lips, long and slow like honey. With your lips parted open, you’re twitching and shuddering against him as you watch his face, letting yourself go. You whimper and moan, and your release is volcanic in the way it washes over your body so fiercely. Heavy, vivid waves of pleasure washing over you the way lava rolls down the earth. Slow, fiery, intense.

Your pulsing cunt milks Joel’s own climax, his orgasm crashing through him in such a way that he loses focus on you. His eyes screwed shut, the noises he’s making louder than he intended–what starts as a grunt turns into a moan, long and libertine as he fucks you harder than he probably should as you whimper in overstimulation. His thrusts turn harder and frenzied as he milks himself with your cunt, spurting hot ropes of his come inside you. You take everything he gives you, feeling so warm and full of his spend. 

His movements then begin to ease, slowing down some more until he eventually stills inside of you. He takes the quiet moment to check on you, holding your face in his hands as he makes sure you’re okay. Your chest heaves as he wipes your tears, but you silently nod, reassuring him that you’re alright.

With a soft grunt, he pulls out of you. He watches how your combined arousal spills on the baby blue paint of his Chevelle, then uses his thumb to push a bit of his escaped come back inside you. Such a lewd action from the man. 

Joel helps you to your feet, steadying you as you stand on shaky legs. He reaches for your clothes from the hood of his car, helping you dress yourself. “Didn’t want ‘em to get dirty,” he explains. “Everything’s covered in fuckin’ dirt and grease in here.”

“Thank you,” you smile shyly. Joel opens the garage door, the once peachy and blue sky now inky black. You didn’t realize how much time had passed. You take off back to your house, but Joel grips your bicep before you can step any further. 

 “Nuh uh,” he tuts. “Ya already hit my car, hon, you don’t wanna leave your mess on the hood now too, do ya?” Joel gestures to your combined arousal on the hood of his Chevelle, swipes his pointer finger through the mess and pushes it between your lips. Your brows furrow at the taste, that salty, heady flavor you’ve never tasted before now. “Use your tongue, sweetheart.”

“You want me…”

“Lick it up,” he instructs in a quiet voice. Joel figured he might’ve let you off too easy, seeing as how you came twice–once on his tongue and once on his cock when this was all supposed to be for him. He bends you over the hood of his car, groping your ass as he leans over your shoulder to inspect your work, making sure it’s a job well done. “Good girl,” he praises, watching you lick his car clean. When you’re done, he kisses you softly.

He walks you home, dropping you off on your doorstep. You’re not quite sure what to say, whether you should apologize again, thank him, say goodnight. Joel fills the silence for you. “Gonna teach you how to drive right one of these days. Keep you out of another mess like this one, hm?” he smirks as he kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, hon.”

If you enjoyed, please reblog, leave me a comment, and/or send an ask 🩷 your words mean the world to me and your interaction keeps me motivated to write. Love you all <3

From now on I’ll be sharing cat pics at the end of my fics. Hope you don’t mind 🐈‍⬛😻

#strang3lov3 #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #the last of us hbo #joel miller fic #joel tlou #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x virgin reader

[spaghettiposts]

Window Crashin’

WandaNat x Spidey!Reader

Summery: Crashing into the wrong window at night proves to be the best mistake you’ve ever made.

Warnings: Very OBLIVIOUS reader, straight up stupid I can’t lie. Gay panics all around. Fluff

Word count: 1.6k

A/n: my first time officially writing for Nat and I think I’d like to continue so expect separate fics of her sometime soon.

Kraven had become an incessant thorn in your side, his relentless rampage ever since he announced “The Grand Hunt” in the heart of Central Park felt like a never-ending nightmare. One that persistently dragged on as the weeks floated by, each day a new form of tinnitus growing in your eardrums at the echoings of his horn. Falling once again into his endless game of cat and mouse.

Or in your case Kraven and Spider–with Kraven playing predator and you, the elusive Spider, trying to lure him away from innocent civilians roaming the streets of New York. 

Which wasn’t as easy as one would imagine, but you made do with what you had, brains over brawns. Clinging onto the hope that eventually, Kraven would grow tired of chasing and resign for the night, with the promise that he’d return. And so the cycle goes on. 

There were other options you could resort to, but those were last resorts, ones you only used if you were certain you couldn’t handle Kraven or in case of an emergency. In all honesty, you’re avoiding involving the Avengers, it’s really the last thing you want this to come to. A couple of broken ribs wasn’t an Avengers level threat.

You could handle Kraven by yourself perfectly fine, and nobody got hurt at the end of the day—except mainly your sleep schedule.

And now, as you swung through the thick chilling air on route to the compound; you were struggling to stay awake, the bruises littered across your body only making it harder to keep swinging. It wasn’t that sleep had ever been your strong suit, but now, it seemed like a distant luxury. The sacrifice of a hero came in many forms, and sleep deprivation was yours. 

Tony had sacrificed half his company in pursuit of a heroic lifestyle, hell, even Steve froze himself to save humanity. If humanity needed you to suffer from fewer hours in bed, then so be it. 

You fought relentlessly to keep your eyes from drooping and it only took the honking of a truck for you to jolt awake, merely missing out on the experience of being rammed by one. 

Shaking your head, you muttered words of encouragement to yourself, living on a prayer of making it back to the compound - in one piece. 

As the familiar building came into view, you let out a breath of relief you didn’t know you were holding. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you swung around towards the left block and homed in on your window, only to face-plant straight into it with a resounding thud.

You groaned against the pavement, pressing your hands on the wall to steady yourself before you could slide off. Silently thanking that radioactive spider for granting you the ability to stick to surfaces as you adjusted yourself, what the fuck?

A miscalculation on your part—or at least you pictured. Pushing yourself back from the wall, your eyebrows crinkled. Huh.

You always left your window open–had one of your teammates closed it off?

Assuming one of the guys must’ve closed it off, you didn’t question much, missing your bed and running on pure exhaustion to really assess the situation seriously. Gripping the sides of the window, you tried to pry from the outside, and after a couple of difficulties; you managed to unlock it, budging it open with a click. 

Finally, home sweet home. 

Your body toppled into the room first before the rest of your body crashed onto the floor, reaching an arm to shut the window behind you. With a sigh of relief, you picked yourself up, stretching your arms above your head, eliciting a satisfying ‘pop’ from your back, feeling all the pent-up tensions of the day leave your body. 

Pressing the button on your chest, making quick work of discarding your suit. You struggled more than you’d like to admit, having to hop on one foot to wiggle your feet out of the padding. 

Amidst your squirming, you failed to notice the crimson warps seeping from your bed, freezing mid-movement as the lights flickered on by themselves, looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You screeched, scrambling up to your feet, firmly clutching your uniform in a poor attempt to cover yourself from the two women on your bed, equally startled.

“Y/n…? What are you doing here?” Natasha says after a beat of silence, her eyes furrowing as she lowers her gun and the arm protectively wrapped around her girlfriend. Wanda mirrored her actions and let the red wisps fall before she turned to you disconcertingly.

You shrunk under their gaze, feeling your heart pick up. It was too late to salvage any attempts at running for it, so you turned away, ignoring how affected you felt by their disheveled appearances.

Instead, you focused on why they were inside your room in the first place. Not that you minded having two beautiful women in your bed but at this hour? 

“What are you doing in my room? I just got back, what’s…” Your voice trailed off, slipping on your suit, as you looked towards your dresser…was it always that color? And why was there a photo of Wanda and Natasha on your nightstand? Sure, you were hopelessly in love with the two but never to this extent.

Barely bordering on those lines. 

“Detka…this is our room,” Wanda said slowly, as to not startle you. 

You cursed under your breath, realizing your mistake. “Aw fuck, I must’ve crashed into the wrong—wall-side thing,” you explained messily, picking yourself up for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

“Crashed?” Both of the girls shouted and you winced, scooting off awkwardly to the side, feeling even more like an intrusion. 

“Yeah but it’s okay though, that’s nothing compared to Kraven's fists, trust me.” You meant to reassure them, but judging by the worried looks they exchanged, it had the opposite effect. Taking their silence as an opportunity to leave, you stepped back.

“Anyways, sorry for interrupting your night.” You mumbled apologetically, reaching for the window handle. “I’ll see y'all tomorrow— son of a bitch.” You grunted, banging your head against the glass for the second time this night. You were really starting to resent these things.  

And Wanda bit her bottom lip, “Malysh, it’s late and you’re…not doing well, why don’t you stay here tonight?” She suggested softly, her voice coming out as sweet as honey and you almost dropped dead there.

“Here?” You blurted out, feeling a mixture of surprise and uncertainty. “Like, with you and Nat?”

Natasha and Wanda shared an amused look, before nodding in unison. 

Your face crinkled, not really understanding what the looks were for but you assumed it was all in your head. Sparing one last glance at the two, you confirmed this was okay, searching for even the smallest bits of hesitancy or discomfort only to find nothing but welcoming smiles. 

With a small nod, barely audible, you murmured a hesitant “alright,” as you settled into the chair beside their bed, placing your feet on the small wooly ottoman.

Had your eyes been open, you might’ve noticed the way their faces dropped in disappointment. After months of obvious pining, not-so-subtle flirting thrown your way, you were choosing to sleep…not with them but on a chair.

A brief silence lingered, and you shifted in your seat. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel their eyes piercing and you were starting to sweat.

“Sorry,” You mumble, heat rising up your neck in embarrassment as you removed your feet off the ottoman, fearing you had overstepped. Still, their gazes remained unwavering and you rubbed your arm unsurely, “Is the chair off–limits too? I can take the floor if that’s better.”

“Dorogoy, we’re inviting you into our bed,” Natasha chuckles disbelievingly, fingers tracing the covers as to tempt you with the invitation. 

“Mhmm, yeah no. I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” You shook your head, stumbling over your words. “I don’t do well in confined spaces with pretty women, I mean— no wait you are, both are super pretty but that’s not—“ 

Thankfully, Wanda interjected before you could embarrass yourself further with a giggle. You swore your stomach flipped. “Cute, but won’t you get cold?” She suggested, Natasha nodding and lifting the covers, adding, “It’s much warmer over here.”

Again, you waved them off and they were starting to get fed up with your excuses. “Oh nah! My suit has thermal heating installed, pretty cool right? Tony helped me insulate it–”

“Y/n, just get in the bed.”

Before you could protest further, you felt those warm red tendrils wrap around you, coaxing you into their bed, and you couldn’t even remember why you were fighting this in the first place when their arms wrapped around you. Not when their sheets were so warm, and their bodies warmer. 

Resistance be damned, as Natasha's hand ran gently through your hair, you relaxed into it, and both girls smiled. This was how things needed to be, always. 

Still, your heart was beyond nervous to even enjoy the moment but they were pushing at your shoulders to tuck you in further, getting settled themselves. They tangled their limbs with your own and it was official; there was definitely no escaping this. 

Pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, Wanda murmured a couple of words and you felt more comfortable clothes encase you. Natasha pressed a tender kiss to the shell of your ear before bidding you a good night.

You repeat her words back and they tighten their grip, closing their eyes. 

With exhaustion finally catching up to you, your eyes drooped helplessly again, fluttering shut, bones begging for sleep, and you finally surrendered to its embrace. Allowing yourself a moment of rest with the two people you treasure most in the world. 

And suddenly, crashing into windows didn’t seem so bad after all.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x you #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda my beloved #natasha x you #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x wanda #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n

[willsdreamgirl]

“morning mr. shelby.” — tommy shelby x reader ⋆｡˚

tommy shelby x fem!reader

you meet tommy as a nurse during the war, but happens when he realizes that he’s known you all along? (loosely based around some s1 plot points, but all set before the war)

18+ minors dni please! angst, fluff and smut

cw: mentions of war, shooting, stabbing, suturing, ptsd, friends to lovers, eventual smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), slight breeding kink

word count: 5.4k+ (sorry lmao)

a/n: ahh first fic alert!! i’m so excited for you guys to read this! don’t be a ghost reader and lmk if you want to be added to my tag list for future tommy/cillian stuff!! 💌

you met tommy shelby during the war. he was a soldier, you were a wartime nurse. before the war, you had obviously heard of him. tommy shelby, leader of the fucking peaky blinders. arrogant bastards.

you lived in small heath, and everyday you’d pass him on the street. and everyday, you’d smile and say, “morning, mr. shelby.” and everyday, he would barely look up at you. you were sure he wasn’t even aware of your existence. prick.

your parents had always told you to stay away from the shelby boys. your dad would say that “they’re dangerous and make whores out of innocent girls” and your mum would make some comment about “the shelby men and their stupid cocks and their stupid judgements”.

they were the most intimidating people in all of small heath, possibly in all of birmingham. truth be told, there was a certain charm to them that you couldn’t shake off. well, to one of them. tommy shelby. you couldn’t tell if it was because he was your age, or because he was powerful and strong, or simply because he was strictly off limits. or because of his piercing blue eyes.

everyone in small heath knew tommy. but you knew tommy. he didn’t know you, though. you could tell if was him by the way he exhaled or by the sound of his footsteps or by the way he held a cigarette in his hand, the peaked cap on his head, a hand in his coat pocket. you despised tommy shelby, but god, was he fucking irresistible.

when men were drafted for the war in france, it was common sense that they’d need someone to tend to their cuts and bruises. you’d decided to volunteer, and after a couple weeks of training, you were right there, in the field. practicing on dolls and bags of rice and flour was nothing compared to what you saw. what you heard.

your first day in france was… eventful, to say the least. some commander had led you to the medical tent, and you were welcomed by the screams of hurt soldiers, blood and panic. you were immediately assigned to a patient, who’d been shot in the chest. you tried your best, did everything you could have, but ultimately, he had just lost too much blood. you didn’t sleep that night, haunted by the bloodshed, by the pleas of the soldier to keep him alive, by the feeling of someone else’s blood on your hands. over time, however, you grew accustomed to having your pristine white uniform soiled with blood and mud.

a month or so after you’d started, you heard shouts outside the tent. “help! someone HELP, for FUCK’s SAKE!” this was a regular occurrence, but the voice the shouts came from didn’t sound wounded. you felt an instinctual need to go see what it was.

what you saw, though, was something you never expected to see. tommy shelby, with a comrade’s head in his lap, putting pressure on a wound in his shoulder. without hesitating, you helped tommy drag the soldier to a vacant bed in the tent. “what happened?” you asked, hurriedly. tommy was visibly panicked. “i- he- um, he got st-stabbed by… one of the germans… his name’s danny- daniel.” you looked in tommy’s eyes, trying to give him some semblance of comfort. “he’ll be okay.” you applied pressure on the wound, and luckily, the blood stopped flowing soon. you cleaned the wound up and looked to tommy. “i’m gonna have to disinfect the wound with alcohol, you might want to hold daniel down for this.” daniel was still delirious from the blood loss, but the pain would be excruciating. tommy braced himself. his hands firmly holding down daniel’s. you nodded before tipping the bottle over on the wound. danny thrashed around on the bed, screaming and cursing, struggling against tommy’s hold. you heard his voice over danny’s. “you’re alright, lad! y’er gonna be fine!”

tommy sat by his friend’s bedside as he came to. you tended to other patients in the meantime but eventually went over to talk to him. “i want to keep him here for the night, mr. shelby. make sure there’s no infection.” he looked at you, surprised you knew him. “you know who i am?” “of course i do, all of small heath knows you. what i didn’t expect was to have a run-in with you, here in france.” he scoffed at his own misery and spoke. “you don’t belong here. you should be home.” you rolled your eyes, even in his state, he managed to be cocky. “if i wasn’t here today, mr. shelby, who would save danny?” that seemed to shut him up. he was about to speak, before you heard your name from the other side of the tent. “y/n, we need you!” after having helped a soldier who looked like he had been mauled, you looked out to see it was nightfall, and tommy had left.

a couple days later, at about noon, john shelby, the youngest of the shelby brothers walked in, clutching his arm tightly. “do you need help, mr. shelby?” you called out. “yes, i-i’ve been shot.” he all but whispered. you rushed over with a tray of distilled alcohol, forceps and bandages. after an afternoon of agony and pain, you had finally managed to pull out the bullet form his arm, john’s face a clear representation of his relief. “oh my god love, if we were home, i’d marry you right now.” you laughed at the proposition. “mr. shelby, i think you’re still a bit delirious from the anaesthesia. besides, i’m your brother’s age.” he looked shocked. “what, you’re arthur’s age? really?? you look nothing like that old prick.” you couldn’t help but laugh yet again. “i’m not that old, jesus. i’m tommy’s age.” he sighed. “marry him then. lord knows he needs a girl.” you giggled as you gathered your things and walked away. “you amuse me far too much, mr. shelby.”

it felt like ages had passed before you saw tommy again. your back was towards the tent entrance but you knew who had walked in. his breath trembled and his footsteps felt a bit unsteady, but it was undoubtedly him. you waited to turn until he called out your name. “y/n, is it?” you turned around, to find his face and shirt covered in blood. “mr. shelby! what happened?” you rushed over to him, taking his hand and sitting his down on a bed. “i- i… killed a man today, y/n.” he looked down, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. you didn’t respond, simply got up and grabbed a stitching kit and a bowl of warm water. “is all this blood yours?” was your first question. “no. most of it is his.” you sighed and searched his face to find a cut on his cheekbone, the source of his own bleeding. “i’m wiping away the blood now, okay?” tommy gulped and nodded, his eyes still trained on the ground. “mr. shelby, i want you to look at me.” it was as if he didn’t hear you. you spoke again, softer yet more authoritative this time. “tommy. look at me.” he finally brought himself to look into your eyes. in his eyes, you saw guilt, regret and fear. in yours, he saw compassion, love and a warmth that could engulf all his pain. “good.” you whispered. you wrung out a washcloth and began wiping the blood away from his face, using your other hand to hold his chin in place. his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist, in an attempt to ground himself. you didn’t say anything, but your eyes told him that you didn’t mind. in that moment, you saw a different version of tommy shelby. you didn’t see ‘tommy, the criminal’, ‘tommy, the gangster’ or ‘tommy, the womanizer’. you saw tommy, a good man, an honest man. you felt his arms tighten around your waist as you pulled your hands away from his face, as if he was afraid you would dissipate into thin air. “tommy.” you whispered. “i’m gonna have to stich that wound up. it might hurt.” but he didn’t mind pain, not if you were the one inflicting it. “okay.” he spoke, his voice deep. he rubbed circles into your skin with his thumbs, the pain making him hum. “sorry, almost done.” you finished the last stitch. “there. you’re all fixed.” tommy held you like that, his hands around your waist, icy blue eyes staring into yours. your arms rested on his shoulders and you leaned down to whisper to him. “tommy. people are staring.” “so? let them.” eventually, he reluctantly pulled away from you. “it’s time for dinner, and then lights out.” he smiled as he spoke, and slowly exited the tent, catching a glimpse of you as he left.

needless to say, you only grew closer over the next few weeks. you were inseparable. whenever tommy had free time, he’d make his way to the familiar tent, and talk to you. it was wartime. you were left hurt and traumatized and so was he, but you both found solace in each other’s company. you told him how you knew him, and how you’d wish him good morning every day, only to receive complete silence from him each time. he chuckled and apologized. he told you about the peaky blinders, what they did, how they ran their business. you bonded over your shared hunger for knowledge and stories. you told him everything you knew about art, history and literature; and he told you stories of fighting gangs in the streets and stealing contraband. his stories were always more thrilling than yours. you’d try to set each other up with people for fun. you’d introduce him to every nurse, telling them how he was fighting for his country, and of course, they fell prey to his charming eyes and dashing smile. they’d ask what he did back home, and as soon as you said the words ‘gangster’, they’d run in the opposite direction. he’d done the same for you. introduced you to other soldiers, and when you spoke to them, about art and literature, they’d call you ‘unladylike’ or ‘too ambitious for a man’. you both secretly liked it this way, it was like you were his and he was yours.

when he became sergeant major, you both celebrated together. he’d brought you a bottle of whiskey, and you spent the night, talking and giggling drunkenly. but soon, he was assigned to be a sapper and dig tunnels. you both knew that the germans were going to dig their own tunnels, and at some unfortunate point, the tunnels would converge. both of you realized the danger it held, but he had to do it. you tried to talk him out of it, though. “tommy, please!” “y/n, calm down.” “goddamn it tommy, think! you’re gonna get yourself killed! what the fuck are you doing?” “i’ll be alright.” “no, you won’t! what if you get hurt? what if they shoot at you, huh? i won’t be there underground to make sure you’re okay!” “y/n, i have to serve my country. i have to do this.” “tommy. i’m begging you, don’t do this.” he simply sighed and kissed your forehead and held your face in his hands. you held tightly onto his wrists as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. “shhh, i’ll be alright. in fact, i’ll write you.” you seemed to calm down at the idea of him writing you. at least you’d be updated on his condition.

the morning he went down to the tunnels, he came to see you. you were sorting gauze and bandages when you felt his presence near you. you turned around and ran to hug him. he buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. you could feel tears brimming your eyes. neither of you knew why you felt like this. you were just friends, right? “tommy michael shelby, i swear to god if you die, i’ll kill you myself.” you heard him chuckle. he took a step back and caressed your cheek. “you take care, darling.” you wished he wouldn’t leave, but in your heart, you knew he had to. a few hours after, you found a letter tucked under a book on your desk. you curiously pulled it out and opened it.

dearest y/n,

i know how much you hate that i’m going to be a sapper now. i want you to know, no matter what happens down there, i care for you, and i love you, unconditionally. i’ve loved you since the day i first met you. i can’t believe i was looking for love in whores and prostitutes when the love of my fucking life was saying the sweetest good morning to me every morning. i’ll protect myself, and i want you to protect yourself too since i can’t do that for the time being. if we survive this wretched war, i want to take you home, ask your father for your hand and marry you, sweetheart. you take care of yourself, alright?

all my love,

tommy shelby.

you couldn’t help but gasp at what you read. he loved you. tommy shelby loved you. the same tommy shelby that was too arrogant to say a word to you, the same tommy shelby that your parents told you to stay away from, the same tommy shelby was head over heels for you. you immediately looked for a piece of paper, a pen and some ink. you wrote a letter back and sent it with one of the workers heading down to the tunnels. you didn’t know what it was like down there, but you hoped your letters would keep him sane. meanwhile, tommy received your letter and opened it with the same enthusiasm you showed his letter. however, he was also filled with nervous energy. he had confessed his love for you, which was so incredibly out of character for him, but with shaky hands, he proceeded to open the letter.

dearest tommy,

to say that your letter was shocking would be an understatement. i never knew you felt this way for me. like i’ve told you on several occasions, my parents always told me to stay away from ‘your kind’ and as a good catholic girl, i obeyed them. but tommy, in these few months, i’ve seen a side of you i can’t ever forget. i love you too tommy, the real you. the honest, raw, genuine tommy that i get to see on late nights and in random moments on busy days. i’d love to marry you, just make it out alive of that damn tunnel, you prick.

only yours,

y/n.

tommy felt his eyes welling up as he read the words you had penned on the paper. it had been so long since he’d seen you, or heard your voice. he wanted you. he needed you. to keep him stable and sane. as the days passed, your and tommy’s letter exchange became more and more frequent, and you felt like even if you were in this goddamned lawless land of blood and chaos, you had tommy. and he was all you needed.

that was, until the letters slowed down. you kept writing him, but to no avail. he hadn’t sent you a letter in days, or weeks, you weren’t sure anymore. you’d almost lost hope, and spent entire nights grieving him. trying to remember the sound of his voice, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the smell of his cologne. you hadn’t heard his breath or felt his footsteps in a long time. the pain was almost unbearable, and some days felt like decades. but the only thought that kept you going was that you saw tommy in all the wounded soldiers you treated. they were someone’s tommy. and they needed to get home alive.

4 months. 4 whole months since you heard from tommy. you were convinced he was dead now. you spent your days bandaging and stitching wounds, yet you could never fix the wound tommy left in your heart. it was one of the hottest afternoons, the french sun blazing unmercifully. you were insanely busy with patients today, the war was almost ending, and the soldiers needed to be fixed up before they could go home. yet, no sign of tommy. you sighed, cursing yourself for holding out hope now for someone who would not return.

“can i have a nurse here?” you could recognize that damn voice anywhere. the deep voice that filled your ears, smooth like honey, you’d recognize that voice at the end of the world. you turned around. tommy. “hi, love.” he smiled. but his smile quickly changed into a frown when he saw your sobs. you took him to a quieter corner of the tent. you stepped closer to him. he went to put his arms around you. you slapped him across the face. “where. the FUCK were you, thomas michael shelby?!” he was incredibly confused. “l- love, what?” “i thought YOU DIED, YOU BASTARD. where were you?” the time you spent apart had changed you, and from his response, you could tell it clearly changed him. “i was TRYING to fucking STAY ALIVE for YOU.” he raised his voice at you. he never raised his voice. neither of you spoke for a while and tension filled the air between the two of you. “i should leave.” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. he left, and you let him.

after a few weeks, news broke that britain had won the war, and everyone went home. five years had passed since you last saw the familiar streets of small heath, and you were no longer a girl, but a woman. a woman who needed to get a job to survive in this city. you walked around and saw a flyer on the doors of the garrison. ‘BARMAID NEEDED.’ you walked in to find harry. he looked up pleasantly surprised. “y/n! haven’t seen you in a while, eh? what can i do you for?” “i’m here to get the barmaid job, harry.” he sighed.” y/n, this job isn’t suitable for a girl like you. these men, they’ve just come back from war, they haven’t seen a girl, let alone a pretty one like yourself, in ages. they’ll have you up against a wall within the first hour of your shift.” you looked at him desperately. “harry, please. i need this job, otherwise i’ll be out on the streets, which are surely worse than this pub. i was a nurse in france, i’ve dealt with these men. please?” he sighed again before nodding. “alright then, you start tomorrow.”

your first shift consisted of the usual alcoholics, men with ptsd, everything that was to be expected after a war. you hear the bells at the door ring as the familiar footsteps walk closer to the bar. without turning around, you ask, “what do you want?” he replies, “whiskey, scotc- y/n?” you finally turn around at the sound of your name falling from his lips. “yes, mr. shelby. so, scotch? on the house right?” he leans over so that just the two of you can hear. “don’t mr. shelby me. come on, love, talk to me.” “i have nothing to talk to you about.” as you poured him a glass of whiskey, he held your wrist assertively. “y/n. come.” you rolled your eyes and went to the shelby’s private booth. “what is it that you want, tommy?” “what the fuck do you mean ‘what do i want’? you, i want YOU. i need you. did ya lose your fucking mind in france like danny whiz-bang?” you felt your bottom lip trembling and your throat choking up. “i… i thought y- you were fucking dead. i mourned you. for MONTHS. i grieved over the death of the love of my life. of my future husband. of my future children that i’d have with him. and then, just as i’m making my peace with it, YOU have the fucking audacity to show up? you have some bloody nerve, tommy shelby.” the look in his eyes softened as he took a step closer to you. “no. don’t you dare come any closer to me, tommy, i’ll kill you.” you said, holding up the bottle of whiskey as a weapon. he embraced you, holding you tightly, his fingers stroking your hair. you resisted the hug and tried to push him away, only to find his grip on you getting tighter. “g- get away… from me, p- please… i- just” your voice came out muffled between sobs. tommy felt hot tears rolling down his own cheeks. “shhh, sweetheart. i’m okay, eh? i’m fine. i’m here, with you.” you dropped the bottle you were holding and it shattered into a million pieces on the ground. you stood there in his arms, crying for what felt like an eternity. you finally pulled away from him, and he wiped your tears with his thumbs. you laughed, but then lightly slapped his arm. “you scare me like that again, tommy, i swear i’ll kill ya.” “i’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead, and you rested your forehead against his. he tentatively closed the gap between your lips and his, and you pulled him by the collar and kissed him with enough force to make him trip and fall. he managed to stay steady and kissed you back with equal fervour. he spoke between kisses. “i *kiss* spent *kiss* every *kiss* second *kiss* thinking *kiss* of you.” you giggled. “i missed you too, tommy.”

he told harry that you’d be leaving the bar early that day, and dragged you out the bar while holding your hand, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time. “the great thomas shelby isn’t embarrassed to have a barmaid as his girlfriend?” you giggled. “never. and those who think i should be embarrassed can suck me cock.” he spoke proudly. he opened the car door for you, and you sat inside and waited for him to turn the ignition on. “where are we going, tommy?” “i want you to meet my family, love.” during the countless hours you spent together chatting, he told you about his family’s idiosyncrasies and stories about them. how arthur needed to be protected the most during fights because he was just as likely to hurt himself as he was to hurt someone else, how aunty pol’s instincts about love were never wrong, how john once fell in love with a prostitute and everyone laughed at him, how ada was the most rebellious and married a communist (who happened to be in of his best mates), and how finn always pretended to act like tommy, doing whatever his big brother did. you were excited to meet them of course, but anxious. they would be your family one day too.

he held your hand as he brought you in, everyone sitting around a table waiting for him. “does everyone just sit together like this?” you asked. “uh, no i called a family meeting for 3 pm.” tommy replied simply. “how did you know you’d be able to have me here by 3?” he winked at you. “i have my ways. and i know how much you love me.” he spoke in a singsong voice. you rolled your eyes at his schoolboy behaviour and waited for him to speak. “shelby’s, this is my girlfriend and soon to be fiancé, y/n.” he held his arm around your waist proudly, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek. you recognized arthur and john immediately from your time in the war. you assumed that the older woman was aunt polly, and the younger with the baby in her arms would be ada, leaving the youngest member of the family, finn. john came up to talk to you first, while tommy spoke with polly. “you know i didn’t really mean the ‘marry tommy’ thing?” you laughed as you replied, “i didn’t either, but fate works in weird ways, eh?” he agreed with you before talking to tommy. arthur was the next one to see you. “you and tommy, eh? if it wasn’t for the war, you two would probably never have met. i s’pose war isn’t all bad then.” “perhaps you’re right. i did find your brother to be arrogant before the war.” “that he is, y/n. that he is.” both of you looked over at him, engaged in conversation with everyone else. you fussed over the baby in ada’s arms. “awww, he’s precious! what’s his name?” “karl, after karl marx.” you shot her a look. “it’s unconventional, i know. but freddie really wanted it.” “it’s lovely.” finn rushed over to you and kissed your hand. you gushed exaggeratedly. “what a gentleman you are, finn!” “if tommy wasn’t here, you’d be my girlfriend, miss y/n.” you laughed at his childishness and ruffled his hair. “sure i would, finn.” the only person you hadn’t spoken to yet was aunt polly, arguably the most intimidating person of the family. “i have one question for you, y/n. how you answer it will determine if you’re fit for being a shelby. how do you think i kept this business up and running during the war?” you felt put on the spot but tried your best to answer. “um, well, to be quite frank, i’ve believed that women are better at business anyway. we know how to settle deals with whiskey and not fists or guns. and you seem like twice the man than most men i know anyway.” her lips twitched up into a smile as she looked to tommy. “oh, i like her already.” he held your hand in hers, and addressed tommy. “she seems like a lovely girl, do not fuck this up tommy.” tommy shook his head and laughed. “i’ll try, pol. i’ll try.”

you ate dinner with the shelby’s before you headed up to his house. “you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?” he asked for the hundredth time that night. “no tommy, i’m perfectly content spending the night with you. unless you’d like me to leave?” you questioned. “no no, stay, please!” he said, almost pleadingly. you looked around his bedroom when you reached his home. it was obviously a house, but it didn’t feel like a home. you frowned at your observation. “what’s wrong, y/n?” “this house isn’t a home yet, tommy.” “that’s because i want my first home to be with you. with our children. and as far as i’m concerned, you are my home.”

“care to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. you looked at the gramophone in the corner. “that doesn’t look like it works, love.” you placed your hand in his. “so what? we can dance without music.” he said, holding your waist close to him, your hand on his shoulder. you leaned your head on his shoulder, both of you dancing in the silence, listening to the sound of each other’s breathing. “kiss me, tommy.” you whispered. he obeyed probably for the first time in his life and kissed your soft lips.

things escalated and you were now on tommy’s bed, tracing the sun tattoo on his chest, with him on top of you. “fuck me, tommy, please.” “your cunt wants this cock?” he growled. you moaned in his ear. “fuck, yes tommy, make me yours.” he stretched you out in the most blissful way. of course, you had used your fingers before, but nothing could replace the feeling of his cock. “god, please!” you moaned out, words slowly turning into incoherent sounds. tommy chuckled. “god can’t hear you now, sweetheart. not here.” he pistoned his hips into you just right and it wasn’t long before he found the spot inside you that made you scream. “t- tommy fuck! right there, please don’t stop!” “i wouldn’t dream of stopping, darling. my girl, so pretty all spread out for me. take it, love. take that cock.” the feeling of your impending orgasm coursed through your entire body, making you writhe in pleasure. “god, i’m so close tommy!” “good fucking girl.” his hand reached down to rub circles on your clit while he fucked you so good. “oh god, tommy, i’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow…” “that’s the plan, sweetheart.” he spoke as he kissed hickeys on your neck, matching the ones you’d given him earlier. “come on love, make a mess on my cock.” as soon as he said that, you felt yourself falling apart, the tight band in your stomach snapping, uncontrollable moans of his name falling from your lips. “thank you tommy, thank you so much.” you moaned, drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you. “such an angel. who do you belong to, sweets?” he said, still pounding your cunt. “y- you, tommy. i belong to you!” “that’s right, sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, “i love you, darling.” you moaned as you felt your second orgasm approaching. “tommy, fuck! i- i love you too!” “god i’m gonna cum inside you! you’d like that, eh? me getting you pregnant, all nice and round with my baby?” you felt your orgasm pulsing through you at his words. “yes, tommy! fill my womb up, please! i need it!” you heard tommy’s loud moans as he came inside you. “oh, such a good girl. took my cock so well, love.” tommy stayed on top of you for a while, his cock still inside you. “i’ve wanted to do that for five fucking years.” he spoke, voice muffled since his head was buried between your tits. you laughed, but the laughs quickly turned to moans as your sensitive cunt felt friction from tommy’s cock rubbing up against its walls. he pulled out of you slowly, watching his seed spill out of you. he eventually got up to get a warm washcloth and a glass of water for you. you drank the water as he cleaned you and himself up and pulled you into his chest. you pulled the covers over both of you, feeling your body flush against his. “that was amazing tommy, thank you.” “the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart.” he kissed your forehead.

ever since tommy came back from france, he had these recurring nightmares every night. of his time in the tunnels. the germans. his comrades. how he had to kill people with his bare hands. he could still hear the shovels digging the tunnels when he closed his eyes. when he was with you though, he could finally fall asleep. or so he thought.

you were awoken in the middle of the night by the sounds of a gasping tommy, suddenly sitting up. you felt groggy for a moment, having just woken up, but quickly sprung into action. you sat next to him, rubbing his back. “tommy, what’s wrong?” he didn’t speak. but he didn’t need to. you’d seen enough cases of ptsd from your time in the war to know what was happening to him. “you still see it, eh?” he only nodded. you laid back down and pulled him into your chest. he protested. “what are y-” “shut up.” you could tell, he was still a bit frantic, his breath still heavy. you spoke to him in a soft tone and you played with his fingers, his head on your chest. “listen to me. listen to the sound of my voice. feel my body against yours. you are home. you are safe. the war is over. the nightmares are just parts of your mind trying to scare you. but you’re stronger than that, eh? i’m here with you, and you don’t need to be scared. alright? i’m here with you, always.” he hummed, heavy eyelids slowly closing shut. being able to smell the scent of your perfume helped ground him. “good job, tommy. now sleep. i’ll be here with you when you wake up.” you managed to get him to go to sleep, but somehow convinced your mind to let you sleep light enough that if tommy were to have another nightmare, you’d be up immediately. fortunately, he didn’t wake up during the night.

he woke up to the sight of a sleeping you, the sun rays hitting you just right. he swore he could look at you forever. you felt his gaze on you and slowly opened your eyes. “how’d you sleep?” you asked. “like i hadn’t slept in years.” he replied.

“morning, mr. shelby.” you wished him, as you did, every day before the war. except this time, you were in his arms, in his bed. you kissed his lips softly. except this time, he finally wished you back.

“mornin’, sweetheart.”

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[ambrosiagoldfish]

Can you write more Adam fics plz there so freaking good

Benefit of the Doubt PT.2

Adam x 3rd Spouse! Reader

Viewer discretion is advised

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff to Angst to comfort, General Adam TW’s, Reader lowkey-highkey has a complex about being loved, Panic attack (I’m not even sure if this is correct term or not), Adam is afraid of heights (makes sense in story) This is set way before the show, and Gn! Reader (Y/n is once again not used lol)

Part 1 Part 3

Request Box: Open

Word count: 3136

A/N: Hi! I’d like to Thank you all for the love and support on Part 1! It means a lot that you all enjoyed it as I loved writing it! I’d also like to apologize for this being a week late, I honestly had 0 idea on how to start this one and then a bunch of stuff in my life happened, so it was a mess.

So as an apology I tried to make this one longer than the first! (I seemed to go a little overboard but it’s fine)

Anyways I hope you all enjoy part 2 to ‘Benefit of the doubt’ and as always, if you do, please tell me if want another part in replies/requests/DM’s!

Proofread but of course could have missed something

Tags: @tired-of-life-86

To think love could feel this good.

You were made for it, to give it, receive it… You’ve waited your entire existence for this love, This closeness. It doesn’t even feel real now, even as you’re walking down the golden lined streets of heaven with his arm wrapped around you, all while you’ve been showing him around. The best places to eat, entertainment, or just a nice park. You made sure to show him all of it.

He kept his wings tucked to his sides, the gold contrasting with the white of his robe. The feathers at first glance looked sharp, but now, being so close to him, you could see each of them individually and how soft they must be.

“Hey Sweetcheeks, my eyes are up here”

You jump slightly “Sorry… Adam.” You avert your eyes away from him and focus them in front of you.

Adam laughed “I didn’t say you had to fuxkin’ to stop”

His wings truly were beautiful. It was hard to keep your eyes off them. Adam had only got to heaven recently, it made you wonder if he had the chance to use them yet. You remember when you were first created, wings took forever to get used to. You crashed and fell so many times before you figured out how to use them

Properly.

“Ok seriously, you keep staring, what the fxck is up with you?”

“It’s nothing, just…. Have you tried out your wings yet?”

“Uh, yeah totally, they’re rad as hell” Adam’s voice drifted off, the LED eyes of his mask looking away from you as you both walked. Was he… lying? Why would he lie?

You quickly walked in front of Adam, leaving his warm embrace, gently you took his hands as your wings picked you off the ground. The gust of wind with each flap softly blew around you.

“Well, come on, it will be faster than walking.” Your voice was soft and airy. Slowly, so very slowly, you lifted yourself higher from the ground, Adam’s hands locked firmly in yours, as he was pulled with you in the air.

“W-Wait a- shit- Wait a- motherfuxking second“ Adam yelled strand after strand of curses as you both lifted further and further into the air. His body flailed and his legs kicked against nothing. You pull him to you, his arms quickly snake around your waist, holding on for his dear After-life.

“Adam… did you lie to me?” Your voice was still so soft, so calm, so sweet.

“Fuck- yes I lied, I’m sorry, so put me the fuck down you crazy asshole-“ Vulgar as ever, his voice had fear in it, the LED eyes were forced shut and his grip around you was getting tighter and tighter.

Your arms wrapped around Adam’s head as you laid back, letting The wind breeze from the air pull and push you along its path with your wings soaring through the clouds..

“Adam, it’s ok, I promise you’re fine, all you have to do is open your eyes.”

You pet the back of his neck trying to sooth him which seemed to work after a few seconds. Adam didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to open his eyes. But the longer he kept them close, the more you would whisper soft words of encouragement to him. Eventually, his eyes slowly but surely opened.

“See? There is nothing to be scared of. I’ve got you.”

You hold him closer in your embrace. Adam looked below, the white vastness of heaven’s clouds beneath you both felt unreal, but as amazing a sight it was, Adam’s grip on you didn’t loosen.

“So… I’m guessing you don’t know how to fly yet?” You laugh a little, rubbing a spot on his back, just between his wings comfortingly.

Adam huffed and looked away “oh! I couldn’t fxcking see that!”

You held him close to you. The embrace seemed never ending, and you loved every second of it. Feeling the warmth of his plump body next to you was like a dream come true.

“Here let me just…”

You moved your hands slowly down his arms, caressing the soft flesh as they moved to eventually be at his hands behind you. You began to leisurely undo the grip he had around you.

“What do you think you're doing-“

“Shhh, relax, just trust me, ok?”

With each finger being removed from you, the grip lessened bit by bit, until eventually his hands were fully in yours. Your face leaned closer to his,

“Come on, just give your wings a good flap, trust me.”

“Ugh…. Fine but I swear to god if you let go-“

“I won’t.” Your voice was firm, yet still remained reassuring.

Adam didn’t want to do this. He really didn’t want to. But what other choice did he have? He gruffs and extends his wings from his body. The wind brushed and tickled at his feathers. The way the light hit them caused a glare of gold to be cast from them, enveloping you both. Then, he gave two hard flaps of his wings, he lifted up slightly before quickly falling back to where he was.

“There you go! Now keep doing that.”

Adam continued, his wings slowly pushing him up and up before being sent back down when he stopped. This repeated for a few minutes until he finally got a grip on it. The entire time, you were laughing. Pure unadulterated laughs of joy.

Truly, to think love could feel this good?

“See? You're a natural!”

“Of course I am! I’m the Original Dick, obviously I’d… be good at this… flying… shit.” With all the parading he was doing he kept forgetting to use his wings causing him to fall. ‘A natural’ may have been an overstatement on your part, but hey? At least he hasn’t fallen flat on his face yet!

Gently, you led him through air, giving him reassurance every few feet you flew, never letting go. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. Before you knew it a brisk orange sunset encased you both with its hue. That’s when you realized just how long you both had been flying.

“You must be tired with sightseeing all day… I think it’s time we go home and rest, yeah?”

“Home?” Adam’s voice sounded for a moment genuinely confused. Had he not been told he’d have a place to live in heaven? As much respect you had for Sera, you’ll have to file a complaint to avoid this with future souls.

You gripped his hand and opened your wings letting the wind lead you through the clouds and above the city. The angels below look like ants at the height you both were. It was peaceful, the flight back home. But it did seem… off? So… quiet? You couldn’t put it together, at least not at the moment, But Adam hadn’t spoken a word since you both left.

Adam, while yes, he was initially confused, it made sense to him, why wouldn’t heaven have a place for its people, a place for each of them to relax, to feel safe, happy, at home.

Home was such a weird word for Adam. Has he ever felt like a place was his ‘home’? The closest thing to it was the Garden of Eden but even that proved to be anything but a home for him. Ever since that snake entered his garden.

No. He can’t think about that now. He doesn’t want to have to think about that again. But oh-do thoughts love to worm their way back into your mind when you least want them to. He’s snaps out of his thoughts when your voice picks up

“Ok, we’re here! Just get yourself settled in and I’ll go make us something to eat. I didn't really know what food you’d like so I mainly just have junk food… I hope that's ok.”

Adam nods his head nonchalantly

You smile, waking him over to the small, plush couch in the living room and handing him a blanket and some pillows. Telling him to wait a second as you fetch some food, leaving him alone.

Adam thought your house seemed welcoming enough, ‘well… our house’ Adam thought. The living room was dark aside from a few luminous lights around the room as well as the small blue gleam from the windows from the night sky.

The couch was comfortable and the pillows just as much. And the blanket you gave him was soft and warm. This really was heaven, huh?

His thoughts are, once again, interrupted by your voice, “Ok here we go, I’ve got snacks and some soda” you say, handing him some of the many food you ravaged from your fridge and sitting beside him, wrapping yourself in the shared blanket.

Grabbing the remote lying next to you, you flick on the TV flipping through the channel before ending on a cheesy sitcom, you keep the volume low wanting to enjoy any conversation with Adam. Except… he never started one. So that’s what felt off.

The entire time you flew back home, got snacks and found something to watch. He hadn't said a word. You may not have known him long but even you had already picked up that he was an advid talker in a conversation.

“Is… everything ok Adam?” You whispered, not want to scare him with your random words.

“What kind of question is that, I’m fxcking fine… I’m fine.” His voice trailed off at the end almost getting as quiet as yours.

“Are you sure cause-“

“I said I’m fuxking fine!” His voice roared through the dark room. Gritty and callous, but you could tell it was meant to hide something. Something he didn’t want you to see.

“I’m sorry…” you paused. What did you want to say from here? What could you say? You took a deep breath and tried to continue. “I… I know I said this earlier… when Sera left.”

Adam’s LED mask looked away from you half shut eyes and a frown forming a scowl on it, but still he let you continue.

“But I’m going to say it again anyways cause… I mean it. I’m really happy to have you here. To finally have you home” you place your arm around Adam’s back rubbing it soothingly as let your head slowly lax onto him, gently cuddling close to him.

That word again… home. That’s all he could think about ever since he first heard you say it. Why? Why couldn’t he get it out of his head? His breathing was becoming unsteady with each new thought and image his brain made. Lilith and Eve, they were made to be apart of his home, for him to be apart of their homes. So why? Why did it end that way?

Suddenly Adam leap from the couch as fast as he could, the shear force knocking you to the other side of the couch, sending the food to scatter and drinks to spill to the floor.

“Adam!?” Your voice was frightened at the sudden movement. Adam looked just as frightened as you, at least from what you could tell through the LED mask. He suddenly began running, where? he didn’t know, the rooms in the house looked the same. But all he knew is that he needed to be away from you. You followed quickly behind him and pleaded for him to tell you what was wrong, but eventually he ran into a room and locked the door.

He looked around, already out of breath. He was in a bathroom. He felt his knees give out under him as he tried to slowly sit down by the tub. His breath heavy, it was hard to breathe, this stupid mask. He needed it off. But just as he went to do so,

*rattle rattle rattle*

The doorknob began to move followed by frantic knocking on the door.

“Adam! Are you ok?!” Your voice pleaded through the wood of the door.

“Fuxk- I'm fine! How many times do I have to tell you that shit” his voice cracked a few times followed by a strand of curses leaving his lips.

Home. The word repeated like a mantra in his head. Like it was mocking him. Was he not meant to have a place he called a home? To have someone to return to, who would tell him “welcome back!” Without even being told to?

Lilith hated him, Eve betrayed and hurt him like no one else before, ever. They were made to be with him, one was literally made to be his other half. The garden, his home, was taken from him because of something, someone he couldn’t control. it all comes back to him. That albino snake in the grass.

Lucifer, ‘The dreamer’… was this some sort of game to him? To toy with his emotions, treat him like some kind of plaything to mess with, to screw over? What kind of life was it? To have every opportunity and opening be broken down by him, And Adam being powerless to stop it?

“Adam! Please open the door!” Your voice was even more frantic now, knocking every few seconds before it quickly quieted down. Your body slumped against the door.

“Adam… I’m sorry if I hurt you or… or if I was going too fast… I didn't mean to… I’m so sorry…” your breath hitched with tears.

And then there was you.

You have been nothing but kind to him since you met him. You showed him around heaven, taught him how to fly and welcomed him home without having being told to. You were so different. So, so very different. Adam figure that out a while ago now. But in reality, it’s exactly why he was terrified.

To have someone who loves him so... unconditionally.

*click*

The sound of the door unlocking drew your attention and was followed by it slowly opening from Adam on the other side, still on the floor.

“Adam!” Your voice was low, already tired from crying. You crawled your way toward him before stopping in front of him, tears still falling from your face, “I’m sorry Adam, I’m sorry-“ you were cut off by a quick movement.

Warmth enveloped you, clouding your senses as a soft weight laid onto you. Arms wrapped their way around you in an embrace.

“Shit- it's not your fault, it was never your fault…” Adam’s voice was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his regular tone. Sincerity evident with each word. All you could do was hide into his large frame and cry at the words.

Adam was never good at comforting people. He himself was never comforted, so the concept was more than a bit foreign to him. But even still, he tried. Slowly he helped you both up from the bathroom floor and made your way back to the couch.

The floor was covered in the discarded food you both left behind. The spilled soda is now dried and sticky. Crumbs everywhere.

“Here.. let me get a mop and broom-“

“No just sit down, I’ll clean up the shit I made” you lay down on the couch and watched as Adam swept and mopped the mess from the floor. The entire time the silence hung in the air by a thread. Neither of you wanting to be the one to snap the string and speak.

Finally Adam got done cleaning the mess and made his way to the couch. He sat down and gestured for you to come closer. Crawling over to him, he wrapped the blanket around you both allowing you to snuggle into him.

“Do…” your voice barely audible “Do you want to talk about it?”

Adam looked hesitant but nodded.

“You know about everything, right? About… what all happened in Eden?

You nod against his chest content on listening.

“When… When Lilith left me, I thought I didn't care as much as I did. I thought she was a bitch and that was that. And it didn’t help that as soon as she left, I got Eve…”

He paused

“Then, when I found out about that shit between Eve and Lucifer… I didn’t care then either, but I didn’t understand why…” his voice hitched “but when I ate that damn apple… I realized how hurt I should have been. All the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, learning all of it through that fruit, I realized one shitty truth… that the one I loved betrayed me.”

You hugged him tighter softly, your hands caressed his stomach as some form of comfort before he continued.

“For the same person- Both of them for that snake…”

“Adam… I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“And that’s why… I’m scared. Scared that I will fuxk up again and get… attached to you. Because every. single. time. He ruins it. And I don't want to see that happen with you.”

Your heart ached for him, the saddening look of his LED mask as he talked only furthered your emotions. Slowly your hands made their way to his face, he looks at you confused, your fingertips crept under the mask before his hand shot up and held your wrist slightly, carefully not holding it too tight.

“Sorry fuck- I’m.. I’m not ready.”

You smile and nod understanding “Adam. I love you… with all of my heart. And I would never do what those two done to you. “

Adam thought for a moment deciding what to say.

“Promise?” was all he could think of, his voice, mind, and body were all too tired to speak more about it.

You slowly remove your hands from his mask, instead taking one of his hands into yours.

“I promise, I would never betray you, let alone talk to that man” ever-so lightly, a soft golden glow burned between yours and Adam’s hands, the gold flame was warm and comforting to both of you as it rose and grew in strength.

From the flame, a string wrapped and warped itself around both yours and Adam’s pinky fingers. The string tightened and loosened as it moved, before finally melting away leaving only two solid gold rings behind, One on Adam’s finger and the other on yours.

“What the hell was that?” Adam’s voice was filled with bewilderment

“A deal- or I guess a promise. In this case”

“Shit, You didn’t have to do that-“ this time it was your turn to interrupt him. You bring Adam’s hand to your lips, and give a kiss on his newly formed ring before lying down and cuddling into Adam.

“I know.”

For once in his life, Adam felt at ease with love. How easy it was to fall for you.

Is this what home feels like?

#Hazbin hotel #Hazbin #Hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x gn reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin x gn reader #hazbin x female reader #hazbin x male reader #Adam x reader #adam x gn reader #adam x female reader #adam x male reader #Hazbin hotel Adam #Hazbin Adam #Hazbin hotel Adam x reader #hazbin adam x reader #hazbin hotel adam x gn reader #Hazbin hotel Adam x female reader #Hazbin hotel Adam x male reader #Hazbin Adam x gn reader #Hazbin Adam x female reader #hazbin adam x male reader #angst #angst with a happy ending #angst with comfort #hurt/comfort #x reader #x male reader

[justaweirddruid]

.

#I'm staying by myself at my parents house to take care of the pets while they're out of the country visiting my brother #and my dad thought it was a good idea to tell me that there's been a violent robbery a couple of weeks ago #at a house a few streets over #so now I'm having panic attacks at the smallest random sounds at night #not looking forward for the next couple of weeks #on the bright side #I'll be able to catch up on every fic I've been meaning to read #since I know I won't be able to sleep properly #so you know #fun #personal

[huicitawrites]

The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

[nouearth]

once upon an eggnog.

clark kent x male reader.

summary: there's nothing better than physical touch to sober reader up after a christmas party.

wc: 1.1k. warnings: fluff, holiday!season, drunk!reader, maws!clark, worried!clark, co-worker!au, reader doesn't know clark is superman, non-descriptive mention of reader throwing up, clark has very warm hands and is a simp because he wants to make reader happy.

a/n: aaaaa, hiya! it's been a long time since i've written anything, but i'm finally on break and i thought a nice fluffy fic would help me warm up to writing again! i was going to do one of my requests, but they were all smut LOL, and i know i cannot do smut after such a long break. i need to warm up, so apologies if this is rusty! happy holidays and i'll be writing more!!

The groan you let out was feeble. Your shadow trailed behind your sluggish steps as you foraged through neighboring street lights, gravel and pavement, for a stake of its emanating warmth.

“Hey—“ A voice called out from behind you, the blanket of snowflakes and cold dulling the panic in the man’s voice. You rested your body against the lamppost, finding the warmth to be exemplary over your frosted cheeks, but unbearable for your insides.

You let out a deep sigh. The longer you stood under the light, sweat droplets began to frame your face, followed by an overwhelming urge to cleanse your body from the inside out.

“I don’t feel…” You slurred in your speech, holding your stomach as you craned over until you slid onto your bottom, head exposed to the light as you faced the comforting snow.

“Wait up!” He called out to you several more times in midst of his trudge, his panting audibly close. 

You began grumbling incoherent sounds in response as you clumsily whipped off your coat. Your mind was frosted like the windows on the cars lined down the street as you drew in the cold air with a greed to pacify the strange feeling in your stomach. 

“(M/N), keep that on!”

“What are you…?! My mom—“ The constant shifting and turning of your body, all in an attempt to strip yourself of the restrictive wool of your vest and reindeer sweater, churned the bottom of your stomach until it was mush. 

Absolute.

Mush. 

It was funny how the human body worked because even in your drunken state, your natural instinct to find the nearest public trash can surfed through the flood of eggnog and booze, and you immediately emptied the toxins out of your body with several strong hurls. 

“Geez, I told you not to run off…” A messenger bag and a familiar coat dropped near your foot, and the man did not spare a single second to come to your aid. “And also not to drink that much...” He rubbed your back in slow and soothing circles, then in vertical swipes as you coughed out the remaining poison. The strong bass pulsating into his palm as a special way of saying ‘thank you.’

“Clark, it was just a sip—“

“You had six cups….” Clark confessed and your immediate frown was telling in whether you were an innocent bystander, or the reason why the office was running low on drinks. Rummaging through his pockets, he then offered a handful of crumbled napkins that he took from the party.

“The last two didn’t count.” You slurred again, slowly regaining your strength as you stabilized yourself over the rim of the garbage can before wiping your mouth with the napkin. “I needed a drink with my food—“

“You barely touched your plate—“ He cut himself off as soon as he caught you staring at him, the eggnog stupefying you into a dazed state in which crickets and holiday festivities replaced coherent thoughts. 

“We gotta get you home. It’s freezing.” He said, and you swayed in place as if you were a palm tree basking in the summer breeze. Or maybe like a giant marshmallow floating yet sinking in the warmth of hot cocoa.

Clark tried his best to fight the smile that was creeping upon him as he tidied your outerwear for the fourth time tonight, shielding you from the dusting of cold when he layered you with your coat.

His jaw clenched while he chewed back an adoration for your nearly frost-bitten visage, stalling the fixing of your reindeer headband to be closer to you a little while longer.

Though he couldn’t tell whether the deep flush of your skin was caused by the weather or the booze, it didn’t matter in the end because the winter of your skin magnetized a bravery in Clark that stilled you in place. Warmth sprouted over your cheeks like an approaching spring, and you closed your eyes peacefully.

Clark had put his bare hands over your cheeks, cupping them like a delicate bowl of snowflakes until they melted into his skin, until all he could feel was you and your equally delicate skin.

“Better?” Hesitantly, his thumbs followed the trail of your dark circles. It was something you’d always complain about yet ironically, your evident lack of sleep ranked high on his ‘favorite things about you’ list.

“Mhm. If only your hands were a little warmer.” You sighed again, the snowing melting into your hair and skin battling Clark’s warmth.

“Hm…” Clark held your cheeks closer, deepening his palms into you, and he closed his eyes, silently channeling his energy into his affectionate hold over you.

Maybe it was the booze playing tricks on you, or perhaps it was your body shutting down for the night, but you physically felt his hands heat up, warmer than his previous offer. Nonetheless, you gave him a nod of approval, and despite drowsiness approaching, your eyes opened bright to thank him with a smile.

“I’m guessing that’s why you don’t wear gloves?”

“Uh…” Clark laughed, an anxiousness you could point out, but you couldn’t exactly trust your judgement in your current state. “I guess you could say that’s why.”

“Well,” You said before a yawn slurred your speech even more, feeling the muscles in your body losing its strength by the second. “Remind me when you’re nearby so I can use you as a…”

“As a..?” There was a slight push to his palms, a strange sudden heaviness before Clark realized you were gradually leaning forward. “(M/N)—“ 

Gravity pulled your eyelids down, then your body forward, a striking contrast to the graceful dance of snow that dusted the ground. “As…”

And you completely slumped into Clark’s arms. Thankfully, his reflexes were quick to catch you before you could even feel the slightest breeze.

“Let’s get you home…” He smile mirrored the gentle frame of your body as you sunk into him. 

And he held you close, accompanying your deep slumber with a warmth that surrounded and protected your body like a string of Christmas lights weaved through pine needles and tree branches.

A warmth that campaigned against the icier gale, the ego of a higher altitude, during Clark’s flight to take you back home.

And a warmth that was victorious when Clark tucked you into bed, a measly makeshift of comfort and peace you thought during your stir of sleep.

Because Clark’s warmth was a newfound establishment from this night onwards.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#✰ : nou.fics #✰ : nou.dc #✰ : nou.clarkkent #male reader #x male reader #clark kent x reader #clark kent x male reader #superman x m!reader #clark kent x m!reader #superman x you #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman x y/n #superman x male reader #superman x reader #dc x reader #dc comics fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc x male reader #dc imagine #clark kent imagine #clark kent fanfic #clark kent fanfiction #superman fanfic #superman fanfiction #x reader #x you #x m!reader #m!reader #male reader insert

[peachesofteal]

Light On- single mom/neighbor fic Simon Riley/female reader Prompt: 1 of 2 for sickfics / requested by multiple

I’m going to need a raincheck for dinner tonight. 

Simon frowns at his phone. You’re bailing? You seemed excited about it when he asked earlier in the week, offering to take you and Emmaline down the street to the little café on the corner for dinner. It had taken him days to work up the courage, needlessly pushed on by Johnny’s ‘encouragement’ relentless text messages filled with date ideas, and bad pick-up lines. 

Still, you had said yes. Had asked if meant Emma too, and he took secret pleasure in the way you seemed so relieved when he tilted his head and told you, of course.

Okay. Is everything alright? He fires back immediately, wondering if the crying that he’s been hearing on and off all morning has anything to do with you backing out. 

I’m not feeling great, and neither is Emma. I think we’re coming down with something. Coming down with something, like you’re sick? You’re sick? Anxiety twists in the pit of his stomach, worrying curling his fingers into a fist with a clench. 

Alright. Let me know if you need anything? He waits for a text back, an answer of some kind, an assurance that you’ll seek him out if you need help or need anything. 

It never comes. 

Six hours later, Simon is at your door. 

He has grit his teeth through the day, paced around his own flat endlessly, tried everything he could think of to distract himself. Every time he heard Emmaline wail, his stomach flipped, worry, fear, breaking down his logical sense, the analytical part of his brain until he was standing in front of your door, waiting for the inevitable click of the handle. 

When it comes, and you’re standing on the other side, his heart sinks. 

He should have come over soon. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says it as softly as he can, a newfound pitch of his voice that seems to only be reserved for you, trying to allay the panic that has started to form as ice inside his chest. 

“Sorry about the noise.” You croak, and he smothers his wince. You sound awful, voice nearly gone, like your throat has been rubbed raw with sandpaper. Emmaline is clad only in a diaper, and when he looks closer, he can see the stain of what he thinks must be her vomit on your shirt. Over your shoulder, dirty bottles, dishes lay stacked next to the sink, a laundry basket with a mountain of baby clothes piled high sits on the table. 

“Can I help-“ You sway, arm tightening around the baby, and he doesn’t think, doesn’t stop himself, he just moves.“Alright,” He murmurs, wrapping an arm around you, supporting both you and Emmaline by shifting you into his side, one hand against Emma’s back. She feels warm, but not nearly as hot as you, and panic tries to bubble up his throat again at the blaring heat that’s coming from your skin. “I’ve got you.” 

“Sorry, ‘m a little dizzy.” 

“It’s okay.” He keeps you close, turning you back through the door. Emma makes scratchy, unhappy noises, and he rubs his thumb against her skin. “Shhh. I know, I know. You’re okay.” You lean into him harder, and he accommodates it, moving the two of you towards the couch. “I know, you’re not feeling too good are you?” He says to Emma after he gets you down on the couch, hands now around her back, waiting for a sign of permission from you to lift her. 

“She can go down. If you-“ Your breath gets caught in your chest, and you curl forward, his hand going to your shoulder, your body shaking with a cough. “If you want to try.” You whisper once you recover, brows knitted together in misery, and he cradles her, rocking her back and forth, mimicking your usual movements. 

“You stay right here.” He nods to the couch, using a fraction of the voice he uses on Johnny, and you immediately nod, eyes shuttering closed with a slow blink. “Just rest.” 

Emmaline is still crying when he opens the door to her room, the first he’s seen it, pale green walls and dark wood crib, small rocker in the corner next to a changing table. It’s a comforting space, decorated and cared for with love, and for a moment, his mind wanders to an image of you, painting the walls with a swollen belly, or curled in the plush rocker, reading a book to Emmaline, still nestled inside you. He wasn’t there for it, but he just knows you were so beautiful, the kind of glow that would have stopped him in the street. You still stop him in the street. 

Emma wails, bringing him back to reality with a softer cry than earlier, and he keeps her close to his chest, murmuring low and soft. “Shhh. You’re alright, baby girl. You’re okay.” He continues the rocking side to side thing you usually do in a standing position, mumbling things to her, stroking his fingers down her cheek, her forehead, bouncing and swaying at the same. “Are you not feeling too good? Is that what’s got you all upset? Yeah. I get kind of grumpy when I don’t feel good either.” He coos, little lashes slowly blinking up at him, transfixed on his face during his stream of chatter until they begin to slip shut, her mouth still hanging half open. He holds his breath, staring in astonishment at her sleeping face, half shocked, half ridiculously pleased.

“Have you taken anything?” He barely sits on your ottoman, leaning over to get a better look at you, uncomfortable with the way your eyes seem glazed over, how slow they are to react. Maybe you need to go to the hospital? 

“Some naproxen, a bit ago.”  You look exhausted, eyelids heavy, and he can’t stop himself from pressing the back of his hand to your forehead. 

“You’re really warm, sweetheart. Do you need a doctor?” Tell me what to do, he wants to beg. Tell me how to help.

“No, jus’ sleep.” A confused look flickers across your face. “Oh my god, did you…” you swallow a cough, his hand sliding down to cup your shoulder, thumb soft against your dirty t shirt. “did you get her down?” He nods, slowly, fighting the small grin that tugs at his lips. 

“Wow.” You breathe, and your hand drags up your chest to where his still sits on your arm, fingers intertwining in his with a small squeeze. “You really are our hero.” He smiles at you, because how can he not, heart warm and full in his chest, the feeling something he hasn’t experienced in a long, long time. 

There’s a moment, a second extended into a minute, maybe an hour, he’s not sure, where you don’t look away from him. Where you look at him, really look at him, and see him, see his twice broken nose, the scar on his cheek, the one above his eyebrow. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to hide or look away, just holds himself still, staring down at you on the couch, sweat dotting your forehead and neck, still beautiful with your fever parched skin and tired eyes. 

“Simon.” You whisper, and he thinks, maybe… he’s supposed to kiss you right now. That if he were braver, if Johnny were here to egg him on, if he felt like it wasn’t taking advantage of your weakened state… he might. But instead- 

“Why don’t you close your eyes, love. Try to get some rest. I’ll stay. See if I can get some of these dishes done. I can get her if she gets up.” 

“You don’t have-“ 

“I know.” He soothes. “I know I don’t, but I’m here. Let me help.” Let me help you. Let me be here. 

You take a deep breath, as deep as you can manage, and then your voice is light, but so sweet, and so, so trusting when you say;

“Okay, Simon.” 

#peaches writes #light on #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley

[caramelberzatto]

sleepless in chicago // c. berzatto

HI!! here is my first ever dad!carm fic because i simply couldn't get him out of my head. i just love this sweet, little fic so much?? because it just felt so cosy for me when i was writing. i hope you guys love it, too :) and also, i'd like everyone to welcome little riley michael berzatto <3 - clarke pairing: carmy x fem!reader (no description, use of fem pronouns)

The streetlights glowed like stars as you drove home, humming along to the radio. After a long lecture, you were ready to take a long, hot shower and collapse into bed with Carmy.

In the cup holder, your phone began to ring, Carmy's name popping up on the screen. Flicking the Bluetooth toggle on your steering wheel, you answered the call.

"Hi, Bear, I'm almost home."

“Hey, honey,” his voice was low, quiet, and you could hear Riley’s soft coos and babbles in the background. “How was class?”

“Good, yeah. Long, though. Is everything okay? Did Riley lose his paci again? Why isn’t he asleep?”

“Hey, shh, it’s okay, mommy’s coming home, alright?” Carmy cleared his throat, glancing at his son in the bassinet, unable to fight his smile as he watched Riley squirm, reaching his little hands up toward the mobile, sea creatures swimming through the air. “He was asleep, but I was folding laundry in our room and I just heard him start babbling, just saying ‘mom’ over and over. He’s not upset, he’s just, like, awake. And no matter what I do, he won’t settle.”

You smiled to yourself, drumming your fingers on the steering wheel as a red light gleamed at you.

“Try taking him out of his sleepsack, he probably just wants to snuggle.”

“I think he misses you,” he said, voice moving away from the phone with each word. “Isn’t that right, Bug? We miss mommy, huh? But she’s learning, Buggy, she’s so smart. Yes, she is.”

Grinning, you turned onto your street, able to see the lamplight from your bedroom already. One window lit up, a beacon against the otherwise dark house.

At first, when you’d found out you were pregnant, Carmen had been worried. The two of you had agreed to start actively trying to have a child, but when it came to fruition, there was a tumultuous night spent with him, clinging to you, worked up into a state of panic.

‘What if I can’t do it, what if I fucking suck and I fuck it all up, and our baby-’

‘Stop it. Stop. Carm, look at me. Look at me and just shut up for a second.’ You pulled him close, his head resting in the crook of your neck. ‘We will figure it all out together. We’re going to be fine.’

He’d been so worried that he’d grow to create a fucked up family, just like the one he’d escaped from. But seeing him now… He never gave himself enough credit. 

Toeing off your shoes by the door, you crept down the hall and into the bedroom. Kicking off your jeans in exchange for a pair of sweatpants, you were lifting your shirt over your head when the bedroom door creaked softly. You glanced over your shoulder and there they were; Carmen stood in the doorway, shirtless, gold chain gleaming, in a pair of boxers. With Riley on his hip, sleepy eyes bright. Your son babbled, reaching for you with soft, chubby fingers. 

“Hi, mama,” Carmy smirked, gaze darting over you. You wandered over to them, dropping your shirt on the floor, swatting your husband playfully. Carmen pulled you in, his hand cradled the back of your head as he pressed an almost desperate kiss to your lips.

With Riley sandwiched between you, his warm little body like a heater, his curious hands playing with the strap of your bra, you rested your forehead against Carmy’s, just relishing the moment with him. 

Your little family.

And you’re struck, all at once, by the memory of every moment you’d spent wishing for something like this. It had all seemed so unattainable, so out of reach; but you’d just been a lonely teenager, stuck in your hometown. The world hadn’t opened up to you yet.

But now?

If your younger self could’ve seen this, this little moment between the love of your life and the joint result of it, your son…

Well, they’d be proud that you never gave up searching for that comfort, that peace, you’d always craved.

#the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x you

[mockerycrow]

I would like to request a call of duty fic where Simon is out one day in the rain and he sees the reader just sobbing because the thunder freaks them out and he takes them home and gives them some comfort.

Rumbling (Ghost x GN!Reader)

cod masterlist - ghost masterlist

A/N: this is more subtle comfort i guess?? I’m getting used to writing comfort again, please excuse this <3

[WARNINGS: Near panic attack, fluff.]

The storm that started up was not predicted on the weather forecast at all. The clouds that came rolling in were completely unexpected, and these clouds were dark. They covered the midday sky, nearly making it look like the sun was setting for the day. The rumbling was only reported 10 minutes before the storm came rolling in, and the wind picked up. Everyone could smell that it was going to rain, people were rolling up car windows and shutting windows inside of their homes and businesses; the few who came prepared opened their umbrellas and kept walking down the sidewalks and alleyways, and the few unlucky ones jogged down the streets to their destinations.

You, however, were part of an extremely unlucky number of people; those who got caught in the rain without any protection. It doesn’t help that you have a deep-rooted fear of thunderstorms, so as soon as you felt the drizzle, your heart began to pound inside of your chest. It feels like ropes suddenly leaped up from the ground and mended themselves to your wrists, your body feeling heavy and uncertain, jolting violently when there’s a bigger BOOM. You try your best to take shelter under a little roof outside of a business, but it’s barely enough to cover you, yet alone the entrance. It feels like your chest is caving in on itself, your ribs digging into your lungs and restricting your breathing, it feels like such a daunting task to get yourself home by this point. You whimper when a flash of lightning fills your vision and your hands are trembling when they cover your ears, waiting for the inevitable clap of thunder. You close your eyes tightly as your breathing becomes shallow and you instinctively try to curl up into a small ball, as if the thunderstorm is a predator, waiting for its prey to reveal its position to strike. You don’t know how much time has past, but you can feel your clothes sticking to your skin—and then there’s a pair of gloved hands grabbing your wrists. Your heart skips a beat from panic and you sob, trying to fight off whoever it is, but a familiar rough Mancunian accent fills your ears once your hands are away from your ears. “It’s jus’me, lovie. Gotta get you home, yeah?”

Ghost, your neighbor. You don’t know much about him, not even his real name—but you hang out whenever he’s available. You don’t have what his job is, but you have a guess that it’s in the military due to his inconsistent appearances, how he carrie’s himself, his anonymity. You can’t help but let out another sob as you try to focus on him, on his black mask that covers majority of his face and the way his hood of his hoodie obscures the rest of his face, but you can’t. “C’mon, m’leadin’ you to my car.” You’d let him lead you anywhere in this state, honestly. He shushes you softly at the way you jump out of your skin from another strike of lightning, and he tries to soothe you when you cry out in fear from the loud noises. You barely hear the passenger seat open, but you do feel the way he helps you into his car. Ghost closes the car door and quickly hops into the driver’s seat, and once the car doors are closed, the noise of the rain is dulled, giving you a moment to take a shaky breath and wipe your face dry—which doesn’t end up happening because more tears well up in your waterline anyway. You hear a quiet grunt from him as he leans over and puts your seatbelt on you with a click from it locking in place. Ghost reaches into the backseat and grabs a towel—almost as if he knew this would happen. You sniffle as you begin to wind down, unable to speak just yet. Your eyes follow his movements as he drapes this towel over you in an attempt to keep you warm and soak up any water. Ghost buckles his own seatbelt and then quickly turns the engine back on, the Jeep roaring to life.

Just as you open your mouth to thank him and maybe to apologize, there’s another unsuspecting boom, causing you to gasp and cover your ears again, closing your eyes. Fuck, you did not want to keep panicking in front of him—this isn’t the first time you’ve panicked in front of of him due to the weather, but you’ve always felt bad every time. You never told him the reason and he never seemed to ask, so you two naturally fell into a rhythm like this. Your throat feels like it’s closing again and your surroundings are ignored, your fingers pressing the outside skin of your ears against your ear’s tunnel, creating suction that will surely be painful when you move your hands away.

Ghost’s hands wrap around your wrists again and pull them away from your ears, causing a panicked whimper to leave you. “Nononono, please—“ You beg quietly. Is he doing this just to torture you?? Ghost was always nice to you, why is he doing this—oh.

He slid headphones on top of your head, headphones that are connected to his phone. You sniffle and gasp to catch your breath, Ghost grabs your finger and uses it to touch the screen. He makes you press a few blurry buttons and then your favorite of genre of music filters through the speakers into your ears, nearly immediately putting you at ease. You feel your shoulders begin to melt the stress and fear off, your heart taking a break from it’s terrified state and beginning to slow down, and you can begin to feel your fingertips again. You continue to shiver, considering you’re soaked, but Ghost puts the car into drive and turns the heater on, making sure the vents are pointing towards you. You shut your eyes so you didn’t have to watch the lightning—you hated the thunder and the visual made you twitch. As Ghost drove, you couldn’t help but feel extremely thankful for him. Admittedly, Ghost wasn’t too good at comfort, but he provided what you needed quick and seemed to know knowledgeable about anxiety and panic attacks.

The car rolls to a stop and you keep your eyes shut closed. The car jostles ever so slightly when Ghost hops out of his seat and closes the drivers side door. You don’t notice that he comes around to your side until the door opens and you feel his fingers unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing your arm and helping you out of his Jeep. You don’t feel rain so your eyelids flutter open and he’s using his jacket that wears over his hoodie to shield you. You sniffle as he leads you to your front door, keeping you close as you walk.

Ghost helps you unlock the door with your keys and goes inside with you, and once you’re safe and secure inside, he faces you and gently takes the headphones off. You look at him while trembling once again, your gut twisting in anxiety. “Let’s get’cha out of those wet clothes, hm?” His voice is low and rough, soothing. Your fingers twitch before you lean forward and wrap your arms around the man, his heat radiating into your cold skin. You feel him tense ever so slightly, but large arms come around and hold you against himself firmly, allowing you take what comfort you needed.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #mw2 2022 #cod mw2 #modern warfare ii #mw2022 #cod #ghost x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #call of duty mw2 #modern warfare fanfiction #modern warfare two #modern warfare #modern warfare ghost #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare 2 #panic attack

[reobsessed]

Guiding My Heart

Pairing: Tav X Astarion, Reader X Astarion. Gender neutral. Content/Content Warning: Panic attacks, anxiety, fluff, hurt, comfort, kissing, 2200 words. Summary: You'd finally made it to Baldur's Gate, unfortunately the city overwhelmed you in ways you hadn't considered possible. Astarion finds you panic stricken, hiding beneath a bridge. He does his best to comfort you and guide you through the sunset streets back to camp. Author's Note: Hi guys thank you so much for the love on my last fic! Wanted to do a comfort anxiety fic, so please bear in mind panic attacks are depicted in here. Thank you again to Suri for the wonderful reads and edits!

The chance to regain your bearings never came, as you were flushed down the street by a torrent of people. You watched with garbled breaths as your companions navigated them easily, all while you were pushed back further.

Heart pumping, nerve tingling desperation took hold of you; the kind you’d only ever felt during the heat of battle. It was fight or flight, as you ducked into a bricked out dead end.

Were you dying? Your chest pounded and ached as though you were dying. Upon examining yourself, there was scarcely a wound to be seen. Checking yourself over for injuries only heightened your fear. What if it was poison? 

The numbing weakness in your legs grew, you clutched the wall for support. 

“Darling, darling? Whatever is the matter?” The sweet words of your lover filled the hollow of the underpass. 

You could only respond in the form of irregular gasps. Fingers, slender and cold, held steadfast to your waist. You gave up control and allowed them to lower you onto a nearby crate. He crouched down beside you and pried your balled up fist away from your heart, replacing your hand with his own. 

“Did something frighten you, my dear?” His forehead crinkled with concern, before being undercut by an attempt at humour. “I’ve only ever heard it beat that fast for me, but I suspect this time I’m not the cause.” He shot you a reassuring smile, belied by a tremble in his voice.

“Started panicking. Don’t know why,” you choked.

He looked at you sympathetically, before rising to his feet. “Won’t be a moment my dear, stay here.” And with that he ran off, back the way you came. You could hear murmurings outside. Those of your partner’s hurried reassurance and that of your companions, voices raised with concern and inquisition.

The voices began to die down, as did the palpitations in your heart. Astarion rounded the corner back towards you, but slowed his approach upon seeing your distress. He moved gracefully and feline, as if you were prey not to be disturbed.

You looked behind him worriedly, but were relieved when none of your other companions followed behind. They didn’t need to see you like this. You didn’t want them to see you like this. Ideally you didn’t want anybody here, but if it were to be anyone you were glad it was him.

“Now then.” He crouched down beside you, dabbing your forehead with a frilled cloth. Cooling relief washed over you as he held the palm of his hand against your temple.

“Feels good,” you sighed, leaning into his touch.

“Ah yes, I thought that might help. You’re terribly warm.”

His gentle touch and the soothing cadence of his voice were enough to calm you, but the unpleasant tingle of your limbs persisted, as did your erratic breathing.

“Sorry for all of this, Astarion.”

“For what?” he mumbled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me. You only just got back, you finally get to see it in daylight and I’m ruining it.”

“Don’t be silly! We’re hardly leaving tomorrow. I’ll have plenty of time to wander the sunlit streets.” 

Despite his reassurance, your eyes began to well. Something about the rise in his tone unsettled you and like a toddler crying over their parent’s temper, you began to sob.

“Shit,” he muttered, looking around desperately; his face an entanglement of hurt and bewilderment. “I didn’t mean to upset you, my darling.” His hands clamped over yours, desperate to provide you with any sort of comfort. “Did I do something wrong?”

You tried to speak, but all that came out were incoherent whimpers. He looked at you with panic stricken eyes, hands still holding firmly onto yours.

This wasn’t fair, he didn't know how to deal with this sort of thing. You were supposed to support him, you-

“My love.” He looked at you sincerely, a slight smile gracing his lips; one of those rare, genuine smiles, few ever got to see. “Let’s stay here a little while longer.” He planted a tender kiss on the corner of your mouth and held you close.

Tears of a new source began to flow and there was no holding them back. His fingers curled around yours; you were drowning and they were your anchor. You tried to wipe away your tears, but he wouldn’t let you.

“Gods, darling, no. Think of all that dirt and those… fluids- from your enemies I mean, not yours.” He pulled another handkerchief from his pocket (did this man just have an endless supply?) and gently, he dabbed at your eyes and cheeks.

“Thank you,” you sniffled.

“There we are.” He looked you up and down, appreciating his work. “All cleaned up! Shame about your makeup, but nothing we can’t fix.”

Red soreness blazed across your cheeks and seared your eyes with swollen intensity. A quick glance into a nearby puddle revealed the inky smear that enveloped your eyes. Gods, what a sight you were and yet he looked at you with such affection.

You lamented his hands detaching from yours, until they returned to your thigh, stroking soothing circles up and down your leg. Lodged deep within the pulsating heart of the city, you'd finally found your pocket of serenity. Unfortunately your respite was short lived as adolescent bellows converged on your hiding spot.

Astarion’s ears twitched in their direction and his face warped from one of contentment to bitter irritation.

“Oi, oi hanging out under a bridge.”

“Like a couple of lovesick trolls.”

You rolled your eyes at their childish remarks. Astarion, however, lacked the patience needed when dealing with youths. He shot them a glare so piercing, it silenced them in an instant. He was a stray cat, territorial and fierce. A non-existent hiss threatened them from the shadows and like a pair of puppies, they whimpered and scurried out of view.

“Was that really necessary?” you laughed hoarsely. 

“What? You can’t honestly expect me to sit here listening to children babbling on.”

You stifled your laughter. “You’re such an old man. You used to be like that too, you know?”

“I’ll have you know, I was never the sort.”

“I sometimes wonder about that myself,” he laughed bitterly, changing the subject. “Are you feeling better now, love?”

“Hmm, I wonder what kind of child you were.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “We need to get back to the others.” You rose to your feet and Astarion joined you, a supportive hand on your lower back.

“Very well then, I’ll lead the way.” His fingers locked with yours as he led you back into the sunlight. He lit up literally and figuratively, his skin beaming like a pearl in the warm light and his mouth curling into a soft smile. He was truly in his element. “Which route would you prefer? We have the scenic back alleys of Baldur’s Gate and the even more picturesque sewers down below.”

“We can go the normal way. I don’t think I’ll subject you to the sewers just yet.” You smirked knowingly. Your adventure would lead you down into the sewers eventually, why wouldn’t it?

With a guiding hand he led you away from the dark alleyways and into the teeming streets. You did your best to suppress your rising panic. You focused on the prevailing scraps of nature: trickling water, rustling leaves and the painless cry of birds up above. Astarion, on the other hand, had been suspiciously quiet. You noticed how his eyes lit up with delight, as he stared across the street.

“What’s over there?” you asked.

“Huh? Oh, you mean that.” He pulled you in closer; one hand wrapped around your waist, the other still clasped in yours. He pointed across the street. “I’ve always wanted to visit the florist’s over there. The flowers have the most delightful fragrances.”

“How come you’ve never- ah.” You trailed off sadly, already knowing the answer.

“They always close before sundown. It’s rather unfortunate Cazador never let me bring anything home other than victims. A bouquet of flowers could have done wonders for that tacky little entranceway.”

“Well, we could always go together.”

“As much as I’d love to tour the city with you, you’ve had a long day. Let’s get you back to camp first, hm?”

“Okay, we’ll come back some other time.” You said, making a mental note of the store’s exact location.

The sun began to retreat, lost to the shadows of the upper city. There was no quieting of the streets, as the fading light gave way to an influx of people; those departing their homes and businesses, ready for whatever nightly activities they had planned. Astarion held you near to him, skillfully threading you past any who came too close. 

While you had no intention of stopping, a prominent display of cakes and pastries caught your eye. You ground to a halt, dragging Astarion with you. Unnatural hues of reds, pinks, greens and blues peered at you from behind the glass, like rows of infernal eyes. Their construction was intricate and put the very store they were displayed in to shame.

“Quite darling aren’t they?” he said, standing beside you.

“They’re pretty. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted something so beautiful.”

“Speak for yourself,” he replied fondly, looking through the glass; his reflection non-existent, as he looked between you and the cakes. “A sweet treat for my sweet treat.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, we should really be getting back.”

The sun had almost fully set, your surroundings becoming a drab greyscale of abandonment. As you got further and further away the sounds of the city began to fade, muffled behind crumbling properties and streaming waters. It was peaceful, walking together in comfortable silence, firmly attached to one another.

“I could get used to this, you know? Strolling through derelict back alleys with you by my side,” Astarion mused. 

“I’d like that. Wouldn’t mind a change of scenery though, a bit more greenery perhaps.”

Astarion coughed nervously, turning to face you. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk about what happened earlier?”

“I don’t- I don’t really know what there is to say,” you stammered in response.

“It’s alright, we’ll work through it together. We always do.” He flashed you a resolute smile.

“You don’t think it’s a little pathetic freaking out over nothing?” 

“The city can be quite overwhelming, I suppose. Not that I would know, I’ve lived here for hundreds of years.” Just like him to humble brag. “I’ve done my fair share of ‘freaking out’ on our little adventure, far be it for me to judge you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hiding your face in the fabric of his armour. “Yeah, I guess I’m just not used to it. Sorry, again.”

“Oh stop it.” He returned the gesture and held you in his arms. You stood together silent in the moonlight, rocking against one another, all while steely waters lapped against the canal wall.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere so… populated. I feel trapped, like a rat almost.”

He gave you a once over. “Well you certainly don’t look rodent like. The taste is significantly better, I might add.”

“I wish I was a rat, then I could just run and hide in a nice wall.”

He hummed in contemplation. “I know it might be odd for me to be the one saying this, but perhaps running away isn’t the best option? We’ve faced all our problems head on so far, surely this is no different?”

You buried your face back into his chest, your agreement coming out as a muffled groan. “But what if it happens again? What if it happens while we’re doing something important?”

He rested his chin atop your head, arms still encircling your waist. “I’ll be with you, so you don’t need to worry.” He pulled back to look you in the eyes. “Just don’t stray too far from me, okay?” His tone was steady and confident, but there was a desperate and needy look in his eyes. A far worse person could take advantage of such adoration. You couldn’t let that happen, you’d never let anyone use him ever again.

You cupped his face in your hands, doing your best to look as sincere as possible within the eyes that reflected you. “I’m not going anywhere. Especially not while Cazador’s still alive.”

Satisfied with this answer, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was firm and tender, a silent act to seal the promise between you both.

“Right, we should get back before one of them burns the entire camp down,” you said looking off into the distance concernedly.

“Always a possibility when you’re not around.”

The hearty chatter and crackling fire were a welcoming sight, as you approached camp. None of the others had noticed the two of you yet and you were determined to have one last moment alone with your lover. Feeling at ease, you asked him one final question.

“Astarion?”

“Yes, my sweet?”

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?” You grinned sheepishly, lips brushing against his.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #Astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #tav #reader x astarion #astarion x reader #tw anxiety #tw panic attack #my fic #bg3 fanfic #vampire

[roosterr]

murphy's law

a/n: ive had this idea in my head for a while so i decided to dump it out of my brain for all of you to enjoy. somewhat inspired by lunarvicar's amazing wonderful fic to the flame i really love her writing so check it out yo also i haven't written anything in years so cut me some slack :')

pairing: captain john price x gn!reader

summary: when a simple mission goes south, you get left behind in the confusion. you just can't seem to catch a break.

no use of y/n, callsign is 'vantage'

no physical description, but reader is (very) vaguely implied to be shorter than price

warnings: descriptions of injury (nothing too graphic), canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, minor character death, i don't know how the military works lmao, lots of swearing bc i can't help myself

word count: 8.6k

read it on ao3 here

✹✹✹

it was a straightforward mission; in and out, grab what you need, and you'd be home in time for dinner. nothing you hadn't handled before.

ghost and price were on overwatch; the lieutenant was positioned with his rifle on a rooftop across the street, whilst the captain stayed in the suv with a laptop to keep an eye on the surveillance cameras around the exterior of the building.

you'd had your eyes on this intel for months now, biding your time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your opening had finally arrived, and with all that time spent planning, it was going so well.

that should have been the first red flag.

the second, more apparent, warning sign was that anything you found as you, gaz, and soap swept the building was either something you already knew, or irrelevant. how was that possible? the location of this facility was a heavily guarded secret, you'd fought tooth and nail to find it; why spend so much effort hiding something which had such little value?

you'd ventured to the second floor, up the damp stairwell and further into the eerily quiet building. there must be something worth hiding here, you just had to find it. you certainly weren't planning on going home empty handed.

you paused your movement into the dark, staring down the empty corridor through the sights of your gun. you felt your stomach turn, and swallow down the sick taste of bile in your throat. for everything you'd done to get here…

it was going so… well.

bringing your hand to the radio on your chest, you don't bother to calm the shake in your voice before speaking.

"does this feel off to anyone–"

you're cut off by price's shouting, a twinge of panic in his voice you aren't used to hearing from him.

"fuck– it's an ambush! get out of there, now!"

you're about to respond, when you hear gunshots from below you. soap and gaz were downstairs, where the hostiles were pouring into the building, and you were on your own upstairs.

the shots from ghost's rifle make your ears ring, even from across the street.

"vantage, get yer arse down here, there's too many of 'em!" soap's yelling brings you out of your haze, and you can't find the energy to respond as you take off running, back to the stairs you came up. "shit– man down! gaz is hit! they're coming up, vantage!"

you just about register what he said when the door to the stairway bursts open only a few metres ahead of you. diving into the nearest open room, you narrowly avoid a bullet to the gut, and slam the door shut behind you.

shit. fuck. fucking shit.

you counted at least four hostiles up here, and with gaz injured, soap would most likely be dragging him back to the suv you all arrived in, where price was waiting, which meant…

you really were alone.

well, ghost was out there, but he was a man of self preservation. he wouldn't risk coming in here to save you. not when you were this fucked.

your chest felt tight, now, and you could hear the enemies shouting on the other side of the wall. come on, you plead with yourself, do something!

snapping your head to look around the room you'd trapped yourself in, your eyes linger on the filing cabinets lining the wall next to you. you can drag them over here, barricade the door. 

prolong your survival, or delay the inevitable.

you hadn't noticed how hard your nails were digging into your palms until you went to grip the cabinet. the half-moon divots stung against the cool metal as you heaved it in front of the door.

now the hostiles are outside, rattling the wall with their attempts to kick the door down.

you drag another one, for safe measure. you pray they'll be heavy enough.

through the blood rushing in your ears, you can just about make out price's voice.

"vantage, answer me dammit! what is your bloody status!"

"i'm good– i'm good," you manage to get out between pants, never once taking your eyes off the door. willing your heartbeat to slow down. "not injured, just– stuck in a room upstairs."

"that doesn't sound good to me."

it all went quiet when he spoke to you. at first you thought it was just because your focus had shifted– because it was him– but it really was quiet now.

"yeah, i… they're– wait, they're not at the door anymore, they…"

hold on.

what?

"ghost, you got eyes? what's happenin' over there?" there's a sense of urgency to your captain's voice, and for a single selfish moment, you think he might be worried for you beyond that of a just soldier. your frenzied mind lingers on that thought.

the gruff voice of ghost brings you back to reality,

"they're setting charges– vantage, you need to find a way out."

charges. explosives.

all you can muster is a half-hearted, "shit…"

deep down, you know that isn't going to happen. you wouldn't have time to run down the stairs, and even if you did you'd only be walking right into their bullets. there's nothing they can do to help. and you think, deep down, they know that too.

this is it, then, you think to yourself, am i really going to die like this?

and for another fleeting moment, you're filled with regret that you would never get to see john's face again. all the stolen glances, lingering touches, inside jokes; none of it would ever amount to anything. would he remember you? would he even come back for your dog tags?

the tightness is back in your heart, but it's different this time.

your eyes still don't leave the door as your back hits the wall. the faint moonlight gives the room a soft glow, serene, and your heart sinks further into your stomach.

the moonlight;

the window, the outside.

not an ideal escape route, but these were hardly ideal circumstances.

you didn't waste a second with hesitation and backed up for a running start. you thank every deity you can think of that you always insisted on wearing a helmet.

this was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative.

"van, you have to get out, please!" you're not even sure who's talking in your ear anymore, but you know who you want it to be.

for him, you think to yourself, i have to make it back to him.

with a deep breath, you take off into a sprint, tucking your head into your elbow and diving shoulder first through the glass.

as you free fall out the second storey window, you think you hear john calling your name, your real name, and you think you feel a flutter in your chest. it was almost peaceful.

and then you hit the ground.

with a thump and a sickening crack, you rolled unceremoniously and ended up on your side, in the snowy alleyway behind the building you were just trapped in; the building that was about to be demolished. your elbow muffled your pained cry.

right, explosives, the reason you jumped to begin with.

your teammates are still going berserk in your ear, yelling at each other or you or both, but you can't bring yourself to respond. you could answer them once you were a safe distance away– and when you could breathe without heaving. as you stand, swaying on your feet, you feel your ribs shift in a way they definitely aren't supposed to, filling you once again with the innate urge to vomit.

but you swallow that down; it'll have to wait, you need to get as far away as possible, now.

your hands braced your broken ribs– and you notice, then, that your shoulder is killing you too– as you stumble down another alley, leading away from the building. you slip and almost fall on the untouched snow, but somehow manage to catch yourself. in the back of your mind, you notice you lost your rifle at some point. you'd have to survive with just your pistol.

for a moment, you almost felt that you'd gotten away, that you'd made the perfect escape.

of course, it was too perfect.

the charges finally went off. you were thrown forward, and despite your helmet, everything went black.

✹✹✹

your ribs flared with agony at the ragged breath you took, blinking your eyes open as consciousness returned to you. darkness swarmed your vision, contrasting the pure white of the snow that was slowly freezing your extremities, and you fought with every bit of self-restraint you had not to cry. your eyes stung anyway.

how long were you out? you were still in the alley, and you hadn't been found by anyone yet, so it couldn't have been long. i need to move, is the only thought swirling in your head. with what little strength you could muster, you rolled yourself onto your back to look at the ruins behind you.

dust filled the air and coated everything in sight, obscuring your vision almost fully; but what you could make out, was the lights from your enemy's guns as they swept the rubble.

looking for you, presumably.

shit shit shit.

you had god knows how many broken ribs, your shoulder was fucked, and now your vision was swimming, and to top it all off you could barely hear yourself think over the violent ringing in your ears. this night just kept getting better and better.

it took everything in you not to scream at the agony as you dragged yourself behind a fallen dumpster, sitting up against the cold brick of the building behind you in an attempt to catch your breath.

in. out. in. out.

in.

out.

every move had your bones creaking in protest, the longer you sat here the more you felt every little cut and bruise and shard of glass littering your body. the dust in the air tickled your throat and threatened to make you cough up a lung, spots in your vision danced like fireflies, luring you back into the clutches of sleep.

no… i can't rest yet, you urged yourself to fight your drooping eyelids, i have to get back to the suv… they're waiting… for me…

the crunch of debris under heavy boots snaps you back to the present.

someone was approaching.

the optimist in you wanted to believe it was price, coming to rescue you. but you couldn't take that chance. your hand grips the pistol on your hip, drawing it out slowly to make as little noise as possible.

the shadowed figure came stumbling into view. your arm straightened to aim at their unprotected head, eyes wide and breathing laboured.

the man– the boy– locked eyes with you, flinging himself backwards to the wall opposite you with his hands held high.

your expression hardened. he was your enemy. his uniform made that clear. for a moment, neither of you moved, you weren't even sure if he was breathing anymore. like two wild animals, locked in a staredown, each of you waiting for the other to make the first move. which one of you was the hunter, and which one was the prey?

shooting him will draw his comrades over here. sparing him means he can call them over himself. a lose-lose.

lost in your internal debate as you stare at him, you vaguely notice his hand lowering to his belt, and in a moment of panic, your heart clenches in time with your finger to deliver a shot right between his eyes.

his body slid down the wall, a perfect mirror of your own as the life fades from his expression.

shit. again.

his friends must’ve heard that. with renewed, adrenaline fueled vigour, you scramble across the alley, and begin rifling through the packs on his chest and belt.

a twinge of guilt fills you as you notice his empty holsters. he wasn't even armed.

shaking your head, you find what you're looking for; a morphine shot. at least, that's what it looked like, the words on the label were swimming with the concussion you surely had. it would have to do.

you take the syringe carefully, and stick the end into the muscle of your thigh, through a rip in your pants you hadn't noticed before, and inject the solution. it would take a minute to kick in, but hopefully the painkiller would help you at least make it back to the suv where your team was waiting.

where price was waiting. god you hoped they were okay, him especially, though he was probably in the least danger of you all. what you wouldn't give to have stayed in the car with him.

pocketing the empty syringe, you spare another glance at the boy's face. his wide, lifeless eyes. the pack he was reaching for. the same one you found the morphine in.

he… was going to help you. and you'd killed him.

oh god. the realisation has your stomach turning for the third time that day.

you pressed his eyes shut and pushed yourself to stand. as you trudge your way to the far end of the alley, you keep your eyes forward. there wasn't time to linger.

with a deep breath, you steel yourself and begin to make your way through the cold, abandoned streets of the small town. the suv wasn't far, only a couple blocks away. it wouldn't take you long to get there, even with your injuries.

somewhere in the distance, you could hear terrified screaming, presumably the residents who were forced awake by the sound of the explosion.

now that the ringing had died down, you realise that you hadn't heard your teammates in a while. absent-mindedly, you bring a hand up to press the comms, and you almost start talking before you feel the plastic crunch under your fingers.

"oh for fucks sake."

of fucking course your radio was broken. it must have been crushed when you were flung forward by the explosion.

brilliant.

whatever, the suv would be in your sight soon anyway, you don't need it.

the cover of night made it significantly easier to hobble through the streets unseen, thanks to your all black gear. the enemy were still hovering around the destroyed building, but at least that meant they thought you were buried under there. hopefully they would stay distracted long enough for you to make it back.

god, fuck, you really couldn't wait to get back to base. you desperately needed a shower hot enough to melt your skin to scrub off all the dirt and blood from your body. the morphine had started to kick in now, but you still felt your ribs shift unnaturally with every heavy step. you'd definitely need a few weeks off to recover from this one, and you’d probably get an earful from the captain. you’d kill to hear his voice right now, even if he was yelling at you for being an idiot.

only a little further. then you’d be back with the safety of your team, with this godforsaken place in the rear view mirror. with the promise of being able to rest, your limbs seemed to grow heavier as the exhaustion finally made its way into your bones.

except, when you turn the final corner, you freeze, an ice-cold dread sweeping through your veins.

the car was gone.

it wasn’t there.

they weren’t there.

there was a stretch of tarmac that fresh snow just beginning to fall had yet to cover, tire-tracks that showed the u-turn the suv had done, blood on the snow from– you assume– gaz, empty bullet casings from the fight they put up.

but no suv.

no teammates.

no john.

no. no, no no no. they couldn’t have left you. that wasn’t how you did things in the 141. it was no man left behind, you knew that. maybe they’re just circling the area, you rationalised, desperately trying to calm your ragged breathing, yeah, they went to look for me. they wouldn’t leave me behind.

but they weren't here.

and as you followed the tire-tracks down the street, they didn’t go back into the town. they made a straight line, directly to the dirt track leading into the wilderness, clear as day in the snow. back the way you had all gotten here earlier that night.

your knees dampen from the snow, the painkiller in your system keeping you from feeling the impact. when did you fall over? there was no attempt to stop the searing hot tears this time as they ran through the dirt caked to your face. your throat constricted, lifting a hand to your mouth to muffle your hyperventilating.

they were gone.

long gone, without you.

they really had left you behind.

a mumble from somewhere to your left interrupts your breakdown. grief morphs into blinding rage for a split second; can i get a fucking break? you swing your arm still holding the pistol to point at whoever was watching you, twisting your abdomen in a way that has you gritting your teeth.

a woman, clutching her young son, shielding his eyes and ears from you.

you lower your gun. that’s not a mistake you’ll make twice. catching her eyes, you gesture for her to be quiet, which is quickly met with her frantic nodding.

it reminds you, you’re still not safe here. you were supposed to be, but hey, it looks like plans change. no man left behind– what a load of horseshit. you push yourself onto shaky legs, you only had a few hours until the morphine wore off, and you needed to be out of here before that happened. as fast as you could possibly muster, you begin to stumble towards the dirt track that disappears into the treeline, following the slowly disappearing tire-tracks.

✹✹✹

you managed to make it into the woods faster than you expected, and you found a fallen tree slightly off the path to take shelter behind while you licked your wounds. literal and metaphorical.

this was unbelievable. how could they leave you like that? if they’d only taken the time to do a quick lap of the building, they would’ve found you laying face down in the snow, and this whole mess could have been avoided. where were they off to in such a hurry anyway? it’s not like you guys had found anything sensitive. 

oh, wait. gaz was shot. that had briefly slipped your mind. perhaps you were being a little selfish by getting so worked up by this, but then again, for all they knew you could have been in the same condition– or worse. they…

your breath hitched. and not from your injuries.

they thought you were dead. that would make sense, in the chaos of everything, and amidst your panic, you didn’t really do a good job keeping up with answering your comms. still though, you were definitely going to rip them all a new one when you got back; or maybe it would be the other way around.

either way, you couldn’t sit here and dwell on it all night. you needed to make it to the safehouse before they flew back to base. if you missed them this time, you really were well and truly fucked.

✹✹✹

"i've gotta be at least half-way by now," you lament, flopping down against another tree with a grunt in an attempt to calm the burning in your legs and chest. the morphine had worn off about a few hours ago, and you were finally feeling all the bleeding wounds you'd ignored before. nothing lethal, you hoped, aside from your shoulder, ribs, and splitting headache, it was mostly just a lot of glass in your skin.

when you left the town, it must have been just past midnight, and at this pace it would be well after morning before you made it back. you could just about see the first signs of dawn poking through the cloud layer.

the snow had gotten heavier, casting a haze over the horizon, but it hadn't escalated into a storm yet. even under all your gear, the cold was starting to bite at your limbs. your lack of gloves was a decision you were coming to regret; if you lost any fingers because of this you really were going to kill price.

"fuck, he thinks i'm dead…" you groan as you stare up at the sky. snowflakes catch in your eyelashes and threaten to freeze the tears as they well up in your eyes. was he as distraught as you currently were, you wonder? was he even moved at all, or were you just another soldier, just more paperwork he had to fill out?

being in love with your captain was so, so difficult. a mistake, most would say, and you used to tell yourself the same thing. but after knowing him, seeing the vulnerable parts of him he keeps closely guarded, you can't bring yourself to care. seeing his expression when you gifted him the cigars you bought for him, learning his favourite drink when you all went out after missions, trading stories over paperwork in his office late at night. even after everything you've been through together, you know, in your heart, he doesn't feel the same; he's your superior, you're his sergeant, and he is nothing if not an honest man. it can never work between you two. but despite it all, the only regret you have as you sit bleeding in the snow, is that you never told him how you felt.

please, don't leave me here… 

in the back of your mind, you know they wouldn't go home without at least id-ing your body, but you were so shaken by the ongoing near death experience that your train of thought wasn't making much sense anymore.

the distant whirr of a helicopter snapped you back to reality. maybe it was… no, the 141 didn't have a helicopter here, which could only mean it was a hostile one. fucking fantastic. where you were slumped was right at the edge of the road, with very little cover from above. you needed to move further off the path, under the protection of the forest canopy.

with a laboured grunt, you pulled yourself back onto your feet, using the tree behind you as a crutch until you could catch your breath again. the helicopter was getting nearer now, close enough that you could almost make out the spotlight through the falling snow.

a brief jog was all you could manage to get away from the road. the snow wasn't deep enough to leave tracks that would be noticeable from the air, not through the shade of darkness. you still as the helicopter passes overhead. there's no change in its course, and you huff a breath of relief. at least you wouldn't have to try and outrun a chopper.

you watch the helicopter's silhouette fade into the night sky. there was nothing to do but carry on. you needed to get to the safehouse.

this was going to be a long night.

✹✹✹

hours, it had been hours since you first set off, so long in fact that it was essentially daytime. the sun hadn't fully risen, casting the world in a dim light that was just dark enough to keep you tripping over roots and holes in the ground.

the snow had let up a while ago, but the overcast clouds had stayed, the perfect match to your steadily declining mood. you thought you felt like shit earlier? if only you could have predicted how much worse it would get. you were acclimated to the pain by now, it reduced to a constant throbbing where your bones were broken. perhaps the icy temperature around you was numbing your injuries; it was either that or the shock.

ahead, you recognised a set of worn tire-tracks making a hard turn through a gap in the forest. there was no way of knowing it was the right way, but a spark of optimism ignites in your chest. maybe you were finally getting close. you just had to pray that your sense of direction was good enough to be leading you in the right direction.

you were right on top of the tracks now, and upon closer inspection, the pattern of the treads might just match the ones on the suv; you've had to fix that damn car so many times you'd know it in your sleep. they were messy, the snow making it hard to pick out, but you needed the hope right now.

this had to be them.

you go to continue down the clear path, to follow where your team had gone, but your luck just doesn't improve.

the mud slides under your foot, catching your ankle and toppling you in your attempt to struggle through. the breath is forced from your lungs as you impact the ground. you cry out through gritted teeth, feeling the strain of your muscles twisting far further than they're supposed to.

pain strikes through your ankle like lightning. drawing a breath is almost impossible from the pressure of your ribs. as you fight to sit up, the mud fights to drag you back down like quicksand.

fuck. another injury to slow you down.

muddy snow covers you from head to toe, the stabbing pain in your shoulder coming back in full force.

was that a car? the low rumbling from the direction you came from drew your attention, and you faintly see beams of headlights through the darkness. you momentarily forgot about your injuries, a frenzied panic making your blood run cold. another patrol. i need to go.

then, as you struggle to get up and out of sight, you feel a concerning pop from your kneecap, and you don't even have to look to know it's dislocated.

but there was no time to check the damage, you had to hide, now, or the truck would reach you and you'd have a lot more problems on your hands. you scramble onto your hands and knees, and yank your ankle free of the wet mud, practically throwing yourself behind the undergrowth just in time for the truck to round the bend.

your ribs are displaced again, injecting fresh pain into the shuddering breath you took, on top of your newly twisted ankle and dislocated kneecap bent uncomfortably beneath you.

it's a miracle you were able to keep quiet as the vehicle passed by.

by some stroke of luck, or just divine stupidity, your enemies drive straight past the space in the trees and your hiding spot. the headlights cast ominous shadows as they cruise by, but they didn't see you.

struggling to your feet once again, this time you give the muddy path a wide berth as you make your way deeper into the forest.

✹✹✹

one foot in front of the other. dragging your injured leg behind you. cradling your broken ribs.

just keep going.

limping through the mud took every resource your body had left, the effort of keeping upright was almost more than you could take.

how much longer could you possibly go, before you can't get back up again?

you couldn't lose hope.

ahead of you, a break in the sea of trees.

just one foot in front of the other. that's all you need. it's all you can do.

closer, stepping out into the open, squinting against the sun.

against the pale light of the morning sky, you see a dark shape. a building? you couldn't tell, you could only pray it was the warehouse you'd been longing for.

one foot in front of the other.

closer still, despite the bone-deep exhaustion in every limb. you could make it out now, the rusted metal siding and fresh tire-tracks in the mud. you were right there.

you taste the salt before you realise you're crying. 

almost,

somewhere between the agony, you hear yourself think,

still too early to celebrate.

your heart stutters. they were here, they had to be.

they had to be.

one foot in front of the other.

closer again, you focus on the keypad beside the door. your ankle twists uncomfortably as it drags along the gravel.

the handle became your crutch as you mustered the energy to lift your arm to enter the code.

seeing double, vision swaying as the edges fade.

a distant beep. a red light turning to green.

the handle turns under your weight, and the door swings open.

you find the floor coming up fast.

voices are all around you.

you give in to unconsciousness.

✹✹✹

the distinct hospital smell is what rouses you from your deep, dreamless sleep. hands prod at your busted ribs, drawing a scratchy groan from your dry throat. you grab the wrist of whoever is there as you fight to open your eyes.

"sergeant vantage?" they call out to you, and you realise with a disappointed sigh that it's the medic and not your captain. you open your eyes fully and see her standing above you with a clipboard in one hand. apart from her, you're alone in the medical wing. she notices you looking around, and looks down at the clipboard as she continues,  "glad to see you finally awake. your teammate gaz got off pretty lucky, the bullet went clean through his leg. you on the other hand, i'm impressed you made it back at all."

your ankle is in a boot and elevated on some pillows, and you can feel your knee is tightly bandaged under the blankets. an ache starts to form in your shoulder at the effort of holding your arm up.

"vantage, i need you to let go of my wrist." she says, and after an awkward pause you free her from your hold.

"sorry doc…" you mumble, bringing both hands up to your face and observing the tiny cuts littering your skin. you let them flop down to your sides again, but the aching doesn't subside.

"how are you feeling?" she breaks the momentary quiet, setting her clipboard down on the table next to your bed, "want me to get you anything?"

"i'd kill for some water…" you wheeze, the dehydration was catching up to you.

"alright, i'll be right back," the doctor affirms, making her way to the door. she turns back to look you in the eyes with a stern expression before she leaves, "please don't go anywhere."

and with that, the door clicks shut and you're left truly alone with your thoughts again.

your bones creak as you push yourself to sit up, your movements sluggish still with exhaustion, and you're reminded of just how badly you were hurt. everything aches, and it feels as though you'd been asleep for years.

gaz was okay, that's a relief. a little insulting that he got shot and was still in better condition than you, but whatever.

you look around the room for something, anything, to take your mind off the pain, and your eyes eventually land on the table beside you. a few cards sat on top, all with some variation of get well soon on the front, along with a small vase of flowers. you pick up the card closest to you and open it to read the scratchy handwriting inside.

'i swear you could survive a nuke, you're like a cockroach! get better soon, lots of love, soap! xxxxx'

what a charmer soap was. you chuckle at his lighthearted message, he always did try to keep your spirits up in times like these. as you place the card back where it was, your gaze is drawn to the empty chair next to your bed. there was a thin blanket folded over the back, probably left by whoever was last sitting there.

your mind begins to wander; how long were you out? your teammates clearly visited, does that mean price did too? you feel your stomach flutter at the thought of him worrying for you, watching over you as you recover. and if he fell asleep at your bedside? the heart monitor might call the doctor back if this train of thought continues. but then again, you doubted he'd be that forward, he would most likely be buried in paperwork like he usually is after a mission. and the mission you just came back from would require more paperwork than most.

because they… left you behind. that's right. you had to walk yourself back to the safehouse on all your injuries. who knows how long you were walking for but it must have been at least ten hours, considering the sun had risen by the time you got there. the butterflies were swiftly melted by the hot anger rising within you.

you were going to give him a piece of your mind, just like you promised.

all thoughts of the pain you were feeling are out of your head as you fling the blanket off your lower body. you grip your injured leg and lift it over the edge of the bed, swinging your other leg to plant both feet on the floor.

just as you were about to pull yourself up to stand, the door opens again and the medic walks in with your water bottle in her hand. she stops, an icy look in her eyes as she observes what you're doing.

you look back at her, debating whether you should give it up and lay back down, but your anger quickly wins over. the heart monitor picks up again as you work yourself up.

"i swear to god, if you don't sit back down right now," she makes her way over, setting the water down on the table you were using as a crutch. you meet her eyes indignantly, and go to step around her anyway. "no! you need to rest!" the doc puts her hands on your shoulders, and she stops your movement embarrassingly easily.

"fuck that," you croak, your voice still hoarse, "where's captain shithead? i need a word."

she maneuvers you back into sitting on the edge of the bed, and hands you the water. you keep your sour expression, but still drink half the bottle in one go.

"i assume you mean captain price? he's in his office, hasn't come out since you all got back." she takes the bottle from you when you're done, setting it down again, before moving to take the iv out of your arm. if she feels your glare, she doesn't acknowledge it. "whatever it is, it can wait."

"yeah right, i got a few strong words for him, and he is gonna hear 'em."

the doc hesitates as she works.

"i don't know exactly what happened out there, but i think you should know… that he hasn't visited you," she speaks softly, watching your angry expression fall. "your other teammates did, i even saw ghost sneaking out of here one night, but you didn't hear that from me."

silence overcame the small room again as her words sunk in. he left you for dead, and now he was avoiding you? even ghost visited you, and you'd barely had a single conversation with him. your heart feels tight again, the same way it did when you were trapped in that building.

"how long was i out?" your voice is low, almost a whisper.

"two days."

you should have listened to all the people who told you loving him was a bad idea. you'd almost died, and he still didn't visit you? that stung. god, you haven't even been awake an hour and you already want to throw up.

i guess i really don't mean that much to him, huh?

you think back to the night before the mission, when you'd sat with john while he did paperwork. at first, he tried to convince you to get some sleep, 

"you wanna be well rested, love."

but you stayed anyway, saying that you'd just sleep on the flight. you would rather spend your nights of insomnia with him anyway.

the two of you had talked for hours that night, about anything that came to mind. it was the early hours of the morning when you finally retreated back to your own quarters. he'd insisted on seeing you back, despite the fact that it was the middle of the night and your room was in the next building over. the way he'd lingered by your door as you said goodnight, you really thought he was going to kiss you then. but he didn't, and you went to sleep with a heavy feeling of disappointment that persevered into the next day.

"i'm sorry vantage." the medic sets something down on the end of the bed, and you turn to look. a pile of your clothes. "i know how you soldiers are, you're gonna get up as soon as i leave no matter what i say, so i'd rather you not walk around in a hospital gown."

she was right.

"...thanks, doc."

despite the overwhelming pain in your heart, you were still about to rip into price.

✹✹✹

you limp out of the infirmary after dressing yourself as quickly as your injuries would allow, which is to say, not very fast. thankfully there weren't any stairs between here and your captain's office, you definitely wouldn't be able to make it up them with your crutch.

the sun was already setting, a pink hue filling the sky as you pushed open the doors of the medical wing. you tried to think as little as possible as you made your way steadily across the courtyard. it would only upset you, and you desperately wanted to be pissed at him. you wouldn't– couldn't– let price see how hurt you were, he probably didn't care anyway. he was just your captain, after all, realistically there was no reason for you to be this upset.

but you were, and the few people you encountered in the corridors could see it written on your face, staying well out of your way as you shuffled past them.

as you stared at the closed door of john's office, your anger wavered. despite the ache in your heart, you considered for a moment that perhaps you were being dramatic. he was your captain, you were just one of his soldiers. it made perfect sense that he'd prioritise the lives of three others over yours alone.

it was his job, and he did it well.

you love john, of course you do, and that's why you're so affected by that fact. maybe you were letting your selfishness get the better of you. honestly, you didn't have a real reason to believe he felt the same way about you. everyone on task force 141 was close, that's the way things are, you couldn't confidently say he treated you differently.

but he was smart. he had to know how you felt, had at least had to know that you don't go out of your way for your other teammates as much as you do for him.

then again, even ghost had visited you while you were out, and you considered yourself much closer to price than him. so maybe he hated you now, he'd finally gotten tired of your poor decision making skills. it was the reason you were in this situation to begin with.

you were just about to abandon the idea of laying into him when price's voice sounded through the door.

"whoever's standin' out there, hurry up and come in, or piss off." he sounded exhausted, his tone blunt with annoyance. it wasn't unusual for him to get like that, especially whilst buried in mind-numbingly boring paperwork, but you could feel something else under the surface of his sharp tone.

well, there goes your last chance to run. you took a moment to steel yourself, to remember that you were in fact angry at him, and open the door with the harshest look you can muster.

he didn't look up as you let the door close behind you, keeping his nose buried in whatever report he was currently scribbling on. his hat was discarded on the desk next to him, and the hand in his hair was keeping it the messiest you'd ever seen it. you breathe in deeply through your nose.

"oh you'd love to get rid of me that easily, wouldn't you?" you spit, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

john's head snaps forward at the sound of your voice, the hand in his hair dropping to his desk, allowing you to finally get a good look at him. his eyes were wide and tired, you could tell the bags under them were darker than the last time you'd looked him in the face.

"vantage…" he spoke with something almost like disbelief, like he couldn't fathom that you were really in front of him. the hard lines of his face soften as his eyes meet yours, and then even further when his gaze falls to your crutch and boot.

fuck, how were you supposed to stay mad at him when he looks at you like that? you channel every ounce of bottled up frustration you have before his blue eyes consume you.

"well unfortunately, i am still alive. not that you give a shit; you got a restraining order on the infirmary or something?"

he murmurs your name– your real name, and as he rises to stand, his eyes don't leave yours for a second.

fuuuuuck.

"what? you leave me for dead, now the cats got your tongue?" you hiss at him, but you can feel the venom leaving your words with every second. the way his expression falls ever so slightly has you regretting what you were saying. you came in here needing to hurt him the way he hurt you, but you were quickly losing your nerve.

"don't do that…" he was almost pleading, as he made his way around his desk to stand in front of you, his piles of paperwork long forgotten. he goes to grasp your elbow, but you pull back before he can touch you. 

"sorry if you've already filled out my death certificate, i'd hate to cause you any more headaches." there was little fight left in your voice now, as you stared each other down in the middle of his office.

in the pause, john screws his eyes shut, turning his head to the side, before fixing you with a hard stare.

"don't. you know i would never've left you if i had any other choice!" it's not anger when he raises his voice, it's desperation; trying to convince himself as well as you. he takes another step towards you, toe to toe now as you lock eyes.

"do i know that? because from where i'm standing, it looks like you couldn't get far enough away from me," you can't help the way your voice cracks, nor can you disguise the hurt when you continue, "even fucking ghost visited me, but not you…"

another beat of silence.

"i couldn't…" john mumbled, eyes showing his mind was somewhere else. your chest tightened; every trace of anger was gone, replaced with the heartache you'd gotten so familiar with when it came to him.

"correct me if i'm wrong, but i really thought you cared." you try to take a step back, put some distance between the two of you, but he grabs your upper arm– successfully this time– to stop you going anywhere. it takes an impressive amount of restraint not to melt at his touch.

"of course i fuckin' care!" he growls, tugging you marginally closer.

your eyes hardened again; of course he did, just not in the way you wanted him to.

you jab your finger into his chest as you speak, your expression sour. "well you could've fooled–"

he grabs your hand as he cuts you off, and you can see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his face turning sharp again.

"bloody hell, just shut up! it killed me to leave without you, y'know that? if it weren't for simon i would've sent 'em back without me! i waited, as long as i could," he wasn't shouting, but you went quiet as if he was, any retaliation you thought of dying on your tongue. john let out a heavy sigh before he continued, "but you didn't come. you were stuck in that building, and then when it went up in fuckin' smoke, what was i supposed to think? i– we called out to you so many times, but you never responded."

the silence between you was heavy. deep down, you had already assumed everything he was telling you, but to actually hear it from his mouth had you choking up in his grasp.

"i…" you tried to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn't come. despite your best efforts, the tears welling up in your eyes were close to spilling over as your gaze fell to the floor.

john sighed again, softer this time, and using the hand on your arm he brought you into his chest, letting go of your hand with his other and wrapping it securely around your back.

you rest your cheek against his chest, bringing your own arms up around his torso, and revelled in the feeling of his embrace. listening to his elevated heartbeat, you wondered if he could feel just how hard yours was beating too.

"when you came crashin' through that door the next mornin', alive, i swear i've never been so relieved. but then you wouldn't wake up, and you were covered in so much blood… i…" his voice breaks, actually breaks, and you try to lift your head to look at him, but his hand on your arm moves up and presses into the back of your head, holding you tight against him. "...i was fuckin' terrified, love." he whispered.

"... why didn't you visit me?" the question you'd been meaning to ask all along, the real reason you had been upset at him.

you feel him press his lips into the top of your head, gently rocking you both where you stand. the crutch falls from your arm, but neither of you make any move to retrieve it.

"i couldn't. i couldn't face you, layin' in that hospital bed, hooked up to all them machines… knowin' it was my fault…"

"Hey, you know it wasn’t…" you murmur with disapproval; as much as you hate to admit it, you dug yourself into that hole.

"fuck, i'm– so fucking sorry love,"

"don't apologise… please, you did what you had to," you lift your head, and you can look him in the face again. his eyes were slightly red; if your heartstrings were pulled anymore they'd surely break. "plus, i was never really mad at you anyway."

he huffs out a small chuckle, his breath fanning over your face, the crease in his brow melting away as your eyes meet, "well ain't that a relief?"

"i thought you were pissed at me, and that's why you didn't visit…" you clear your throat and avoid his gaze, "i mean, i did lock myself in a building full of hostiles… not my finest moment,"

"no. as stupid as you are sometimes, i could never be angry at you." 

"that is a relief."

a quiet overcomes the two of you, standing in eachothers arms as the evening sun casts the room in an orange glow. you wanted to stay like this for the rest of time, but it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the voice in the back of your head that said this was inappropriate. the way he was talking, holding you, had your hopes high, just like that night before the mission. the one where you went to bed disappointed. it didn't help that you were expecting the let-down now, if anything it only made your heart sink even lower.

you notice that, exactly like you, john was staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. you tilt your head, wordlessly urging him to tell you what's going on. he sighs, scanning the multitude of cuts and scrapes that litter your face, "i promise you, i will never let anything like that happen again, alright?"

"i believe you." you smile softly, and you do; of course you do, you'd trust him with your life. it wasn't something you'd admit out loud, but you would do just about anything if he asked you to.

"i swear, i'm not lettin' you outta my sight." the look on his face has you squirming is his grasp, under the intense gaze he pinned you with.

"alright, i get it," you chuckle, your face heating up at the implication. this was doing nothing for the enormous crush you were harbouring. shuffling backwards slightly, you put enough space between you that you can comfortably rest your hands on his chest.

"i don't think you do, love," you feel his chest rumble as he speaks, and his gaze becomes serious, "i coulda' lost you. i thought i did. fuck, when soap and gaz came outta there without you? i thought my heart'd stopped… i just– i…"

it was rare to see your captain so lost for words. you feel his heart beat faster under your fingertips, the distant look in his eyes giving away the internal debate he was surely having.

"john?"

"if i'm out of order, say the word and we can forget all about this, but vantage…" his voice was low, and you felt your cheeks heat up to a boiling point as he cradled your face with one hand and leaned in closer, chest to chest again. the anticipation and the proximity might just make you sick. "you mean the world to me, i don't know what i'd do with myself if i lost you."

was that… what you thought it was? it sounded an awful lot like a confession, and you really really wanted it to be, but… was it too good to be true?

the lack of a response from you had john pulling back with an uncharacteristic cough that radiated embarrassment. he let go of your face, hovering next to your cheek as if he couldn't bear to let go, and you frown at the absence of his warmth.

"just ignore me, i shouldn't've–" he begins to back-pedel, going to move away from you before you cut him off.

"no!" you exclaim, with a bit more panic than you intended, and grasp his shirt in your fists to keep him close. "i get it, i really do. i- i care about you too, probably a lot more than a teammate should." your face heats up at the admission, and he lights up with surprise. "i think i always have."

slowly, he moves his hand back to its place cupping your jaw, searching your eyes for any signs that he was misinterpreting your response. when he found none, he smiled at you so genuinely you doubted anyone had ever been so sincere towards you.

"yeah?" he murmurs, the slight disbelief gone from his expression but still present in his voice.

"yes, john," you mirror his tone, bringing a hand up to hold the back of his neck. his skin burned hot under your touch.

"well thank god for that," his voice is barely a whisper now, as he draws your lips closer to his. the air separating you felt thick enough to be cut.

you let your eyes fall closed, and with a small burst of confidence, you lean forward and close the final distance between the two of you. he kisses you so tenderly, with so much emotion, it makes your head spin. you sigh into him, tilting your head and pressing yourself impossibly closer, revelling in the feeling of being in his arms at last. all your many months of pining had led up to this moment, and you felt like your heart might just burst. regretfully, you find yourself needing to break away for air, and to your delight he follows your lips as you pull back.

"maybe i should get injured more often, if this is what i get," you breathe, a dazed smile on your face as both your eyes flutter open, and his chest rumbles under your hand with a deep chuckle.

"you better not; i'll have your head if you do, love."

✹✹✹

#john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #price fic #mw2 x reader #price x reader #141 x reader #first fic ive ever posted im scared #dont break my heart pls <3 #roosterr writes

[unalivejournal]

imagine a tumblr simulator set in the velvet goldmine universe lmfao

2 notes

🎹 wilderatz Follow

DNI if you still support br*an sl*de after the shooting hoax. what he did was fucking unacceptable and pathetic. the panic and heartbreak on the dashboard that day was absolutely traumatizing. and the fact that it was all for cheap publicity makes it even more despicable. if you HAVE to listen to his records the least you could do is buy them secondhand

#so glad curt never cut that record with him

186 notes

⭐️ glittersisgay

i got new boots! seeing the flaming creatures tonight :-) life is good

4 notes

👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼 wildemons Follow

sorry but the sladewild narrative is CRAAAAZY. like imagine you start off as a nobody performer and becoming enthralled by this rockstar after he shows up your act and you end up becoming famous by being inspired by his stage presence AND YOU BECOME FAMOUS ENOIGH TO GO TO AMERICA AND MEET THIS GUY AND YOUR LABELS START FABRICATING A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN U TWO TO GENERATE PUBLICITY FOR YOUR NEW ALBUM BUT THEN YOU ACTUALLY FALL IN LOVE AND HAVE TO KEEP IT A SECRET BUT THEN THE PAPARAZZI FINDS OUT AND YOU HAVE A HUGE FALLING OUT BUT THEN A FEW WEEKS LATER YOURE SPOTTED IN THE CROWD AT THE DEATH TO GLITTER SHOW

♻️ 🦷 roxytunes Follow

lmfao WHAT are you talking about. swear to god i’m sick of you invasive freaks trying to make things up about real peoples lives. the part about the labels trying to market slade and wild as a couple isn’t even true. yes they were heavily publicized as close friends but they never admitted to being in a relationship. also receipts on brian being at the death to glitter show???? stop spreading false information

♻️ 👨🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏼 wildemons Follow

anyways watch out for my new sladewild maxwell demon tour era fic that will be published in my next zine 💋

#my mutual was literally next to him in the crowd.

58 notes

🪩 girlboydragdemon

at the Sombrero Club with the glamrocktuals YAYYYY

♻️ 🪩 girlboydragdemon

Hangover.

#we may have made. mistakes. #also we think brian slade’s former manager was in the booth behind us

11 notes

🌟 venusinpurrs

♻️ 🎸 balladofmaxwellsemen Follow

WHY ARE WE PITTING THREE BAD BITCHES AGAINST EACH OTHER

♻️🌟 venusinpurrs

better question WHY ARE VENUS IN FURS LOSING GUYS CMON ITS OBVIOUSLY THE RATS

♻️🌟 venusinpurrs

do you people hate dykes

244 notes

💋 jack-fairy-fan51 Follow

Anyone else feel like this Tommy stone guy showed up out of nowhere?

6 notes

❇️ 20th-cxntury-bxy

Well…. it’s been a fun time on the road with Malcolm & co. (@/theflamingcreatures) but in the months following the hoax and the death to glitter tribute I’ve been feeling more and more inclined to move on. idk. i know there’s still an active tumblr community but in the real life scene it feels like everyone’s just…. given up. I’ll be starting a new job soon and won’t have a lot of time to post. Might delete this blog in the near future. remember to support local shows and keep being yourself

#a.journal

0 notes

👨‍🎤 lipstickkissedelbowglove

word on the street is that mandy slade divorced brian???? lmao get his ass

♻️👨‍🎤 lipstickkissedelbowglove

[#finally i have a chance with her]

you’re funny if you think any of us on this site have an inkling of a chance with her

2,658 notes

🎸 balladofmaxwellsemen Follow

Just found this on the sidewalk. does anyone know what it is?

7 notes

[coffeebanana]

It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet…  Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should. No.  His eyes flicked downwards. No, no, no, no— All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.

Some nightmares refuse to fade.

***

[Read the full fic below the cut or on Ao3!! CW: panic attacks, dissociation, depression]

It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet…  Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should. No.  His eyes flicked downwards. No, no, no, no— All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.

Please, no.

Chat squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to rid himself of a sudden, blinding panic pounding through his skull. But it was too late. Ladybug’s slate-stained image was seared into his mind, her face frozen in pain, devoid of everything that had once painted comfort across his soul. 

Her mask was half-torn, such that Marinette's bare cheek was cradled closest to his chest. Like maybe he'd tried in vain to protect her from the blast.

From his own destruction.

A choked sound ripped itself from his throat, a painful lump following in its wake. He had no way to fix this, nothing to do but pull her in closer. To tighten his arms around her precious, fragile remains.

Another mistake. 

She crumbled in his grip; ashes floated up like a mosaic, blinding his vision. Frantically, he pawed at the air—trying to gather her fragments, to force her back together. If he caught enough, perhaps he could papier-mâché her likeness. He could use his tears as glue.

But there was no time for that before a fiery breeze tore through the street. Marinette’s remains were swept away, and only Chat’s strangled cries could follow. 

The further away they fled, the more he came undone. There was nothing left to tie his mind together, to keep his pain from exploding like a supernova.

Nothing to keep the world from collapsing in on him.

“What did you expect?” Nightormentor’s voice sliced through the smoke. “You’ve always been poison to the ones you loved most.”

NO!

With a frigid gasp—one that curdled his tar-slicked insides—Adrien awoke. Once again, there was a darling weight in his arms. Only this Marinette was warm and solid. Her limbs were tangled in the blankets she'd pulled to her side of his bed, and one of her hands curled slightly into his T-shirt as her breath tickled the fabric.

She was alive.

Adrien just wasn't sure his heart still knew how to beat.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, both drenched in sweat and trembling. His chest felt like someone had trampled it, and every attempt to breathe sliced further into the wound. 

When he closed his eyes, the world was still on fire.

Stomach lurching, he carefully rolled Marinette’s weight off his chest. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t listen to the even sounds of her breath without hearing echoes of his own sobs slip between them. 

The room spun around him as he stumbled to the bathroom; the world still appeared as though through smoke—muted and unreliable, the air too thick to breathe. He collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet, his empty stomach convulsing, only to realize the sickness inside him wasn’t the kind he could expel.

He remained there, braced against the toilet seat, until his limbs eased their shaking enough for him to crawl away. Even so, he barely made it to the wall beside the sink before one of his arms gave out, and his cheek slammed a little too hard into the handle of one of the cupboards he twisted into a seated position. Hissing in pain, he let his face press against the wood there, shuddering at the way the cold surface shocked some life inside of him.

Time ceased to make sense after that. One moment, his chest was burning, pain reverberating through his back as he struggled to fill his lungs. The next, it seemed he’d become a giant cloud. A numb expanse of icy droplets, ready to fall at a moment’s notice.

Light gradually awakened the room, a subtle warmth flickering near the edge of his awareness. He only fully realized the day had come when, somewhere beyond the door he’d left ajar, the bed creaked.

“Adrien?” Marinette called. Her voice was gentle, but pierced through him all the same. “Everything okay?”

No.

Panic set in anew as footsteps approached. He swore he could somehow taste the blood pounding in his ears, and he clamped his mouth shut to keep from crying out. To keep from breathing, even.

He didn’t want to be found. Maybe, if he held his breath until his lungs screamed again, he’d remain concealed in his lifeless fog.

But ironically, it was harder to keep from breathing when that was his actual goal. He sucked in sharp breaths, timed to his heartbeats, and hid his face in his hands.

“Oh, Chaton...” Marinette’s slippers scraped across the bathroom tiles, coming to a stop within his sight. Too close. “Did it happen again?”

He managed a nod, bottom lip quivering as he bit back a sob.

A long exhale piqued his attention; it started as a noise from above and ended as a warm breath against his cheek. Kneeling at his side, Marinette rubbed her hands against her thighs.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Adrien shifted his jaw from side to side, guilt hooking its talons into his gut. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

It wasn’t a lie; he felt plenty bad about inadvertently dragging her here every night. She deserved the comfort of her own bed, regardless of whether he could actually get any sleep without her. So the least he could do was actually let her get enough rest.

But it wasn’t the truth, either.

And as she took his hand, carefully smoothing his fingers over hers, he had a feeling she knew it.

“Adrien…” She tugged his arm upwards, pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Biting his lip to keep from disagreeing, Adrien squeezed his eyes shut. With one less sense at his disposal, he was all too aware of the way she lifted his hand further, unfolding his fingers to press against her cheek.

“See?” she whispered, breath tickling the inside of his wrist. Her head twisted to the side, lips planting a kiss on the heel of his palm. “Everything’s fine.”

He swore he could feel the remnants of destruction prickling against her cheek. It took everything he had not to jerk his hand away.

Nothing was fine.

No matter how he’d come into this world, and no matter how much he despised the fact, Adrien would always be—in some way or another—his father’s son. Sometimes he swore he saw a glimpse of the man when he turned too fast in the mirror. Other times, a flash of fury would seize him; with a sickening sense of satisfaction, he’d know what it might felt like to be a villain.

Even worse, he was his mother’s son. His very existence had killed her.

He’d killed both his parents, in the end. 

So no matter how much Marinette tried to console him, Adrien knew the voice of his nightmares had a point. He was a danger to her, to himself, to the world.

It might not even end up being his choice. All it would take was someone finding out what he was, and stealing the two rings he still couldn’t stand the sight of.

He was, at most, a liability. And Marinette deserved more than that.

She never agreed with him on that point.

“Look at me,” she said now. An edge crept into her voice, one that shocked him into listening.

His heart jumped at the blue of her eyes—filled with all the warmth that the fiery world of his nightmares had failed to hold. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. 

“No, no, no. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just…” Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, okay?”

Adrien couldn’t say it back. He couldn’t find enough truth to shove into the sentiment—not when that was all buried beneath his own misery. It was like he’d returned to his nightmare, with smoke charring his throat and one all-consuming fear.

Just the tiniest wrong movement could ruin everything.

But if he didn’t give some kind of response, Marinette would only worry. So he tugged on her hand—maybe a little too hard considering her yelp of surprise—and guided her to sit between his legs. She moved readily into place, and Adrien forced himself to ignore the fear spiking through his veins, hugging her back to his chest.

Once settled, she twisted around and tried to crane her neck upwards, reaching a hand half-blindly up to his cheek. Heart squeezing in his chest, he tightened his grip around and pressed a kiss to her head. 

She remained tense for a moment too long, but finally sighed and melted back against his chest. Her hand trailed lazily back down to her side, and her breath spilled into a hum of contentment. With her gaze fixed firmly ahead, Adrien could finally breathe again.

He didn’t want her to see the few tears he’d finally let slip down his cheeks—even if she’d no doubt hear his sniffles or feel the way the cries rumbled in his chest. And he didn't want her to examine him to deeply, to discover what he already knew.

One day, he would surely disappoint her.

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